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I mean. They just took her…
One minute she was ‘fixing her face’ in the restroom before waiting outside for a ride, the next? She was just gone. Bundled into the back of a blacked-out SUV by three guys in suits before she could even scream.
I shiver at the memory. Wishing I could bolt the front door too, but that would kinda defeat the purpose of an all-night roadhouse and diner - and the chance to earn my tips. It’s all I can think about the past few days but the same niggling something is telling me to just forget about it.
None of my business what goes on out there… Maybe her daddy just came to take her home where she belongs.
Yeah. Right.
Girl has three daddies in that case, and neither of them looking very paternal that night.
It never made the news though. I know because I’ve been watching the papers and TV like a hawk for a hint of what the fuck happened to her. Whoever she is.
Was…
The truck stop’s vacant for now. Anyone with common sense is somewhere dry and solid. Except Maybe Floyd. So I busy myself to stop the racing thoughts that go with my new and permanent anxiety since the other night. But there’s only so much wiping tables and folding napkins I can muster before I feel my teeth wanting to chew through my lower lip I’m so agitated.
I just can’t get it outta my head.
Let it go, Petra. Just do your shift and get home… Somehow. Then maybe worry about keeping your own ass off the streets instead of being a busybody.
The recent news stories, even out this way… Girls getting snatched. Sold too, some of the rougher-looking truckers will testify with a knowing look that sends chills through me every time I think it let alone hear them talking about it.
Couple of regulars do blow in, literally which helps my rising panic. Mack, a trusted local as well as a semi-retired trucker, offers to drop me home on his way back through in around six hours. Which suits me just as much as seeing some familiar faces right now.
Pouring hot coffee and cutting pie for twenty minutes is a welcome distraction. Even though I find myself staring at the spot right outside where they just snatched her.
But who would snatch a girl in broad midnight? And on a night like this, I doubt even the sickest, most depraved psycho would be out and about. So I tell myself for the hundredth time to just forget it.
My offers of free coffee refill number three are met with shakes of the head and talk of, ‘on account of mah prostate…’ from Mack whatever that means. So it isn’t long before I’m alone again.
Staring at the same spot outside again. As if that girl is just somehow gonna magically reappear the same way she went.
But it’s the image of two shadowy figures crossing over the rain-drenched spot that makes me jump. Scared out of my wits once my belly jolts, certain it’s the same two men from the other night even though it’s raining so hard I can barely make them out until they get closer.
Coming for coffee and pie? I doubt it.
They’re not our regular-looking customers. And without a truck or car in sight these guys in black suits are walking through the rain as if it’s the least of their business here tonight.
If they had dark sunglasses on, which I'm sure they have in their jacket pockets. I could swear they look like secret agents.
Both of them pause at the door, giving pinpoint glances as they study the diner then their gleaming wristwatches, as if they’re on some kind of schedule.
Stamping the mud off their feet while I dart behind the counter and duck down like a frightened rabbit, my heart in my throat. Kicking myself for staying behind alone.
Double kicking myself that the only way outta here is the door they’re blocking.
I know it’s them. The ones who snatched that girl. It’s the same creepoid vibe turned up to eleven that fills the diner and my chest.
And if they’ve come back, then there’s only one reason I can think of.
They know I saw.
Terrified to the point of feeling like I wanna get sick, I hear the diner door slamming closed loudly followed by the restroom door that squeaks so loud it gives even the most pee-shy trucker plenty of warning. The sound of a rig trails in from somewhere outside.
But it’s instantly drowned out by an ominous boom of thunder that makes the whole place shake and the lights dim again. Making it impossible for me to know if someone’s pulled in out front or maybe it’s just my mind finally unraveling for real.
There’s the measured step of wet but expensive dress boots on the linoleum floor. The low sound of a man exhaling as I feel whoever it is continuing to scan the interior of the place.
