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operatorsdiner · 7 days ago

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Cracking: Entry 8

The night was quiet, but Baylen’s mind was anything but. They sat hunched over, eyes darting between the clock and computer. The graveyard shift was always long, the silence stretching on for hours with nothing but the hue of the fluorescent lights and the occasional clatter of dishes from the kitchen. Baylen sat at the desk, drumming their fingers against it with one hand while they held their face with the other. They glared at the monitors displaying the overnight schedule for the following week. He had read the list of names and times at least 8 times over but it was one of the days where nothing made sense to them.

13 missing people, 6 murders, and 3 attempted kidnappings all in the local area. Each name lingered in his mind like a plague, too many of them close to home. His childhood neighbor was found dead in her home, a member of Adrian’s mock trial group from uni went missing after class, Enzo’s cousin survived an attempted abduction just a few days prior, and a classmate from Alex’s alumni culinary school had been bludgeoned to death in an alleyway… That was just to name a few.

The local news played softly from his phone’s speakers, the anchors droning on about the newest victim in this crime spree. A 22-year-old woman vanished without a trace. Just like the others. Another missing person, another name to add to the growing list. Perhaps, he was just simply too paranoid - but everything seemed to be connected and centralized on this crew, his crew.

Baylen slid back in his chair abruptly, wheels squeaking as the chair nearly toppled over with his movement. Lanky legs climbed over the arms of the meek office furniture, heading the short distance for the filing cabinets. A list repeating in his brain, ’My dance studio ID, Adrian’s resume, Alex’s employee of the week award with their picture, Vesper’s driver's license, Enzo’s customized lighter with an image of him and Dante on it, a letter from Wren’s parole officer’. He had hoped that maybe it had been him who had lost the items, not that something… more nefarious was going on. He hoped to soothe his worries, to soothe the angst building up in his chest.

But Baylen knew better, he knew he had never touched his employee's belongings and he knew even more so that he never removed his ID from its secured clip on his satchel.

This wasn't the first time something had gone missing, nor was it the first time it involved someone from his crew. A twisting ache took root in his chest—was all this more than coincidence?

Could this all just be a prank gone wrong? A misguided attempt at a joke by one of his staff? The thought crossed their mind, momentarily easing the tightness in their chest. Baylen’s gaze fell on the employee schedule tacked to the bulletin board. Each name stared back at them, accusing and guilty. Adrian, Alex, Vesper, Wren, Enzo, Dante… Could one of them be behind this?

But even as Baylen tried to rationalize the situation, a small voice in the back of their mind wouldn't let them shake the feeling that something was off. The doubts lingered, the unanswered questions still gnawing at their consciousness.

But at the same time, they couldn't afford to alienate their staff or create a hostile work environment based on mere suspicions and coincidences.

Baylen's mind was a battlefield, the logical side warring with the paranoid.

Could they really trust their staff completely? Could they be certain that there wasn't something more sinister at play?

Perhaps it was the fact that Baylen knew Wren spent two and half years in prison for committing a felony, but his opinion was relatively low on them. That and the fact that Wren somehow managed to show up late to each and every single one of their shifts despite living the closest out of everyone on staff. Wren was… Baylen’s opposite in every sense of the word; eager, boisterous, dramatic, and always late. Baylen did not understand how someone could be so excited about life whilst simultaneously sleeping their shift away in the booths. He wished they’d do it again though so he could finally fire them.

Baylen was rather fond of Alex, in the way a person would be fond of a kicked puppy - pity is the feeling he would akin the emotion to. Alex spent their life in fear of everything, anxiety coming as easy as breathing for them. In the beginning of their relationship, Baylen had hoped to do anything to alleviate their suffering, but after a few years of trying Baylen simply accepted that nothing was going to make the chef less scared. Alex was the ‘mouse of the house’, hearing all the gossip from customers and crew alike - and was the most unbiased source of information, Baylen always knew who to go to when something went missing.

Vesper… Vesper was aloof and chaotic, but truly always meant the best. At least Baylen thought they did. Though their music taste was ass and their serving skills were questionable at best, Baylen had no real reason to dislike them. However, he did wonder what they were doing with all that time they hid away in the walk-in. They were full of life and vivacious, bringing all of themself into everything they did.

Although Adrian was one of the older members of Baylen’s staff, he couldn’t help but view them as ‘just a kid’. Adrian took up the mantle of all the little tasks that no one else wanted to do and would laugh it off and say that they were the host with the most going on. Baylen wouldn’t have time to make the schedule if it wasn’t for them, and for that, he was grateful to have them around.

Enzo was one of the two people Baylen had ever spent time with outside of work. Enzo often melted into the background of any conversation, only chiming in with small deadpan comments at the best moments. He was quiet, and calm in comparison to the chaos of the rest of his coworkers. Though on the occasions they hung out outside of work it was usually mediated by Dante’s more exuberant personality. Baylen thought he was cool, in a weird quiet kind of way.

The absolute bane of Baylen’s existence, Dante Martinez, plagued not only his work life but his personal one as well. That is not to say that Baylen didn’t enjoy the line cook’s company, quite the contrary actually, Dante balanced him out. Dante’s aloof, yet passionate personality kept Baylen’s erratic thinking at bay through a method of keeping everyone on their toes. He was a person who would drive for hours to pick a friend up after they spin out into a snowy ditch, but also the type of person to hang up on Baylen the second they ask him to follow the menu. Dante was… Annoying. Baylen liked that.

Baylen’s mind raced as they considered each of their staff members. Wren, Alex, Vesper, Adrian, Enzo, and even Dante - none of them seemed likely to pull a prank like this. Wren was too laid-back, too content to sleep through their shifts to put this much effort into a joke. Alex was too anxious, too worried about causing problems to deliberately misplace important items. Vesper was chaotic, yes, but they had a good heart and meant well. Adrian was too responsible, and too dedicated to their tasks to sabotage the crew. Enzo was too quiet, too content to blend into the background. And Dante… well, Dante was a wildcard, but even he wasn’t above being a team player when it mattered most.

