#I have tethers on my backpack so I can carry stuffed animals with me when I go out without losing them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-headbop-wraith · 4 years ago

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2_35 The Non-smoking Section

The group came in about around the time the morning shift ended, when the lamps in the diner’s inner rooms bad been shut off. This is on the verge of the breakfast rush, when the local patrons swarm in for the early bird specials before the time slot expired. Probably students, they weren’t regulars, but I had never seen them before. The two guys carried a few beaten up books stuffed with pages, a lot of it notebook paper, and the girl carried a laptop. I guessed they were ready for a day haul or something, that wasn’t all uncommon.

“Just find yourself a seat,” my supervisor chirped, without an upward glance to the newcomers. He passed by with a tray loaded with plates, headed toward the kitchens walk-in entrance across the room. “Someone will be with you in a moment.”

“Any open plugs?” the girl queried. I really wasn’t paying attention, while in the midst of wiping down a table and collecting some coffee mugs. However, I knew where a few of our plugs were for the cleaning, and the tall guy was a hunk.

“In the back room, over there. There’s a booth in the back corner by some,” I offered, as I straighten up and motion with my rag hand toward a doorway. “It’s kind of quiet too.” I conclude wiping down the tables surface and the seats, then pluck up the mugs and return to the kitchen.

The clatter of metal pots assaults my ears and the snap-clack of a spatula on the grill. The kitchen atmosphere is hot and noisy, as the cooks work to fend the grills from scorching smoky eggs and potatoes. Again I remind myself to appreciate the stifling temperature, the walk to my car will be cold and that’ll last until I reach my apartment, since my heater decided to stop working.

I pass between the tall steel bar where the heating lamps dangle, and the coffee station. Under the low hanging lamps awaits the next order of pancakes and ham. My co-worker Stella is over by the coffee station, putting in another filter and filling up the tank. I pass her on the way to the far side of the kitchen towards the dishwashing rack, and add the mugs to the collection of grungy plates.

“We got a live bunch in the house,” I call, for the kitchen staff. “Is anything needed from the freezer?”

Flames spit from the cast iron grill opposite to the breakfast cook, and he swats at the bluish gust with his tongs. “Another bag of hash and fries,” he calls at my back. “And shrimp.”

Shrimp? This early? Gross. I don’t argue, I go to the far side of the kitchen and enter the walk in freezer. Our restaurant carries the most basic food groups of the pyramid, either to be flash heated or burnt fast on the grill. I deliver the potato and seafood combination to the fryer station, and still beat Stella out into the dining room.

There’s an issue with the dog. Or a closing issue. The group had a dog with them and none of them had papers for it, but my supervisor was done arguing. Probably a good idea too, since the guy really didn’t have an arm. He probably didn’t want to argue in front of a subordinate either, he was weird like that. My manager could be a real dummy sometimes, like, what’d he think was gonna happen? They’d go somewhere else for breakfast and we’d look like total a-holes for turning away a guy with a disability. Probably wind up with a bad review, but who checked those out anyway? Just my manager.

I didn’t get the gist of the ending discussion, an older couple arrived and had themselves seated so I had to take an order before getting back to the study group. What a waste of time. It gave them a chance to get their stuff settled, without me in the way. The girl shoved her backpack into the booth and climbed right in, while the two guys put a couple of books on the table and organized these shit torn notebooks. Some no longer had their covers and were just pages barely tethered by a spiral ring, and pages filled with this really tight half handwritten and most of it cursive, was it even in English?

“Hey, welcome to Cranberries,” I began, after a sharp breath. My warm expression took an immediate plunge, and they probably saw it. The shorter guy and girl sat on one side of the table and looked really worn out. They sort of glared at me, not a mean glare, but they just kind of projected this suppressed irritation regarding my presence. I was used to that look after finals week. The hunk just raised his eyebrow over the edges of the tinted shades he wore. I couldn’t help but smirk, at least he was nice. “Um, I’m really sorry about my boss. We have strict policy about service animals and—”

“Stop right there,” the girl said. She raised a finger above the blonde guys hunched backside. The smaller guy was pushing a stack of books toward the tables center, and the hunk was staring at them. “We need all of your coffee. And menus. And silverware….”

“Take it easy, Vi,” the hunk broke in. Thank you gentle giant. “She wasn’t the one trying to kick us out.” A white snout poked out from under the table between small guy and girl. “Sorry, rough night,” he explained, and wilted a bit under the girl’s redirected glower. “Some coffee to start, and do you have an appetizer this early? What time was it?”

“Er… how ‘bout the family breakfast plan?” I described it off – a bowl of hash browns, scrambled eggs, a choice of either sausage or bacon. My voice trails off. The girl is really scary, she looks at me like I’m here to steal the big guy away. “How ‘bout the menus, then?”

I nearly forget the older couple’s drinks. Damn, ten minutes in and the days already ruined. Something’s banging around in the kitchen when I enter. I hear water and see steam, one of the cooks probably washing out the larger pots. Stella walks by with a stack of used plates and gives me a little nudge with her elbow as she walks through.

“Carter got them nice and worked up for you, did he?” she sniggered. “Isn’t he the most thoughtful?”

I follow her. “The guy doesn’t know when to mind his own business,” I hiss. This is after, of course, I give the kitchen a short glance around. “He’s great and all with help, but unless someone’s being rowdy or obscene, he doesn’t need to get involved. I mean, I’ve seen worse for fudgen sakes.”

We go our separate ways. Stella drops off the dirtied plates at the dishwasher, and grabs the new orders from the bar. I grab one of the freshly steamed trays and return to the coffee station. The coffee is still brewing but it’s almost done, so I gather up a pot and some mugs from the drying rack and check again. I fill the pitcher, grab some spare glasses along the way and leave the kitchen. I loop around the diners perimeter to hit the fountain dispenser, remember the menus from the front desk, and drop off the fountain drinks for the couple.

