Page 6 of Best Served Cold
With her newly found improvements, she practiced an angry whisper within the confines of Jerry’s Diner that was slowly beginning to feel like her tomb. “Morgan, I watch the cooking channel, and my most worn outfit is my dinosaur pajamas. I disposed of one body and now you want to turn me into Jack the fucking Ripper?”
Somehow, amongst the loud whispering and the way their bodies leaned forward almost unnaturally towards one another in their seats, the mystery as to how the pair of them were sitting in a booth at a diner as opposed to a jail cell felt more puzzling to Lee now, at that moment in time, than the confusion she felt seconds prior to witnessing her girlfriend plunge a knife into a stranger in their living room.
Lee was grateful when the waitress returned so promptly with their drinks, allowing her to center herself back into the room, removing images she would rather keep towards the back of her mind as opposed to her eyelids.
Reality came and went in sputters—flashbacks like hand grenades as the waitress placed the cups onto the table. The sound was deafening to Lee, as if the mugs weren’t made of porcelain at all, but concrete, placing her back into the apartment for just a moment, watching her girlfriend do what she did. Watchingherselfdo what she did as they stood side by side in the graveyard desecrating the memory of Margaret Spence. If her mug was made of concrete, she would bury herself in it right now if she could. Let it dry around her and silence her mind.
The waitress left without a word, and suddenly it was just the two of them once again. The two of them plus the elephant in the room that had yet to go away. Would it ever go away?
Morgan surveilled the room, her eyes hovering over a waitress cleaning a nearby table, focusing on Lee again only when the woman had become out of earshot. “Jack the Ripper both murderedanddisposed of bodies. Besides, he was shitty at the latter. I’m only asking you to help with the disposal part of the job. You can’t deny that you have a certain aptitude for this. I let you take the lead because Iknewthat you would. Turns out, you’re scarily good at it.”
Leaning forward on her elbows, Lee could smell the scent of Morgan’s perfume—a mock-up of a far more expensive brand. Intoxicating, and yet somewhat devoid of something she couldn’t quite place. “Honey, I’m good at pretending I like your mother, it doesn’t mean that I want to make a lifestyle out of it.”
Was Morgan devoid of human emotion, intoxicating, and yet missing an intrinsic part of herself? Like a cartoon gimmick, Lee shook her head and allowed her mind to place itself back into the room with her body, as it sat in the diner booth.
Morgan extended her own hands forwards to place on top of Lee’s from across the booth. Her girlfriend had a powerful way of quelling the tornado inside of her, dulling it to a gentle summer breeze, even now. “Lee Victoria Holmes, I would never pressure you into doing something that you’re uncomfortable with. Moreover, I would never in a million years risk your life or your freedom in favor of my own…extracurricular activities.”
Lee rolled her eyes at the description and centered herself again only when Morgan squeezed her hand gently. “But tell me, when you helped me do…what you did. How did it…feel?”
The question was a paradox—an absurd and yet completely rational query to make. It seemed oddly fitting, because the way she felt about the situation was equally paradoxical. There were a number of words she could use to describe the emotion coursing inside her—nauseous potentially being at the top of that list. Yet, what scared her most, was that underneath thedizzy spell, the sickness, the fear, the worry, was something that felt vaguely like…power.
As if instinctually, Lee retracted her hands from the table, wrapping one around the steaming hot cup of coffee as she took a sip, as if the act would buy her anything longer than a single second before she would inevitably have to answer her girlfriend’s question. The scalding liquid burnt as it touched her lips, but she didn’t mind. She didn’t mind much of anything apparently, not anymore, much less the fact that Morgan had murdered somebody.
She downed the beverage as it singed the skin at the top of her mouth, and placed the ceramic mug on the table, leaning forward once again as she whispered. “When I’m ready to tell you how it felt, I’ll let you know. See you later.”
Lee placed a gentle kiss on Morgan's cheek and a ten-dollar bill on the table as she vacated the booth, smiling only when her girlfriend was unable to see her face, and suddenly, her power didn’t seem so vague after all.
Chapter Six
After Sunday at the diner had gone by in a blur, Lee was grateful for Labor Day, or rather, grateful for the additional day of rest without having to focus on work.
