“Oh, you’re a sweetheart,” she says, gulping down another glassful. She’s staring at me as she swallows, and when she sets the tumbler down, she’s got a small frown on her face. “You look so familiar,” she says.
“I’ve worked here two years.”
“No, I’ve seen you somewhere else, I think. Have you ever worked in Evanston or Winnetka?” she asks, naming a couple of the northern suburbs.
“Nope. The Loop and Lincoln Park, mostly.”
“No, that’s not it . . . Maybe you were in high school with one of my kids.”
“I didn’t go to high school in Chicago. Maybe I just look like someone you know.”
Her face shows dissatisfaction. “Maybe.”
Lili’s been close enough to hear this whole conversation, so she contrives to follow me to the kitchen. “Sasha! She remembers you! From before!”
“Well, I don’t remember her.”
“I guess you can’t remember everybody you’ve ever met.”
“I think she’s just a stranger.”
Armand, who is in back taking a fifteen-minute dinner break, glances over at us. “A bit of your past caught up with you?” he asks in a neutral voice.
For no reason, it’s even more annoying when he says it. “No,” I answer in a brusque voice. “She’s nobody.”
Armand shrugs. “Well, everybody’s somebody,” he says. “Even if she’s not somebody to you.”
I’m so irritated I don’t even answer. I just grab a fresh pitcher of tea and go out into the dining area.
There are no more uncomfortable conversations with the unfamiliar woman. There are no other ghosts from my past who make their way to the diner. The day ends, we share out our tips, and Lili and I head for the L together. We don’t live near each other, not in this lifetime, but we still catch the train together as part of our nightly ritual. It still makes me feel safe.
Though I know I’m not safe.
* * *
—
Tuesday is almost as crummy as Monday was fine. It’s raining, Lili has the day off, I don’t like the other two waitresses whose shifts overlap with mine, Juwan is in one of his rare bad moods, Sanjay has called in sick, and Armand is Armand. Because we’re shorthanded, we’re behind all day, so customers are crabby and everybody tips poorly. I have a headache by two and a blister on the back of my foot by four.
“Smile, sweetheart, it can’t be that bad,” says a smarmy-looking junior-executive type who manages to touch my hand three times as I lay silverware, napkins, and food on his table.
I feel my eyes narrow as I give him a cold, level stare. You obviously have no idea how bad it can get, I want to say, but I swallow the words. “Would you like anything else? A slice of pie?” I ask in a brittle voice.
He leans back against the seat and leers at me. “Pretty girl like you,” he says. “I bet you have lots of boyfriends.”
“Just the right number of boyfriends,” I say. “So is that a no on the pie?”
“Sasha, that’s your name?” he asks. It’s embroidered on my apron; of course it’s my name. “That’s pretty. Is it Russian?”
“Nope. Just American. Do you want your check, then?”
“I’m Bill. I work down the street. I haven’t been here before, but I think I’ll be coming back.”
“We’re always happy to have repeat customers,” I say.
“Are all the waitresses here as pretty as you?”
“Prettier,” I reply. If I talk to him one more minute, I will break into a screaming frenzy. “Just pay me when you’re ready,” I say, placing the check on the table. Without another word, I turn and head straight to the kitchen.
I’m working hard not to let the fury get to me, so it takes me a second to realize Armand has followed me through the door. “Take your dinner break,” he says quietly. “I’ll handle his check.”
Surprised, I look at him over my shoulder. “You don’t have to do that.”
He shrugs. “Guy’s an asshole. And you’re overdue for dinner. I’ll take care of him.”
I let out a long breath, deliberately unclench my hands, and then nod. “Okay. Thanks. But he says he’s going to come back. Like, be a regular.”
“We’ll deal with him then,” Armand says, and heads back out through the door.
Juwan looks up from the stove and gives me his first smile of the day. “He likes you,” he says.
“Who, that creep at the table? He doesn’t like people, he preys on them.”
Juwan makes a scoffing noise. “No, you idiot. Armand.”
Now I’m the one to whuffle with disbelief. “Uh, no he doesn’t.”
“Uh, yes he does.”
“Because he’s taking care of a jerk-off customer? That’s his job. He’s the manager.”
“Dude looks out for you all the time. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
I open the refrigerator to hunt up dinner. I’m starving, as it turns out. “Oh, for God’s sake” is my only reply.
“You ask Lili. She’ll tell you the same thing.”
I’m halfway through a cheese sandwich and a side salad when Armand sticks his head back through the door. “He’s gone,” he says briefly. “And there’s a new four-top at table five.”
I cram the rest of the sandwich in my mouth and set the salad aside for later. “Thanks,” I say. “I’m on it.”
* * *
—
My shift ends at ten, and I have to admit I’m just slightly nervous as I take off my apron and hang it on a hook in the kitchen. I’m wishing I’d asked Juwan to work an extra hour so he could walk me to the L stop. Today’s unsavory customer was pretty mild, all things considered, but something about him made my skin crawl, and I’ve learned not to ignore my instincts. Would he be the kind of man to hang around and follow a girl home? You hear stories like that all the time. Someone just catches a psycho’s eye, and then it’s all over. There’s no reason for it. Just chance and misfortune.