The older couple a ways from the doorway to the study tables room, but I can’t see the back corner until I enter the room from this side. It’s a loop, there are two exits or entrances to the dining rooms but only the rooms directly beside the kitchen can be entered from the kitchens side.

I catch a few snips of their conversation. Something about glamour, and I automatically think of some makeup brand like Loreal, but the guy and girl are talking to the bigger guy. The small guy dabs at his nose with a napkin, at first I thought he was crying.

“If something comes up, I can duck out quick,” the hunk was saying. “But I have been working on this for a while, y’know, why not?”

“Y-yeah,” the blonde guy murmured, his voice raspy. “C’see that.” He has one book open, a crushed page is nearly falling out as he holds it elevated off the table and stares over the top.

As I pour out three mugs of coffee the light above the table pulsed on bright and dims, but doesn’t go out. In the winter we usually turn the diners lights off at seven, if the weathers good the sunbeams built into the ceiling would have the rooms filled with natural light.

“Here are those menus,” I say, and passed them out. “If the light keeps giving you problems, you can just unscrew it.” I breeze away for a bit to nab some silverware off the nearest table. It helps keep me from staring at the blond guy as he does everything methodically one handed, from pouring out some sugar from its bottle, to undoing the little utensils wrapped in napkin. I kind of wanted to help him but it’s hard to gauge how handicaps react to assistance. I’ve had to deal with some certified nuts before, that laid out a garden full of hostile intents and just waited by tending their extreme irrationality until some naïve cinnamon bun stumbled through their field of bristling with agitation.

The littler guy was the saddest sight, his vest barely holding his shoulder up rather the other way around, and he kept his eyes downcast from the guy vertical to him, even when he passed over a menu. The hunk gave the menu an edgy kind of scowl and set it aside. “Is there anything else I can get you for the time?” I hold the tray over my legs, hoping for some sort of errand. I don’t know why, the diner was going to be busy in about a few more minutes and I wouldn’t have a moment to text friends.

“Honey,” the blonde states. I’m a little taken. Did he just call me…? “There are none on the table?” He tilts his head away. Oh.

Blue girl checked at the assortment of syrups and condiments at the far end of the table, then turned back. “Honey would be good. Oh, and I am sorry for being ticked off at you… y’know, indirectly.” She straightened her back against the uncomfortable chair and nudged her glasses up a little on her brow. “He’s right, we’ve had a… long night.”

“You’re fine,” I say, and smile. Normally I had no trouble with the students coming through on holiday… they looked like students anyway. It was best to be on good terms, since they looked about ready to move into the diner. “You on vacation? Or visiting family?” I motion my thumb off the tray, towards the books piled on the table.

“Could say that,” the blonde mumbles. He gets poked in the side by the girls elbow, but he doesn’t react much aside from glancing her way, without another word.

“We’re traveling,” the girl says. She’s working at the bag she shoved into the booth, unzips it and slips out a laptop, the sides of it are scuffed and scratched. “This is our last stop before we head back.”

I gave a small forced laugh. “In that case, I’m glad you were able to come by and dine with us this evening.” That was flat out embarrassing. I grimaced and inched away from the table. They – or just the hunk and the girl, the scrawny guy didn’t look up – seemed to share my inner turmoil for waitresses trademark pre scripted lines. “Damnit, that was bad. Wish I had skipped that. Um, give me a few seconds, and I’ll have your honey and get back to you for those orders.”

It smelt like the cast iron grill cook lost another shred of beef through the bars of the stove. The beef was one hundred percent, and if it wasn’t packed and rolled right it’d just sort of fall apart before it was cooked through. I stood off to the side and looked up occasionally, watching as the cook used the scorched tongs to get the piece out before the kitchen was smoked up. I posted about the group that came by, and pined about getting off in six hours. Hopefully I’d get some customers that actually tipped.

I checked on the old couple, but they were content for the time and only needed a refill of soda. A few new customers had come in; a family with rowdy kids and a big guy in a big coat which he would not remove. I went around passing out menus and started people with customary drink orders, a few times I passed by the doorway of the back room and could see the study group being more than antsy about something. I couldn’t get clean ends of what they were saying, but they weren’t being quiet about.

Rather go directly to that group after my rounds, I doubled back to the kitchen to take up a tray for some glasses of milk, and gathered up some food orders ready for the diner. I dropped off the food and made rounds; guy in the coat needed more time; the family didn’t know what they wanted, they thought they did but five kids on the extreme spectrum of age, and the eldest wouldn’t stop screaming about ‘Frozen’ happy meals.

“—their eyes aren’t dark cause they don’t manifest the same way,” the blonde was mumbling into his mug. He stirred the hot drink slowly, hardly looked up when I approached the table and set a bottle of honey down by his cup. The thin figure was leaning out on the edge of the seat now, one leg bent out from his side. “Hey,” he said.

“Are you all ready to order, then?” I heaved a breath. The dog was now seated on the girls lap, she had a menu open and the dog – this dog had little glasses on his snout – he was scrolling through the lunch selection with great meditation. “If my boss catches the dog at the table like that….”

“You gotta get down now,” the girl said. The dog obliged, and slipped between her and the blonde dude to the floor beneath the table. “I know. We were keeping an eye out.”

That was very considerate, though it didn’t feel as such. “I don’t wanna lose my job,” I added. “My boss is really kooky about this sort of thing.” I took the notepad and pen from my apron, and flipped to a semi clean page. “What can I get you? Did you find any appetizers to start with?” I glanced to the hunk guy, but he only had his gaze set on the girl across from him. She didn’t seem to notice, or maybe it was those tinted sunglasses making my eyes play tricks on me. The girl tapped away at the computer, then looked beside her.