No, this was something else entirely. Something more sinister, more calculated. It all seemed to point to a deeper issue, a dark truth lurking beneath the surface.

Baylen tried to shake off the dark thoughts, the paranoid suspicions that swirled in their mind. They took a deep breath, forcing themselves to focus on the logical, the rational.

"It's just a bunch of coincidences," they muttered to themselves, trying to convince their own mind. "Stuff goes missing all the time in a place like this. People lose things, misplace them. It doesn't have to mean anything."

They were trying to convince themselves that everything was fine, that there was nothing to worry about. But the nagging feeling in the back of their mind wouldn't go away, the suspicion that something was off, something was wrong.

"Wren's always late, that's nothing new. Alex is anxious, of course they'd know about everything going on. Vesper's just being Vesper, living their best life. Adrian's always picking up the slack, that's who they are. Enzo's quiet, that's their thing. And Dante... well, Dante's Dante. None of them would do something like this on purpose."

Baylen ran a hand through their hair, trying to smooth down the errant strands that had come loose from their usual style. "I'm just being paranoid. Overthinking things, as usual. It's not like there's some grand conspiracy or anything. People just lose stuff sometimes. It happens."

Maybe Baylen was just reading too much into things, allowing their paranoia and fear to cloud their judgment. It was just a bunch of silly coincidences, nothing more. There was no need to jump to conclusions or accuse anyone of wrongdoing.

The cool air from the vents ruffled Baylen's hair and he shivered, even though the office wasn't cold. His gaze flickered to the various items his coworkers had left strewn around the office, intimate mementos left as a testament to their own lives.

He let out a heavy sigh, his head dipping into his hands. He felt like a fool, for the worries he harbored, but as the minutes wore on, the doubts swelled. How could so many things, belonging to so many people, just disappear without a trace? A faint sense of invasion, of being watched, prickled at the back of his neck. It was maddening, the inability to pinpoint the source.

The dingy envelopes and folders that held his coworkers’ personal information stared back at him. He gripped the drawer face, his knuckles white from the pressure. The manager’s mind wandered to the upcoming staff meeting where he’d have to address the issues with the missing items. A dull ache, a nagging worry, had been lingering at the back of his mind for the last few days, but he’d dismissed it as paranoia.

Mind, body, and soul; Baylen was weary and drained. Every fiber of his being felt as though something was horribly, horribly wrong. Too much was happening in a much too small time frame, and all that he could think of was work. Each morning after work he would go home with the intention of sleep, only to lay awake staring at the ceiling trying his best to piece together where the fuck did my ID go?

The simple dance studio identification card was of no true significance, he could always replace it, but it was the principle of it that set his nerves on edge. He had no proof, no concrete evidence that someone had taken his ID, yet his heart raced, and the air grew thick around him. He ran his hand through his hair, as he bit his bottom lip and his jaw ticked. The sensation of someone watching him, of someone invading his personal space, crept up his spine.

As Baylen leaned back, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. The list of missing items had only added to his buzzing internal monologue, and he found himself staring at the scattered papers on his desk, trying to piece together the puzzle that seemed to have no clear picture.

Their eyes darted around the office, landing on the various personal items and memos left decorating the space by his employees. Each one seemed to hold a story, a hint at the truth Baylen sought. But try as he might, he couldn’t find a common thread that tied them all together.

The weight of responsibilities pressed down on Baylen, the need to understand his surroundings and keep the store running smoothly a constant burden. But with each passing day, every missing item, each new disappearance, that burden felt heavier and heavier. The faint hum of the ancient AC unit did little to drown out the pounding of their heart.

The calendar, a looming presence on the wall, was taunting him with its unwavering ticking of days. Each passing second carried with it the fear of more odd occurrences. Baylen felt like a man on the bow of a ship, watching as an iceberg grew ever closer.

Slowly, the thought took form in his head, an unwelcome guest that refused to leave. A shiver ran down Baylen’s spine despite the stuffy heat of the tiny office. They pushed themself back, legs unsteady, and began to pace like a caged animal. Back and forth, back and forth, his long legs eating up the space between the desk and cabinets. Each time he passed the calendar, the dreadful reminder seemed to mock him. His heart raced as he conjured the thought that it was more than just his ID. It had to be his coworkers, they were up to something. Baylen knew it.

Baylen couldn’t fathom why his staff would hide these things, or why they’d all come up missing at once. His train of thought was spiraling, deeper and darker, and the more time that passed with Baylen alone in the dingy cramped office, the more he began to believe that something dreadful was looming over the horizon.

The thought alone made their chest tighten.

Baylen’s pace picked up, shoes clicking against the linoleum as they circled the desk chair like a shark. Their eyes shifted every which way, perking up at any unexpected noise. The scuff of a shoe outside the door made them freeze, their heart leaping into their throat. Just Dante, they told themself. But the dread still grew, twisting his guts into knots.

Bayleyn’s mind raced, matching the pace of his legs as they paced the cramped office space. The missing items gnawed at them, a constant thorn in their side. He couldn’t stand the lack of order, the unknown variables. It went against everything they stood for as a manager, as a person. Organization, control, knowing where everything and everyone was at all times - that was Baylen’s world. And now, that structure was crumbling around them.

The more they thought about it, the more worked up they got. Their breaths quickened, chest tightening with each passing minute. He could feel the panic rising in his throat, digging its claws around his neck and pressing down on his chest. The need to solve the issue felt all-consuming.

Baylen’s gaze darted around the room, looking for each personal item like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. Adrian’s resume, Alex’s award, Vesper’s license… All missing. Vanished into thin air. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. Unless…

The thought crept into Baylen’s mind, insidious and unwelcome. What if it wasn’t just a coincidence? What if their coworkers were involved somehow? The idea made their stomach churn, but they couldn’t shake it.