I push my way through the kitchen door and back into the dining area, which is pretty full. The place doesn’t close till midnight, and some of the biggest crowds come in after eight. I’m surprised to see Armand leaning against the front counter, talking to the night manager; his shift ended when Juwan’s did. He breaks off his conversation when he sees me, and heads over to meet me at the front door. I don’t wait for him to open it, because that feels stupid, but he’s right behind me when I step outside. The rain has stopped, which is an improvement, but the air feels colder than it should in late spring. Well, that’s Chicago for you.
Armand falls in step beside me without saying a word. I give him a sideways glance and realize I have to be the one to break the silence. “I thought you went home an hour ago.”
He nods, then shakes his head. “Forgot my jacket and had to come back.”
“Oh.”
We walk most of a block in silence, except for the ever-present sound of traffic along Chicago’s crowded streets. There’s so much neon and street lighting and light pouring out from bars and restaurants that you could lean against any brick wall, pull out a paperback, and read the text with no trouble.
A few blocks away, I can hear the low rumble of a train pulling into a raised station and the scree of the metal wheels against the rails. Probably just missed my train and will have to wait twenty minutes for the next one.
“You live right off the Sheridan stop, right?” Armand asks.
“Yeah.”
He nods and says nothing else. A few minutes later, we’re at the station, and he’s right behind me as I climb the open stairs to the platform where the rail lines run. “You don’t take the Red Line,” I challenge. “Don’t you live in Irving Park?”
“Yeah,” he says, and shrugs.
And that’s it. He doesn’t say another word as we wait with the dozen other
commuters until the train arrives, as we find seats beside each other in the half-empty car, as we exit at another elevated station and make our way down the damp streets. I live in a residential block that’s nothing but one U-shaped apartment building after another. Armand follows me up to my door and watches me get out my key, then nods.
“See ya,” he says, and turns to go.
“Armand.”
He turns back. “Yeah.”
“You want—I mean—should I ask you up for coffee? Or a beer?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. Nothing I need.”
I just stare at him. Much less lighting in this part of town. Much harder to read faces. “What do you want from me?”
“Nothing. Just wanted you to feel safe going home.”
“But—”
“It’s not a big deal,” he says.
I stare at him helplessly a moment. “Thank you,” I say at last.
He nods. “See you tomorrow.”
And he’s gone. Doesn’t even wait to see if my key fits in the lock, if I make it safely inside, if the small apartment is clear of monsters. It does, I do, it is.
I still don’t feel safe. But I do feel better.
* * *
—
The creep doesn’t come back at any point over the next seven days. Lucky for him, because Juwan and Sanjay have appointed themselves my protectors. Sanjay has brought three cans of mace, one small enough to fit in my purse, and Juwan has brought a baseball bat. The bat and the largest can of mace have been left at the front counter, where anyone walking into the diner might spot them. Armand hasn’t objected to their addition to the décor, and neither has Kenny, the night manager.
“We should take a self-defense class,” Lili says Wednesday afternoon. “Karate or aikido or something. Maybe learn to use nunchucks.”
“That’s not easy,” Sanjay comments.
She looks over at him. “You can fight with nunchucks?”
“Well, I took some classes, but—no. I never got any good at it.”
“I think we should take karate,” she decides.
“Maybe,” I say. “I think there’s a martial arts studio near me. I’ll look up the schedule.”
I pick up a tray of drinks to take out to one of my tables and see that I’ve got a new customer in the back booth. His head’s down and he’s focused on the menu as if it’s a treasure map marked with caches of gold. When I’ve delivered the drinks, I pour a glass of water and take it over to him.
“Hi, I’m Sasha, I’ll be taking care of you today,” I rattle off. “Would you like to hear the day’s specials?”
“Sure,” he says, not looking up. All I can see is his hair, a tousled brown that looks like it should have been washed at least a day ago. “I’m hungry.”
“There’s meatloaf with gravy and fried onion chips for ten fifty. If you want the meatloaf platter that comes with mashed potatoes and green beans, it’s thirteen dollars. There’s also a fried-chicken special with mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables, also thirteen dollars. If you order pie with either one, it’s only a dollar extra.” Deli-Lishes does not pretend to be a place where healthy choices are paramount.
“I’ll take the meat loaf,” he says, finally looking up. “The platter.”
I turn to stone.
His face is angular, with thick cheekbones and a pointed chin; a day’s stubble covers the long jaw. One cheek is puckered by a narrow scar, while the other sports a tattoo of some unrecognizable glyph picked out in blue ink. But it’s his eyes that are really chilling. They’re dark brown, almost black, heavy lidded, incurious, cold. They seem like the eyes that you’d see on an assassin or a corpse. Someone whose soul or body is dead.
I can’t tell if he recognizes me or not, but his expression doesn’t change. “And a Coke,” he adds, and hands me the menu.
