STAIN (My Soul To Wake Book 1) (18 page)

The glass display cases have fingerprints on them, the pastry displays need to be filled and arranged to look a little more fresh, and the daily drink boards need to be updated.

“
Hey, Luis. Ready for the lunch rush
?
”
I’
m almost afraid to look in the back. By this time, the place should smell of simmering soups and the small chalkboard by the main counter should list the Panin
i’
s that are ready to be made fresh on order.

He nods.
“
Yup. W
e’
ve got twenty more minutes
.
”

I lift the folding half wall to gain access to behind the counter.

“
The rotary club has their early meeting today, remember? The
y’
ll probably be letting out any minute now. Lunch is gonna start early
.
”

His eyes widen.
“
Crap. I forgot
.
”

I smile.
“
I got it. You just man the cash register
.
”

A lovely middle-aged woman steps up to place her order, giving Luis a distraction from his embarrassment. Pushing through the double-swing doors to the kitchen, I march passed the three cooks watching my unexpected arrival with surprise and make a quick stop in my office. I toss my hat and glasses on my desk and sigh at the large pile of unopened mail.

I’
ll have to get to that soon. No doubt, ther
e’
s a whole mess of invoices that need to be paid to the vendors. I open my top drawer and take out a freshly folded
Coffee Bean
logo shirt and carefully change tops.

I always keep a handful of clean shirts in the office for whenever an unexpected shift pops up. I use a plain rubber band to tie back my hair and tuck the wisps behind my ears.

The next half hour is spent changing over the coffee (Nina was right, it did taste burnt), getting the soups started, updating all of the boards, replenishing the condiments, tidying up the display cases with fresh product, and clearing the glass of any fingerprints or smudges.

Once the first batch of freshly brewed coffee is done, I help myself to the first cup, making it a double as I buzz about straightening up the place. I
t’
s not as bad as I had feared and even better than I had hoped. I have high expectations of my staff while
I’
m not here and they usually meet them, but
I’
ll have to make a mental note to hold some more training meetings.

Nina and Court have taken to their usual table, chatting and watching as I make myself busy. Once lunch is in full swing, I bring them a full tray of cream of tomato soup garnished with parsley and a large homemade crouton, with two small greek salads.

Their money is no good here. They know that. Yet they always attempt to pay. After every refusal, they make a habit of filling the employees tip jar handsomely to repay the debt.

It does
n’
t take long at all for Nina to step forward.
“
Leah? The soup is a little salty today
.
”

What? W
e’
ve been using the same brand for ages. I
t’
s never been salty before. I eye her. They have the first bowls, and I ca
n’
t have any other customers getting salty soup.

“
Let me check it out
,
” I retreat back to the kitchen and help myself to a steaming bowl.

Hmmm. It tastes fine to me. I finish half the bowl to make sure the salt had
n’
t settled on the bottom. What is she talking about? Ther
e’
s nothing wrong with thi
s…
.

That sneaky, sneaky little girl.

I laugh to myself. They wanted me to eat. I fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

I finish the rest of my soup, not out of hunger, but out of disdain for waste, then hand the emptied bowl to Janet, to add to the dishwasher. The only thing left I can think of to tackle is the mounting pile of mail on my desk, but I ca
n’
t bring myself to do it just yet. S
o…
I procrastinate some more and help myself to another cup of hazelnut brew.

The crowd grows outside, forming two straggling lines ahead of the main registers. Luis and Patty seem to have those covered. Several baskets of coffee grinds are lined up and ready go when needed with the large container of fresh iced tea ready to be poured on command. Golden slices of lemon float above the amber colored liquid, dancing in the drink.

A flash crosses my mind. The beautiful amber of his eyes.

I lose my breath, needing to still myself and draw deep into my depleted reserves of inner strength to find a way to clear his eyes from my mind.

