He stood there, frozen. For a brief moment, he smelled cigarettes and a once popular cologne. Chad had typically smelled of smoke and Abercrombie & Fitch’s Fierce scent. The wooden floorboards groaned beneath his weight, and cold air emitted from his lips as he put one foot in front of the other, his eyes adjusting to the pitch darkness, and his body adjusting to the chill. He held the cooler with both hands, heading through the living room into the kitchen.
He never left the heat off when leaving his house in the winter, even if only for an hour or two, and yet, it felt as if the house had been vacant for years, the elements having their way with the structure. Something was different about this coolness. It felt unnatural. Thick and heavy. He didn’t feel alone. He didn’t feel fear—only lassitude and distress. Struck by sadness all at once.
He hadn’t left any lights on when he left at two AM that morning. That was not unusual for him, but now he regretted it. Once he reached the kitchen, he set the cooler on the counter and flicked on the light.
“Shit!”
In that instant, a misty gray fog in the shape of a human form faded away. He’d seen it from the corner of his eye. It had looked like Chad sitting at the glossy oak table, a sheer smoky silhouette, but it had happened so fast, disappeared so quickly, he couldn’t be sure. Had to be a figment of his overactive imagination, right? He began to fiddle with the contents of the cooler, but the unnerving feeling remained.
It looked like my boy…
Chad had been tall like him, and he’d often slouch when he’d sit, his back curving like the letter, ‘C’, much to his mother’s disdain. Jack spun around and glared at the table and chair, his face twitching. Was he losing his mind? Had grief made him insane? He blinked several times and turned around. After all, he didn’t believe in such things.
Once we die, that’s it. I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.
Scratching his head, he helped himself to a glass of water from the faucet. A dull pain took over, and his heart screamed. He’d been married to melancholy the day his son was killed. He wanted a divorce, but she refused to turn him loose. His heart beat hard and fast in his chest, anxiety ramping up to a fever pitch, then flopped around just like the fish he’d caught before he’d clonked each of them over the head and gutted them fast, terminating their wretched lives. Ending their misery…
The evening crowd at Gus’s was high energy and amped to the max with chatter and laughter. This also included a few drunken derelicts who didn’t know how to shut up. Kim tag-teamed with Martha, an older Indigenous woman who often worked with her on the nightshift. Martha was incredibly short, no more than four foot eight. Two of her attributes that caught the most attention were her wide hips and plump ass. She had a beautiful golden face with naturally high, pink cheeks, and deep dimples that showed up even without a smile. Her dark eyes were like onyx slits, the eyeballs barely visible beneath puffy hoods and short lashes, and her long black hair was usually pinned half up in a neat bun. The rest flowed down her back like some superhero cape as she zoomed about from table to table, ping-ponging to the kitchen and back, taking orders and joking with the customers at the speed of light. She was a strong woman with an infectious laugh and gorgeous sparkling white teeth. More importantly, she was helping to raise her three grandchildren by herself, on limited funds.
“Kim,” Martha yelled over the noise and twangy country music, “can you grab me some napkins, honey?”
“Yeah, I’ll get them. Excuse me for just a second, sweethearts.” Kim walked away from the table of gregarious teenagers she was checking on, snatched a handful of napkins from the counter, and made her way over to the other side of the restaurant to hand them over. When she reached Martha, one guy smacked the woman’s ass so hard, the sound echoed. Martha’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head in shock. The gnarly man burst out laughing, exposing a mouth full of rotten teeth. They looked as if he’d been chewing coffee beans and hadn’t spit out the remnants. Martha’s face instantly reddened, and her brows bunched as her chin quaked.
“Don’t do that. Don’t you ever touch me again. I won’t take you being drunk as an excuse. You knew what you were doing. Disgusting!” she barked at the man, waving her finger in his direction as Kim handed her the napkins.
The man stiffened in embarrassment, his fist gripping his napkin tight. The restaurant drew quieter, and people looked their way after Martha gave him a tongue lashing. All one could hear now was murmuring and the occasional fork and knife hitting a plate. He nervously scratched his scalp. His buzzed dark hair had patches missing, as if he had mange, and he glared at Martha with beady blue eyes. His guise of humiliation seemed to quickly mutate into fury.