Their heart pounded in their ears, the blood rushing like a freight train. Baylen could feel the paranoia taking hold, the walls of the office closing in. They needed air, they needed to clear their head. But he couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not while he was on the clock. Not until he figured this all out.

Baylen’s eyes darted to the clock, the minutes ticking by in agonizing slowness. Each second felt like an eternity, the weight of the unknown pressing down on their chest. They needed to focus- to think rationally. But with each passing moment, each unanswered question, Baylen felt themself slipping further into the recesses of panic that filled his lungs.

Frustration reached a boiling point. Baylen’s mind was a whirlwind of intrusive thoughts and compulsions. They needed order, they needed answers, and they needed to make sense of all the variables.

With a huff of frustration, Baylen surged to their cabinets, charging over to the towering cabinets that lined the far wall. Fingers curled into fists, they yanked open the first drawer, sending a cascade of manila envelopes and crumpled papers scattering to the floor. “Fuck!” he breathed, the curse echoing off the walls. He didn’t have time for this, didn’t have time for his own damn paranoia. But they couldn’t shake the feeling, the gnawing certainty that something was very, very wrong.

Baylen tore through drawer after drawer, a one-person tornado of fury and desperation. Files scattered, folders ripped, the very air crackling with tension. They tore through each drawer, fingers scrabbling for anything that might give them a clue. Pay stubs, tax forms, old memos - it all went flying, littering the floor like confetti at a party no one wanted to attend.

Baylen’s breath came in short, sharp gasps, their chest heaving with each ragged inhale. They couldn’t find what they were looking for, couldn’t make sense of any of it.

They were looking for something, though they weren’t sure of what. A clue, a sign, anything to prove they weren’t connecting the dots between completely unrelated incidents.

But there was nothing. Just the same old papers, the same damn files they’d seen a thousand times before. Baylen’s hands shook as they slammed the last drawer shut, the metal clanging like a gunshot in the too-quiet room.

They whirled around, gaze landing on the desk. The computer, the phone, the scattered knick-knacks from their coworkers. With a heaving breath, they slammed their fist against the metal edge of the desk, the sound clanging loudly through the office, echoing off the walls and making Baylen jump.

Baylen dropped to their knees, crawling forward on all fours. They didn’t care how they looked, didn’t care about the dirt and grime coating his clothes. All that mattered was finding the truth, finding the answers they so desperately needed.

They tore through the contents of the bottom drawer, fingers digging through the dust and debris. Nothing. Zilch. Nada.

A low, keening sound escaped their throat, a mix of frustration and despair. They had failed. Failed to keep the store running smoothly, failed to protect the items of his coworkers, of his friends. Failed at everything he had set out to do.

Panting, they rounded the desk and dragged himself back to his feet, hands gripping at the edges like a lifeline. The chair scraped against the floor as they dragged it out of the way, not caring about the screech of metal on linoleum.

Nothing came up, other than a frustrated groan that bubbled in his chest. His hands came to his face, calloused fingertips pressing to his temples before dragging down the length of his jaw. The thud of his back hitting the wall was audible, as was the drag of him dropping weight down the length of it. His legs took up a majority of the managerial office’s length, crammed between the popcorned wall and metal desk. A shaky breath left him as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.

They couldn’t take it anymore, the office was nothing short of a disaster, the once pristine and neat workstation now in shambles. Papers littered the floor in a fashion that mirrored a tornado, only to be joined by the mess of drawers that had carelessly been left pried open in a desperate search for answers.

The shadows of the office seemed to grow longer as Baylen remained sprawled against the wall, mind racing with dark possibilities. They slowly dragged their hands down their face, fingers shaking ever so slightly as they tried to reign in the spiraling thoughts. The silence was oppressive, only broken by the occasional creak of the old building around him.

They pulled themself together and up off of the floor. Baylen took a look around as he breathed in a shaky, tense breath. Baylen’s search led him to his own desk, pawing through the open drawers once more. He barely blinked when he began to uncover what he had hidden under the clutter there. His eyes fell on the worn-out notebook with a coffee ring on the cover, his fingers dancing over the binding. Wordlessly, he flipped the journal open to the most recent entry - marked by a dingy pencil stuffed between the pages. Written in their scribbled mess of handwriting, Baylen had jotted down notes that seemed to compile their thoughts.

Missing Items:

Resume (A.)

EOTW Award (A.)

DL (V.)

Lighter (E.)

Parole Letter (W.)

Suspicious Activity:

D, seems paranoid

A.(foh) absent

W. quieter

E. brash

V . acting strange

A.(boh) showing up late

The page was crumpled, with a long tear on one side, and flecks of torn edges scattered around the drawer. Baylen’s frantic search had not only taken a toll on the office, but on his notebook itself. The notes were a list that summarized Baylen’s current worst fears and concerns; the evidence of his paranoia.

Baylen’s head throbbed, vision blurring at the edges as the panic built to a crescendo. They needed a plan. They needed answers. They needed…

Baylen’s knees buckled and they found themself sinking against the side of the desk. Their back dragged down the adjoining wall until they were hunched with their forehead to their knees, breath coming in ragged gasps. Their hands were shaking, trembling so violently that their knuckles had turned white. Baylen squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the intrusive thoughts, the suffocating fear.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours. Time had lost all meaning in the suffocating confines of the office. Slowly, incrementally, they began to regain some semblance of control. Their breathing steadied, hands stopped shaking quite so badly. Baylen knew they couldn’t fall apart. Not here, not at work. Crying was an off-the-clock activity.

They needed air, they needed to clear their head. Standing with shaking knees Baylen let out a slow breath as they turned and moved to open the door. Before he was even able to lift his arm, the door swung open with a black scuff mark branding itself on the paint.

