Unsettled: Thriller Standalone Read online

  I follow after him, intermittently watching his back as we walk. He glances over his shoulder at me, "Where are we going?"

  I shrug even though he's already facing forward and can't see it. "The diner on fifth avenue?"

  "Are you asking me or saying that's where you want to go?" He pulls a cigarette from his pocket, and I look over as we pass a couple placing flowers on a tombstone.

  Smoke blows behind his head to tease my nostrils. "That's where we're going."

  Following the orders of the 'Seat Yourself' sign, we find a spot in the back of the diner at the very end of the submarine shaped space. Everything is very stereotypically decorated; yellow and red seats and tables, striped uniforms, and an open kitchen. It's old fashioned and maybe a little disgusting if you look too closely at things, but the atmosphere is homey. Grabbing a 'daily specials' menu from between the ketchup and mustard bottles, I peek at Rhys over the laminated edge. I'm guessing since it's laminated, the daily specials are the same every day.

  "Are you going to look at the menu or keep being a weirdo?" His eyes find mine as he settles back in his seat, and I purse my lips. He wasn't even looking at me.

  A waitress walks by, arms full with two trays of food, and a wide smile cast our way, "One minute honey, and I'll be right with you."

  I offer her a small smile, turning my attention back to the menu. Dinner decided, I slip it back between its spot by the condiments. "Are you not getting anything?"

  Rhys shakes his head, fingers tapping on the back of the booth. "I'm going to smoke." He slips from the booth as I watch him, my heart picking up just the slightest bit at the thought that he might be ditching me. It shouldn't matter, but it does. His hand reaches out to chuck under my chin, the straight line of his teeth peeking from between his lips, "I'll be right back."

  The touch was hardly sweet, but my chin chases after his fingers as he pulls them away. "Okay." Twisting in my seat, I watch him walk out the door, can just barely see him standing on the other side of it.

  Turning back around, my hands twist in my lap as I wait for the waitress to come back. Looking out the window to my right, my reflection stares back at me. Raising a hand, I smooth a few flyaways that have managed to escape my pony, pull the sleeves of my hoodie over my palms when I look away. The waitress from before pops in front of the table with a glass of water that is set in front of me, and I return the smile she gives me.

  "What can I get you, honey?" Her pen is ready at her notepad, pretty brown eyes shifting to look at another booth when someone raises their hand.

  "Uh, can I get the club sandwich?"

  "Sure, what kind of side do you want? Chips or fries?" Her eyes bounce between my face and the notepad.

  "Fries, please."

  "Got it. Anything else? Something besides water?"

  My eyes shift from her to look out the front door where I last saw Rhys. "Water is fine, but can you bring another glass?"

  She nods, tucking her pen, and notepad into the apron wrapped around her waist. "Of course, is someone meeting you? I can hold onto your order until they get here."

  Frowning, I shake my head at her. "No, he's already here. He's just outside.",

  "Oh! I didn't see anyone here with you, but I'm running on two hours of sleep, so that could explain it. Sorry, honey. I'll get your food out for you and get that water brought over."

  She spins away from me with another smile, moving toward the other booth. She's clearly sleep deprived but seems nice. Another ten or so minutes go by, and she sets a glass of water and my food onto the table with a quick "let me know if you need anything else." just before Rhys comes back inside. I didn't see him come back in but he flops into the booth across from me smelling like tobacco and smoke.

  "You were outside a while." I take a bite of my fry, watching him watch me. We've never done anything like this before, something as mundane as eating in public. It seems like neither one of us knows how to act.

  His arms stretch onto the back of his seat as he leans back, a smirk on his lips. "Tell me more about your Nana."

  I swallow down my fry, picking my sandwich up with a slight shake in my fingers and a yellow glow in my ring. "Why are you so interested in her?"

  He shrugs, eyes wandering over the other people in their booths. "I sit on her grave with you almost every day. Seems like I should get to know the lady."

