With a Kiss (Twisted Tales) (40 page)

I winced. “Um, so . . . what’s the usual?”

He tried to stare the answer out of me. When that didn’t work, he braced himself against the counter with his big Viking hands and gave me an intimidating glare. “The same thing I get every day.”

I felt my face go beet red. “And what would that be, sir?”

“You don’t know?”

I searched my mind and came up with nothing. No way could I pick him out of a lineup. “No. Sorry, sir.”

“Unbelievable.” The guy took it as a personal insult. I thought maybe I would after this . . . if I survived. I looked everywhere but at him. He was awkwarding me out. “Just listen, little girl. Okay, it’s not that hard. Pay attention. I don’t want it on a round bun. I want it on a long bun!”

 “A long bun?”

“Yes, a long bun!”

“A croissant?”

“No!” His tone told me I was the dumbest girl in existence, which I could be.

I glanced behind me. Wayne wasn’t any help; he fiddled with the net on his greasy blond hair. I searched the breads at his elbow. We had the usual hamburger bun, the croissant, the fancy wheat and white breads meant for plain sandwiches. “Oh, do you want a sandwich?”

The guy jerked away from the counter. “Where’s your manager? I want to talk to your manager!” He squinted at my name badge. “Bridgette.”

Well, he knew
my
name. I felt violated. “Uh, we’re the only ones working here. If you want to fill out a comment card and put it in the box . . .”

“I want it cooked medium well on a long bun. That’s all I want!”

I knew better than to ask if he meant the comment card. Wayne nudged me. “He wants a hotdog.”

Even the new guy could read minds. I typed the order into the register before our dissatisfied customer could take my head off with it. I ducked just in case. “Do you want a drink with that?” He gave me a long stare that I couldn’t quite meet. “No?”

“Of course I do!”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” I tried to smile to ease the bad vibes. It was one of the lamer things I did when trying to make friends out of people who hated me. The old guy looked more irritated, if that was possible. I felt like pointing at the tree outside the window to distract him. “Will that be all?” It came out a squeak.

“What do you think?”

After a moment, I hazarded a guess. “Yes?”

“Stupid! I’m never coming back here again! Just wanted a long bun . . .” He stormed out of the restaurant. The bells rang after him. Apparently that meant we lost a lifetime customer. I felt my stomach attack my toes.

Wayne shrugged. “At least he didn’t fill out a complaint.”

I crumpled the receipt in my hand. The lady’s order was almost up. I pulled on some plastic gloves and scooped up the hamburger buns with shaky fingers. Wayne dumped the patties on the bun and I began applying the ketchup.

“Stop! Are you dumb?” The lady pointed her long nails at me. “I don’t want ketchup on that!”

“Oh.” I wiped it off the patty. She looked shocked. I fumbled with the mustard and squirted it all over my black apron. It joined the canvas of splattered ketchup like a Picasso attack.

Wayne grimaced behind me and threw two more patties on the burner to start her order over. “We’re almost out of patties.”

I felt the heat prickle at my neck. The patties were in the basement. Easy access to anyone but me. There were things down there I didn’t want to face. Wayne watched me without blinking. I tried to figure out how to get around this without looking too weird. I toyed with the idea of taking Wayne with me for protection, but the lady glared at us to make sure we got her order right. There weren’t any other customers—it was the perfect time to leave the new guy to fend for himself.

Maybe I’d be fine this time. Wayne stared at me quizzically. There was no way I’d be able to explain this without looking crazy, so setting my shoulders, I did what any self-respecting female would do; I headed for danger. Leaving the cash register behind, I forced down my quickening breath. Better to get killed than to look stupid, right?

Passing through the back of Fasfoo, I switched on the light from the top of the stairs. There was a yellow florescent bulb hanging from the middle of the room like it belonged in a torture chamber. It lit the basement in an eerie light, not quite erasing the shadows clinging to the farthest corners of the room. I gripped the railing, making my way down the stairs. So far nothing had jumped out. Maybe nothing would.

The patties were in the walk-in freezer at the end of the basement. My footsteps against the cement floor broke the silence. Nothing was down here.
Nothing was down here.

I passed the counter filled with cups and utensils and napkins and found the freezer. I pushed down the handle. The door scraped against the floor when I opened it, and the cold air blew into my face. The patties were reaching distance on the rack to the side. As long as I didn’t go in, I’d be okay. I stretched out my fingers, keeping my legs firmly anchored outside. Just another inch and I’d have them.

Before I could react, I felt a rough hand against my back. It propelled me into the freezer and shoved me hard against the back wall. My head smacked against a few racks. The door slammed shut behind me and the light snuffed out with it.

They didn’t usually touch me! I tried not to freak out. They liked to scare me, but until now they never hurt me. I reached up and felt the blood in my hair. I officially came unglued, pounding against the door, screaming as if someone could hear me. “Let me out!” I was kidding myself. No one would hear me down here. I stopped throwing myself against the door and listened to the sound of my heart . . . and something else. It was behind me. I swiveled, not able to see through the darkness. I wasn’t alone in here. I never was alone
anywhere
.

My heart thudded painfully against my chest. “Oh, c’mon,” I wailed out to whatever was here with me. “Someone is going to come looking for me. You can’t keep me in here forever.” Still nothing. My breath came out in a mist. It almost covered the sound of the low wheezing behind me. I inched away from it, swallowing back the panic. “So, this is it, huh? Are you gonna kill me this time?”

Loud laughter echoed through the freezer. My head jerked around like a ragdoll as if I could find the source of the noise in this darkness. Whatever it was, it came from the beef patties. I refused to believe the meat was laughing at me. I wrapped my arms around my stomach, pulling into myself, shivers racking over my body, goose bumps taking over my skin. How long would this thing play with me before it let me out? Maybe it would keep me here forever.