My fingers are so nerveless I can’t believe I actually manage to hold on to it. I nod dumbly and turn away, so distraught that I can hardly make my way across the room to the kitchen door. I shoulder it open and then just stand there, trembling, unable to speak. Any minute now, my legs will give way and I’ll dissolve to the floor.
“Sasha? What’s up, girl?” Juwan asks.
“I—” I shake my head. “I—he—I—”
Sanjay drops his spatula and sprints for the door, pushing it open just enough to peer out. “Did that creep come back? Should I go get the bat? I don’t see him.”
“Not him—not—” I can’t explain. I can’t form words. I’m incapable of taking an actual step, so I slide my feet along the floor until I am close enough to the wall to lean on it for support. My hands are palsied; I can feel my shoulders shaking. I might be going into shock.
Sanjay turns from the door and exchanges a look with Juwan. “Should I get Kenny?”
“Wish it wasn’t Armand’s day off,” Juwan mutters.
Just then, Lili bursts in and comes straight for me. “What happened to you? Did that guy say something to you? The look on your face when you left his table—”
“She’s freaked out about something but she won’t say what,” Juwan informs her.
“Did he say something to you?” Lili repeats.
“He’s—he’s the one,” I manage to choke out.
“The one who what?” Juwan demands. By this time, they’ve all clustered around me in a semicircle. Lili’s even taken my hand in a reassuring hold.
“He kills me,” I whisper.
“What?” The word comes from all three of them at the same time.
I swallow and try again. “In every life. It’s him. He kills me.”
“Why would he do that?” Sanjay asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I never know. It’s always random. He’s a stranger. He shows up. He sees me.” I try another swallow. “He cuts my throat.”
Now there’s another outcry, even louder. “What, you mean he follows you down an alley and just murders you for no reason?” Lili demands.
“Yes!”
“Is he some kind of serial killer?” Sanjay says. “Goes around killing women all over the country?”
“I don’t know! I never learn anything about him! I meet him, and a couple of days later I’m dead!”
“A couple of days—!” Lili exclaims. “Oh, no no no. That is not happening to you this time.”
“We should call the cops,” Sanjay says. “Right now, while he’s in the restaurant.”
“Cops aren’t gonna believe this shit,” Juwan points out.
“Well, obviously we wouldn’t tell them the truth,” Lili says. “We’d say he looks like someone who harassed Sasha in front of her apartment the other day or tried to grab her purse or something. They come, they interrogate him—he says he was never anywhere near her place—but at least he gets on their radar. And he knows they’re watching him. Maybe that’ll make him nervous enough to skip town.”
“It won’t do any good,” I say. I’ve stopped shaking now, but my body has turned so leaden that my bones can barely sustain my weight. He’s showed up. That means my life is almost over. I’m not ready. I want more time. I want to live and live and live.
Not die and die and die.
“I think we should call the cops anyway,” Lili says.
“There’s no point to it. Even if they take him in and book him. He’ll get out in a day or two, and he’ll find me, and I’ll be dead.”
“No you won’t be,” Lili says firmly. “I’ll stay with you, day and night, until this guy’s gone. We can go somewhere! Up to the Wisconsin Dells, maybe.”
“Yeah, if Armand lets two of you take a vacation at the same time,” Sanjay says doubtfully.
Lili gives him a look of burning reproach. “If it saves her life, he will.”
“It doesn’t matter. This guy will find me wherever I go. I’ve tried everyt
hing. I’ve run. I’ve stayed put. I’ve tried to hide. And I think I’m safe, and then one morning I come around a corner and there he is. He kills me every single time.”
“Maybe we should kill him first,” Juwan says.
“Maybe,” Sanjay answers. “But we’d have to be careful about it. He might be a drifter, but if a body turns up, someone’s going to investigate.”
My breath huffs out on what almost could be considered a laugh. Up until this point, I was never sure that any of them completely bought my tale of past lives. They listened, they indulged me, they acted like my story might be true, though they never came out and said so. But they’re sure acting like they believe me now.
“You’re not killing anyone, not for me,” I say.
“Then you need to find yourself a gun,” Juwan tells me.
“I can get you one,” Sanjay offers.
“So can I,” Lili and Juwan say in unison.
I am so deep into the funk of fatalism that I almost refuse. What good will it do? I’m going to die anyway. But then I pause to think about it. I’ve never had a gun before. Never had a way to defend myself. If I can change just one or two parameters of my story, could it have a different ending? Could he be the one to die, while I’m the one to live?
I might end up living in a jail cell after I’m convicted of murder, but at the moment that sounds like a most desirable fate.
Still. “I don’t know,” I say. “I’m not sure I can bring myself to kill anyone.”
“Could you tase someone?” Sanjay asks. “Could you do that?”
I brighten. “Maybe. If I had a Taser.”
“I’ll bring one in tomorrow,” he says.
“We still have to get her through tonight,” Lili says. She crosses her arms and nods emphatically. “I’m going home with you.”
“No, you’re not,” I say. “Then he’ll just kill both of us.”
She leans in closer to peer at me. “Has he ever? In the past?”
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