“You wanna go first? Art?” she asked. The scrawny guy gave his head a minute shake, and continued sipping at his black drink. “I’m gonna order you some fish and chips, and you’ll work on those. Okay?” The guy didn’t look at her as he adjusted himself on his seat. The dog set its face on his lap, and the small guy lowered his hand to rest on its thick mane. “Fish and chips, an extra buff Chillisaster with a side of Quesadilla, and your ‘I can’t believe it’s not a Texas chicken basket’ special.”

As I jotted all this down, she took the honey bottle and squeezed it into her coffee. The hunk guy hadn’t moved, aside from a shift of his head. I read off the order, and looked at him. “Was that everything? Are you getting something, sir? Sir?”

“Huh? What?” He glanced at his hands, splayed them out onto the two books opened up in front of him and seemed genuinely surprised to see he had hands. “No,” he answered. “She ordered for me.” And that seemed to be the unanimous agreement. Girl orders everything.

“Maybe they’re closer to residual,” the scrawny guy was saying. His question was directed to the girl, mostly. He turned away as he raised his hand, and hacked into the crook of his arm. “Are residual the same as ghosts?” he sniffled.

“There hasn’t been enough case studies gathered to compare the two,” the girl answered, as she typed. “Is your wifi password secure?” she chimes, without looking up.

“No. Just look for Cranberries,” I answer. “I’ll have your orders out as soon as they’re ready.” She said a thank you as I turn to leave.

The family was still working on getting their decisions organized, but for the most part they made an off menu request for burgers and condiments. Guy in the coat was still fine, he admitted he was just warming up and I suspected he was straight off the streets. I’d have to talk with my manage about the guy. Another group of people came in, wanting orange juice and milk; I handed them the menus and returned to the kitchen for more glasses.

The diner began to pick up as noon trickled by, the time spent between impatient customers and the zesty smells of the kitchen was tolerable. I announced orders each time I returned to the kitchen, and either food or refreshments adored atop a tray accompanied me out to the customers. Between the yogurt shack, a clothing store, and a few other odd end shops that shared space in the strip mall, Craneberries always had a steady stream of customers through the course of the daylight hours.

Food went out to the study group, while Carter escorted another arriving group to some seats in the back.

“But you didn’t do anything to… dispel them, did you?” the blue was asking. The laptop was slanted across the table beside her elbow, and an open notebook sat to her opposite shoulder. A couple of the books lay open around the table, the wrinkled notebook paper sticking out of most that I could see. The trio had been idly flipping through the pages and passing the books around, while they waited for the cycle of fresh mugs and bottomless pots of coffee. The brass pots always left the table empty and the scrawny guy’s mug was never full but always warm.

I set the cluttered tray on the neighboring table and began passing out plates weighted with food. “Okay, who got the Chillisaster and Q-dillas?” The girls hand shot up, and I hovered over with the two plates as she reorganized the collection of cold coffee mugs and books.

The hunk was slouched forward facing the blue, his arms crossed over the book before him. He opened his palms and motioned his thumbs outward. “You had everything under control,” he said. His brows creased behind his shades as he frowned. “You didn’t expect me to charge in, did you? That’s part of making a situation worse. What say we give a little credit, where credit’s due.”

“You were getting fish and chips?” I lowered the plate beside the blonde. He glanced up from the duo book and scribbled in notepad he was scanning through, and kind of scooted the items aside to make space.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“I was right there,” the hunk added. “I wasn’t gonna let anything happen, if I could help it.” I stood there for a total of forty-five seconds before he realized I was waiting on him to take the chicken tender basket. The menu said a whole pound of chicken, I don’t think it exaggerated that enough.

“Can I get some hot sauce for the ‘dillas?” blue asked, then turned back to the big guy. “Okay. Okay,” she said. “If we get the chance, I’ll ask you about that later. Art, do you….?”

“Don’t drag me into this.” The scrawny guy was picking at the thick potato slices on the plate and nibbled on one.

“Are you done with this pot?” I can feel its empty when I raise it from the table. “I’ll be back in a bit to check on you. Aside from the sauce, is there anything else I can hurry on by?” I pointed at the blue when she looked my way, but she shook her head.

“Nope,” the hunk added, as he handed off one of his chicken slices to the girl. “Good for now.” The blue accepted the chicken slice and passed it under the table, where the sounds of snapping jaws and content gurgles became audible. Carter didn’t need to know about this, but I would make sure to do my vacuuming rounds before I got off work later.

Eggs and pancakes, refreshments of juices and dairy gave way to sodas and teas. The guy in the coat finally ordered the super stack sandwich with a side of mozzarella sticks. That saved me from getting in the midst of another drama spiel with my manager, justified or not. The guy in the big coat didn’t give me bad vibes, but he couldn’t just be around taking up space when we had dozens of hungry customers waiting for service too. I hovered around the family with five screaming kids, and balanced them with another family of three – both these tables were always out of some beverage, or wanted more condiments for their burger buns. For all the trouble neither family left a good enough tip, and I was glad when they gathered up their small clan and left.

People started to fill the back room around mid-noon, and I started to get more snippets from the study group. They were practically oblivious to the change in activity around them. After I brought by another pot of coffee and Cranberries trademark picante sauce – which hunk guy curled his nose at (I don’t blame him) – blue needed a pot of hot water and a new mug for tea. I got a good gist of the books they were reading, on the rare occasion one of them had a book raised off the table. Stuff about the true ghost stories, medium exploration, the scientific process of paranormal investigations, and poltergeist… something.

