A Nightmare's Fate

Playing in the Park

Chapter Eighteen: Playing in the Park

Everyone is lost. I'm still looking for the switch to turn on the light through this dark world I live in; but my fingers just skim the wall, not touching any source of buttons or anything to shine the light to show me the way. And truthfully, no one knows their way, even if they have what is called a "perfect" life. They may not be miserable, but they are lost.

            Wanting to know what is going on with Freddy and Errik, I try my hardest to ignore what happened the other day. I don't need to know what happened with them, do I? Of course not. But Freddy's words pry into my thoughts: He's a bad person . . .

            What is it that makes Errik bad? If he is a bad guy, why is he? Why can't he tell me the truth? Is he lying to me that there is nothing wrong? And why does he always look tense when I ask him how he is or what is wrong? I do want to be friends with Errik, it's like he's the key to my recovery. But lying to me or keeping a secret isn't helping my case.

            Pacing back and forth in the kitchen, I try to think of a solution to the trust issue. Sure, trust is always good, but there are plenty of things I hide from him. How I've cut myself, drank until my body went numb, stepped on broken glass on purpose to escape the reality of my father's death, cried myself to sleep every night, and wanting to commit suicide. Though, I have one problem: telling a person all of these isn't going to help me. It's either going to worry Errik, make him back away from me because I'm a psycho, or he's going to feel sorry for me and make me go through a therapist and get checked out to see if there is anything wrong with me.

            Besides, if I'm the one who's doing that, then how bad can Errik's lie be?

            I stand behind the island and place my palms on each side, stretching out my arms. I want to be friends with Errik, but how will I when we don't hang out or know each other well? As I go through my memories and thoughts, I remember him saying that he works as a chef and being the owner for the restaurant Shaulls.

            Rushing over to the computer, I type in the name on the internet and it shows the building and its title in Hoboken, New Jersey. Closing the tab and going upstairs, I get out of my white pajamas with green pickles on them and change into a red sweater and blue jeans with black high heel boots. I brush my hair and put in a ponytail and wear the gorgeous, raven necklace I got from Kenton and my father.

            Heading back down stairs, I grab the car keys, and get into the black beetle in the garage. Putting the mechanism into the ignition, I turn it as the vehicle starts.

            Finally arriving at Shaulls, it's a cute restaurant with metal tables outside and umbrellas with each one. As there is snow on the ground, it covers them, so no one is out here. I walk inside, kicking some of the snow out of the way and going through the door. I'm greeted by a male host, wearing a black tuxedo. He has slick, black hair and blue eyes, he's white skinned and very tall. He appears to be no older than thirty; no wrinkles and a face that doesn't look to be younger than twenty-eight I suppose.

            Smiling at me, he politely states, "Ma'am, our restaurant is closed." He has a very, thick Boston accent.

            There are walls surrounding us, but there is only one entry through the restaurant which is through a doorway with a black sheet hanging down, so I cannot tell what the rest of the restaurant looks like. "I'm here to see Errik. Errik Shaulls; I was wondering if you know where I can find him? I know he owns and works at this place––" I get cut off by his hand.