Chapter Text
A cold, sticky rag was gripped in one hand, scrubbing the countertop where a customer left their unfinished plates. The smell of syrup and bacon permeated the whole building as a few families and customers were strewn in different booths. Children’s excited squeals can be heard by the family near the window, and I had the honor of watching said child spill syrup onto the table, a mess I would have to clean up after. Autumn was creeping closer every day, blanketing our town with cool air and yellowing leaves. Even now, I dawned a hoodie under my apron. The sleeves are rolled up to my elbows, hoping to prevent the sugary sweet syrup from coating them.
A soft sigh of defeat leaves me as I inspect the counter I was wiping. Sure enough, there was still a light film of syrup that stubbornly clung to the metal table, forcing me to clean my rag and try again. Forks and knives lightly clinked on the porcelain plates as I made my rounds, checking in on every table with a small smile.
What many do not tell you about working food service is how sick you start to feel after smelling the same dishes over and over. While many cheer and salivate over a fresh plate of pancakes, I hold back my grimace as I carry the warm plate to their table. Though, I make a quick exit once they start drenching the plate in a thick coat of sugary sweet syrup. I can feel my teeth ache just at the thought of it.
Yet here I am, checking in on a table of four. Each wore a thick jacket or pullover and scoffed down their food, save for a girl with pitch black, shaggy hair who absentmindedly pushed tatter tots around their plate with a fork. One of them, with a bandage patched to the side of their face, took great joy in practically drinking the syrup. I had to bring them a new bottle, that he would soon empty out.
“Everything tastes alright?” I inquired with my customer service smile. The man with the yellow hoodie casted me a polite smile and a nod. I filled their mugs full of another round of coffee before taking away any empty plates. “Well, call me over if you lot need anything else,” I dropped off another stack of napkins for their syrup-drinking friend before excusing myself to check on the rest of the tables.
Time ticked by without much trouble. Many tables have paid their bills and gone about their day as I was left to clean up the endless, sticky mess. While cleaning, I noticed a brown hoodie, the sleeves were striped, and it had an earthy musk to it, like the owner was rolling around in dirt. An annoyed frown tugged at the corner of my lip as I tucked it under my arm to continue cleaning. I brought the heavy tray piled with dirty dishes to the kitchen and left it with the dishwasher, who seemed to get through his shift by blasting music on a nearby radio. If only I could do the same, but my manager had something against using earphones at work. This means I was subjugated to radio music that hardly suited my tastes. With much reluctance, I forced myself out of the kitchen and back to my station at the counter where I neatly folded the abandoned hoodie. I’m sure the owner would come back for it. If I’m not mistaken, it was the guy drinking all the syrup…
On second thought, maybe it’s better if he didn’t come back for it…
While tucking the hoodie into a drawer, something slipped out and flitted to the floor. Better put it back. I knelt to pick up the fallen paper only to notice that it was a photo.
I flipped the photo over between my fingers and glanced at the image. It was dark for the most part with a streak of red smeared on the floor. My eyebrows scrunched as I gave it another once-over, maybe I saw it wrong. There wasn’t much to go off of. Whoever took the picture had unsteady hands, but it was clear enough to depict the tiled floor, dark hallway, and mystery smear.
‘Maybe it’s just paint,’ I thought as I moved to tuck the photo back into one of the hoodie’s pockets but froze when I saw a small stack of photos that had settled in the pocket. Curiosity gnawed at me, but I know better than to rifle through a customer’s personal belongings. I peered up from the counter and made sure no one was looking at me, and with great reluctance, I left it alone.
As my shift ticked by, I could feel the curiosity chip away at my resolve every time I pass the counter. Even when my hands were piled high with food, dirty dishes and coated in sticky syrup, my mind drifted to the mysterious photo collection. Part of me hoped that he would come back before my curiosity won, but as the minutes ticked away, the other part of me could feel the temptation beckoning me to look.