“There’s virtually no evidence to back up peoples claims,” the girl went on, voice livid and high pitched. “They’re hard to explain, but the theory I liked was the pocket dimensions.” She set aside her fork coated in beef chili and mustard, and pressed her hands together forming a circle. “And it kind of does have something to do with residual haunts. This scene is just kind of imprinted in a certain area, their home unchanged. They can be no wiser.”

“There’s a lot of limestone in this region,” scrawny guy said. Aside from poking at his fried potato slices when they first arrived, he really didn’t touch the food. He poured out another mug of coffee and leaned over, toward the girl beside him. “So what’s that?”

Meanwhile, as they discussed onward, I was getting an order from the table across from them. I glance up as my customers trail off, mulling over what had the lowest calorie content. “C’mon, order a burger. You can’t go wrong with a burger. Pack it with onion rings, special sauce, bacon, and extra meat.” I couldn’t make out much of what blue was doing, but the other two seemed absorbed with that spot on the table she worked at. “You know we have a vegetarian deluxe bonus meal plan.” I offer.

Half are absorbed with an iPad one carries, and she’s showing of pictures or something. One girl over twiddles her fingers at the touch screen of her phone, and sets it down on the table. She fixes her hair long hair aside and shifts in her seat, to face me. “Ya, no, see, we’re not like vegetarians.” She fanned herself with a hand, her bright fingernails flashing. “We just ya’know collectively don’t like meat. Meat’s cruel and we, like, really-really hate it.”

“Yeaah,” chimed the girl beside her. “It’s sooo cruel. How can you, just like, handle animal flesh? It’s so hurtful.”

Honestly, I can’t tell if they’re trying to be funny or what. They can’t be real. Eventually their veggies ship does set sail. “So, the low cal stuffed bell peppers with a side of seasoned cucumber bites, and a bowl of berry splash chunks?” I asked the girls, most of them still oogling over the iPad and whatever it displayed. To be fair, two had noticed the purple vested hunk a few tables over.

“Oh mi gosh, isn’t he the hottest piece around?” A few others on the side of the table facing hunk zone deemed the sight worthy of a rating.

The ‘it’s so cruel’ girl whined. “Why can’t my boyfriend be hot like him?”

“Remember H.G. Wells ‘Time Machine’?” The hunk was saying, without a clue to the rabid evaluation the fem. squad had set on him. “The home is still there, or a version of it in a time and place? Wait, no. That’s confusing. Don’t think about it, Art.”

“Too late,” scrawny guy moaned. A thud came from the table.

I try to sound chipper, energetic. “Okay, is that it?” That was not It. They had a whole list of customized orders to dish out, and had to know the precise percentage of the calories in each meal. I made up some numbers, though it was right there BESIDE THE DISH on the menu if they just looked.

“If they all died around the same time,” I overheard the girl say, “the house then just ‘remembers’ the way things were, maybe they’re attached to the home.” She said something here, I couldn’t hear with orders being screamed at me and ‘Why wasn’t I faster at writing?’ Blue went on calmly, despite the assault on human vocabulary that I was subjected to. “I mean, that’s an explanation for why they’re still around.”

A low noise hums on the air. I think it might be the electricity in the wiring, but I can’t place the exact sound of it. I only noticed when the lights came on again, brightening dully in turn before losing all power. A few of the customers notice this time.

“How can we be sure it’s not them that’s making the illusion?” The hunk asks, poses. I don’t know.

“Okay,” I say, and flip the menu shut, “you know you’ll have to pay the difference.” They’ve done this before. “It might take a while, but I’ll go ahead and get your short cake milkshakes started.”

“It could work either way,” the girl chirps.

The guy in the coat was waiting for a friend. I took the new arrivals order, and stole a few empty stacks of plates for the kitchen dishwasher. I place the super complex orders for the Barbie’s and ask Mabel, part of the noon staff, to mix up a whole round of milkshakes.

Most of our customers stay for only an hour and take off, but a few stick around for several hours on either the internet or read a book (or two or three). The guy in the coat and his friend leave a sizable tip, and I’m glad Carter didn’t get involved with them at all.

I dropped off milkshakes and return to the slightly subdued study group. A ‘bite’ had been taken from a fish slice, and a few of the potato slices were missing.

“—be better to get an obscure sound,” the blonde muttered. He was wearing headphones with the cord attached to a small box sitting on the table, the digital device or whatever was by the blank page of a notebook with a column of times written down. He pulled one ear muff from the side of his head and grinned. “What if, just saying ‘if’, you do some mild manipulation? Then we can focus on the ghosts as a priority.”

The hunk didn’t look up. He flipped a page of the book he was reading and handed it across the table to the blue. “No,” he rumbled. He picked up the next book that lay open on the table. The girl set the book she was given down, and shifted a bit over to check her laptop screen.

“It’s a joke,” the scrawny guy mumbled. “Take a joke Lew, you need one to lighten up.” He glanced my way when I reached the table. At his feet lay the dog, curled up over his white tennies. The dog has been a model guest, better than some of the people that flooded through after season end games.

“If you’re done with that basket, and the plate,” I say, indicating the blues empty quesadilla plate. “Thank you.”

“Are you planning to tell the Hershey’s about the nature of their tenants?” the hunk asked. He had his finger pressed to some line in the notebook, and slouched to the side with his other arm holding his head up.

The girl hands me a cold coffee mug, and hesitates as I balance it in the chicken tender basket. “I wanna gather more info. It’s tedious,” she nods toward the blonde beside her, “but maybe we should focus on getting our facts together? Hm?”

“Are you ready for your check?” I insert. “Or is there something else I can get you?” Without meaning to, I glance to the plate of fish and chips. The scrawny guy leans to the side and pressed his face into his shoulder.

“We’ll be here a bit longer, if that’s all right?” the girl replied. She’s digging around in the backpack beside the wall, until she produces a camera. With practiced ease she pops the panel in its corner edge open and slips out a tiny SD reader. “I could do with some more tea, and a glass of plain water, no ice.” I glance the hunks way, but he just looks away and motions slightly with the hand splayed over the notebook.

