November 2nd, 2009
After leaving the insane asylum, Nathan needed coffee.
He drove across town, the ghosts of what he’d seen haunting him, cloying and disturbing. He shivered and cranked the heater, and wished the sun wasn’t setting so fast. The echos of tormented screams bounded across his mind, but far worse were the whispers.
Those tiny little voices, hidden in the cracks of his memory.
The eyes of that one girl, so dark, twinkling (mischief? madness?) in spite of everything.
The crooked smile she offered him.
The way she spoke his name… as though… she knew him.
Wait… how had she known his name?
He shook his head, parking in the café lot. He threw open his door and took several deep breaths of the cold, crisp air. Shivering, he ducked into the café and went to the barista. “Coffee, black,” he ordered.
“Yes, Nathan,” she said, and met his gaze with eerily familiar dark eyes.