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Lewis shrugs and looks over the giant cash register receipt as if I’ve insulted his generous offer of finishing ten minutes early.
“I’ll go get my stuff together,” I add to try and show my gratitude. I’m about to leave the kitchen and make my way into the office when I notice one of the bin bags hasn’t been taken out. I shake my head at the unknown culprit and grab the bag.
I head out the back. The bin area is dark enough to feel a little sinister. I leave the back door open so the light from the kitchen illuminates the little courtyard. I step over a puddle that’s the result of an earlier shower and tiptoe over to the large industrial bin that is nearly as tall as I am. The lid is heavy, and I have to put the bag down and use both hands to lift it. The lid swings up, and I haul the bag in, hearing the thump as it hits the bottom of the almost empty bin. I wipe my hands down the side of my apron. The rainwater left its mark on everything.
I turn to leave with a small feeling of relief that the day is nearly done when I walk straight into a man standing behind me.
“Hello, Chloe.” The voice leaves me speechless. The grip of his hands on my shoulders renders me immobile. Fourteen years and he still has this effect on me. From the moment I met him, I’d known he was different, that he wasn’t what he seemed.
“Carl?” I question, even though I know the answer. I try to pull against his hands, but it is useless. He’s strong, a lot stronger than before. “What are you doing here?”
“Talking to you.” He takes a step forward and pushes me up against the side of the bin.
“This isn’t talking,” I manage to say. I try to shake myself free while staring over his shoulder into the coffee shop’s kitchen. The door is still open. He follows my gaze but then quickly looks back at me, a thin smile on his lips revealing the yellow of his teeth.
“I want to know what you have been saying to Cora,” Carl demands.
“I haven’t said anything.” I squirm. I’m willing Lewis to hurry up with the cash register, come into the kitchen, and see the door open.
“Liar, liar, Chloe.” He sings with about as much musicality as nails down a blackboard. “I know you spoke to her, she told me.”
“I bet she didn’t tell you she came here and punched me in the face or that she put a fucking brick through my window.” He seems to ignore this as he presses his face closer to mine. I turn away, trying not to breathe him in.
“And why the fuck was she here in the first place? What have you done?”
“I haven’t done anything. Do you really think I’d be that stupid?” I spit. “She said she came here because she didn’t know where you were one night, so she presumed you were with me. That doesn’t bode well for her trusting you, does it?” He pushes harder against me, and I must rein myself in. It will not do to antagonize him. “Look, I left the café. I let her believe all the bullshit you told her about me coming on to you. I have a new job, and I’m quite happy with the idea of never seeing either of you again.”
“The only problem is you know too much.” His voice is like an electric eel squirming in a bucket of water.
“I won’t say anything. I haven’t said anything, even when Cora was pulling my fucking hair.”
“I know, but I also know Cora, and she won’t let it drop. I thought this might work, you and me in the same locality, but so far, it’s caused me nothing but grief.”
His mouth is inches from my ear as I twist my head further away. I want to close my eyes, but I’m still staring at the light inside the kitchen, praying Lewis can hear my silent cries for help.
“And this means, Chloe, that you’re a problem. A huge fucking problem.” Something leaves me. Is it fear? Is it the last remaining fight I have in me? It’s as if my brain knows this is the last hurdle, the scene I’ve imagined since the last day I saw Carl in the café. And I know it’s been coming.
“Did you think I’d forgotten, Chloe? Hmm, did you think what you did to me might have slipped my mind?” He pushes his forehead against mine, pressing my head against the back of the bin. “When I first saw you that day in the café, I was almost willing to let it all go for the sake of what I’ve managed to build up. But it’s difficult. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve imagined this. You, me.” His grip on my shoulders tightens, and it’s time.
“Revenge, they say, is sweet, but I’m not sure you could describe what I’m about to do as sweet.” I don’t even have time to open my mouth as his head flings back and then forward, smashing into mine. The pain is subliminal. The impact from the front of his head on my forehead burns, as does the smash of the back of my head against the bin. My legs buckle, and the light from the kitchen blurs as my eyes refuse to focus.
He lets go of me, and my body crumples in on itself, the dampness on the cement soaking into my tights as I hit the ground. He stands over me, smiling. He has been waiting so long. Like me, he has been picturing this for years and is finally getting his chance.
He pulls something from his pocket. I see a flash of light. Whatever it is, it is for me. It might as well have my name on it. I place my hands on either side of me. I should try to make a stand and run for it, but that would only make it worse. I try regardless, instinct kicking in, my survival mode trying to override my pain and dizziness. My hands scramble on the wet surface, my shoes refusing to grip the ground. Carl steps closer, the shining object in his hand becomes clearer as my eyes adjust. The blade is long and sharp. It would be practical in a kitchen, a normal object you wouldn’t think twice about if someone were standing in front of you holding one, but outside in this dark recess, it is a weapon with one purpose only.
“No.” My hands shoot up as if to grab it, but he’s too quick. He has the advantage.Some things never change.
“Don’t make this hard for yourself. You must have known it was coming.” My hands move to shield my face when a voice flies from the kitchen door.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
In a synchronized flash, my head swivels around with Carl’s. Lewis comes bounding out of the kitchen, his face awash with uncertainty. What does he see? A woman on the ground, a stranger standing over her.
“I’ve called the police,” Lewis calls. Has he seen the knife? He can’t have. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be so keen to intervene, yet he claims he has called the cops.
“Lewis, don’t,” I begin, but it’s too late.
Carl raises his hand. Lewis brings his arm up as if mirroring Carl’s movement. Lewis doesn’t strike me as the fighting type, but he doesn’t appear to be shying away from the confrontation. Lewis goes to grab Carl, a frightened look in his eye as if he’s only doing his duty. Carl doesn’t miss a beat.