As I walk away, I can hear the blue say behind my back, “Art. Try and eat some more.”

There’s a shrill break in his voice, as he coughs. “I’m doin that. Don’t pressure me.”

The Cranberries diner reaches its midday lull. The complicated table gets their meals, and I only have to take five of the seven plates back on three different occasions to fix their orders – why we don’t have regulations for this sort of thing will forever mystify me. I’m not surprised they don’t tip. On one occasion while I’m in the kitchens back, I make it a point to warn the cooks about the weird power flares the restaurants been having. For now, the kitchen seems unaffected. Carter gets wind of the problem and offers his usual ‘I’ll look in to it.’ The old couple takes some soup and pie to go, the antiquatedness of this conclusion strikes me as endearing.

Eventually people have stopped screaming at me for refills, and I have enough time for a lunch and send out some text posts to a few friends, finalizing out the evenings plans once my shift is done. I do my rounds clearing out the used plates and take the bottle of spray cleaner for the tables. We’re a bit overstaffed and aside from a few regulars and the study group, I look for another task to keep busy with while filling out orders. I know it gets obnoxious when me and my associates keep coming around to the tables with the same questions, but if we don’t look like we’re looking after the customers, I guarantee you Carter will catch us somewhere and give us his classic undermining talk. At least, until someone happens upon the scene and it gets ten times more awkward.

“The only article that keeps popping up is this fire, no mention of deaths,” blue muttered. She sounded irritated, so I only pass through to drop off another pitcher of just hot water and deposit a few teabags, then go. “There’s absolutely no information about surviving families.” I walk a little faster and hide out in the kitchen.

One of the cooks had extra onion rings left over from early noon, and I shared them with Mabel and a few of the janitors that popped up around the kitchen for the maintenance cleans.

“He is such a beef cake,” Mabel was saying. She leaned out from the large entrance of the kitchen and at this precise angle, we could see across to the furthest doorway to the back room and a few of the tables within. Scrawny guys leg was barely visible through the doorway, but I knew who she was talking about. “You gonna ask him for his number?”

“Mabel!” I scold, and reach out to slap her shoulder. She only giggles and chews on her onion ring. “I think he’s already taken, or has to be. A guy like that.” I bite my lip as I struggle to suppress a grin, but fail.

“Never stopped you before,” she sniggered. Mabel waggled her eyebrows and stuck her tongue out at me. She always teased me like this, but I did the same to her when she was waiting on a hot guy. It didn’t save her from my wrath though. I knocked the onion ring out of her hand, and she wailed as it hit the tile floor and tumbled up under a rolling cabinet. “You saboteur!”

“Serves you right.” I nodded her way, as I crossed the kitchen to the coffee tanks and filled up another pot. I picked up a tray and a few empty glasses, and hit the fountain dispenser as I circled the dining room.

A new cluster of people had already seated themselves in the front room near the entrance. “We’ll be with you in a moment,” I called. I delivered the cold drink to a couple with a baby near the back room, then entered to check on the study group. Already I can see something’s up, I’m not sure what, but after dealing with enough characters over the years you get to a point where you can kind of detect a shift.

First off, the plat of fish and chips is virtually untouched since the last time I’ve been by. The group as a whole is quiet; probably due to the thin guy snuggling into the crook of his arm with his hand curled up by a near empty cup of coffee, the syrupy swill of undissolved sugar languishes in the bottom. The blue is fully engrossed with her laptop as I come up, and she occasionally jots notes down in her notebook. Beef cake has his attention on a book, the same book he’s had for the day and he just sort of flips through each page slowly; even without seeing his eyes I can tell he’s not reading. I’d rather run off again, but I was already here.

“Hey, how’s it going?” I start, softly. I don’t need to ask if the small guy is asleep, he is or wants to be left alone. “I brought a new pot.” That sounded traitorous, but I replaced the old pot with the new pitcher. I had no idea how many cups the scrawny dude had drunk, or how he managed to sleep under all that sugar. “Can I take some of your cups? And, do you guys want a desert or something?”

“Yes, please.” The blue gathers up some of the empty glasses, and I balance them on my tray. “I’m sorry,” she says, as she hands over the fish and chips. “I don’t think we’re ready for anything else, aside from more drinks maybe.” The cold fish pieces have taken on that translucent gummy color, as if the air was toxic to them as they had sat exposed. “We’re good for now. Oh, do you have any fruit sodas?”

“We have Purple Stuff,” I say, as I transfer empty mugs onto the tray. The scrawny guy’s knuckles twitch as the ceramic cups clink together. “You want some of that? Or something else?” I look over at the hunk and felt my face heating up. That’s right, his color theme was purple. I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Oh geez. Oh geez. Fix this. Fix this! “But we have an assortment of fruit themed—”

“Purple Stuff! Perfect,” blue chirped. Then, of all derailed conversations, she turned to the hunk across from her. “Huh. You’re really purple.” The hunk dropped his book onto the table with a plunk and grabbed at the front of his shirt vest; he stared at blue, then looked over at me. Scrawny guy gurgled something in his sleep and sort of shifted a bit, his stump twitches at his side.

“Well, I’ll go and get that for you then.” I shouldered the awkward tray and began backing away a little. All I needed now was to fall down and break something, and probably the hunk would be the first of them to help me and pick up the mess. I would practically die of embarrassment if that happened. “Anything at all,” I went on, voice a little creaky. This is absolutely the worst. “Just give a holler, and someone… I’ll be right by. Thanks. Bye. I’ll be back, okay.” I hasten back to the kitchen, drop off the tray and dishes, then head on out and pass out more menus for a group of newcomers. After all this, I completely forgot about her drink.

