Victor Black - And the Garden of the Gods

Chapter 2: A Strange Hangover

At eleven o'clock in the morning, the Wild Goose hummed like a well-oiled engine. It was a favorite hangout for those who lived and worked in downtown Colorado Springs, especially the local teenagers. With its metallic, urban, downtown feel, warm oak seats, and garage door views of Pikes Peak, it welcomed everyone who entered to a hot cup of well-balanced coffee, sweet pastries, and aromatic breakfast sandwiches. There was no place more peaceful if one wanted some privacy.

The locals tended to either sleep in or head to church on Sundays. Downtown restaurants opened later, and were usually empty—something Victor and his friends preferred when nursing hangovers from weekends spent partying. Many times, on days like this, they'd show up, each wearing a hat to hide red eyes conjured from the previous night's activities. George would be behind the bar with new coffees to sample, and always managed to grab Victor's attention the minute he stepped through the door, ushering him over to the counter and offering him the newest caffeinated concoction.

Today was no different. When Victor angrily opened the door, the Wild Goose was absent the noise and commotion he left behind at the Great Church. Willow and some others had gathered on a couple sofas tucked in the far corner. They slowly sipped their drinks and tapped out messages on their malfunctioning cell phones, visibly irritated at the current outage.

The wind outside grabbed the door when Victor opened it, forcing him to rush after it. He pulled it with a jerk, creating an exaggerated bang as it slammed shut. The few people enjoying their scones and coffees jumped at the sound. Willow bounced in her seat in the corner and spilled hot chocolate on the new, blue Duke sweatshirt she bought while touring the university. She cursed and threw her hands up.

A senior woman with buzzed, frosty white hair, and a chic purple pantsuit, also looked up at Victor who jostled and tested the door behind him. She was a regular. With her head always buried in a book, she sipped what he guessed was chamomile tea. She wore a kind smile, and her eyes glinted. She looked so sweet, but never once did they speak, but they shared special hellos that they kept to themselves.

She caught his attention and smiled, but this time, her expression went blank as though she saw right into him. Victor caught on right away and cast her a second look, over his shoulder, while b-lining to the counter for a hearty cup of (what he needed badly) dark Sumatran coffee. Her expression resembled that of a worried grandmother, and her hand trembled a bit as she put the teacup to her mouth. She placed it on the table, and with a flawless index finger, motioned for him to come over.

Victor felt the hairs on the back of his neck go taught. His head pounded harder since leaving the church and making his way downtown in the thickening haze. His eyes quivered in their sockets. However, he turned to her, walked over, and put his hand out to shake hers.

"Hi. I'm Victor, by the—the way." He stuttered and extended his hand.

She took his hand, and instead of a friendly shake, she cupped it between hers, squeezing like she meant to keep it.

"We need to talk," she said with a grave look in her eye. "I'm Fiona, Victor. When you finish with your friends, do you mind hearing what an old woman has to say?"

Her eyes plead with him to answer "yes."

"You know," Victor said, "I have this awful headache, I'm not sure I'll be here long. Will you be here tomorrow?"

"I'm here every day, dearie," she smiled back. "But you should take a moment while you can. I won't take long. Also, you're right, you might not be here long, I agree."

Victor pursed his lips and squinted, carefully extracting his hand from her grip. He did his best to appear interested. She addressed him by name for the first time with a tone suggesting something other than small talk stalked her mind. Victor's heart raced as his face, and his ears grew red hot.