Baylen jumped back as the scowl of his line cook, Dante, entered his view. Before he could question Dante’s actions their vision was quickly blinded by a cardboard box being thrown at their head. Shielding themselves from a possible bump on their head they held their arms above them as the box ricocheted off of them. They looked back at Dante in bewilderment as he slammed the door behind him, shutting the two in the confined space. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He hissed as he looked at the disheveled state of his boss, “I can hear you from the walk in. Which means the customers right outside the door can hear you, and I am not in the mood to have day shift down our fucking throats in the morning because some Karen heard you breaking down in here! I've had a migraine all day and Alex just called your cell saying he’s in the ER right now for the same shit.”

Baylen was still in a state of shock with their mouth agape as his employee stuck their finger in her face. “Listen man. Whatever is going on with you, we have to man the fuck up. Enzo doesn't get in till 8. Alex called off and I have not heard shit from Wren,” Dante placed his hands on Baylen's shoulders looking him deep in the eye with intensity. “Lock the fuck in.”

Baylen's bewilderment still had yet to sway as he looked down at his line cook. Dante's eyes were bloodshot and sunken in either from the migraines coming back in crashing waves or his culinary finals that had been picking away at his sleep. His facial hair was scruffier than usual and made him look more like a high-school dropout than the talented cook she knew. Baylen gently placed their hands on Dante's shoulders as they began to slowly nod, ��You're right…you're right. I'm sorry.” Shrugging off the younger man's hands they pinched the bridge of their nose as a heavy sigh fell from their lips. “Everyone has lost something recently and for some reason in my mind I connected it to all the bullshit that’s been happening in town. I don't think I'm crazy in thinking something weird is going on but I guess I just…” Baylen sighed again as they covered their face with their hands and groaned into their palms. “It's fine. It's whatever.” Pulling their hands away they looked back down at their coworkers with an awkward smile. “But in good news, we found your polaroid. It was in the back lot of the parking lot near the dumpsters. I don’t know how it got out there but thankfully we don’t have to waste any more polaroid film on your ugly ass.” Baylen snorted at their own joke as they placed their hand on Dante's head, playfully shoving him out of the way as they headed for the door.

Dante only grunted at the action, glaring at Baylen as he strode out of the office and onto the main floor of the restaurant. Orange light bathed the diner as the setting sun peeked past the tall river birch trees that lined the edge of the woods. The night had just barely begun and Baylen was already exhausted from his own worries, woes, and fears that hung over his head like a gray cloud waiting to storm. For the most part, the building was empty. The only ones left were the few remaining day staff either leaving for the night or waiting for the other night staff to come in to take over so they could go home, nothing too out of the ordinary. That was life at the Wafflehouse; nothing out of the ordinary. So why did everything in the past weeks feel so off? It just didn’t make sense to Baylen, someone who had been working at that very location for most of his young adult life. Why did everything feel so wrong now? Why did it seem the world was starting to close in on him and target his crew?

A sharp poke to the side snapped Baylen out of their train of thought. They looked back down at Dante with a frown. “You're doing the thing again,” the younger man whispered as he walked past the manager and behind the counter to the on-duty cook, dismissing her for the night. Looking back at Baylen one last time, Dante mouthed a ‘you okay?’ to them, his face scrunching in concern as he stared. Baylen took a slow deep breath in as he placed an awkward smile on his face as he gave the line cook a little nod before turning around and making his way back into the office, shutting the door behind him.

Dante stood there, momentarily staring at the wood a before scoffing and going back to his honorary duty of cleaning the day staff's leftover bullshit. The boy couldn't fully wrap his head around fully on why Baylen was so worried about the Wafflehouse. Specifically when the entire town was practically on lockdown. It was Appalachia; people going missing wasn’t unheard of. After Dante had moved down from Michigan when he was young he practically heard every tale of axe murderers, skinless men, and horrors beyond comprehension coming from past the thicket of the woods.

Reaching for the cleaning rag, Dante threw water across the warm stove before pouring soap on top to begin his preparation for the usual weirdos that walked in. At least Tim, Brian, and Cody were still safe and well, that brought comfort to him as he scrubbed at the grease and burnt egg the day shift refused to clean themselves. The new frequent customers had also been catching Dante's eye with their strange behavior and unique attributes, but it was no place for Dante to comment on when he had prominent scars of his own across his face.

For now at least, Dante focused his mind on upcoming events that left a heavy feeling in his heart`. His mind had been so clouded with new recipes and techniques that he had forgotten about his own life and needs. Topics that were rudimentary to his person and his routine.

The topic that seemed to flood his mind today was what he was actually going to do for his birthday. Looking back on his previous birthdays, he knew three things for sure:

He would get a phone call from his dad thanking him for turning into the son he had always wanted.

His mother would call and they’d both cry on the phone together over how much they couldn’t wait for Thanksgiving so he could spend a week with her in Michigan.

Cody would knock on his door once he got home from work, they'd sit on the couch and share a bong while watching Killer Klowns from Outer Space, and Cody would give him some small gift that he made last minute.

It happened like clockwork around this time of year, but by god did Dante cherish it. It brought a sense of comfort and familiarity that he didn't often get from his hectic schedule, so the little things really did matter to him. Trying to balance work and school was never an issue for him, but remembering to take his medication between the chaos of the two? That was the real struggle.

After enough elbow grease and TLC, the stove was finally to Dante's liking. He took a step back and admired his work. One task down out of the laundry list the assholes working before left behind as a shit sandwich for him to devour. Throwing the towel down into the cleaner bucket next to the sink he turned around to take in the rest of the dishevelled store only to meet wide icy blue eyes and a scarred face to match.

“FUCK!” Dante yelped, fumbling backwards and catching himself from falling on his ass from the ledge of the stove.

Jeff snickered as he looked at the bumbling fool trying to collect himself.