Cranberries were a nice little restaurant chain and they offered a large variety of foods from Hawaiian dishes, Irish classics, a lot of American, or whatever else was popular across the continents. For the assorted range, the quality wasn’t the highest but it was better than Flapjacks, and had customized menus for the adventurous. It was the perfect place to try for a customized pizza, and Vivi had hopes of encouraging an appetite out of Arthur. The theory had been a good one but, Arthur’s cold was a high stakes factor for his inability to eat. Vivi was virtually at a loss if not for Mystery’s aid, he had forced Arthur to take a chicken filet, and then threatened to cease eating himself until Arthur had a bite more of some food.

Aside from the meal and some necessary catching up, they were able to analyze the collected media from the previous night. They wouldn’t dream of dedicating themselves to the critical work of their investigations in the Hirstein home, it wasn’t worth the risk.

The pictures taken the night before rendered undiscernible results at best, and nothing Vivi would dream of bothering Arthur with enhancing later for further scrutiny. Some of the images did have potential, she felt with her expertise of persuasion she could make the lead paranormal professor see shadows in the photograph. If only she had thought to snap a picture with the phone when she was caught in the former household of deceased members, but if the illusion was as fragile as she suspected then it probably wouldn’t have mattered.

Vivi disconnected the SD card and returned it to the protective slot in the camera. She raised her hand above her glasses and rubbed at her eyelids. How long had they been sitting around? An audible shuffled came from Arthur, as his hand jerked against the coffee stained spoon resting on its napkin. “At least he’s sleeping,” Vivi murmured.

“Yeah,” Lewis mumbled. The tone and voice sounded natural, as if he were using lungs, but there remained an off scratchy tang in his utterance while he was distracted. “Background garble would put me into a comma too.”

Carefully, Vivi pulled the ears muffs out from over Arthur’s head and raised them to her ears. Verifying there was no audio playing through she plucked up the digital recorder beside Arthur’s head, and tucked it into the backpack beside her. “He’ll bounce back in a few days,” she assured. “It’s the worse being sick while on the road.” She lifts her gaze and sees that Lewis was no longer mindlessly flipping the pages of his book, and was now reading the passage he had found thoroughly. Or was he? “Do you remember being sick?”

Lewis tensed, and a little flash of ember spiraled from the peak of his pompadour hairstyle. “How many days was I asleep?”

“Four,” Vivi answered. “What does that… ah.” She put her hands around her tea mug and felt the cold ceramic on her palms. “You knew Art was—”

“Can we change the radio?” This time Vivi could tell that Lewis was reading something in his book. She didn’t ask what it was, Lewis probably wasn’t as absorbed in the text as he wanted to be.

“I need to stretch my legs for a bit.” Vivi crawled over the back of the booth, despite Lewis’ protests of ‘Vivi don’t.’ “Vivi, yes,” she proclaimed, and slid out from the neighboring booth. She smoothed out her skirt and then knelt a bit. “You wanna come too?” Lewis was about to glide on out, when Mystery launched himself from under the table and joined her. “I know you’re a gentleman and you won’t follow. After all, someone needs to keep an eye on Artie.” Vivi waved back over her shoulder, and Mystery followed with a few departing yips directed at her back.

Lewis scooted back into his seat and gave Arthur his attention. Arthur was out, like, did Arthur court commas or something? He reached over and poked at the little sliver of skin visible at the top of Arthur’s forehead, just beneath the dark strands of hair. A low shudder twittered from Arthur, he stuffed his face down into the crook of his arm and quivered visibly.

From the kitchen in the room over, a muffle scream shot up and the sound of something like a plate or glass cracking echoed to the furthest side of the diner. Currently, there was no one in the back room where their group set up shop, but Lewis had seen a woman in the next room turn her head up curiously to the sudden commotion. Pretty soon they’d start to see shadow people too. It was best not to give such a situation much thought, they would be leaving soon… he hoped.

Lewis readdressed his book, and flipped through a few more pages as he scanned the title headings. It was one of Vivi’s rarer tomes that she had not yet parted with (Duet would absolutely have it if Vivi let on she had found it). The contents of the book covered haunting manifestos and theories behind poltergeist activities, and recounted some of the earliest recorded documentations of spiritual contact in Western culture. Much of the content was a challenge to follow, though the greatest disappointment was that it didn’t shed any light on Lewis’… unique predicament. The book was written from the human perspective and was completely biased.

Another one of those stifled whimpers came from Arthur and he jerked, the hand on the table curling into a disjointed fist and then relaxing. The table top was littered with crumpled napkins and the straw covers from the waters that frequented these parts. Lewis set the book atop a stack beside Vivi’s laptop, and began picking up the little pieces of paper and gathered them on his side of the table. After a while, Lewis stretched out and let his feet hover on the seat across from him, weightless, and he began to crinkle the straw bits into pea sized balls; or, marble sized if you were a person of average height. Arthur had always seemed very short on his own.

Once Lewis had a satisfactory collection, he began – or attempted – to balance the little arsenal of pellets on Arthur’s spiked hair tips. That wasn’t so difficult. Arthur made groggy snore sounds and tucked his face deeper into the side of his shoulder, as per usual, the sounds became little whining mewls. Lewis tore the covering off the straw that was meant for him, and used its pieces to form a little pyramid right beside Arthur’s hand. He was going to balance the coffee spoon on Arthur’s wristband and fill the scoop side with more paper pieces, but Arthur gurgled something and jerked. Lewis casually set the spoon aside and leaned far over in his seat. Arthur muttered gibberish, none of the slurred syllables Lewis had the slightest clue of.

