turned his head deliberately, let his eyes, obscured by the
sunglasses, fall on Maxwell’s name tag. “Maxwell.” He let the name drag out,
somewhere between flirtation and annoyance.
“I’ll
get that and be back to take your lunch order.”
“Well,”
Haley asked at the coffee pot. She was ignoring her own tables.
“Coffee.
Black. If that’s not a sure sign he’s the devil, I don’t know what is.”
“You’re
hopeless. Maybe he’ll ask you out,” Haley added as she flitted away to check on
her own customers.
Maxwell
returned and filled the cup with coffee. “Ready to order?”
“You
have amazing eyes,” the man said, and he peeled his sunglasses away.
For
just a moment, Maxwell stared into eyes as green as his own. A pang shot
through his head, behind his eyes, like a thunderclap rattling through a
valley. Maxwell averted his gaze away from the eyes. “Thanks,” he muttered.
“Your order?”
“What
do you suggest?”
Maxwell
felt the pain behind his eyes shooting down his limbs, like a tuning fork,
struck against the table. “The daily special. It’s an omelet.”
“No.” The
man smiled. “I want something sweet and sticky. Pancakes. Lots of whip cream.”
“It’ll
just be a few minutes.” The words fell out of Maxwell’s mouth in a jumble as he
turned away from the table.
Haley
stopped him as he entered his order. “You look sick. What’d he do?”
“I feel sick. He’s—I don’t know.
Something’s wrong.” Maxwell finished entering the order and darted away from
the counter into the back of the diner. He entered the storage closet, pulling
the door shut behind him as he caught his breath. The headache was now raging.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Images flooded his mind of the man at
the table—with a woman—in a car. The woman was frightened. She fought with the
handle to the car door and fell out. Maxwell could feel her fear.
And the
man’s desire. The desire to taste her blood.
“Fuck,”
Maxwell mumbled. Why does this happen to
me?
Haley
waited for him as he exited the storage closet. “He left.”
“What?”
“That
customer. He just stood up and left. I think he paid. He dropped something on
the table.”
Maxwell
pushed past Haley. He hesitated just a moment at the table. Two dollars lay on
the top, but he could see that a piece of paper was under the money. He
unfolded the paper and read the text scribbled on it: You can run. But you
can’t hide.
“What
is it?” Haley asked over his shoulder.
Maxwell
shoved the note in his apron. “His number. Guess I scared him off.” He faked a
smile, but he could tell Haley saw through it.
Maxwell
turned away from her quickly, and images on the television tucked in the corner
of the diner caught his eye. He walked closer to the television to hear the
news report. “An update on the story that began yesterday with a grisly
discovery in White Birch State Forest. It started when Darrin Nichols, of Birch
Grove, went in search of his wife, Jenna Nichols, who was out for her morning
jog,” the reporter on the television fired off the lead-in with an emotionless
urgency. Maxwell tapped Haley as the reporter continued the story. Behind the
reporter, Maxwell could see the woods and the yellow police line tape snapping
in the wind. “Instead of finding his wife, he found Rebecca Kemper who was
badly injured.” They flashed a picture of Rebecca. “Jenna Nichols is currently
missing.” Maxwell watched as a photo of Jenna Nichols appeared on the screen.
“We’ll keep you up-to-date as the story unfolds.” Maxwell turned away from the
television as the local Chicago news report ended.
“Haley,”
he whispered to her. “That woman, Rebecca. That guy who was just here? He’s the
one who hurt her.”
“How do
you know?” She asked, but her voice told him she already knew.
“I got
a flash from him. But I saw him with her .”
“I wish
you could tell the police.”
Maxwell
put his hand up and
sunglasses, fall on Maxwell’s name tag. “Maxwell.” He let the name drag out,
somewhere between flirtation and annoyance.
“I’ll
get that and be back to take your lunch order.”
“Well,”
Haley asked at the coffee pot. She was ignoring her own tables.
“Coffee.
Black. If that’s not a sure sign he’s the devil, I don’t know what is.”
“You’re
hopeless. Maybe he’ll ask you out,” Haley added as she flitted away to check on
her own customers.
Maxwell
returned and filled the cup with coffee. “Ready to order?”
“You
have amazing eyes,” the man said, and he peeled his sunglasses away.
For
just a moment, Maxwell stared into eyes as green as his own. A pang shot
through his head, behind his eyes, like a thunderclap rattling through a
valley. Maxwell averted his gaze away from the eyes. “Thanks,” he muttered.
“Your order?”
“What
do you suggest?”
Maxwell
felt the pain behind his eyes shooting down his limbs, like a tuning fork,
struck against the table. “The daily special. It’s an omelet.”
“No.” The
man smiled. “I want something sweet and sticky. Pancakes. Lots of whip cream.”
“It’ll
just be a few minutes.” The words fell out of Maxwell’s mouth in a jumble as he
turned away from the table.
Haley
stopped him as he entered his order. “You look sick. What’d he do?”
“I feel sick. He’s—I don’t know.
Something’s wrong.” Maxwell finished entering the order and darted away from
the counter into the back of the diner. He entered the storage closet, pulling
the door shut behind him as he caught his breath. The headache was now raging.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Images flooded his mind of the man at
the table—with a woman—in a car. The woman was frightened. She fought with the
handle to the car door and fell out. Maxwell could feel her fear.
And the
man’s desire. The desire to taste her blood.
“Fuck,”
Maxwell mumbled. Why does this happen to
me?
Haley
waited for him as he exited the storage closet. “He left.”
“What?”
“That
customer. He just stood up and left. I think he paid. He dropped something on
the table.”
Maxwell
pushed past Haley. He hesitated just a moment at the table. Two dollars lay on
the top, but he could see that a piece of paper was under the money. He
unfolded the paper and read the text scribbled on it: You can run. But you
can’t hide.
“What
is it?” Haley asked over his shoulder.
Maxwell
shoved the note in his apron. “His number. Guess I scared him off.” He faked a
smile, but he could tell Haley saw through it.
Maxwell
turned away from her quickly, and images on the television tucked in the corner
of the diner caught his eye. He walked closer to the television to hear the
news report. “An update on the story that began yesterday with a grisly
discovery in White Birch State Forest. It started when Darrin Nichols, of Birch
Grove, went in search of his wife, Jenna Nichols, who was out for her morning
jog,” the reporter on the television fired off the lead-in with an emotionless
urgency. Maxwell tapped Haley as the reporter continued the story. Behind the
reporter, Maxwell could see the woods and the yellow police line tape snapping
in the wind. “Instead of finding his wife, he found Rebecca Kemper who was
badly injured.” They flashed a picture of Rebecca. “Jenna Nichols is currently
missing.” Maxwell watched as a photo of Jenna Nichols appeared on the screen.
“We’ll keep you up-to-date as the story unfolds.” Maxwell turned away from the
television as the local Chicago news report ended.
“Haley,”
he whispered to her. “That woman, Rebecca. That guy who was just here? He’s the
one who hurt her.”
“How do
you know?” She asked, but her voice told him she already knew.
“I got
a flash from him. But I saw him with her .”
“I wish
you could tell the police.”
Maxwell
put his hand up and
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