As she flipped the overly-cooked pancake in the frying pan, Lee Holmes came to the conclusion that being exposed to murder wasn’t too dissimilar from being exposed to stardom, except, unlike movie stars, most people didn’t grow up wanting to be serial killers.
People craved fame, existing within their trivial bubbles if only to capture a moment underneath the spotlight. And yet the spotlight somehow hid terrible truths underneath its haunting illumination. The drugs, the abuse, the never-ending need to have somethingmore.
Similarly, people all over the world, herself included, allowed curiosity to seep into their everyday life in the form of podcasts, documentaries, all about murderers. It was thrilling, intriguing, a peek behind the curtain and that was all—a peek to relieve the curious ache.
Lee Holmes had officially thrown the curtain open and disposed of the carcass behind it. There was no spotlight, because she had shattered it into pieces. And now, there were no hidden truths left to find.
When the frying pan began to sizzle, she retrieved the spatula from the kitchen counter, grabbing the pan by the handle with the other hand as she scooped its contents onto the plate. “Babe, your pancakes are ready!” Lee shouted, hoping that Morgan could hear her from the bedroom.
Her girlfriend padded into the kitchen just a few seconds later, putting both hands around Lee’s waist as she came up behind her, placing a kiss upon her cheek. “Thank you,” she offered, as she retracted her body and began opening one of the kitchen cupboards, pulling out a jar of chocolate spread in the process.
Lee tried not to focus on the fact that despite the normality of cooking pancakes, the slightest hint of affection, even a kiss upon her cheek, seemed anythingbutnormal at present time. Playing the role of housewife all things considered felt not too dissimilar to putting headphones on in order to mask the sounds of a war occurring right outside her window.
“What time are we meeting your mom?” Lee asked—a vague attempt at distracting herself from the lingering intrusive thoughts that were festering. It was almost humorous, she thought. Two days ago, she needed a distraction from the idea of spending time with Morgan’s mother, and now Morgan’s mother hadbecomea welcomed distraction from the complexity of her current universe. Until she was ready to face the complexity head on, denial seemed like her safest bet.
Morgan Finch was presently creating what could only be described as a pancake monstrosity. After covering both of her pancakes with chocolate spread, she had now taken to adding sprinkles and crushed up pieces of a protein bar that was two weeks past stale and one week away from being considereda health hazard. “Sometime around lunch,” she responded, attempting to talk over the sizzle from the pan after Lee added more batter. “She didn’t specify. We’re meeting at that fancy place again, Laguana, or whatever the fuck it’s called. All I know is that it makes me want lasagna, which they don’t serve. It also makes me want to adopt an iguana.”
Flipping the pancake with expert precision, Lee Holmes giggled ever so slightly before exhaling, allowing the weight from her shoulders to alleviate, if only temporarily. “Do you remember when you took me to what was quite possibly the worst bar in all of existence for our first date? I should have known that you weren’t cut out for expensive tastes right there and then.”
Morgan Finch took a seat upon her regular bar stool, placing her plate down upon the countertop with aclink.“That might not have been my finest moment,” she grimaced at the recollection, picking up her knife and fork as she cut through her pancakes. “I was nervous and ill-prepared. I like to think that I’ve made it up to you over the years.”
With her pancake cooked to perfection this time, Lee grabbed her spatula and flipped it onto her plate, exchanging the spatula for a spoon after she had done so. She placed the spoon into a bowl of sugar and sprinkled it accordingly. “Whilst I would agree with you, there’s still an empty space to fill where our anniversary should have been,” she reasoned, grabbing half a lemon from the fridge to squeeze onto her pancake. “Perhaps we could go back to that bar for old times’ sake.”
Whilst Lee took a seat upon her own regular bar stool, Morgan gulped down a piece of her pancake and laughed ever so slightly into her fork. “I don’t know what’s more surprising—you wanting to go back to that bar, or you helping me the other night.”
Morgan Finch wasn't wrong. Her comment was surprising and yet oddly fitting given the current circumstances. It sat, like the pancake in her throat. She swallowed both down. Perhaps her entire personality had changed the night of their anniversary, and she was becoming the type of person that enjoyed dingy bars and sticky tables.