“Art. Hey. Not here.” Lewis reached over Arthur’s head and shook the smaller frame by the back of his vest. “C’mon,” he says, “Open your eyes.” Arthur actually convulses a little as he’s raising his head, as if he’s being hit with a blunt object over and over. Arthur raised his head sideways and opens his eyes blearily, focusing on the person now across from him.

The reaction is something Lewis isn’t prepared for. Arthur slings his arms out, or arm, and thrusts Lewis’ hand away awkwardly. “Hisus— Yais!” Arthur sputtered and slumped back sideways, nearly clear out of his seat. One of the half empty cups tumbles over and rolls along the table edge, spilling water over a mess of singed napkins. Lewis moved his hands to clean the mess but stops himself, as Arthur fumbles around in his seat evidently disoriented. “Oh man… what are you doing?” Arthur pulls his hand to his face and digs his palm at the bridge of his brow, his clipped sleeve swivels uselessly along the backseat of the booth seeking fulfillment. “Where? Where?”

Lewis set his arms before him, over the books, and checked the table where the water had spilt. He brushed at his shirt sleeve, a little sizzle of cinder puffed off and extinguished on the open air. “Bad dream?” Lewis ventured.

Arthur was coughing, and trying to speak. He glanced around the bare back room of the diner, someone from the doorway had looked over in response to the erratic movements. A bunch of these little… paper balls fell out of his hair. Arthur shoved himself upright, internally thankful he had fallen on his good side. “I don’t remember,” he answered. Once in a comfortable position, he brushed the remainder of the pellets out of his hair. “It really… I thought I would’ve….” He turned his face up to Lewis. “Where’d Vivi go?” Slouching sideways, he saw that Mystery was not under the table either. He might’ve been able to surmise that, had he first taken into stock Lewis legs beside him on the seat. He scooted away.

“She and Mystery went out for a bit,” Lewis surmised, with a slight flick of his hand. He moved his fingers to the ascot and was trying to smooth it or remove a crease in his shirt collar, plucked up and bent over the shirt vest. If one watched carefully, the subtle flaw in Lewis’ illusion could be glimpsed. The cloth was almost too white, pristine, there were no visible weaving fibers but that on its own was hard to tell. It was hard to explain what Arthur decided he saw, but clothing couldn’t be a ghost. They had been talking all day about memories. “She didn’t actually say where.”

Arthur tilts his head down, and murmurs, “I-I see.” His hand resting on the table before him opens, then relaxes into a loose fist. His eyes trail to the small puddle of water on the table, and Arthur takes a burnt napkin and blots up what he can. “She’s not very discreet, huh?”

Lewis chuckled. “Nope.” He moved one of the open notebooks aside, as the water hurried to escape absorption. While Arthur was cleaning the table, sort of, Lewis began organizing the stacks of books and collecting up the loose bits of trash into one cup. Lewis waited until Arthur had poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and had a sip. “The possession.” Arthur paused as he was lowering the cup from his face, the hot steam burning his lips. He gazed through the mist and raised his thick brows, to those dark sunglasses staring back.

“I-I’m not ready for this,” Arthur said. He shook his head, or tried. His movement became stiff, muscles locked.

“This is important for you to hear,” Lewis replied.

“No, this isn’t a good time.” Arthur set the mug down and curled his hand around it. “Later. Much later, yes? Don’t make me do this now.”

Lewis adjusted his voice and leaned forward. He set his hands on the table. “I was weakened,” he hummed. Oddly, his voice had a subtle tremor in it, or a drumming. “It wouldn’t have worked, unless you were willing.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Arthur mumbled. He wrapped his arm across his chest and gripped the side of his neck. He fought off the burning in his chest, the dull pain in his skull that he promised himself had vanished overnight. “You… don’t know,” he took another shaky breath, “what this means to me.”

Lewis paused. Arthur shuddered and gripped his shoulder tighter. “Look, I’m trying to tell you. That’s…” Lewis stops and tugs his arms back towards himself. “Arthur, look at me. Try and hear me—”

“DON’T say that.” Arthur shoved himself back into the uncomfortable seat cushion and pulled his arm up, his only arm, up to hold the back of his shoulder. He focused on the coffee mug and the frail little wisps of white, twirling inside the rim of the mug. “I don’t blame you.”

The sounds of the kitchen came in through from the doorway, dishes hosed out by scorching water, the distant drone of voices from a far off world. Lewis set a hand to the edge of a book and picked at the loose pages. On either side of him bright ember flurries sputter out, waved away by his free hand. “I didn’t want this.” He stopped and tilted his head up, as their waiter skipped back into the room.

“Sorry to drop by,” she paused, and looked Lewis’ way. “Just checking to see if you needed anything?” She had another tray pinned behind her back, and a few empty glasses pinned in the other hand.

“Yes,” Arthur said. He relaxed a tad and twists to her, arm loosening from its vice grip on his shoulder. “Can I get, do you have fried mushrooms?”

“We… have sautéed mushrooms,” she offered. She gave the two another once over, her expression conflicted. “Hey. Are you guys doing okay?” Lewis could only nod. Was she really digging him or something? All day she had hardly given Vivi or Arthur a second look. Lewis looked behind him to the blank wall.

“No. I mean, no mushrooms,” Arthur sputtered. He brought his hand to his brow and took a deep breath, and another. Steady, slow; one one-thousand, two one-thousand. “Do you make fajitas?”

She nods, and places her eyes on Arthur. “We do. We have chicken, beef, and shrimp. You can get a full dish—”

“No-no,” Arthur said, and shook his head. He braced his arm across his chest so he could set it on the table beside him, and keep himself from pitching forward. “Just a water. A water and a Sierra Mist.”

“Arthur,” Lewis spoke, gently. The light above their table flickered and flashed.

“S-some steamed veggies,” Arthur stammered, coughed. He was trembling from each hack as he pressed his face into his shoulder. “You can do steamed veggies?” Keep breathing, don’t think. Calm, steady.