I dropped off my table’s dishes before skirting back to the counter, glaring at drawer that housed the hoodie. I know it’s wrong to look. I know it’s not my place either, but why is the hoodie already in my hands-
I glanced around again, making sure the coast was clear before peering into the pocket and slipping out the small stack of photos. My mouth felt dry as I looked at the first image. A body, strewn on the floor, covered in long gashes. Red pooled around the disfigured body, pale even in the dim lighting. My nerves pricked at the back of my neck. I felt like I was being watched, like I was caught doing something illegal. These photos have to be incriminating right? There’s no way someone would have such morbid photos on their person as a prop, right? Unless they had a twisted sense of artistic interpretation. Anxiety started to claw at my chest, my heart picking up its pace. There’s no way that syrup-drinking, pancake-fiend is a murder… right?
I’ve only seen two photos from this whole stack, and I dreaded to know what the rest of the photos contained. But at this point, I don’t know if it’s the images or the syrup that made me queasy, but I pressed on and forced myself to move to the next image…
Oh, how I wish to clock out right now. I could be enjoying tea at the library, doom scrolling on my phone, or even cooking dinner. But no, I’m at work holding a picture of a severed hand. While everyone around me continued their day without a care in the world, I could very well be holding evidence of someone’s murder case. The syrup, it’s definitely the syrup making me gag. My hands shook as I tore my eyes from the image and shoved it all back into the pocket.
No, no more. I can’t get involved… But what if someone is dead and the police have no idea? What if they come back for the hoodie and know I went through their belongings? What if I become their next- No… I’m not going to think about that. I hurriedly stuffed the hoodie back into the drawer and let out a shaky breath, trying to calm myself down. I’m sure my face was pale with how much I was trembling. Everything else faded into the background, sound muffled, lights dimmed. I could feel the walls closing in on me. Despite the afternoon sun shining through the large glass panes, the world looked dimmer. My hands gripped the countertop, hoping to ground myself, but even the cold surface couldn’t pull me back.
At this point, I’ve started bargaining. The owner won’t know that I know, right? I could feign ignorance and hand him back his stupid jacket with a stupid, oblivious smile. Photos? What photos? I’ve been busy running orders. I took a hopefully glance around the small dinner only to notice that the customers have long since filed out… Damn. Not only are my alibi gone, but they left a mountain of sticky plates at their tables.
I should busy myself, yeah… Make it look like I’ve been so busy that I never had time to check his hoodie. I could sweep the floor, heavens know it needs a good sweep. Is that a finger smudge on the windows? I can make them sparkling and clean! Yeah… Yeah this can work-
The bell chimes.
I slowly lifted my head up towards the door, feeling a sudden chill run down my back. This has to be some sick joke. There he stood, orange goggles now perched on the top of his head as he picked at the bandage on his cheek. We stared at each other for a moment, both parties staring each other down with unyielding eyes. Only when his neck snapped to the side with a painful click did our starring contest end. A curse escapes his lips at the sudden movement, but he himself did not appear to be in any pain.
I scrounged up what courage I had left and plastered a smile on my face, my fingers gripping the countertop tighter.
“You left your jacket earlier, right?” I said through gritted teeth.
“Y-yeah- SHIT- just c-came to g-g-get it b- ACK- back,” he approached the counter, not even trying to hide his tics. I never noticed his tics when he was eating, but I guess he locked in so much in the pancakes that his body didn’t have time to react.
Standing before him now, I realized that I didn’t get a good look at him when his face was buried behind an absurd number of pancakes. His curly brown hair stuck up in odd angles all over his head, pale skin that almost looked grey, dark under eyes that framed his brown eyes, and a scruff of a beard that lined his jaw. With the way his body twitched, I wouldn’t trust him with a razor either. He looked every bit raccoon even without his striped hoodie. The dirt caked under his nails and rabid mannerisms only added to the description. Most of all, without the air of syrup engulfing him, I can smell the earth on him.
