Devil's Halo

Chapter 2 (Evangeline): Illusions?

"And how'd that go?" I tried at the eyebrow raise but, as usual, it must've come across like half my face was paralyzed because Ren burst into a fit of laughter. I sighed and threw my head back on the headrest.

"No changing the subject. You can't just risk your safety for the sake of someone else, Evie," Ren pressed, her voice carrying a mix of concern and frustration. Ren's empathy, I knew, had its limits, especially when it came to what she saw as taking unnecessary risks.

"You don't know that," I countered softly, the weight of the night's events bearing heavily on my shoulders. My decision to help the homeless man, to change my route for his sake, didn't feel like a mistake to me. The gratitude in his eyes was a moment of human connection I cherished, even as the rest of the evening spiraled into unforeseen chaos.

Ren's gripped the steering wheel. "I'm not debating this with you. It's Skid Row. Do I need to bring Martha into this?"

"Please, just take me home. And next time you ditch me for some guy, make sure I have a way back," I muttered, my words carrying a mix of frustration and resignation.

A moment of silence followed, heavy with unspoken apologies. "You could've Ubered," she finally whispered with a hint of guilt.

The remainder of the ride home continued in silence, each of us lost in our thoughts. She pulled up to my apartment and we said our goodbyes.

I watched her car disappeared into the night and stood for a moment outside the apartment building, the unease from earlier still clinging to me like a second skin. The building itself straddled two worlds—the north street one entry to Skid Row, the south, middle class. Pushing through the lobby, I quickened my pace, eager to distance myself from the shadows of Greenbelt Avenue and the questions swirling in my head.

The quiet elevator ride to the fifth floor didn't help my racing thoughts. Once inside my apartment, I immediately locked the door behind me, the click of the deadbolt a small comfort. Chewie, my faithful little companion, greeted me with a wagging tail and joyful barks.

I knelt to embrace him. "Hey, Chewie," I whispered, burying my face in his fur, finding solace in his unconditional love. After a moment of much-needed affection, I made my way to the kitchen to prepare a cup of hot tea, hoping to soothe my frazzled nerves.

The kettle hissed and steamed, its whistle breaking the silence of the apartment as I replayed the night's events. The shadows, the fear, Ren's rescue—was it all a product of my imagination? My mind refused to settle, each memory sparking more questions than answers.

Wrapped in a blanket, I curled up on the couch, the warm mug cradled in my hands, when the door opened. Brad stepped in, the epitome of charisma and confidence. His handsome features were underscored by a smug smile, his arms laden with a mini cake and a bottle of wine.

"Happy 21st, babe," he announced, setting down his offerings on the coffee table. My eyes couldn't help but notice the cake—half-eaten, a testament to Brad's thoughtfulness, or lack thereof.

"Got stuck in traffic," he continued, noticing my gaze. "Figured I'd start the celebration early." His laugh was easy, unfazed by the situation, as if the state of the cake was a minor detail, unworthy of concern.

Despite everything, my heart softened. "Thanks, Brad," I managed, the unease momentarily displaced by the semblance of normalcy he brought.

Brad opened the wine, pouring us each a glass. "Now that you're legal, we can celebrate properly." He raised his glass, a self-satisfied grin spreading across his face, oblivious to my steaming cup of tea I'd already made.

I forced a smile and sipped the wine, the liquid warmth spreading through me. The comfort it offered was superficial. The events of the night lingered, a shadow over the celebration.