Page 43 of Folds
He smiles, the man from moments ago nowhere to be found, his usual controlling, and frankly unsettling air of arrogance firmly back in place.
“We’re going to dinner. Get in the car.”
The dim beyond the gates seems to flare with the same indignation I feel. I open my mouth to decline yet again, but in typical Elias fashion, he doesn’t let me speak.
“You owe me, Auburn. Now get in the car.”
bright lights and bad reflections
There are several oddities about Drayring Valley, chief among them the fact that a 24-hour diner exists, and seems to draw more than enough traffic to justify the late hours. It certainly doesn’t hurt that they serve some of the best breakfast fare within a hundred-mile radius.
Unlike Sarah’s cafe, I’ve never been the only one at Clive’s diner. In fact, the quietest I’ve ever seen it was 4 am, and it was still busy enough with the steady rumble of conversation and jovial chatter that it could have been mistaken for a lively afternoon. Probably why I don’t frequent it.
That same atmosphere surrounds me now, just beyond my grasp.
While other groups and couples are scattered about laughing and enjoying their meals, Elias and I sit in a frosty silence across from one another, the chill so palpable that I worry the tables near us might get frostbite.
“Eli, honey, good to see you. What can I get started for you both?”
Our waitress appears with an effortless smile, her bright, crisp uniform and perfectly styled red hair all tying together an easywarmth that almost makes my nerves ease as she turns to me, her pen raised.
I don’t intend to say a word more than necessary to the sheriff on this coerced meal together, but I don’t see any reason to punish myself further and not at least enjoy the food.
“I’ll take-”
“She’ll have a breezy breakfast, eggs over easy, and I’ll have the usual Doris. Thank you.”
If Doris is as put off as I am, she masks it quickly with a slightly duller smile.
“Coming right up.” She takes the reprieve with her. What is left is mutual hostility so striking that it feels oppressive and heavy. I can’t stand it anymore.
“I’m going to wash my hands.”
I push myself to my feet, trying to maintain some level of normalcy as I force a neutral expression onto my face. I reach for my jacket hanging innocently on the hook to the side of our booth.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Auburn.” He doesn’t even glance at me as he says it. I feel hot anger flare, but I don’t act on it. I redirect my focus to the pocket of my coat, take out my lip chap and spin on my heel, anxious to put as much space as possible between myself and the arrogant ass that is Elias Carston.
The hallway to the restrooms is empty, and the hum of the diner fades with every step I take. It isn’t far, but the shift is immediate, and I’m snapped back to crossing the threshold at Hill House. By the time I reach the door I need, I can’t help but feel as though I’ve slipped just slightly out of step with everything behind me.
The fluorescent lights overhead send a jolt through my forehead and behind my right eye. Big lights are a crime, let alone in bright white tubes, but worth enduring for some time away from Elias’s crushing presence. I push open the door and hurry inside.
It’s clean. Tragically even brighter than the hallway, but ordinary in a way that should be comforting. White and sage greencheckered tile, spotless mirrors, and the faint smell of bleach cleaner. Nothing out of place.
I grip the edge of the sink and let out a controlled breath, staring down at my hands.
They’re still trembling.
“Get it together,” I murmur, turning the tap on. The rush of water fills the space, grounding. Tangible.
I scrub longer than necessary, watching the water run over my skin, the heat bringing a soft flush to my knuckles. When I finally look up, I pause.
There’s something tucked behind my ear.
For a second, my brain refuses to make sense of it. My reflection feels wrong, like I’m seeing myself through the flipped preview of a selfie. My hair is still the way I left it, albeit frizzier, but nestled against the curl near my temple is a flower.
Cautiously, I lift my hand to it. The petals are cool to the touch, and it one hundred percent was not placed there by me.
I pull it free and hold it up to the searing light.
