Page 17 of Burn for the Devil
“But you have to let me live my life.” I glanced around the restaurant, watching the other diners and wondering if anyonefelt as jailed as I did. Lifting my gaze, I looked for the sparrows I’d seen earlier. Oddly, they all sat perfectly still and silent now.
“I know you want to be free, want your independence, but you’re all we have left.” I picked at my food while I listened to her. She had no idea just how badly I wanted to be free. I wanted to be as unchained as the slight breeze that drifted around our table caressing my legs. My skin prickled as the draft skittered across my shoulders creating the sensation it was sentient, touching me on purpose.
She took a quick sip of her water. “Now, I know the best little shop for your dress. The pieces are stunning.”
My mother rambled on about tailors and jewelers she wanted me to visit before my date. The feeling of being watched, having a pair of eyes on me, began to haunt me, causing me to cast furtive glances throughout our surroundings yet again. My heart thudded in my chest with an unanswered anticipation of someone revealing themselves.
Chad returned to our table, right beside me. “May I get anything else for you two gorgeous women?” My mother blushed. So, help me, sheblushed.
“No thank you.” I smiled up at him as I felt something brush my thigh.
He stood beside our table for a moment and then cleared his throat. My mother placed a credit card on a small porcelain plate and Chad took his leave. “What a cutie,” she said.
“Mom, please. What’s come over you? You felt differently ten minutes ago.” Our server was young enough to be her grandson. Possibly. Maybe? It occurred to me that perhaps she was behaving this way in an attempt to influence me to date, as long as it wasn’t a server.
“He was sweet,” she stated. “There’s other fine men out there, you’ll find one if you look.”
I sighed and shook my head. Gathering my cloth napkin, I felt a piece of paper. Keeping it on my lap, I unfolded it. Chad had written his phone number in messy script and included a brief note to contact him. He’d added a small heart with a flourish. The note-passing was very middle-school of him but my mother was intimidating if you didn’t know her.
Sometimes, even if you did.
“Chad slipped me his number.” I let out a short giggle. “Adorable.”
Another light breeze floated through the room, competing with the warm air from the hidden space heaters. The birds above the netting beat their wings, all appearing to come to life at once rather than the slow meandering they’d been engaged in before they’d been frozen like statues just a mere few minutes ago.
My mom gave me a warning look, as if I would call the guy and take him up on his offer. Maybe a one-night stand? The thought wasn’t a bad one. It had been a while since I’d engaged in any pleasurable physical contact. Chad was quite good looking and had a nice body, what I could see of it through his clothes. I tucked the paper square in my purse, just in case. I’d planned on disposing of his contact information, but it could come in handy.
“Your father and I will be there too.” I drew my attention back to my mom when she spoke. “At the opera. Pay attention.”
“Sorry,” I muttered. The pressure increased, the weight of pleasing my mother and father and living up to their expectations resuming center stage again. I forced myself to sit up straight.
She pulled her phone from her pocketbook. “I’ll make us an appointment; we shouldn’t need too many alterations, you’re still slim.” My mother took over, arranging for our outfits as well as a private booking for jewelry.
“I have a necklace,” I exclaimed softly, remembering. The opera was the perfect opportunity to wear the mysteriously gifted piece.
“You need new jewelry. You have to make a good impression.”
I laughed. “Trust me on this one—I have just the thing.” She raised her brow and stood up, signaling our leave. I grasped her forearm. “Please, trust me.”
“Hm. If you say so.”
Keeping my arm looped with hers, we worked our way toward the entrance. A piercing scream broke the background noise of soft chatter and lighthearted voices just as we stepped outdoors. Someone went running past us, making enough contact with my shoulder to cause me to stumble slightly. My mother’s hand raised to her mouth, and I followed her gaze when we drifted forward.
My legs moved of their own accord, my mom gasping beside me. Our server, Chad, laid prone on the sidewalk. A deep, wide ribbon of red graced his throat, blood gurgling and forming a pool around his shoulders and head. I choked, my hand quickly covering my lips.
His hands were covered with body fluids, both at his neck, as if he’d tried to stem the flow. His panic-stricken eyes met mine before they closed, and my vision faded.
My mother caught me before I could fall. An emergency worker asked me a few questions, and then a policewoman, because the deceased had been our server. It kept running through my mind, the small note in my purse.
I can never call that number; I can never call that number. Like a mantra, the phrase repeated on a loop in my mind.
They told me it was shock and gave me the phone number for a therapist. I crumbledthatnumber and kept Chad’s in my purselike a classified secret. I’d had more than enough therapy; I knew what to do.
I was sitting in the back of a police car, away from the crowds and reporters when I glanced up, away from Chad’s sheet-covered body. Wiping the tears from my eyes, my gaze met a pair of green ones. Two bright, glittering emeralds. He stood there, several feet away and somehow on the wrong side of the yellow police tape. A warmth caressed me under the soft weight of his stare, as if his hand had smoothed across my skin, reaching over the distance separating us. It was the man from my shop; the reason I’d had Toni order new books and manuals. Busy figures crossed in front of me, breaking our contact. He was gone before I could ask him who he was. After I rose from the plastic seat, I exited the car, and swiveled my head. I searched for the tall man, but he’d vanished like an apparition in the morning mist.
“Ma’am. Ma’am? You can’t be here.” A uniformed officer guided his hand to the small of my back, corralling me and halting my wandering.
Confused, I turned. “I was being questioned.”