“
Leah
!
” I turn to Patty.
“
I need singles
.
”

Right. I
t’
s about time for a change order. I get right on it, emptying the back safe of two stacks of crisp one dollar bills and replenish the registers, clearing out the larger bills from under the till.

Zipping them up so they are secure in the blue vinyl deposit bag, I tuck it into my purse and throw my Orioles cap back on.

“I’
m gonna head out to the bank.
I’
ll probably come back here and put a few hours in. You guys can head home.
I’
ll get a ride later
.
”

Court and Nina seem pleased at my plans.

“
Perfect
!
” Court jumps up from her chair and hugs me close.
“
Call me if you need anything
.
”

I think the
y’
ve done more than enough. But,
I’
m a grown woman. I can take it from here.

~*~

Six hours later, the rest of the lunch rush, the 3
o’
clock coffee rush, and the pre-dinner rush-hour coffee crowd later, I find myself collapsed over my desk, the pile of unopened mail sorted and organized. My cell phone pings with the notification of another incoming text.

Wil
l’
s name pops up on the screen. I fight against myself to touch the button on the screen, reaching forward several times only to withdraw it after better judgment prevails.

I tuck my phone into my pocket, turn off the computer, the light, and the door. Luis is sweeping the floor, closing up shop. He worked hard today.
I’
ll have to remember to check when h
e’
s due for a raise.

“
‘
Night, Luis.
I’
ll be here for opening in the morning. Yo
u’
ll be in at noon
?
” I try to mentally picture the schedule I had written up.

He nods, moving the broom effectively.
“
Yup. Have a good night, Leah
.
”

I smile and head out into the purple haze of dusk. It is
n’
t a far walk home, so I get started. I can use the fresh air and the quiet time.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The evening is a cool one, with a light breeze whisking by. The coffee shop is only about eight blocks from my apartment, with just a few turns to go. I concentrate on my steps, each one, to keep my mind from wandering to the place it aches to go.

I
t’
s been a few days now, but the ache is still very real. Whenever I let my guard down, I remember something that keeps the rawness very much alive. I can only stay diligent for so long before my humanness takes hold and whisks me back to the nights, the beautiful nights and all the moments in between.

With an early shift in the morning, I quickly change into an old Orioles t-shirt and some fuzzy socks, lifting back the blankets of my made bed (thanks to Nina), and crawl in.

My body is spent from a long day of productive work. My mind is drained from the war raging inside. I never thought
I’
d ask for this, to crave what I find myself missing, but I pray for the dreams to return, even if only the nightmare will find its way back to me.

I find myself incomplete somehow without them.

I have little faith that
I’
ll find sleep, and i
t’
s even less likely that
I’
ll find some peace tonight. With nothing left to do, I practice some breathing exercises from the few yoga classes
I’
ve taken.

My chest rises and falls with each deep gulp of air. I can feel my pulse slowing, my sore muscles relaxing. I clear my mind and concentrate only on my breaths. The clarity of my thoughts makes me highly aware of the quiet around me.

The only sounds are those of the deep rhythmic pattern of my highly controlled breathing. In. Hold. Out. Hold. In. Hold. Out. Hold.

My lungs expand and empty on command, filling deep with fresh air. I take the exercise further, breathing deeper and holding longer. In. Hold. Hold. Hold. Out.

Again and again, I repeat this. I listen to my breaths, the intake, the exhale. With the second breath, I notice somethin
g’
s off. I breathe in and hold, but yet I still hear the rushing sounds of air being expelled.

I tune my hearing to focus on this before I am positive that the sounds I hear are not my own. A fear takes hold, paralyzing me. I cannot move. I hesitate to even open my eyes, yet I hear the breathing as if it were right next to me in the dark.

What the hell do I do? I could make a run for it, but there are times the breathing sounds like i
t’
s coming from the direction of the door itself. My attempt at escape could lead me right into whatever is behind the breaths I hear.

