Chapter1
Mia
Iwas working the late evening shift at Happy’s Diner. Happy liked to stay open later than other diners to catch the people getting out of the bars and nightclubs down the street. Personally, I thought it was an idiotic idea. People getting out of bars and nightclubs were not generally good customers, and dealing with drunks was never my favorite idea, either.
As a matter of fact, I had an aversion to random people pinching my butt, or so tipsy they crashed into their table, knocking the plates and glasses to the floor in a crescendo of broken china. And itreallyirritated me when my boss, Happy, glared at me as if all of it were my fault.
I grumbled under my breath as I picked up the broken china and swept the area. You would think working mostly diners for the last 11 years of my life would give me more than enough experience to be above the grunt work of certain diner jobs, to be a manager or owner, but nope. And it wasn’t because I was a terrible worker. I was a dang good worker. It was for the simple reason that people and I did not mix well.
Being around people left me all jumbled inside, chaotic. There was this huge mix of feelings that swirled around and around inside me whenever I was around them. Like someone had taken a fireman’s hose and opened it full throttle, and shoved it down my throat. It was not pleasant.
I’d really tried. I’d tried as a child, and then as an early teen, to make friends. But I could tell when people were lying to me, and I could tell when people were just saying something, not because they felt it, but because they thought it would make me think better of them. I could tell when people were being insincere. And, the sad truth was, there was a lot of lying and insincerity out there in the world. So much of it, in fact, that I’d stopped trying.
It was a rare find to find a decent, truthful person who didn’t live or die by others’ opinions of them. People gravitated to people who made them feel better about themselves. And, sadly, that wasn’t me for most people. Hence the no friends, and the cleaning broken china, and the leering man with crazy eyebrows and bloodshot eyes who tried to pinch my butt again.
I stood and glared at him, my chest heaving. His cronies around the table were snickering into their food, watching the scene play out. None of them speaking up for me. None of them seeing anything wrong with putting your hands on someone else’s butt when it was clearly not wanted. The man winked at me, and I saw red. I gently set the tub of broken china down on the table, fisted my hand, and punched him as hard as I could in the nose.
The man squawked, and said in a high pitch, grating voice, covering his nose, “I didn’t mean anything by it, idiot woman! Stop being so sensitive!” His cronies were cracking up now, guffawing into their waters, and I could tell the butt pincher was getting embarrassed. I knew this would go one of two ways: One, he would drop it and slink away. Two, he would create a scene with my manager.
He went with two.
“You’re fired,” Happy sneered. “Get your things and get out.” The other servers and cooks were avoiding my eyes, and not one of them stood up for me. It hurt a bit. I knew I wasn’t really friends with any of them, but we were at least friendly with each other most of the time. I tried to help my coworkers as much as possible, taking shifts when they were sick, or had to take care of a sick child, staying late so they could get home to families and kids.
But none stood up to Happy. I understood, or at least I tried to comfort myself that I understood. They didn’t want to lose their jobs either. And the economy was terrible. I sighed, glaring at Happy. His name was a huge misnomer. He should have been named Growly the Ghastly. It certainly would have fit better than Happy.
I gathered my things, glared at the table of guys in the corner who’d gone quiet, nodded at my coworkers, and left the diner. The sky was thick with dark clouds, and it was starting to drizzle. I pulled the collar of my coat up and wrapped my scarf around my neck, tucking the ends inside my coat to keep myself as warm as possible.
The streets were deserted this time of night. Occasionally a car passed, but I didn’t look up and take note. I kept my nose down and eyes on the sidewalk and walked as fast as I could toward my apartment building.
It wasn’t the smartest idea to walk home at this time of night. I knew that. But I had zero extra money for a cab, and I didn’t own a car. Heck, I would just be grateful if I could scrounge up enough money for my rent. Right now, all of my money was going toward the business classes I was taking online. I juggled bills to pay the tuition each month, taking extra shifts at work whenever I could swing it.
Until last week, I’d been working two jobs. Happy’s and The Juice Box down the street, a juicing bar that was always crazy busy. But I’d had to let that job go so I could focus on my upcoming finals. I was nearing the end, so close to my certification that I could almost taste it.