That was enough to make me go for the door, feeling for the cracks along the edges. It was sealed tight. I hit at it, knowing it was futile. I couldn’t get out. No one would come for me. Not in time. I heard a footstep behind me. Just one.

I slid to the floor, digging my fingers under the door. My breath came out in gasps. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t tell whatever was coming at me to stop. Another step. This time it was followed by the sound of something heavy dragging behind it. As soon as I moved, the thing ran for me. I screamed, feeling something cold shoved into my hands. I screamed louder.

The door sparked and I couldn’t pull away. My head felt dizzy with screaming and I couldn’t stop. Fire crackled around the edges of the door, illuminating it into a perfect outline. I squeezed my eyes shut. None of this was real. It was all in my head. I was doing this to myself. But when I smelled the smoke, I wrenched my eyes open. I’d burn alive in here. The thought threw me into a panic, and a powerful wind built up around me. My ponytail whipped painfully against my face.

The freezer door shot open like an explosive was behind it, and I might as well have been the explosive because I tore outside, paddling my arms as I took the stairs three at a time. The basement door was already closing, but slowly. These things—whatever they were—enjoyed teasing me. My hat swayed unevenly over my head. By some miracle it managed to stay on, but not for long. A pale hand with hairy fingers ripped the obscene thing off me, tearing some of my blonde hair out with it.

“Poor little girl,” it crooned.

I whimpered out in pain and it laughed. Nothing about this was funny! I couldn’t bring myself to look behind my shoulder to see its tissue-thin face. The things always slipped away so quickly that I never saw any of them fully—just the grins.

They aren’t real. They aren’t real. They aren’t real!

Of course, that didn’t make me any less scared. I wriggled around the basement door, squeezing through to the other side before it slammed hard behind me.

I fell against the counter in the back of FasFoo, keeping as much distance from the basement as I could. My throat hurt from screaming. My legs felt like they’d tremble away from me. I tried to stand, but couldn’t. After a moment, I realized that the cold thing that had been shoved into my hand was only a package of beef patties.

Bursting into tears never helped, especially when people saw them. They asked questions. I stared up at the lights and breathed evenly, trying to force out the fear and sadness. This was all in my head. Counselors, psychiatrists, the home—everyone but me—agreed it was ridiculous. I needed to learn to deal with my fear of abandonment. That’s why I made up these . . . friends . . . except they weren’t friends. They were ghosts, I was sure of it. I thought I would be safe at work, but now they followed me from the home, too. They were everywhere.

No, stop. Count to ten. I had to force these shadows out of my life and face real fears . . . like real breathing people, and the fact that they all hated me. That was the reason no one could stay with me for long, why I was forced to move from ten different homes in a matter of three months. I had no idea who my parents were and why I couldn’t remember anything before then.

I held my head. Mr. Starr told me I wasn’t unlovable, Mr. Starr—of all people—whose daughter wanted to run me out of the school. I sighed. Starr was the latest in a string of psychologists who thought they could help me. Any time I felt worthless and saw these . . . creatures, I was supposed to think of the good things in my life. And wait for someone else to disappear.

I had only one defense. Closing myself off, withdrawing from everything and everybody. It made people less likely to run out on me—even if Mr. Starr warned me it wasn’t healthy. I sighed and tried to think of his kind face, his blond hair starting to gray, the gentle humor in his eyes. He reassured me that no one would hurt me; he wouldn’t abandon me. With that kind of talk, it wouldn’t be long before I lost him too. I felt the tears prick at my eyes.

I put my hands on my knees, letting the bag of patties swing past them. Calm down. It was going to be all right. It wasn’t real. I was okay. The usual pep talk wasn’t working. I could hear more FasFoo customers out in the front. The new guy desperately tried to fend off the dinner rush.

There were too many mean people out there. Soon I’d have to face them. I stared at the back door that led to the gravel parking lot where I had chained up my bike. I could just leave. And then what? I had an agreement with the group home. FasFoo was my last chance. If I messed this one up, they’d ship me to a place with more restrictions. I just needed some air. Then I could do it.

I managed to find my unsteady feet and pushed out to the front, trying to keep myself from falling apart during the dinner rush. “Uh Wayne,” I plopped the patties next to him on the counter. His eyes widened in surprise. I knew I looked bad, but I tried to pat my blonde hair down to fix it. “So . . . uh, the window looks really dirty out there. I’m going to clean it up real quick. Be right back!”

His dark, watery eyes strayed to the line of people at the cash register. Before he could protest, I scooped up the glass cleaner and headed outside without grabbing my coat. As soon as I was out the door, the cold wind slapped against my face, forcing the tears back. I made quick squirts on the glass, knowing I couldn’t hide for long. I just needed enough time to turn myself into stone so I couldn’t feel anymore.

Mountains of snow were piled high on either side of the parking lot. The wind blew over it, blasting me in the back. It was the worst winter that anyone here could remember, which figured since it was the only one
I
remembered. The sun was on its way down. Cars heading down Main Street switched on their headlights, rushing for home and people who loved them. I decided not to think about that, either. I squirted the glass cleaner on the windows again, pretending to find more fingerprints. I only had a few minutes before the customers staged a mutiny. I sniffed, shoving my feelings back where I couldn’t feel them. I could do this.

“Wait a second, that’s Babs! I mean, Halley, I guess.”

My fingers stopped on the glass when I heard the girl’s voice. No one was there.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Stephanie Fowers loves bringing stories to life, and depending on her latest madcap ideas will do it through written word, song, and/or film. She absolutely adores Bollywood and bonnet movies; i.e., BBC (which she supposes includes non-bonnet movies Sherlock and Dr. Who). Presently, she lives in Salt Lake where she's living the life of the starving artist.