Chapter 3 - The Blonde Man
|
The morning shift at the diner started at exactly 6:30, and Mrs. Fam had been in the kitchen long before that. The owner was small and wiry in a grease-stained apron, possessing the kind of sharp, knowing eyes worn by someone who had lived long enough on the streets to know when to speak and when to shut up.
That day, Mrs. Fam didn't shut up.
Brier had barely hung her faded apron on the hook by the breakroom when Mrs. Fam was beside her. The older woman's voice was low and quick, looking out through the front glass door the whole time, as if she were talking to somebody else entirely.
"A blonde guy came asking about you yesterday."
Brier's hand closed tightly around the metal handle of a frying pan.
"Smiled too much," Mrs. Fam continued, aggressively wiping the counter with a rag. "Asked what shift you work. Where you live. And what kind of dog you've got that's so damn big."
Mrs. Fam paused, turning her sharp gaze to Brier.
"I told him I didn't know. But you ought to know I don't like men who smile too much."
Brier didn't answer. Her knuckles went completely white around the pan handle, and they stayed white through the whole grueling shift, while the industrial stove grew blistering hot and her fingers stayed freezing cold.
Her body remembered before her conscious mind did. Her body remembered that specific shade of blonde hair. Her body remembered that chilling, empty smile. Her body remembered a heavy hand resting on her throat—not squeezing, just resting there, light and casual, so she would understand it could close and end her life whenever it wanted.
That light touch had always been worse than any punch, because it meant he owned her and wanted her to know it.
May you like
Seven years. She had run seven years ago. Still, her hands went numb without warning. Still, her heart beat frantically in her throat instead of her chest at the mere mention of his description.
She never told Mrs. Fam who the man was. She just kept her head down, flipping eggs and pouring coffee, praying to a God she hadn't spoken to in years that it was just a terrible coincidence. But she knew better. Silas had found them.
