Day After Day

Kayleigh Bevan: Part 1

"Samael," he said. "But most people end up calling me Samuel so I usually go by Sam."

"Well, Sam," I said. "Thanks for showing me the way. I just moved here so I'm still figuring things out."

"Where are you from?"

"Maine," I said.

In the beginning, I woke up as a girl with the flu. It's a shame that the last day that girl got to spend alive was curled in bed with a bucket beside her. She had a collection of Stephen King novels and I spent all day reading. Ever since, when a stranger asks me where I am from I say Maine. I don't know if I've even been to Maine. Luckily this Canadian town was on the border, so an American did not seem out of place.

"What's a girl from Maine doing in Canada?" he asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Apparently I like change."

Sam chuckled and took another sip of his coffee. As we walked, we turned a few corners. I was relieved he was walking with me. If he gave me directions I probably would have still been lost.

"Who are you visiting?" Sam asked as he gestured to my tray of two coffees. "Already made a few friends?"

"Yeah," I said. "I'm just going to visit him."

"Him?" he asked. "Is this a potential boyfriend?"

"No, not at all. We're just doing some work together."

"You're a student?"

I nodded my head. Sam was starting to enter question territory. I never liked this. I was going to have to keep it as vague as possible.

"Where? What do you take?" he asked.

"Brock University." I remembered the university that I had to spend yesterday at as Courtney. "I'm an English major."

English seemed like a safe bet. Every school had an English program.

"You moved in the middle of the semester?" he asked.

Shit.

My story was already starting to fall apart.

"No," I said. "I moved here at the beginning of the semester. I just don't leave my apartment much. I have had a lot of assignments."

I gave him a giggle. Hopefully, I could just play this off as some kind of quirky introvert.

"Are we almost there?" I asked.

"We're on Ventura now," he said.

I looked over at the house to my left. There was an 11 painted on the mailbox at the end of the driveway.

"Thank you," I said. "The house I am looking for is right up here."

"I'll keep walking with you," Sam said. "My house is up there too. I must live by your friend."

I passed by the houses until I got to number thirty-three. The house stood out from the other houses on the street. The other homes seemed like they would house the typical American family of five. This house had a lawn with weeds spread out over the long grass. The paint on the white fence was flaking off and I could see more weeds growing between the slats. There was a screen door, but half of the hinges were not connected. A line of beer bottles sat along the window sill.

My hopes of this guy actually being able to help me were gone. He was probably just some drunk college student looking for free coffee and to charge people obsessed with conspiracy theories. Worst case scenario, Kayleigh's roommate has lost twenty dollars and Kayleigh is thrown out of a stranger's house on the last day of her life.

"This is my friend's house," I told Sam. "Thank you again."

"What are you doing tonight?" he asked.

"Excuse me?"

"What are you doing tonight?" he asked again. "I think you're nice. I want to go out with you tonight."

"Oh, sorry I'm busy," I said. "Thank you though."

I started walking up the gravel driveway to the house. I tried to hurry before Sam could ask me any more questions.

"Kayleigh, wait!" I heard Sam call out.

He grabbed my elbow, and I ripped it out of his grip. I ran to the driveway. The coffee was spilling out of the top of the cup, and dropping on top of my hand. My skin burned as I banged on the door with my other fist.

I looked over my shoulder to see how close Sam was behind me. My chest heaved as he was no longer there. I looked down the street, but I couldn't see him. He must have ran away knowing that he acted like a jerk.

The door creaked, and I looked back to see the front door swing open. A man was standing in the doorway. His hair was shaved down, and I could see a sleeve of tattoos sticking out from his shirt. He furrowed his eyebrows when he looked at the tray in my hands.

"You're late, and you spilled the coffee," he said. He pushed the door open wider and took a step to the side. "Come in, anyways."