  Taking a bite, I consider his answer. I guess it makes sense. "I moved in with my Nana after the fire. I had only met her a few times before that, so it was weird at first, but my Nana was a very persistent lady. She burrowed and wormed her way into my trust. She was kind, probably one of the kindest people I've ever met. She was always trying to help people, always lending a hand whenever she could. I don't know how she did it, but she somehow made everyone feel important. She had a way about her that just called to people." I eat a fry, my gut feeling tight and nauseous over the conversation. "She made me feel wanted and loved and accepted from the moment I stepped into her life, even if it took me a bit to trust what I was feeling."

  Rhys's eyes follow my hand as I grab my glass of water, flicking from my fingers to my face. "Why didn't you know her before that? Before the fire."

  Setting the glass down, I trail my finger through the wet ring of condensation that's accumulated on the tabletop. "From what I could get out of Nana, she and my father weren't close."

  "Why?" My chest pinches at his question, my eyes slightly narrowing. He knows this isn't a subject I like to talk about, and he's deliberately pushing my boundaries.

  "I don't know."

  His arms drop from the back of the seat, elbows resting on the tabletop. "I think you do."

  I push my plate off to the side, no longer hungry because of the conversation. "How could you possibly know what I know? How could you know anything?" I realize my voice has raised to an inappropriate level with my anxious anger, a few heads turning my way. I force back a low breath to calm myself. I'm letting him work me up over nothing.

  "You're telling me you really have no absolutely no idea?" He's goading me, a smirk twisting his face into something ugly and cruel.

  "No. I don't."

  He must hear the finality in my voice because he leans back again, lips settling into a line. "What started the fire then? If you're not going to give me the juicy details of your family drama, then you’ve got to give me something."

  I huff, my eyes looking anywhere but at him as that knot in my stomach increases. "I don't have to give you anything, actually."

  He flicks the side of my head, forcing my gaze. "Come on, Hadley, spill your dirty secrets for me." He leans over the table, his chest pressed into the edge so he can whisper into my face. "Who started the fire, weirdo?"

  I jerk out of the booth the second the words pass his lips, and he cackles at my reaction, standing as I angrily grab my backpack and toss cash onto the table. Turning without looking at him, I stomp past all the other booths toward the exit. My waitress says something to my back, but I don't hear it, pushing outside into the cold. I know Rhys is following me, can feel him right on my heels, but I don't look. At least not until he grabs my wrist at the back of the parking lot and forces me to.

  "Come on, you know I'm joking."

  I stare at the zipper on his jacket, refusing to look into his face. I'm angry without a doubt but also confused by my reaction. I don't know why I don't want to answer his questions, but for some reason, I can't. I don't think I could get the words past my lips even if I wanted to. The thought alone makes me nauseous. "Well, it wasn't funny. Not to me."

  His fingers pinch into my skin as he lifts my jaw, bringing my eyes off his chest and to his face. "I didn't peg you for a crybaby." I slap his hand away, trying to get away from him, but he doesn't let me. My hoodie is fisted at my chest, and I'm tugged up onto my toes, his angry dark eyes meeting mine. "Get your shit together, Hadley. If you lose it, we both do."

  He lets go of me, letting me stumble forward as he steps out of my space and ou
t of reach. He turns away from me without another word, disappearing from view as I stand there in the dark parking lot, wondering what the fuck just happened.

  "Order Twenty-Seven!" A waitress yells from the takeout counter, order receipt in hand as she scans the room.

  Stepping up to the counter, I set my number card by the register. "That's me."

  She smiles, peaking into the bag. "Two chicken alfredo kits with extra sauce and a garlic loaf?"

  With a nod, I reach for the bag. "Sounds right."

  "Great." Making sure I've got it, she lets go of the bag and steps back as I start to walk away. "Have a good night!"

  I raise my fingers in thanks, weaving through the other people waiting for their food. The cold hits my face as my feet meet the sidewalk, and I shiver against it. Standing inside made me forget how cold it was out here. We haven't had any snow yet, but I'm sure it's coming. You can almost feel it in the air. I loathe it. Every day we don't have the wretched white fluff is a day I'm grateful for. Thankfully, I don't have to walk far because I'm renting a loft not far from the restaurant.