“Scare ya’? Sorry. I have a tendency to do that to people.” He sat back on the stool before smirking, “Y’know. The whole face and all.” He held up a finger and circled it around his face, highlighting the gnarly scars as if they weren’t blatantly visible.

Dante held a hand over his heart as he glared at the man in frustration and annoyance.

“Dude, not fucking funny,” Dante spat through his teeth as he stood tall again and huffed out a sigh. “What can I get for you?”

Jeff shrugged as he leaned his elbows on the counter and swivelled around in his seat. “Dante, right? Heard through the grapevine you're a culinary student. How much I gotta pay you to make me something good off the menu? I've had prison food for far too long and I want a little treat.” Jeff's eyes crinkled in amusement as he waited patiently for Dante's response.

Dante squinted at the man for a moment, trying to gauge what bullshit he was trying to pull. He knew he shouldn't exactly trust anything this Jeff guy was saying, especially if he and Wren had been buddy-buddy in prison.

“You want something savory or sweet? I can only do so much cuz our shipment truck doesn’t come in til tomorrow,” he spoke, crossing his arms over his chest and peering down at the delinquent.

Jeff's grin widened as he leaned back and blew out a breath. “Damn, I get options? I'm really getting spoiled now. Gotta thank the gossip that I found this place then.”

Dante's eyes practically rolled into the back of his skull but quickly halted that in its tracks as he adjusted his sunglasses. “Yeah, yeah. Now whatcha want?” he grumbled.

Jeff reached into his pocket and pulled out a wrinkled bill. “A little bit of both? Listen, man, I wanna feel like I'm dining like a king. After years in the slammer, I just want a nice hot meal ya’ know?” He slid the bill across the counter. “Charge me what you want. Take the rest as a tip.”

Dante eyed the bill for a moment before cautiously taking it into his hand and unravelling it. His eyes practically bulged out of his head as he stared at the fifty-dollar bill before looking back at Jeff.

A coy smile spread across the man's face as he raised his hands defensively, “I'm feeling generous and I know you’ll whip up something good.”

Dante eyed the man up and down once more before nodding his head and sliding the bill into his pocket. “Coming right up,” he mumbled before adjusting his glasses and walking over to the sink to clean his hands. Quickly scrubbing and drying his hands, he walked back to the stove and began his concoction. Walking back and forth between the fridge and the counter he began to tune his surroundings out as he mechanically worked on Jeff's meal. The sizzle of the grill was white noise to him and the chopping of garnish was second nature.

He was in his zone until the man behind him opened his mouth again.

“Sooo… How long have you known Wren?” He asked as he sat on the stool twiddling his thumbs.

Dante didn't even pause as he tossed water and sugar into a pan to coat the strawberries. “A bit now,” he answered, “They aren't exactly the talkative type.”

That was putting it lightly. Truthfully, even though Wren did do favors for the night crew, trying to get them off their phone and do their job was a fucking nightmare. Yeah, helping out with a ride was one thing, but when they vanished during a dinner rush it was kind of hard to ignore.

Jeff only nodded. “Hey, can I get some coffee?” His shoulders were slumped and he eyed the manager's door as Dante turned around, placing a mug in front of him before pouring a freshly made cup for him.

The background hum of the kitchen brought a comfortable silence between the two as Dante slaved away at the stove to make a decent meal for the criminal.

“I looked you up on the internet the other day.”

Dante's blunt statement cut through the silence like a skilled butcher's knife carved a pig. Jeff choked on his drink before he nervously wrapped his hands around the mug, knuckles turning bone white as his body tensed with every nerve on edge.

“Yeah?” The stiffness in his voice was undeniable.

Dante only hummed as he casually flipped a pancake in the pan. “Yep.”

Jeff swallowed as his eyes became glued to the counter, and he spat through gritted teeth... “So… what? You think I'm some lunatic?”

Some nerve Dante had to bring up the gruesome crime of killing over a dozen people whilst the killer sat behind him waiting for food.

“Am I supposed to think of anything else?” Dante retorted, looking over his shoulder. His piercing gray eyes peaked from the side of his glasses and sparked a burning fire of spite deep in Jeff's chest.

“But,” The cook turned his attention back to the grill. “Against my better judgment, I want to know your side of it. Because from what I can tell, compared to what the news reports and chat boards say– your skin isn’t fucking geisha white and your face doesn’t look like that annoying cat from Alice in Wonderland.”

Jeff glared daggers at the back of Dante’s head for a moment before turning his fiery gaze to his coffee. His own scarred, burned, and loathed reflection glared back at him. “Why do you wanna know so bad?” he sneered. Dante listened to the man's frustrated tone, noting how familiar it sounded. It reminded him of when he first met Baylen all those years ago. A familiar twang and flow with the way his tongue flicked over certain vocabulary, or how he articulated his words when he had first moved down to this shitty little town from New York. When it came to Jeff, it was so similar but not quite the same; unique in its own way. The memory of the past brought a smile to Dante’s lips momentarily, before it was quickly snuffed out for his normal, neutral expression.

The cook shrugged. “What can I say? I love a good sob story. A boy freshly moves to a neighborhood, then stabs a kid the next day and breaks another kid's wrist. It’s brutal, but it doesn’t add up. Not to mention your younger brother taking the fall for you.” Dante began plating the food with delicate precision, “Let's not forget those same kids jumping you weeks later and doing all of…” Dante turned around and waved his hand in Jeff's general direction. “That. To you. Then once you finally get out of the hospital and your brother gets taken out of juvie, you just so happen to kill not only your family but your neighbors and her two little friends as well. All in one night.” Dante took the plate in his hand and slid it across the counter in front of Jeff as he leaned forward, getting into the man's face. “That don’t add up to me. So, let's talk.”