I could reach for my phone but who would I call? And what would I say? I doubt
I’
d get more then ten words out before the culprit behind the breathing pounced. What do I do?

I say the first thing that comes to mind.

“
I am one with the night,
” I find myself reciting these words aloud from memory.

“
I am one with the light
.” I feel safe enough now to reach quickly for my phone and tap, bringing the screen to life. The soft electronic glow casts itself onto the bedding.

But in the dark
,

You’ll see my mark.

Stay at bay,

Or see not another day.”

I watch as the light grows, pulsing almost.

For if you come near,

And cross in this sphere,

I’m now sitting upright in a perfect circle of blinding light.

“
The death will be slow,

And your body will glow.”

My breathing is even, deliberate, and I feel a sense of power building deep inside of myself. I’ve left off where Will’s words, his instructions, ended the last time I used the “spell”. It needs more, though. I don’t know
how
I know it, but I just do.

“
Be gone from this place,

Never again show your face.

Come again and beware the outcome,

For in this home you are not welcome.”

I hear a whooshing sound as the blankets covering my legs flutter in the artificial breeze. Whatever, or
whoever
, it was, is gone. I’m sure of it, even though the light encapsulating me is so brilliant that I can’t see beyond its borders.

Confident that I’m now safe, I turn on the bedside lamp and take stock of the interior of my bedroom. The old-fashioned wooden rocker in the corner is still swinging forward and back from the same momentum that rattled my bedding after my words were finished.

It’s over. Whatever
it
was, it’s over. I get up quickly, leaving the warmth of my bed behind to check the lock on all the windows and doors. Adrenaline is now pumping full force through my body, causing my heart to pound hard against my chest. Whatever hope I had for some level of sleep is now completely shattered.

I rummage through my closet for my old pink Snuggie and wrap it tight around my shoulders. Whatever doubts I had had about Will’s words the night in the cemetery, thinking their effect on the noises in the trees was just some figment of my overactive imagination, are now extinguished.

I had written off the growing candlelight that night as nothing more than the passing breeze feeding the flames higher, combined with a trick of my senses from eyes failing to adjust too quickly from the dark of night to the flickering of that same flame.

But now, I find myself realizing it was something more. The sounds of the breathing, definitely not my own, are still fresh. I don’t doubt them. When time passes, I may find myself questioning their authenticity as my mind will most likely try to rationalize everything. But in this moment, I know I heard them.

The only thing that kept me safe, that rid my home of the source of those breaths were my words. Will’s words.

I grab my cell phone and let instinct guide me as I bring up the long list of ignored text messages from him.

Two hours ago:
PLEASE CALL ME, LEAH. I KNOW WE CAN GET PAST THIS.

Three hours ago:
I’VE RUINED EVERYTHING HAVEN’T I?

Five hours ago:
I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME. I CAN’T STOP THINKING OF YOU.

I scroll back further, skipping over a half dozen similar messages, before hitting the little voicemail icon. I take a deep breath and prepare myself to hear his voice.

“Leah… I just need to hear you. I keep thinking you might pick up. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’ve waited all this time for her. It just never occurred to me that maybe she wouldn’t come. That I wouldn’t find her again. What I feel for you… I feel guilty for even letting myself fall for someone else, for not staying true to her. But,” I can hear the agony lacing its way through his thoughts. “When I think about not being with you… Leah-- I just can’t do it. I can’t bring myself to lose you both. I’ve already lost her. I can’t change that. Please don’t let me lose you, too.”

I sit still, holding the phone to my ear long after the message has ended. Could this really work? Do we have even the smallest bit of a chance?

If what he says is true, and he can accept that I’m not her, could he love me for me? Or maybe I’m doing the cruelest thing possible to myself and feeding into false hope. What’s the proper length for grieving, anyway? Has enough time passed where he could even attempt to move on with someone else?