  Opening up the front door, I hurry inside, toeing my sneakers off before walking into the kitchen to set my takeout bag on the counter. My butterfly should be here shortly, and I'm supposed to be making her dinner, which is why I ordered takeout. Taking the chicken alfredo kits out of my takeout bag, I pull out two bowls and start dumping it in. All the noodles go into one, and the chicken sauce goes in the other along with the extra containers of sauce. Setting the oven to one hundred and fifty degrees, I pull the garlic bread out and unwrap it from the aluminum wrapping before sticking it in to keep it warm. Scooping up the containers and foil, I put it back inside the white take out bag, tie it shut, and shove it to the bottom of the trash can under the sink. Looking at the food on the counter, I mentally pat myself on the back. It may not be the most impressive display, but it's bound to impress my butterfly. I even ordered from the best Italian place in the city.

  There's a light knock on the door, and I hurry over to it, taking a second to look through the peephole, I verify it's my Aglais io. She lifts her hand with a small, somewhat awkward finger wave, "Hey."

  Opening the door further, I smile at her, stepping back to let her in. "Hey." I shut the door after her, hand reaching for the coat she's removed while watching her bend over to slip out of her tall boots. "You hungry? Food is ready, but we can wait if you're not."

  "I'm actually starving; I missed lunch by accident." Standing straight, she uses two fingers to push her glasses back up her nose. The amber frame highlights the bright blue of her eyes, and I take a moment to admire her as she removes her scarf. I take her scarf from her before hanging both it and her coat on the hook. "What're we having? It smells good."

  She's right. It does smell good, but that's mostly the garlic bread heating in the oven. "Chicken alfredo and garlic bread."

  She smiles, "Sounds good." There's a dining table set up just off the kitchen, visible from the living room, and I walk her there.

  Walking back to the living room, I pick up the tv remote and turn it on for noise, not bothering to check the channel. "Do you want me to dish you up?"

  She rests her chin on her hand, eyes on the tv when she answers. "Sure."

  Tossing the remote onto the couch, I walk to the kitchen. Grabbing two plates from the cupboard, I put noodles on them, then take the bread out and slice it, adding a piece to each plate. Peeking around the arched doorway into the dining room, I make sure my butterfly is still watching tv before grabbing out a bottle of strychnine pills from my pocket. Tonight I'm trying something I've never done before to try and reclaim some of that excitement I seem to be craving lately.

  It's slightly nerve-wracking that I don't know for certain if this will work or not, but it adds to my thrill. Of course, I don't want things to go wrong, but it's exciting to think it might, and I'll have to use plan b to take care of things. Unscrewing the cap on the bottle, I dump half the bottle onto the counter. Using the flat side of my knife, I crush them up until they're the texture of dust, then swipe it onto the top of my Aglais io's plate of noodles. Eyeing the powder, I'm not sure how much she actually needs for it to work. On a whim, I dump the other half out and crush it also and add it with the rest.

  Scooping out the chicken alfredo sauce, I pour a generous serving on hers to hide the powder, mixing it in with her noodles to make sure everything gets coated. Putting the cap back on the empty bottle, I stick it back in my pocket. Using a clean spoon, just to be safe, I pour the sauce over my noodles. Grabbing two forks, I set them on our plates before picking them up, careful to keep my butterfly's in my left hand. How disappointing it would be to kill myself while trying to catch a thrill.

  I set the plate in front of her, nodding at her "Thank you." while I put my own plate on the opposite end of the table. Realizing I forgot to get us drinks, I start to stand, but she stops me. "Have you heard about this?" She points to the tv, and I look over at it; it's the news channel, and they're talking about the Rivercrest Landing serial killer. My heart flutters. It's always so fun to see myself on tv. I'm practically a celebrity around here based on how often my name gets brought up. "And people are calling the little butterflies he leaves butterfly kisses." She shudders like the thought creeps her out, and I frown. "That's so weird."

  And that's so rude. I stop myself from saying anything, watching as she twirls some pasta around her fork. She takes a bite, and I hold my breath with anticipation.

