Crimson Moon (2 page)

Would you knock it off already?!
I chastised myself in annoyance, breathing out an exaggerated groan of dejection. All of the mindless reminiscing in the world wouldn't change the past or circumvent the future.

My life was my life—period.

I shoved aside the cream colored duvet, tossing my legs along the side of the bed and gasping as the cool shock of brisk autumn air collided with my oven warm skin. The summer was officially gone. It was time to break out the deliciously warm sweaters and blue jeans hawk-eyed eagerly during the hot and humid weather only a month ago.

I hurried across the room and stepped inside the closet, pulling the frayed string attached to the light bulb overhead and illuminating the small space in a soft white glow. I dressed quickly, yanking my favorite baby blue blouse over my head and sliding on a pair of faded blue jeans. I stopped at the door to slip on my socks and step into my sneakers.

I rushed into the bathroom, brushing my hair and teeth, surveying my handy work in the mirror. My hair could have been better but it also could have been worse—a
lot
worse. Cooler temperatures always caused the thick wavy strands to expand uncontrollably. I flipped off the light and passed through my bedroom, slipping into the hallway.

My shoes pounded against the carpet as I came down the stairs, bouncing on each one as if they housed an invisible spring underneath that could sky rocket me into the northern hemisphere.

I whipped around the banister, holding the railing and hooking a sharp right into the kitchen, in the direction of the coffee machine. I frowned at the pink diamond wallpaper as I reached for the black plastic handle of the coffee pot, crinkling my lips and nose distastefully. The edges were curving where the glue had evaporated over the years, reminding me the kitchen hadn't evolved in my lifetime. It was faded now, not even pink anymore by decent color standards, more of a melon or salmon.

"Add it to my to-do list,” I grumbled to the empty room, walking to the sink and flipping the long metal faucet up and over. I stared out the window as the water sloshed inside the glass, eyes going blind as my mind drifted into a habitual daydream state.

What would I go to college for anyway? And better still, where? The last two years were spent at the fine educational institution aptly named Big Spring Community College. During which I obtained a degree in General Education. It was a smart decision, choosing General Ed. I could transfer a majority of my credits over to a more established facility of my choosing. But now that my shiny Associate's Degree sat framed in the living room, I was as torn about my future as I was two years ago.

The cold water spilled over the lip of the pot and into the sink. I rolled my eyes at myself, cursing as I slammed the faucet off and held the dripping container aloft. Water fell in random scatters as I moved the dripping pot across the counter and lifted the plastic lid.

I paused midway, holding the pot in one hand and the lid in the other.

The kitchen was eerily silent. The fat drips of water splashing against the ceramic providing the only sound breaking the monotony. It was just me, a lone coffee machine, and a container full of wet tepid water to start another day.

"Not today,” I decided, returning the pot to the sink and pouring out the water, flipping it over so the remaining drops could trickle down the drain.

My brown leather jacket was where I always left it, hanging on the pot marked coat rack beside the door. I pulled the worn material around my shoulders, reaching inside the pockets and trailing my hands along the smooth lining, feeling the cash I'd left there after last week's shopping but nothing else.

I lifted my head and searched until I located the keys resting atop the antique desk near the door. My fingers brushed the old silver picture frame placed in the center as I reached for them, and I was careful as not to mar the glass that displayed the image safely inside.

My Grandma had taken the picture of me and my Mom when I was just a little baby, before the weather had taken a wintery turn. I resembled my Mother—wavy mahogany colored hair, a heart shaped face, ever changing hazel green eyes.

Sometimes that was the hardest thing of all, looking at yourself in the mirror and seeing the person you wanted to know most staring back at you.

But life isn't always fair.

Didn't I know it.

My lips lifted in a bittersweet smile when I released the frame, turning on my heel and walking to the front door. The vintage hinges protested as I pulled the ancient oak door open, releasing an ear piercing screech. I spun around and produced the keys, quickly locking up.

