It was already late when she walked in looking awkwardly around the room, A piano played softly in the background, she marched right up to the bar and sat a half eaten candy apple that had begun to oxidate down on it. She reached behind her head and untied the carnival mask she was wearing, her face was young, almost juvenile. "how may I be of service?" I asked. She told me her name was Mallory, and that she had been looking for someone named Stan, 'Lemonade Stan' they call him. I pointed her to the piano player, her eyes lit up as she twirled toward the piano "have a good one Mal."
"you can call me Duckie," she said with a devilish grin.
Stan looked up from the piano as she approached him and the piano music slowly came to a halt. Stan stared in awe as the ghost from his past made her way to him, and his mind flashed back to the last time he'd seen her, the day he tried to save her, the day he realized that even through the controversy he had somehow fallen for her, the day she died.
She had come into his shop with her usual antics, asking stupid questions, and making impossible demands. He had, had enough his face twisted in anger, and he'd let her have it. Her usually beautiful smile disappeared, and the brightness faded from her eyes as she turned and darted out of the shop.
Would it really be so hard to carry what she wanted? Maybe if he expanded his inventories he could reclaim some of his lost business. His face softened as reality hit of what he'd just done. It wasn't her fault his business was suffering, and he shouldn't have gotten so upset with her, after all, she wasn't always being difficult. She was the only one who had come in every day in the 3 years he had been open, on some days they had actually enjoyed one of his refreshing beverages as they sat and talked about life and the state of things. Yet he never once asked her about her strange request.
"No better time than the present," he thought as he dashed out of his shop behind her. He looked anxiously up and down the street, he feared if he didn't catch her he would never see her again.
He spotted her about a block away and sprinted toward her "Mal!" he called out to her, "Mal!" when he was close enough for her to hear "Duckie!" Finally, she turned to face him her eyes were red from crying and she looked so venerable. he walked toward her, an apology already on his tongue, he smiled at her briefly before he saw the car speeding around the corner. "Mal! look out!" he screamed as he lunged at her knocking her out of the path of the car before it slammed into him knocking him at least ten feet into the air, he landed with a sickening thud and he expected her to come running to his side to make sure he was ok, that was when he noticed another small crowd gathering around a still body across the street. Mal lay there, seemingly lifeless, as blood pooled around her head "oh God no!" he said as his own injury stole his consciousness.
"Mal?" he whispered staring in disbelief.
It had been nearly twenty years since the incident happened, but here she stood looking no older than the first time he saw her. the smell of sassafrass enveloped him and swim in his head "Mal?" he repeated, "it cant be."
She smiled softly and said "hey."
How? He wondered.
When he had come to all those years ago, the doctors had informed him that he had been in a medically induced coma for the past two months to give his brain time to heal. They explained to him that although he had escaped the car accident with merely a sprained ankle, they had found two tumors while reading over his scans that required immediate attention.
"What about Mal?" he asked.
"Who?" confusion spread across the doctors face.
"The girl, the other victim, she had to be brought in the same time as me."
"I'm sorry young man but I was on call that night and you were to only one brought in, maybe she was taken elsewhere."
When he was finally released he went from hospital to hospital, inquiring about that night, but no one fitting Mal's description had been seen at any of them.
Over that next year he had scoured the obituaries, newspaper articles, and asked any and everybody he spoke with, but to no avail, it was as if she never existed.
The whole matter left him with a sour taste in his mouth, and even after years of therapy he was bitter and drawn which gave a whole new meaning the nickname he had earned from his business.
But yet here she stood, grinning now, Stan reached out for her, he just wanted to touch her, to prove to himself that she was indeed real.
He went to stand but the room started to spin around him, his head exploded with the pain of a thousand nails being driven into his brain and as he fell into darkness her voice echoed in his mind
"GOT ANY GRAPES?".