  "Did you make this?" She asks while taking another bite. At my nod, she picks up her garlic bread. "It's really good but not as good as my mom's."

  I blink at her, letting go of the breath I was holding since it's obvious she isn't about to keel over. I have to say, I hadn't noticed until now how rude my little butterfly was. "Isn’t that always the case?" I take a bite of my own food, watching her fork like a hawk. "Can never beat a mom's home cooking."

  She points her fork at me as she chews, nodding in agreement. "I think it might just need some more salt." She says around a mouthful of garlic bread.

  My palms are starting to get sweaty as I watch her eat, eyes narrowing with each bite she takes that doesn't make her die. Did I not add enough? Did it get diluted with the food? I should have just shoved it down her snotty little throat. "I'll keep that in mind for next time." I try not to snap it at her, smiling to hide the irritation lining my voice. I didn't make the food, so her critiques shouldn't bother me, but it annoys me anyway. I didn't realize my butterfly was fucking Martha Stewart.

  I slurp down some of my noodles, tongue running over my teeth after I swallow. Just when I start to think this whole thing was a lost cause, my butterfly jerks in her seat. Her hands rise to her face as she starts to smile; a hard, forced looking grin with pinched cheeks I don't think is one she's willingly making. Her body starts to shake, limbs jerking uncontrollably in her chair. Small gurgling sounds are coming from her stretched mouth as her arm almost knocks her alfredo onto the floor. I slap my hand on the table, a laugh bubbling up from my chest as she continues to shudder across from me.

  And here I was doubting myself. I should know better.

  Her hands seem to have gotten stuck near her face and throat, elbows jutting out like beautiful broken wings. Her back is spasming, her body only staying upright because of the arms on her chair and table's edge. My butterfly is purely divine as she flutters in her seat, the bright blue of her eyes shining like orbs of sapphire. Her glasses have been knocked askew on her head, so I push back in my seat, walking over to her. Grabbing the frames, I adjust them on her shaking body, brushing some of the hair from her face that has fallen from her ponytail. "That's better."

  Moving back to my seat, I scoot back up to the table and pick up my fork. Taking a bite, I nod at my butterfly. "You know, the food tastes better now, and I can't quite put my finger on why." I smile to myself as she rocks and jerks in her chair. "Earlier, when you said the butterfly kisses are weird, that hurt my feelings, A
glais io." I take a bite out of my bread, swiping it through some sauce. "I put a lot of effort into finding my butterflies. Every one of you are special to me. You're all unique and talented. Beautiful." I pick up my last piece of chicken, swiping through the remaining sauce. Chewing, I watch my butterfly across the table, still fluttering for me. "I love my butterflies more than anything in this world."

  Pushing my plate away, I sit back, crossing my finger as I lean back in my chair. "I pick my paper butterflies to match their real life counterparts. Each fold in that paper is a layer of my love and adoration. Each crease is my undying loyalty. They're my promise to always love you, always cherish you in my collection. Those paper butterflies are a symbol to everyone else that you are mine." I lick my lips, smiling at my butterfly. I knew it would take a good amount of time for her to leave me, but she's a fighter. "As mine, it's my duty to take care of you and keep you safe from the cruel, dark world we live in. The only way for me to do that is to keep you in here." I tap my chest, two fingers digging into my skin to tap where my heart sits below my ribs. "My heart, where you've always belonged. Forever immortalized. Forever cherished. Forever loved."

  I stand once more, walking over to my butterfly, still jerking in her chair. Her legs have almost curled around the chair's wooden legs, her sock covered toes curled underneath her feet. My knuckles run along her twitching cheek. I can hear her breaths wheezing from between her clenched teeth; it probably won't be long now before she leaves me. "I'm doing this for you, Butterfly." A few tears have leaked down her cheeks, a drop forming at the corner of her eye that I wipe away. I smile down at her, so happy with my butterfly's performance, "Before you go, I think you should know the truth." I pause, brushing another tear away. "I didn't make dinner. I bought it."