I'm editing this by next Saturday. For now, enjoy this version :)
Dedication to Hendrixx for her story Lady and the Wolf.
I’m late.
Oh god, I’m late. Again.
Parker is going to skin me alive. Absentmindedly, I touch the burn mark on my elbow after experiencing with the fryer, the boss warned me if I ever mess up again he’ll make my life full of torturous pain. I picked up my pace to The Wonderland and safely wrapped my cotton scarf around my neck after a chilling wind blew past me. It was that time of the year again, season of death. Reason being is that Old Roacher becomes a ghost town when the living souls stay inside their warm home, wrapped in their blankets to the point of sweltering to beat the cold.
Winter, as some people would correct me or as Parker put it, “Nature’s regeneration period.” But I scoffed at them once I gaze at the view outside; wilted flowers graying the ground, bare trees with skin of dull brown, and the cloudless sky resembling a mono color. However once I get inside the café, death feels like a wrong adjective for winter.
Beauty would fit more.
The world becomes beautiful, I thought as I kicked a pebble out of my path. “Beautiful in a form of tragedy, I wonder how many people just connect with winter.” Another blow of wind made me shiver in my thick layer of clothing. I changed my pace to a light jog once I seen the café at my view, and in less than a minute I’m through the front door, instinctively getting my apron from behind a counter.
An extremely annoyed voice asked me, “Now where have you been, Summer?” His tone emphasized my name and created a shudder to my bones when I turned around to see a pissed off Parker with arms crossed in front of his chest. He decided to dye his hair from a chocolaty brown to the dark shade of my hair, and even possible, darker to match the new theme of The Wonderland.
Inside the restaurant, the colors reversed and the furniture is now black and the walls are painted white and the floor still remained the dark wooden color. Parker added a second-story for the very important people, making sure to add a luxurious aura with the café.
I touched the side of my neck and tried to create an excuse, “I’m sorry Parks, it’s an honest person’s mistake.”
He glared at me. “You’re working at the second-story until two hours past midnight.” My eyes widen and I scowled. Of course I would expect a vendetta from you if you gave me the second-story of all things.
“Peachy,” I outranked his level of irritation and walked to retrieve another color of apron—which indicates our shift—and fixed my ebony hair into a tight ponytail with only a few strands of hair escaping from the clutches of the elastic tie. I breathed deeply.
It was five o’clock in the evening and people off work weren’t here yet, a rare peaceful moment before rush hour. The soft music of Yann Tiersen could be heard without the buzzing voices of customers. A benefit of working in The Wonderland was the music Parker only played during this season.
I close my eyes to the melancholy sound of the piano piece. It reminded me of winter, a meek melody that must’ve been mistaken as depression from the musician but this type of sadness conveyed was grief— appropriate for a funeral. I blinked my eyes open. It reminded me I had a burial to go to.
A week ago, a girl from my community college was killed with a fatal wound to her chest. The news spread fast like wildfire in Old Roacher, the absurd rumor that something bad happened here was shouldered off as an accident or suicide.
“Arie,” Parker spoke in a grave tone, he smoothed out the newspaper with a dead body on the front page. “The poor family…she was destined to escape here.”
Arie. It meant the lion of God. I closed my eyes and tried to picture her, someone who appears to be fearless and magnificent. I expected her to tempt people once you seen her beauty, just like her name; Lion of God, the feline that captures with her claws.
Her soft hair colored like a thousand lighted bulbs, I'd imagine Arie to have the character of an undiscovered gem, the one to be the welcoming committee for whoever unfortunate enough to crash in Old Roacher: a wide smile for the fellow, her baby blue eyes shining like glittered topaz, and she would hold a basket of fruit with her neat, bubbly handwriting that says, “Welcome to the community!" That's right; Arie would be that type, the compassionate, loving person that has enough heart to go to South Africa or Thailand just to be involved with the society.
Of course, still the mystery remains that if everyone in town loves Arie, who had killed her?
It was a curious thing that out of anyone and to die by any method, she was killed by torture. It didn’t fit the picture—she wasn’t raped, she wasn’t mugged, hell, she wasn’t even hardly touched but the deep slashes and the bloodied scratches around her heart was something. Something people couldn’t ignore, like a trademark, and it was a perfect circle, around and around until it was deep enough for her heart to be bare.
Why.
As I created various theories in my head, I failed to notice the trickle of people streaming in, some men grunting about their hunger and some women talking overly loud with their shrill voices, wearing the same type of patterns repeatedly; I enumerated how many times I saw leopard or cheetah print. The number was high.