“O-Of course,” I continued to bare my teeth in a forced smile. With ridged hands, I opened the drawer that held his hoodie and carefully handed it to him, praying to what ever God will listen that the photos wouldn’t fall out.
Surprisingly, the exchange went well. His fingers brushed against mine as he jerked backwards, and I had to force myself not to flinch. I never thought years of customer service would ever save my life. Yet here I am, schooling my face and praying he doesn’t see the panic in my eyes.
“Th-Thanks,” he shrugged on his jacket and made his way back out the door. Only when the door swung shut behind him did I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding.
No amount of ice teas can nurse the headache that plagued me for the rest of my shift. Even when I busied myself in cleaning the restaurant, the incessant ache did not go away. But there was no ignoring how on edge I felt the rest of the day, like eyes piercing into my skull no matter where I stood. I wiped my clammy hands on my apron after washing up. I was happy to rid myself of the stiff material. The clock ticked closer to 7pm and no customers were in sight. The kitchen staff have long since finished their closing tasks and all took turns hanging their aprons up.
“Thanks for locking up, again,” the cook patted my shoulder firmly before slipping out the back door. I gave him a gruff nod as I watched him leave.
“Have a good night,” the dishwasher waved before following behind the cook. I waved both men off, watching as the last bit of company left. Maybe I should’ve asked one of them to stay. I tried passing it off as nerves, but the feeling of being watched wouldn’t go away. With how jumpy I’ve seen since the incident, it would probably be for the best that I was not left alone. With great reluctance, I locked the doors and sat in front of the register where I had to finish up my closing duties.
I sat in the silence of the restaurant, counting out the cash in the register and making sure all sales were correct. It was a tedious task, but one that needed to be done. I thumbed through the bills, using my phone’s calculator to make sure I added them up correctly. Next came the coins, which were a bigger pain to keep track of. Though, my efforts were always rewarded when I was able to take out the tips from the total sales. I put away the kitchen staff’s portion and pocketed mine.
After locking up everything one more time, I was free to go home! I stepped out into the cool Autumn air. It’s a fresh scent compared to the smells of the restaurant, and one I was always grateful for. But with the sun dipping dangerously low beneath the horizon, part of me debated sleeping in the restaurant for the night. I pulled my hood over my head and glanced around, finding no one looking at me. Only a few pedestrians roamed the street at this time, and they all seemed to mind their business. I wet my lips, trying to push the anxious thoughts away before starting towards my apartment.
I’m not the jumpy type, nor am I scared easily, but right now, I am close to pissing myself on the street. It started as a brisk walk, but that brisk walk quickly turned into a mild jog. It wasn’t long until that mild jog turned into a full-on sprint. I don’t want to think it was just my stupid imagination, but I can swear I heard footsteps behind me. But every time I looked back, there was no one there. Visible or not, I’m not ignoring my gut’s instincts to survive.
This may be a bad time to mention that I’m not the most fit. Sure, I exercise occasionally, but right now, my lungs are burning. If I stopped, nothing would stop me from coughing my lungs out. Sadly, self-preservation pushed me to keep going, to ignore the ache in my body.
Damn the clichés. Damn every horror movie trope that ever existed. And damn this stupid ledge I tripped on. Who let’s cracks in the sidewalk get that big? My jeans take the brunt of the concrete, but it won’t stop the bruises welting on my skin. I pushed up from the ground, hoping to get a second wind of air, but a weight fell on top of me, forcing me back to the ground and kissing the pavement.
“Got them,” the muffled voice above me calls out, presumably to his friends. His voice was gruff, and damn was this man heavy. It felt like I got tackled by a linebacker. He kept me pinned down easily, forcing my hands behind my back as more footsteps approached us. I swiveled my head as best as I could to look at my captors, but all I could see were the ends of their dusty jeans and scuffed shoes. But one noise gave it all away. The unmistakable tics and twitches of the owner of the photos.