Jeff stared down at the massive pile of food set before him with his jaw slack. Pancakes with candied strawberries delicately placed on top with dollops of whipped cream cheese, with a side of a picture-perfect omelet. The chef really did go above and beyond for a murderer; perhaps trying to butter up Jeff in order to get some juicy details that the media never did. Jeff quickly grabbed the fork and began cutting, tearing, and shovelling the man's masterpiece down his throat like it would be taken away from him at any moment. Dante’s face twisted in disapproval and disgust as he stared at the deplorable display of gluttony, watching the man destroy his hard work and leave the counter looking like a warzone.

“Fine,” Jeff said bluntly after swallowing a large bite of omelet. “Since yer twisting my fuckin’ arm I’ll tell ya’.” Rolling his shoulders back and stretching his neck, Jeff straightened his posture as he looked between Dante and his meal. “For starters, the newspapers and those true crime junkies got it wrong; Lui is my older brother. The only reason they said he was younger than me was because I had one hell of a growth spurt outta nowhere.” Reaching over, he chugged down the last of his coffee before shoving the mug in Dante’s face expectantly. Dante raised a brow before snatching the cup and haphazardly pouring more of the liquid into the cup. With the same attitude used against him, Dante shoved the mug back into Jeff’s direction, coffee sloshing from the side and leaving dark puddles that reflected the two annoyed men. “Go on,” Dante muttered as he rested his hand against the counter, leaning into Jeff's personal space with no care. “I’m all ears.”

“Back the fuck up, will ya’?” Jeff hissed, shoving a rough and ridged palm against Dante’s face and pushing him back. “I’m workin’ on it.” Jeff's glare was harsh, but the cook's demeanor didn’t seem to waver. Back in prison, a single glance from Jeff's bloodshot and scarred eyes would send everyone running for the hills, but here was this asshole punk pipsqueak not even wavering at his attitude or insults. Dante thrummed his fingers methodically against the marble patiently waiting for Jeff’s attitude to cease its unnecessary continuation.

“Secondly, it didn’t happen the day after we moved in. Lui and I had been there for months with Randy and his fuckin’ goons breathing down our next every goddamn day. Obviously, my brother took the fall for me when the cops came knocking, that part’s true. The trial was stupid… but lack of evidence, conflicting testimony, and unreliable statements don’t mean much when the parents of those lil’ shits were whispering and paying off the jury behind closed doors,” Jeff's face was a flurry of loathing, resentment, and regret as he recalled the memory. Sitting in the witness stand and repeatedly insisting that Lui didn’t do it, all while watching his parents show obvious favoritism towards him over his brother.

The buzz of the fluorescent lights filled the silence between the two like a liminal symphony, adding more fuel to the awkward and tense fire. Jeff’s glare travelled from Dante’s form to the manager's door once more. “You here by yourself?” He grumbled, the quiet harshness of his tone making it sound more like a cryptic threat rather than a question. Dante hummed before his own gaze landed on the closed door as well. “Why? You gonna skin me next?” Jeff scoffed, breaking his harsh gaze from the wood back to the marble of the counter. “Fuck off, yeah?” he hissed venomously as he took another swig of his coffee. When done, he slammed the mug down. “It wouldn’t be me to slice you up. I just got out of jail. I don't wanna go back.” The sentence felt like a double meaning. A promise and a threat. Something both genuine and sinister in just that one statement.

The silence between the two was as thick as the syrup left outside on shipment nights. Jeff's glare would normally send a shiver down the spines of inmates that dared look in his direction but sitting before Dante he didn’t even flinch. Jeff only rolled his eyes and went back to chewing his food as his mind spun with ideas of what the line cook could be thinking.

“I didn’t mean to kill my parents.” Jeff's voice broke the silence between them as he stared into his coffee cup. The memory seemed to weigh down on the man as his resented reflection looked back at him. “I was so messed up on those meds and the quacks didn’t look too deep into what was rattlin’ inside my fuckin’ head maybe things could be different.” His voice seemed to quiver for a sliver of a moment before he straightened his back. Clearing his throat he turned his glare back to Dante with the same sharpness as before. “That enough for your nosey ass?” Venom practically dripped from his lips as he spat his question at Dante. Dante only stared before grabbing the pitcher of coffee and refilling Jeff’s cup in silence. The silence only irked Jeff more as he sat stewing in his own misery waiting for something- anything- to be said by the other man. “You know you sure have a fuckin’ way of getting information outta people. You should be a fuckin’ cop.”

“I hate cops,” Dante said bluntly as he leaned against the counter. “I don’t trust ‘em. Plus you know.” He gestured to himself. “Cops don’t exactly like me either.” He reached over and grabbed his own coffee mug and poured himself a cup. Bringing it to his lips the porcelain clanking against his snakebites as he took a long silent sip. “As for your life story? I was just curious. You seemed interesting.” He only shrugged once more before walking away from the grill and to the other side of the counter.

Jeff’s glare hardened as he looked down back at his meal as Dante sat next to him. “You know i could tell ya’ fuckin’ manager ‘bout this.”

“Go ahead,” Dante half-laughed as he swished his coffee in his mug. “He won’t give a fuck. Lord knows even he can’t fucking stand me.” Jeff only grunted as his gaze went to the sturdy wooden door of the manager's office. The man's eyes darted between Dantes relaxing for and the only blockage obscuring his vision of Baylen. “So whats his fuckin’ deal?” He mumbled, pointing a scarred finger to the manager's office. Dante's head lazily lolled to the side looking to the direction in which Jeff was pointing. “Who? Baylen? He's the manager here.”

Jeff rolled his eyes, frustration and annoyance dripping from his very being. “Yeah I know he's your manager but like…what's his deal, ya’ know, like why is he hidin’ in there while you're out here?” Dante only looked lazily at Jeff before taking a long calm sip of his coffee. “Baylen works himself up over little things. Finds dots to connect that really shouldn't be connected.” He adjusted his posture.