I saw my dad walk in slowly, a head full of messy hair and his laid back grin aiming towards his friends at the little corner booth. It seems I rarely saw my father with each passing day, the fading memories of sweet kisses a month ago seemed years now. My chest fluttered when I saw a beautiful blonde haired woman with dark lashes and rosy lips strut toward my relaxed dad, who just settled in his seat.
"Coen, my darling! These last few months have treated you fantastically," the stranger spoke with a faint British accent, she went ahead to kiss my father's cheek. The two men in front of Coen started to wolf whistle; the woman blushed deeply as if she isn't use to getting so much attention from others.
My dad looked up to the British gal and smiled sincerely. "Valerie, pleasure to see you again. How's your brother, is he feeling better?"
Valerie smiled, and smoothed her long blonde hair. "It seems Jason is in Italy to find his inner self. Other than being horribly confused, he's gotten better from the attack."
The two friends looked at each other and one of them asked a question, "he was attacked? Wolf attack?"
"God no, my brother hates two things: people and the outside. For the first time in weeks, he decided to eat in a restaurant with his friends near his house. While walking back home, he was suddenly attacked by a stranger." Valerie told the tale with an exasperated tone. "Jason was luckily unharmed with only a few cuts and bruises all over his body, but he'll live."
Immediately the two friends whispered in a heated conversation, my dad however was disinterested and began staring at the decor of The Wonderland.
I continued to look at him, noting how a month could change a person. His hair seems longer; his face was skinner stunningly, it made him look more aristocratic than sickly.
Suddenly, he looks up to see my staring. Embarrassed, I jerked away, my back hitting a table stand. My cheeks were flushed by the time I walked toward the very clean and sterilized tables, the blooming fire growing stronger as I felt humiliated with each step I took, my heart pounded.
The sudden laughter was interrupted when Valerie asked, "Coen, where are you going?" Once her words registered, I barely heard my father's response of coming back before I hid in the supply room where nobody knows it exists.
A perfect hiding spot, I concluded.
With my weak hearing, I strained to noises of any footsteps or movements. When I couldn't hear anything and waited patiently for long 8 minutes, I sneakily went out the stifling space and checked to see any signs of my father.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I didn’t notice any, before mustering up my kitten like courage to look down from the second story to see my dad wasn't there anymore. Could he have left? I turned around and furrowed my brow. No, he would've probably wanted to greet me before he left.
I bit my lip at the uneasiness and contemplated whether or not my pride and sanity was endangered, and if I could continue to gaze for my father.
Noises from my walk talky startled my attention and leisurely I snapped in response to Parker.
"There's fifteen minutes before seven. The customers that reserved for your area is coming soon, so make sure you give them wet towels and the appropriate silverware, okay Winter weed?"
I smiled internally; Parker's temper is officially dispersed and distracted me from internal conflict.
"Alright," I replied and tightened the knot at the back of my waist and retied my ponytail, I went ahead to start my job. A burden heaving my shoulders as the uneasiness once again slithered back inside.
----------------------
Assholes, literally they're the bastards of humanity. I struggled to not glare behind my customer, a sweet frail widow by the name of Neena. These two men were rowdy, probably drank too much of hard liquor before coming to a peaceful café. I snarled when they stepped toward the marble bar, a wicked grin each on their faces.
"Can you give me a beer, woman?" I look at my apron with my name on the right corner.
"Coming right up," I muttered with gritted teeth before I slammed the bottle in front of him. The guy's hideous smile widen enough that I could count the teeth on this bastard.
The guy leaned in so closely I had to step back, Neena had a disgusted look on her face and she scooted away, no one could blame her action.
"You're Coen's kid, aren't you? What a mighty fine girl you grew up to," he sniffed my floral perfume and growled in enjoyment. I hissed back in disgust. "Feisty too..." It's almost 1 AM in The Wonderland, not a soul present. Parker, who trusted me enough to be responsible since the past few months, gave the keys to me after I was finished working my shift. Old Roacher is notoriously known for not only being boring, but usually crime free.
I wouldn’t become victim number two of Old Roacher.
"I suggest you find another place to dine, gentlemen." I spoke with anger. Angered by the barbarians in front of me; they not only ruined my night but poor Neena, who only looked for an innocent night to eat.