The waitress backed away, but nodded. “I can speak to the chef. Steamed veggies and a water.”

“And a soda,” Arthur groaned, as he bowed his head forward. “That’s right. Yeah, thanks.” He pulled his legs around to angle them off the side of the seat, and placed more weight onto his arm.

Lewis waited until the waiter was out of the doorway. “You shou—”

“I need some fresh air,” Arthur utters, as he stands. His voice is jittery, and it takes him a painful few tries to urge himself to stand on his two legs without the tables support. “It’s still daylight.” He wasn’t actually sure, he couldn’t look up. Lewis isn’t aware he’s giving Arthur any sort of look, until Arthur looks his way and frowns. Arthur reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tinfoil packet, some of its cells empty. “I got this, I got it under control. If you could just stop.”

Lewis leans away and clasps his hands together. “I really am not the one you should be worrying about,” he rattles.

“I know!” Arthur counted the little capsules left, before he pocketed his gum. “This… it’s been helping. I’ll see you in a bit.” And he leaves.

Beautiful. Spectacular. It couldn’t have gone better. Lewis looked to the laptop across from him, facing the empty seat of the booth. That was something to look at, but he was irritated. No secret, no hidden agenda. His eyes gleamed a little brighter, and he began a systematic mission to locate each little pellet and burn them to ash. One, two, five, eight.

The light flashed for its final time, as Lewis held up a hand. With a red spark the bulb popped and no more betrayed his true nature. Eleven, thirteen, twenty. He was taking new recruitments, and scorching the crumpled spherical shapes on his palm. Each time a little more of the flesh faded and flacked away in ember peels, revealing ebony and bone. He crushed the ash in his palm until there was nothing but dust; dust so fine it settled over the tables top in a fine velvety blanket. One more page.

When he swivels his head up, he has to take a double take. Here comes Vivi, with a look of utmost… why is she looking at him like that? Behind her is Arthur, sullen; trailing them is Mystery. She marches through the doorway into the room, and Lewis sees that her hands are bunched up beneath the collar of her scarf. Arthur makes a motion with his hand, he can’t do much but poke at his own chest. Lewis begins to fear Vivi has uncovered some mystic way to maim the nonphysical form of a ghost.

Oh? Oh! Lewis turns his skull down, his sunglasses clatter onto the table and he can understand what it is that Vivi has sworn her agitation upon. He’s disappointed, and internally wounded, but better they find him like this now than someone else stumble upon him.

When she’s near the table, Vivi snaps. “Lewis! What happened?” With Lewis sitting and Vivi standing, they’re the same height. Almost.

“I lost focus,” Lewis crackled. He was shuffling the books aside on the table, and had a notebook in one hand as he tried to fan off the ash. Mystery’s paws scratched at the table, slick with soot, as the dog tries to raise himself to inspect the damage. “Well, Arthur walked away!”

“Too soon,” Arthur gagged. “I am not.” He broke off and began wheezing fits. Probably irritated by the dust kicked up. “Fix it. You can’t be seen like that.”

“And why not?” Lewis challenged. Vivi turned away to check around, no one in the other room had happened to look in. “What is so offensive about my appearance?”

“Damnit Lew, if you—” Vivi bite her tongue. Mystery was yapping at her, the dog had spun from the table and faced one of the outer diners as the waitress walked past. Vivi cursed and swung back, she snatched the notebook from Lewis’ hand and held it up. The notebook unfolded, loose pages skim over the table as they swoop out in descent. “Would you? For me?”

Lewis had already shuffled away, smacking into the tight confines of the table as he recoiled his feet. “I need a mirror. I need something.”

Arthur squeezed into the booth across from Lewis and took up the orphaned tinted sunglasses. “Here, look at this,” Arthur said. He turned the shades surface to face Lewis, and let the other take them. “Any reflective surface works, right?”

Lewis didn’t reply. “It helps if you’re not watching,” he said, instead. Lewis raised his other hand and pinched the glossy lens between his thumb and forefinger. Arthur curled up against Vivi’s backpack, and moved the laptop screen to face him. Arthur pulls his hand back and finds his skin brushed thick with a gray shade.

“Is everything all right over here?” the waitress posed. As she neared Vivi she tries to lean over and see beyond the open notebook. “’Cause, I thought I saw something strange.”

“I know what you mean,” Lewis’ voice was coming off its scratchy tinge, but it was coming back. He fixed his sunglasses in place, and leaned over the backside of the neighboring booth to see the waiter. “Can we, by any chance, see our check?”

The waiter stared at him as she moved away, and began to leave. She cast a few more looks over her shoulder before she was out the doorway and into the main dining room.

Lewis leaned back onto his seat. He raised his head when Vivi took the edge of the seat beside him, and pointed a finger to his sleeve. “It’s okay. That wasn’t too bad,” she said. “Art? Can you cover the tab, and I’ll pay you back later?”

Arthur wasn’t looking at her, but he nodded. Perched on the seat with him was Mystery, and Arthur had a hand resting on the dog’s dark mane. “Don’t worry about it,” Arthur said. He had found something on the computer screen to distract himself with, for the time. “I’ll pack up then.”

“I’ll help you, there’s no hurry.” Vivi fixed her glasses. She tells herself nothing would have happened, it would have all worked out. Really. “It’s getting late, anyway. Will you carry some of these books back to the van?”

Lewis agreed. Only because she asked and he couldn’t say no. He managed to clean up the table a little better, and organize their gear before the waitress returned. When Arthur made it out to the van in the strip malls parking lot a little later, Lewis cringed inwardly. Arthur came with two Styrofoam drinks balanced upon a carryout box, of what he reminded Lewis was steamed vegetables.

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