It had taken me two years of double shifts, night shifts, two jobs, extra jobs, and 18-hour days to get me to this point. The finals were on my laptop at home, waiting for me to send in. I just had to proof them one last time and then I was done. I would never have to work a diner job for the rest of my life. I could start polishing up my resume, add in my education and certification, and get a better-paying job that would help me get out of the slums and into decent housing. Maybe afford a car, and an occasional meal out.
A car with very faded headlights passed close by me, spewing muddy water on my lower half. I growled, and wanted to shake my fist at the driver, but didn’t bother. They probably couldn’t see any better than I could in this wet weather.
A woman with a very bundled up baby was up ahead on the sidewalk. He was in what looked like a snow suit, including a hoodie, and the woman had on 2 coats, and what appeared to be 3 differently colored scarves, with boots up to her knees. I wanted to laugh. It wasn’tthatcold, but as she drew near, I felt a strange surge of peace. She smiled at me, despite the drizzle, and I felt warmth blossom inside of me.
I smiled back at her, despite the crappy day I was having, because I just couldn’t help it. She was one of those rare types of people that made you smile simply because you couldn’t help yourself. We nodded as we passed each other and went our separate ways. I didn’t really find it odd that she was out in the drizzle at night with her baby. Or that she wasn’t taking a cab, because there was what looked like a harried dad following her. He looked asleep on his feet, his tie was askew, his dress pants were wrinkled, and he quickly tried to catch up with her with a huge umbrella so she and baby didn’t get wet.
I smiled and shook my head. Little family out for a walk? Maybe they were trying to calm junior so he could fall asleep? I didn’t know. But it was interesting, and the woman seemed like a good person. The dad just seemed tired, and maybe a little frustrated that his wife was outstripping his pace. I looked at the apartment building they’d walked out of. It was brightly lit, and had a doorman just behind the glass doors, staying out of the rain. This was a better and safer part of the city. I purposely went out of my way, walking home through the more affluent areas of town on my way home. I had no desire to be a statistic.
When I could no longer walk home via the affluent areas of town, I quickly marched down the streets closer to home. A homeless man was on the corner, babbling to himself, and I felt empathy hit me hard. I’d been homeless once. I’d eaten out of dumpsters and begged scraps and essentials from others. I only had 5 bucks in my pocket. It wasn’t a lot, maybe enough to get a small meal, but it was all I had. I handed it to him as I passed him, and he smiled a vacant, gap-toothed smile at me. As I turned the corner, I heard him singing.
I passed the alley right between my apartment building and another, and felt a chill skitter down my spine. I pivoted and saw a man there, leaning against the building, smoking a cigarette. There was an overhang that kept him dry. For no discernible reason, as the man’s eyes met mine, my insides turned to ice, and I felt intense fear. He made no move toward me, made no threatening moves at all, but I felt like my life was in jeopardy. I turned away from him quickly, and, because I’d felt such things before and trusted my instincts, bolted for my building, running flat out.
I opened the outer building’s door with my key, and slammed it shut behind me, breathing hard, and looking out at the man who’d followed me so quietly I hadn’t heard him. We stared at each other through the small patch of dirty glass, my heart beating like a runaway train, and him looking like he was contemplating nothing more dire than dinner.
But the feeling remained. I palmed my phone, preparing to call 911, when he smirked and left.
I almost collapsed to the dirty floor in relief.
I had no idea how I knew he was bad news. I just did. I always did. They could look like the most affluent businessman, but if they were a danger to me, I always knew. As a matter of fact, I’d had that happen in the past.
One of my night classes had been on a local campus, and it was a packed class. Most of the students had seemed and felt friendly to me, but one man hadn’t. And the craziest part was that he’d been amongst the most friendly of the class. He’d laugh and joke with others, go out to coffee with the group, and just generally seemed to get along with everyone. His eyes had looked bright and cheerful. His dress was always business casual, and I’d seen him drive home more than once in a late model, nicer car. But every time I’d been around him, my heart had pounded, my chest had tightened, cold would pulse through my body, and I would shake. Which made it dang hard to take notes and pay attention to my instructor.
I’d sit on the opposite end of the class from him, and I avoided him at all costs. Others eventually noticed my behavior, and asked me about it, but I kept my mouth shut, refusing to explain why I avoided him like the plague. I still had nightmares about the look in his eyes when he realized I could see right through him. It had only been then that I could see the eyes of a killer. Later that year, the New York news had screamed about his arrest. Eventually, he’d been convicted of fifteen counts of murder and sentenced to a life in prison without possibility of parole.