“Chase, why don't you shove the old bitch out the window," Chase, the asshole’s friend grabbed Neena by the waist. She screamed so loud, my toes curled.
No, she wouldn’t die.
I jumped behind the bar to grab her, but the asshole’s grip around my own waist pulled me back. “Neena!” I cried out and squirmed around the guy’s arms, desperately clawing my way out to the aged woman.
Chase looked behind his shoulder to stare right at my face, by now I was punching and kicking wildly, my eyes that once were soft green color, transformed to a dangerous, dark hue, an emotion I didn’t understand flickered inside of me, distantly I would’ve distinguished it as hate, but right now, I craved blood.
The hunger surprised me more than the situation at present. Disgustingly, I fantasized how I looked with blood staining my skin like a beautiful trophy. Dripped head to toe, the blood would smoothly go down my face while my eyes were closed, embracing the sensation and the gore as droplets, unlike the painful burn from the holy water when I was baptized, it instead would cleanse me. The blood would heal me from my consuming anger.
“Shit Jarrod, the girl’s fucking crazy!” I focused my attention to Chase. He had a horrified look of pure disgust, his whole body trembled when my eyes contacted with his brown orbs. “T-this girl isn’t normal. We need to go, get the hell out of here!” He was hesitant when it came to Neena, to throw her or not.
However, his answer was revealed when Jarrod, the person holding me, chuckled. “Like daughter like father,” his lips trailing up and down my neck. “Throw the bitch outside.”
The coil inside of me wrapped so tightly around my heart loosened, and suddenly everything was so clear in my blurred world, the world transitioned from the grey I was accustomed and into sharp colors.
I sucked in a breath.
It was like slow motion, Jarrod freed his grip and I didn’t hesitate to throw my whole body on Chase. He screamed as his arms tried to grab me, allowing Neena to hit the floor and she groaned in response. She didn’t move but my focus wasn’t on her.
Now, with my legs tightened around Chase’s stomach and my frame on his back, my hands gripped tightly around his slim neck, I was savoring his fear. By then, my vision wasn’t mine or neither my body, the shackles that prisoned me crumbled and for the first moment in my nineteen years, I was exhilarated. Everything was in color: the faces, the body, me.
“He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.” Jarrod dragged my body beside him, effectively pulling me away from Chase who collapsed on the floor and immediately breathed in harshly. He choked and sputtered on the wooden ground, while I tried to get down from my adrenaline high.
“Who are you,” I weakly rasped out, the adrenaline ceasing away, my nerves coming back tenfold.
“A friend,” Jarrod responded, looking at me coldly. “But you’ll soon realize we’re the same breed of savages.”
I widen my eyes, “W-what do you mean?”
“I hear you like to fuck your father.”
I stared at him, the chill in the air creating goose bumps. We stared at each other, neither breaking eye contact at what he said.
“You should be careful, Summer, with that information spread, it’ll be the catalyst for your collapse. How much can you handle, sweet child, how much can you suffer.”
He lovingly touch my cheek with a single finger, and with a flicker of emotion, I saw his deep darkness.
Cold sweated coated my forehead at this new, inhumane expression.
Jarrod chuckled amusingly at my discomfort, “we won’t be strangers.”
His last words were a lingering whisper as the two men disappeared.
I sucked in a breath and looked at Neena, still knocked out from her head crashing to the floor. My steps were meant to lead to her body when suddenly I descended downstairs, this incredible urge to look at the big window beside my old seat, the one I always sat in to view the life outside.
I united my apron off and rested my head against the cool window, calming me.
Instead of total darkness like I had expected, faint light danced with the night.
It was a full moon, and beautiful as always. I notice a shadow hidden by the forest, one that wasn’t the familiar shape of a tree, the shadow moved.
The figure revealed itself to be a man, unlike any person I have seen, he seemed entirely carved out of stone—his expression was crisp and impassive. He had light brown hair breezed from the winter wind I suspected, and his attire was the color of black that darkened my first impression of him, yet if anything, his face would’ve been described as warm and inviting; soft lips, a strong jaw line, and intoxicating moonlight eyes.
He looked at me with a nerve-racking smile that I shivered in my uniform, despite being the one kept warmed by The Wonderland. He somehow chilled me.
The stranger walked closer into the moonlight, his eyes never once broken away from mine. He was captivating, I realized as my mouth dried when I further inspected him when his toned arms came into view.
I was transfixed with his features I barely caught him mouthing the words.
“Mortem omnibus.”
Death to all.