“Usually I can just talk him down from it but recently it's been getting to his head. I'd offer him my meds but I know he'd slap the shit out of me if I did.” He chuckled at his own joke. Dante turned his gaze to Jeff once more. “But that's about all I can say. I don’t need you poking around and freaking him the fuck out even more.” He flashed a yellowed grin at the man before sitting up. “Enjoy the rest of your meal.” He hummed before getting up from the seat and heading to the freezer leaving the man to his own devices.

As Dante walked away Jeff hollered at him. “Hey! You should be more careful around these parts now. Maybe ya’ manager is on to something.” Jeff smirked at the line cook. Dante opened his mouth to argue back but his words died in his throat as Baylen opened the door to the office. Baylen looked to the left and frowned as he placed his gaze on the delinquent. The sound of porcelain on floor tore his attention away as he looked to find Dante on the ground picking up fragments of his broken necklace. “This is the 3rd one this week.” The man grumbled as he scooped the larger portions in his hands before walking into the back.

Baylen, ever the help, only watched before looking back at Jeff with a suspicious gaze. The man only smirked and gave the manager a little wave before finishing up his meal. “Compliments to the fuckin’ chef…” He mumbled before rising from his seat. “See you ‘round, Blondie.”

Baylen opened his mouth preparing to demand what the fuck he meant by that, but he was already gone and out the door before he could get a word in. Baylen was only left standing there like a man who missed the last bus home, a million questions running through his mind of what would happen and what to do, but for now, only silence filled the restaurant. Just another day he supposed. It was going to be a long night.

The first hints of dawn crept through the Waffle House’s windows, casting long shadows across the linoleum floor. Baylen’s oxford shoes scuffed against the tiles, each step deliberate and weary. The night’s chaos still lingered – papers scattered in the office from his frantic search, his thoughts just as frazzled.

Dante moved behind the counter, his movements mechanical. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, a stark contrast to the darkness that had consumed their night. He glanced at Baylen, noticing the manager’s tense shoulders. “Coffee?” Dante’s voice broke the silence, more of a statement than a question.

Baylen couldn’t nod fast enough, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. The silence hung heavy until the familiar jingle-jangle of the front door’s chime cut through the restaurant’s morning stillness.

It was a familiar face who entered first, Brian, his leather jacket and tan-ish yellow hoodie slightly damp from the morning dew. Tim trailed behind, their usual morning rhythm unchanged despite the night’s underlying tension. The door closed with a soft thud, breaking the restaurant’s momentary trance.

“Morning,” Brian called out, his gap-toothed smile breaking through the tension. He guided Tim to their usual spots at the counter, their movements practiced and comfortable– a stark contrast to the stress Baylen’s mind had faced just hours prior.

Dante’s hand was already moving, grabbing their standard mugs before they could even ask. Tim’s eyes flickered between Baylen and Dante, something unreadable passing between them. The weight of unspoken thoughts pressed against the morning’s quiet calm.

As Brian settled into the stool, his eyes immediately locked onto Baylen. “Looking a bit rough this morning, pretty boy,” he drawled, using the nickname Dante often teasingly threw around.

Baylen rolled his eyes, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. His heterochromatic eye– one steel gray, one a deep amber– caught the morning light. “Rough nights tend to happen when you’re cleaning up everyone else’s messes,” he retorted, leaning against the counter. Dante snorted behind them, muttering, “Here we go again,” as he poured the coffee.

Brian’s gap-toothed grin widened, “Want me to kiss it better?” The line hung in the air, part joke, part genuine flirtation. Time beside him rolled his eyes, used to this constant back-and-forth.

As Brian’s flirtatious banter continued, Dante dramatically rolled his eyes and turned away, physically recoiling. “Oh my god,” he groaned, exaggeratedly grimacing. “Can we not do this right now? It’s barely six in the morning.”

He grabbed a nearby rag and started aggressively wiping down the already clean counter, muttering under his breath. “Gross. Absolutely gross. I do not get paid enough to witness… this.”

The last word was drawn out with maximum teenage-like disgust, his pierced lips curling in an over-the-top expression of revulsion. His black-framed glasses slid down his nose as he continued his performative cleaning, clearly trying to block out Baylen and Brian’s flirtatious exchange.

Tim chuckled beside him. “Real mature, Dante.”

“Mature?” Dante shot back. “I’m protecting everyone’s dignity.”

Brian’s laughter and Baylen’s retorts faded into background noise, blending with the soft clinking of coffee mugs and the hum of fluorescent lights. Brian’s laugh occasionally punctuated the quiet, his hand brushing against Baylen’s from across the counter as they exchanged coffee and casual touches. Baylen’s dimple piercings caught in the light as he smiled, a rare moment of genuine softness.

Dante paused mid-wipe, catching the expression. It was the first time in weeks he’d seen Baylen truly relaxed– no paranoid scanning of their surroundings, no tension in his shoulders, just a simple, unguarded moment of joy.

Something in Dante’s chest loosened. There you are, he thought, watching his friend’s rare moment of peace.

Tim’s voice pulled him back. “Dante?”

“Hm?” Dante’s eyes flickered back, professional mask sliding instantly back into place.

“Your culinary finals are coming up?” Tim asked, breaking the silence. His fingers traced idle patterns on the lip of the coffee mug.

Dante grumbled, adjusting his glasses. “Pastry practical. Chef’s been riding my ass about my chocolate tempering technique.” He leaned in, a conspiratorial tone lilting in his voice. “Between you and me, I couldn’t give less of a shit, I’m going to nail it anyways.”

Tim’s laugh was dry, more of a huffed breath. “Confidence of youth.”

“Experience of practice,” Dante countered, flipping a towel over his shoulder with practiced ease. “I’ve been working these techniques since I was seven. Learned more in my landlord’s kitchen than most people do in culinary school.”

Behind them, Brian’s laugh was punctuated by Baylen’s softer chuckle– a background melody to their conversation.

Tim studied Dante. Something calculating lived behind his casual observation. “Landlord’s kitchen, huh? Sounds like there's a story there.”