His shoes scrapped against the pavement before ending just beside my head. His knees clicked as he crouched down to be in my line of sight. Orange goggles were now strapped against his eyes and a face mask akin to a muzzle covering the lower half of his face. But those tics were the same, along with the striped hoodie and smell of earth. He tilted his head at me, studying me through the bright tinted goggles, yet he didn’t say anything.
“Sorry to chase you down like this,” a steady voice speaks somewhere behind me, “but you saw something you weren’t supposed to. Isn’t that right?” He came closer.
Through the cloud of panic, I couldn’t find my voice. My lungs still burned, but with the added force on my back, I couldn’t speak. A deer caught in headlights is what came to mind. So, this is what they meant when your body betrays you and freezes up in times of need.
The ticking man in front of me reached into their pocket, one I knew held the stack of photos. A gloved hand slipped out, producing the first photo I ever held, with a damned smear of syrup at the edge, now layered with lint from his pockets.
“L-look familiar?” he stares down at me, the photo just inches from my eyes.
A fresh wave of panic courses through me as I thrashed against the strong man holding me down.
“I don’t know what that is,” I force out. “Please, it slipped out of your pocket, and I put it back. I swear,” I cried out. Was I lying to a potential group of killers? Yes. Was I going to admit to rifling through their belongings? Are you crazy? Who would admit that?
A tired sigh left the man behind me. “There is a chance they’re telling the truth.” He seemed to weigh his options.
“We can’t leave witnesses,” barked the man who held me to the ground. I felt my heart lurch at his words, worry pervading any other thoughts I had. There was only one implication of these words, and I did not like where this was going.
“You know what happens if we target someone not a part of the list,” the steady man hissed back. “The sickness is already spreading, and I can’t have you catching it too.” His words carried heaviness to it that caused everyone to still for a moment. Whatever this sickness was, it wasn’t some common flu.
“Please,” I writhed beneath the man, “I promise I won’t tell. I don’t know what’s going on,” I hated how feeble and weak my voice sounded, but when your life hung in the balance, I think ego is something I can afford to ignore for now. All I wanted to do was go home and enjoy being alive, and right now, that seemed like a distant dream. Silence passed between them as they weighed out their options. Is it too hopeful to think they might not kill me in fear of this sickness?
“We could bring them to him,” a feminine, raspy voice chimed in. Her suggestion carried some animosity to the group who seemed to tense at her words.
“You think he’d take this mistake lightly?” the strong man speaks up.
“What else can we do?” she bites back, “I think Toby should take the fall. He is the one that messed up.”
The man crouched in front of me flinches, before casting a glare at her. “M-me? It’s n-not my fa-fault you wanted to-to do-document the con-ACK-contract,” Toby, who I now had the displeasure of knowing the name of, fights back. His eyebrows pinched together in accusation, glaring at who knows what.
“Enough,” the steady man speaks up again, extinguishing their argument. “We take them back to the cabin and sort it out there… Not out here where everyone can see.” I can hear the scrape of his shoes as he turned on his heel, heading towards the tree line of the forest. The other two trail after him silently as the man above me moved to carry me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Damn this guy was strong… And when did he bind my wrist together? I was appalled to find when I shifted my wrists, feeling the scratchy material of the rope burn into my skin.
“Scream and I’ll kill you. Got it?” he tightened his hold on me as a threat, and I quickly nodded my head before realizing he can’t see my reply.
“Got it…” I muttered.
Who knew I’d spend the time off after work staring at an unnamed man’s butt, watching as the pavement turned into grass, which turned into moss and mud from the forest floor. Even if I craned my head up, the trees slowly swallowed the buildings of the city, encasing us in the darkness of the night, barely lit by the moonlight filtering though the canopies of trees.
What could you do at this point? I’m at the mercy of four strangers and their supposed leader, watching as the life I lived disappear behind a wall of trees.