Page 2 of The Hitch
Awife.
Scowling, I pull my phone from my pocket. Cherie, the Bael's assistant, has been texting me nonstop in the wake of Father's demise.
Bael's Lackey
The Goetic Consortium extends our condolences on the unfortunate situation with your father. Pursuant to the Ascension, we have gathered dossiers for possible matches. Please review them at your earliest convenience and report back to me with your preference.
Another wave of rage sweeps through my body and I nearly crack my phone in half. Damn it, I was supposed to be calming down. If I'm going to be forced into this, I'm going to do itmyway. Sure, the Goetic groupies are good for a lay whenever I feel like it, butmarriage?To one ofthem?Absolutely not.
Absolutely the fuck not.
"Dante?" My mother's voice, again, snaps me from my focus. "It's time."
Swiping my hair away from my face, I turn to follow her back into the room. I put an arm around my mother's heaving shoulders as we watch the old man's heartbeat slow down, down, down… and then stop.
He's gone.
Melody
"What do youmeanyou're out of crab cakes? How can you be out of crab cakes! This is ridiculous—Idemanda refund!" The man before me is red with rage, spittle flying from his lips and landing on the sticky diner table. The bright colors of his sports team T-shirt mock me. It takes all of my very thin patience to not throttle him right then and there.
"Of course, sir. We apologize for the inconvenience. We would never dream of charging you for services not rendered," I saythrough gritted teeth. Before he can shout out another word, I turn away and stalk to the order system.
1x Crab Cakes — void
Images of the man's corpse flash in my mind. I can almost smell the coppery scent of blood in the air as I turn back to him and present him with the amended receipt.
"There we go, see? Void, no charge. Is there anything else I can get for you, sir?" My voice ratchets up a few octaves. I'm slowly losing control. That itch under my skin is back, that gnawing in the back of my mind, and I don't think I can hold on much longer.
"No—"
"Great!" I cut him off. "Have a fantastic day!"
I'm practically running through the swinging doors to the kitchen as I rip off my server apron. My hands are shaking, just like the last time this happened, as I punch myself out on the time clock. My manager, Chet, will chew me out for not doing my side work before leaving.
But honestly, he should be thanking me. Unrolled silverware is preferable to a very dead customer in broad daylight. Not to mention the fact that I'm the only server who reliably shows up on time… if I were to be tossed in jail, he would have a hard time staffing the place.
I'm still stewing in my rage as I stomp the two blocks to my car—the asshole doesn't even let us use the diner parking lot. Sure, there's only about four spots, but it's still a bit annoying in the dead of summer. And the dead of winter. The dead of any time, really.
My junky gray car sits beneath one of the few old-growth trees on the city street, which, unfortunately, also means it's absolutely covered in bird shit. I used to think pigeons were cute, even somewhat exotic. I never saw them in my middle-of-nowhere Iowa hometown. But no, they seem to have the most prolific metabolism of any creature on Earth.
And they choosemycar to shit on.
As I fumble with the key fob, I notice another white… thing… on my windshield. It isn't a big splatter of pigeon poo. Fuck. No, it's a parking ticket.
"Dammit," I hiss under my breath as I swipe the envelope from under my withered windshield wiper. I forgot to feed the meter, and ofcourse,the parking authority chosetodayto care about it. Quickly shoving the envelope into my back pocket, I pull on the car door handle.
"Shit!" I yelp, yanking my hand back. Even though I parked under the tree, the metal chassis of this stupid car has been cooking under the sun for seven hours. Powering through it, I open the door anyway and slide into the seat, burning my handsagainon the stupid steering wheel.
Just when I thought it couldn't get worse, I remember that I left the diner without tipping out. A string of curses jet out of my mouth as I slump over, resting my forehead on the sticky-hot fake leather of my steering wheel. Fuuuuck. Do I want to go back and risk Chet's wrath?
As if overcome by some unseen force, I slip the key in the ignition and turn the engine over. No, I don't want to go back. Not today. After the day I've had, I'm just barely hanging on—and the gnawing in the back of my skull isn't making it any better. Clenching my jaw, I peel out of my somewhat crooked parking job.
I need to get out of this fucking city, just for a moment. If I play my cards right, I can be in the Pine Barrens just shy of an hour. Yeah… surround myself with nature.
Solitude in nature usually helps with my… situation. And the drive itself is great, once I'm out of the city traffic. I know the route by heart at this point, which probably says somethingabout my mental state, but who can afford therapy? Inthiseconomy? Plus, if I were to tell a therapist about why I'm taking so many trips out to the Pines, I don't think I would be a free woman for very long.
An hour later, I'm in a silent reverie, hypnotized by the highway lines. It's grounding. Peaceful. The soft rumble of the tires on asphalt soothes me. I whip past towering pines. They are a green horizon everywhere I look. Finally, I breathe out a sigh. The tension in my shoulders dissipates, and that roar in my mind quietens.