Dante’s hand paused mid-wipe. Most people would’ve pushed, but Tim’s tone was more observation than interrogation. “Needed somewhere stable,” he said finally. No elaboration, just a statement.

Tim nodded. No prying, just understanding. “Stability’s hard to come by.” The comment hung between them, loaded with unspoken meaning. The recent missing persons, the town’s growing tension, the weird shit happening at the diner. Tim wasn’t asking. He was acknowledging.

“You see a lot,” Dante said quietly. Not a question. An observation.

Tim’s eyes– sharp, knowing– met Dante’s. “Sometimes seeing is safer than speaking.” Behind them, Dante was faintly aware of Baylen and Brian’s soft chatting; it provided a normal backdrop to this very abnormal conversation.

Tim's eyes flickered briefly to the window, then back to Dante. “Especially when… certain people might be listening.”

Dante caught the deliberate glances Tim threw around the restaurant, he noted the man frequently doing that– watching.

Dante had long ago categorized Tim as perpetually paranoid– the type who was always watching, always calculating. He’d noticed how Tim never seemed truly relaxed, how his body was always angled to see every entrance and exit. Yet here he was, sitting openly at the counter, a clear compromise. Dante knew it was for Brian’s sake– Tim might be watchful, reserved, and constantly scanning the room, but he was also fundamentally loyal. Protective, Dante supposed.

The man’s back was stiff, positioned so that while he sat in the most exposed part of the restaurant, he could still track every movement. Not out of comfort, but out of a deep-seated need to ensure Brian’s safety.

Dante understood that kind of vigilance. He’d seen it before– in his mother’s eyes, always scanning rooms before they entered, always positioning herself between her son and the world, always making sure she could see every possible exit after… well, after.

The soft jingle of the front door broke his reverie. Day shift had arrived.

Elsie entered first, her tight strawberry blonde curls bouncing with each step. At 4’11, she was dwarfed by the restaurant’s space, but her presence filled the room. Her big pink glasses were perched high upon her nose, matching the pastel pink accessories that adorned her uniform sweater. Freckles danced across her caramel skin, accompanied by a dimpled smile when she gave a cheerful wave.

Hadley followed, all punk-rock edges and lanky limbs. His shaggy black hair fell across dark eyes that surveyed the restaurant with a practiced coolness. He moved with the ease of someone who’d worked too many morning shifts.

Anton brought up the rear– A walking contradiction. Scars traced his face, a glass eye catching the fluorescent light, his curly hair was a wild contract to his precise movements. Dante had long ago stopped trying to figure out exactly where in the store Anton worked. The answer seemed to be: everywhere.

“Good morning!” Elsie chirped, her voice a stark contrast to the night shift’s subdued energy. Relaxation eased over Dante. Shift change. Time to fade into the background.

Brian and Tim exchanged a quick glance. Without a word, they began gathering their things. Tim’s half-full coffee mug was abandoned, and Brian’s plate was only partially cleared. As quickly as they’d settled in, they were moving towards the exit, their practiced rhythm speaking of long-established routine.

The bell chimed as they left, leaving behind only the warmth of their presence and a wad of cash on the counter.

Baylen stretched, his long frame unfolding from behind the counter. “Another night done,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Dante grabbed his jacket, sliding his arms into the worn bomber jacket that he’d owned for years. The back door beckoned, the morning light already cutting through the restaurant's interior. Outside, their vehicles awaited– Baylen’s practical Subaru parked neatly beside Dante’s well-loved truck.

“Hey,” Dante said, keys already in hand. The morning air was crisp, promising a day of potential. “We’ve both got tomorrow off, right?” Baylen raised a brow as he rounded his car to the driver’s side. “Yeah?”

Dante’s fingers drummed against his truck’s door handle. He’d been watching Baylen’s increasing paranoia, the way tension seemed to live permanently in his shoulders. “Wanna do something tomorrow?” The question came out casual, but there was an undercurrent of concern. “Get you out of your head for a bit.”

It wasn’t really a question. It was an intervention, wrapped in the guise of a casual hang-out.

Dante's fingers drummed against his truck's door handle. "Wanna do something tomorrow?" The question came out casual, but there was an undercurrent of concern. "Get you out of your head for a bit."

Baylen paused, keys halfway to the Subaru's door. He considered for a moment - the weight of the past few nights, the scattered papers in his office, the missing items, Jeff's appearance. His shoulders, always tense, seemed to soften slightly.

"Yeah," he said finally. "Sure. Been a while since we've hung out." A beat. "Should we invite Enzo?"

The suggestion was classic Baylen - always thinking about including the crew, always trying to maintain some sense of normalcy even when everything felt like it was unravelling.

Dante's lips quirked. "Yeah, sure. You need a break from... everything."

Baylen nodded, something grateful and tired in the gesture. He slid into the Subaru, the car settling around him like a familiar embrace. The driver's side door creaked - an old, well-known sound.

Dante watched him for a moment, making sure Baylen actually started the car. Their vehicles stood side by side in the morning light, a quiet testament to their unspoken understanding.

The Subaru's engine turned over. Baylen raised two fingers in a half-wave, half-salute.

Dante responded with a nod, climbing into his own truck. Another night shift done. Another day of waiting.

(Authors note: hey guys! happy new year! Sorry we haven't posted in a whole year! a lot has been going on recently while writing this story. One of our co-writer has disappeared out of no where and we're trying to put the story together with what little drafts they've left us. It's kinda cryptic but we're working extra hard to get you guy some content out! Thanks for sticking around and reading anyways! Lets hope for a better new year! -Mod Bat & Mod Faun)

#creepypasta #horror #indy horror story #slenderverse wafflehouse #marble hornets #creepypasta fanfic #creepypasta fandom #original characters #marble hornets fanfic #tim wright #brian thomas #jeff the killer

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