Hmm. One way to find out. I run into the living room and detach my laptop from the charger, rushing back to bed with it in hand. Bringing the device to life, I run a very general search for any mention, any detail I can find, using the few clues I know. His full name, birthday, place of birth, property records. It’s amazing what you can find out about a person online… scary even.

Twenty minutes after I begin to cultivate my detective skills, I’m able to find the hospital where he was born. His mother’s name, address, the business license for Will’s construction company, the purchase date of his home, as well as the dog license for Moose with the city of Salem.

The only thing I can’t seem to find is a marriage license. Nothing. With no luck, I decide to switch directions and search for her. I know her name was Amelia. I assume she took his last name, and I know from certain things he’s said that she was two years younger than him.

From all the stories he’s recounted, she must have lived in Salem at some point. So, I run every search imaginable. Still nothing. In this day and age you can find anything… and I mean ANYTHING on the World Wide Web. But yet, there’s nothing about her.

I spend the rest of the night checking search engine after search engine. By the time I’m ready to give up, both from exasperation and eye-strain, my alarm clock decides to intervene ending the computer session.

Lack of sleep is
n’
t even remotely on my mind as I complete the tasks of showering and dressing to open the coffee shop. All I can think about is finding out about Wil
l’
s late wife. I find that
I’
m becoming obsessed with it.

~*~

“
Hey, boss lady, are we accepting the coupons from last wee
k’
s newspaper?
I’
ve got someone with one up front
.
” Luis peaks his head into my office.

I wave my hand
.“
Sure. They just expired but take them anyway, and offer them a discount card for every tenth cup. Sh
e’
s probably a bargain hunter
.
”

I barely raise my head from the pillow of paper underneath. The breakfast
and
lunch rush have successfully passed without incident.
I’
m not on my game today, and if I were faced with one of the many little hiccups that can pop up at any given moment,
I’
m not sure
I’
d be able to cope today.

Accepting expired coupons is about as serious as I can get until I catch a nap.

But sleep will just not come. The more tired I grow, the further sleep and relief seem to be, though I know I wo
n’
t be able to find that peace until
I’
ve solved the great mysteries plaguing my life.

Something was in my room last night. Something I was able to chase off with words that can only have
some
sort of magic to them to be able to do what they did. Not once. But twice.

Then, we have the mysterious late wife of whom I can not find a trace. I know she must have existed. Liza flat out told me she did, mentioning over and over how she helped him recover from her death, to pick up the pieces.

Liza.

Amelia.

Picking up the pieces.

I do
n’
t know if i
t’
s the exhaustion causing hallucinations, bu
t
… what if she did help him pick up the pieces.
Three hundred years ago
.

My head snaps up fast enough to give me whiplash, the dizziness it incites in me clouds over the mental reasoning
I’
m trying to rationalize.

Will swears he was married, and even if I ca
n’
t find concrete proof of the union, I only have to remember the pain in his eyes when he spoke of her to offer indisputable proof. Liza has confirmed that he was not only married but that she passed away. According to Will, Liza was not only my twin, but my unsuccessful rival for his affection. She was the one who planted seed after seed of doubt in my mind as to Wil
l’
s mental state.

Hmmm... I
t’
s just not sitting right with me. If Liza was doing nothing but trying to separate us, why would she confirm in any way that he was a widower? She was very blunt in letting me know that she thought he was emotionally disturbed and merely projecting onto me. If she did
n’
t believe his magical story, then why would she confess he was indeed married, especially when I can find no documented proof of the nuptials.

Why not just lump that in with his delusions? Unless it was true. And if not in this life, as I ca
n’
t seem to find evidence of i
t
… then in the last. What if it was part of a life that she has every reason to try andbury? To have him all to herself by making sure he could never be reunited wit
h
… me.

I grab my keys and make sure to lock up my office.

“
Luis,
I’
ll be out of town for the next few days.
I’
ll have my mom check in but
I’
m leaving you in charge
.
”

I do
n’
t wait for any reply before leaving
The Coffee Bean
behind.