It was a beautiful day, cool and brisk, with just enough sunshine to heat my face and shoulders. The thin gray clouds overhead were sparse, allowing the white light to shine through in random bright rays that accented the multicolored tree leaves hanging from the large oak in the front yard. I walked onto the porch and down the stairs, feet clopping as I breathed the crisp air deeply into my lungs before exhaling in a sigh.

"Good morning, Emma!"

I glanced to my right and spotted my neighbor standing in the middle of her neatly cultivated garden. Mrs. Peatree was waving exuberantly, clutching a tiny little watering can in her opposite hand.

"Good morning, Mrs. Peatree,” I replied in kind, waving back and attempting to mirror her happiness, forcing myself to be as sincere as possible.

I took off down the walkway and turned right onto the sidewalk, in the direction of Joe's Cafe. The last thing I needed was to spend my Saturday morning in the blaring silence of an empty kitchen with only the walls for company. I was going to sit in my favorite booth at Joe's, drink a nice piping cup of coffee, and enjoy two freshly fried donuts sprinkled with powdered sugar.

If that didn't make me feel normal—nothing would.

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"What can I get for you, hun?"

Amanda pulled the ink pen from her loose French twist and then braced her wrist against a thick green paper pad, waiting to take my order. As the long standing waitress at Joe's, Amanda already knew what I wanted, but I answered just the same.

"A cup of coffee and two donuts, please,” I said politely, stretching the tattered plastic menu across the table and placing it into her outstretched hand.

She nodded, smacking loudly on her gum and pushing a chunk of blonde hair behind her ear as she hustled from the table. I watched as she rounded the counter and pushed aside the silver double doors with circular windows centered in the middle, disappearing into the back.

I braced my elbows on the black and white checkerboard table, lifting my head to glance around. Joe's wasn't crowded today, a shocking surprise. As the lone restaurant in our town, the place usually stayed packed.

Mr. and Mrs. Jones were eating at a table pushed against the paneled wall, two men in reflective construction vests were seated at the counter, and someone I couldn't see was nestled in the booth across the room. I sat back and settled into my seat as a flash of blonde behind the service area nabbed my attention.

Amanda reappeared with a small ceramic plate in one hand and the coffee pot and mug situated inside the other. She placed the white plate with donuts in front of me and then flipped the mug over, filling it with coffee and digging inside her apron. She produced several tiny white cartons of creamer and sat them down, followed by a rolled up paper napkin with silverware.

"Anything else?” she asked courteously, topping off the cup before lifting the pot to her chest.

"No, thank you.” I gave another polite smile and she hustled off, disappearing into the back.

I blew a steady stream of air from my pursed lips, reaching for the mug and dragging it across the table as the shiny dark liquid sloshed along the rim. I reached for the plastic creamer containers, using fingernails to yank at the persistent aluminum tops and then pouring the creamy liquid inside the coffee one by one. When done, I tossed the wrappers to the middle of the table, pulling the spoon free of the napkin.

"Where's the saccharine?” I mumbled, leaning to the left and grasping the glass container. When enough of the instant sugar rush was deposited in my cup, I plopped the container back into its designated position on the table, moving the spoon around to mix it all together.

The mug came to my lips and I took a sip, closing my eyes and sighing in bliss. It was just right, sweet and warm. I didn't overindulge, placing the cup down and pulling the donuts closer. Powdered sugar was sprinkled across the donuts and the plate, covering them in a dusty film of delicious enticement.

"Excuse me."

I frowned, ripping my attention from the delectable temptation of waiting food and lifting my eyes.

I started at the intricately pressed black slacks with the faintest of pin stripes, moving past the matching belt with a gold buckle, up the opaque buttons of a starched and crisp white shirt, until I stopped on the face that belonged to the voice. His honey blond hair was slicked back—the marks from a comb clearly visible—showcasing his bright blue eyes. A glimmer of recognition flittered in my brain, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.

"Yes?” I asked, gazing up at him expectantly.

"Emma,” he said flatly, moving closer to the table and jarring it slightly, causing the coffee to ripple inside the cup.

