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Sal did his best to keep this room as it was, with a thick cherry wood desk to the left and two modern chairs that are replicas from an era long past. Behind the desk is a floor to ceiling bookshelf, and in front of it is the most comfortable desk chair. It’s where I head now to work on closing the drawer as the office door clicks shut behind me. I feel safer in here, tucked away, probably because there isn’t a window in this room.
It’s a simple task that I should concentrate on, something that I’d accomplish under normal circumstances, but my exhausted brain reminds me that those suits also knew my name. With cash spread out in piles before me, I drop my head into my hands and rub at my skin.
Sal told them, or Autumn, that’s the only answer.
The past, my past, however, keeps reminding me that everyone is a foe until proven otherwise. It’s okay to feel suspicious of people because not everyone has your best interests at heart. People are selfish, needy, and toxic on the best of days.
Tips. I can focus on tips.
I split the lingering tables by time spent and slide Autumn’s tips into her lock box before pocketing mine, then I go back to focusing on the cash laid out before me. Sal usually has to close the drawer out twice a day at the end of the main shifts. Once at three, then again at eleven.
A thud just outside the door makes my head jerk around quickly.
There is a phenomenon called hypervigilance, where someone can perceive threats. Milo made me watch a documentary on it the year before. Scientists spoke in their monotone voices throughout the hour it played, but one thing stuck out to me, one that slams into me now. Scientists believe it’s due to evolution, when humans had to watch their backs for predators and we were still prey.
Hunters and gatherers had to become hypervigilant of their surroundings, listening for predators stalking them through thick grass or up in trees.
They described an electric current in the air, one that would brush against the person, alerting them to danger.
As I sit in that comfortable chair and stare at the wooden door, the hair on my body rises. In the process, I feel an electric tingle ghost across my senses. It’s a feeling of something innately wrong.
For the first time, I wish this room had a window I could escape out of and run as fast and as far away as possible. The ceiling isn’t paneled, so there’s no ductwork to flee out of, and there isn’t a single hiding place in this office.
Fear explodes over my tongue with the bitter taste of adrenaline, and saliva fills my mouth. I sit in the chair, frozen in shock, unsure what to do.
Licking my dry lips, I drop the wad of tens on the desk and spin ever so slowly to face the door. My legs hang over the edge, heavy and tired, almost refusing my demand to get up. Breathing takes every ounce of my awareness until I finally stand.
My comfort conscious shoes squeak slightly as I walk across the room, my heart pounding. Pressing against the side of the door, I angle my body to prevent shadows from darkening the spill of light under the door.
I close my eyes and blow out a steady breath, and then I reach for the door handle. My palms slide against the cool metal as my eyes open, and I turn it as silently as possible.
Heart thundering in my chest, I let the door creak open so I can peer through the crack. From my angle, I can only see the backdoor.
Fear slithers through me as I see the milk crate from earlier propping the door open. Cool air brushes my sweaty forehead, chilling my skin.
I shut that door.
Didn’t I? My vision tunnels as I reflect on the moment I walked in through the back. I kicked the milk crate to the side, so the door remained shut for the evening.
Did Autumn leave it open?
No one here smokes, so there’s no reason to go out back. I can’t remember if the door was open or shut when I went to check my phone not a half hour earlier. Surely I would have felt the cool air. No, it’s absolutely something I would have felt.
Someone is in the diner that shouldn’t be here.
Fear is a strange emotion. It can freeze you up and force you to hide. It can drive you forward to seek answers you don’t want or need. Fear has a taste and a scent that lashes at your brain so you never forget it again, like tart cherries and vodka.
Do I run? Sal.
I’m not brave. I’m not fearless. The hardest thing I ever did was pack up my little brother and move across the state. I don’t run into traffic. I don’t even run into relationships, preferring to focus on the things I can control over those I can’t.
Except I won’t leave Sal. He’s been too kind to me. Too good. He gave me a job in a small town when everyone else turned me away. He set me up with Mr. Benson, giving me a home to call our own. He even bought me the kitchen table Milo and Tatum ate at earlier.
Bracing myself for the unknown and hoping I’m overreacting, I creep out of the office to peer around the doorframe. Down the hall, past the bathrooms, I can just make out the dining room that sits in ambient lighting from the night-lights.
With careful steps, I make my way down the dimly lit hall toward the kitchen where I left Sal. Luckily, the swinging door broke last week, and it’s still sitting against the wall where he left it, promising to fix it.
A cry makes me pause against the wall, just out of sight.Sal.
