The Broken Date

÷7÷

Jack's POV:

“I can explain it all to you,” Mark said.

I sat up and rubbed his eyes. My neck ached. I must have been sleeping in an awkward position. “What time is it?” I asked, his voice husky, still sleep-clogged.

“It doesn't matter,” Mark said. “I can explain it all.” Mark's eyes seemed to glow, seemed to light up my dark bedroom. Moonlight through the open window made Mark's black hair sparkle.

“But what are you doing here? How did you get in?”

He came up close and grabbed my hand. He grinned a preposterously wide grin. “It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. I can explain everything.”

He began to pull me out of bed, first softly, then with more force when I resisted. “No, wait, Mark. Where are you taking me?”

His eyes glowed fiery red. He suddenly looked like some sort of demon to me. His grin grew wider, as if it would swallow his entire face. “I want to explain it all, Jack. I can explain everything.”

He was pulling me to the window.

“I want to you to understand,” he said, still grinning. “I don't want you to be upset with me.”

“But where are we going?” I asked, tugging out of his grasp.

“I'll show you. Get dressed.”

A few seconds later I was dressed. We were out my bedroom window, then walking in the night chill in a neighborhood I'd never visited.

“I want to explain it all,” Mark repeated. Now his eyes glowed royal blue, then purple, and the moon made his slicked-back black wave of hair look as hard as a statue’s.

“But where are we?” I asked, already filled with doubt, already sorry I'd agreed to sneak out and accompany him to his strange neighborhood of run-down, low buildings and garbage-strewn walks, of narrow, cluttered alleys, and open windows with loud, unfamiliar music blaring.

“You'll see,” he whispered, grinning like a panting dog. “You'll see.”

We stopped at the doorway to an all-night cafeteria. Inside, the light were bright, almost too bright, a white light that made me close my eyes and turn my head. “Here we are,” he said.

His grin wasn't at all familiar to me. Something about him had changed. In fact, everything about him had changed. “Who are you?” I asked.

He placed a finger on my lips to silence me.

We peered through the smeared glass doorway into the cafeteria. The little man at the cashier's counter was the only person there. The chairs were all upended on the long rows of tables. The food had been put away.

“Let's go in. I can explain,” Mark said, squeezing my arm. He's never squeezed my arm that way before.

“I really don't want to,” I said, pulling back as he slid open the door.

He looked hurt. “But I want to explain. I need to explain.”

I followed him into the cafeteria. We walked up to the cashier's counter. I gasped. The little man counting a stack of bills behind the cash register looked so much like the manager at the Diamond Ranch.

“I can explain,” Mark said. I saw for the first time that he had a shiny silver pistol in his hand. He handed it to me and pulled another pistol from his denim jacket.

I stared at the pistol in my hand. It felt hot and moist from his palm. “No,” I said. “Please, Mark. I don't want to do this.”

A grin was his only reply.