The strong smell of aftershave wafted off of his face and crashed into my nose, burning and tingling. My eyes bulged and I held back a sneeze, swallowing loudly. My hand lifted automatically, the back of my palm pressing against my nose as I was forced to breathe through my mouth.

"Yes?” I choked brokenly, arching my eyebrows and coughing. My eyes began to water and I sniffed as much as I dared.

"Emma Johnson."

"Yes?” I repeated myself, somehow managing to keep the agitation from my voice.

"Mike,” he responded in the same monotone.

"Mike?” I shook my head at him and frowned, keeping my hand in place and shrugging my shoulders.

"Mike Dalton. We had history together. Mr. Walters. Remember?"

His voice and pattern of speech was peculiar, like he was reading instructions or directions. There was no shift in the tenor of his voice, no increase or decrease in cadence, zero emotion—nothing. I peered at him closely, trying to put the name to the face.

"Uh, yeah, Mike, what can I do for you?” I asked, exhaling stagnant air before bravely reaching for my coffee with the hand I had used to mask the smell.

The coffee didn't make it to my lips, stopped just shy. The frown resurfaced as Mike slid into the empty seat across the table. His strange smile remained oddly intact and his blue eyes burned a path straight through my head. He didn't say anything and I narrowed my eyes at him, bringing the cup to my lips—and it clicked.

Mike Dalton
.

I spun my eyes in my head and did a double take.

Not
that
Mike Dalton, it couldn't be. The last time I'd seen stoner Mike his hair hung past his shoulders in long greasy strands, he was preaching the wonders of LSD with the entire class, and he had on a tie-dyed t-shirt with bears dancing in the woods and the logo ‘What do you do when you see a bear in the forest? Play dead'.

"Beautiful day today,” he stated, watching me with an expression as blank as his voice.

"Yeah, it is,” I agreed uneasily, giving him a look to convey I was not amused. In truth, I felt increasingly uncomfortable.

He seemed
unnatural
somehow.

I glanced at the donuts, trying to decide if I could eat with the lingering repugnance radiating off his face or if it was best I spare my stomach lining.

"Let's go for a walk."

I choked on the coffee I'd slurped down, coughing loudly as I tried to clear my airway, my throat constricting and burning with each lurching hack. I put down the cup, beating on my chest before covering my mouth with my hand.

"Excuse me?” I finally managed to croak in a high pitched voice.

"Let's go for a walk,” he said again in his bizarre monotone.

He's talking at me
—
not to me.

I narrowed my eyes at him and his expression remained the same, absolutely vacant. That fake smile was still present, and his eyes were still boring empty holes into my head.

A wave of unease washed over me, a warning signal blaring inside my brain, telling me something wasn't right.

Not right at all.

"I don't think—” I started to decline his offer in the nicest way possible when he cut me short.

"It's a beautiful day. Let's go for a walk and catch up. It's a shame we never got to know one another during school."

Those icy blue eyes didn't warm, his voice didn't shift, and his body remained perfectly still. It was as if a robot was sitting across from me and we were having an electronic conversation. That steady prickle of wariness increased, twisting my stomach and making my skin tingle uncomfortably.

I turned my head, shifting in my seat as I looked for Amanda. The bar was totally empty and she was nowhere to be seen. I reached for the cup of coffee again, lifting it to my lips and taking a cautious sip while keeping my eyes on him.

"It's a beautiful day. Let's go for a walk and catch up. It's a shame we never got to know one another during school."

"I heard you the first time.” I sat back, holding the cup closely and frowning, narrowing my eyes distrustfully.

He lifted his right hand at an odd angle, palm up and flat fingers stretched toward the window. He raised his hand up and down as he spoke, creating a little elevator shaft. My head tilted with the motion, chin notching to the side, observing the bizarre display in confusion.

"It's a beautiful day,” he said flatly, keeping his hand suspended in front of him as if he expected to get a treat of some sort.

Okay.
Mike was on a new drug of choice and had obviously fried the few brain cells he had left.

I rotated my eyes toward the counter and sagged in relief when Amanda appeared from the back. She glanced over and saw Mike sitting at my table and frowned, as if she were trying to place him too.