Page 4 of Corrupting Ivy

I touched my throbbing head and tilted my head to the side, squinting in the light. “You weren’t?”

Otis grabbed my shoulders. “Did you see someone there?”

I nodded.

“You need to tell the Sheriff.”

We looked back to where we left him. Newscasters surrounded him like vultures to a fresh kill, bombarding him with questions. Camera lights flashed in his eyes, making him shield his face from the bright assault, while questions came in one right after the other, sometimes overlapping, not allowing for a coherent thought to come through.

He held his hand up to stop the barrage of questions. “Please. Please. One at a time.”

I looked back at Otis with a small smirk, thankful it wasn’t me in front of those hyenas. “I think he’s a little busy right now, but I’ll be sure to tell him by the end of the day.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

I slid into my car and turned the key. The engine turned over, then popped with misfire, causing people to take cover and some to scream. I hid my face, flushed with humiliation, as the officers bent low with their hands on their pistols, ready to take aim at the assailant. “Oh my god,” I groaned as I shut the door on Otis.

Backing out of the parking space, I drove to my small apartment, so I could mourn the death of my insignificant reputation in peace.

I could still make this a good day, right?

Since I hadn’t opened my positive affirmation for the day, there was at least some ray of sunshine when I got home.

I pulled up next to the old square building straight out of Deadwood, South Dakota, before it became a tourist attraction, and parked on the side of the road beside the metal staircase that went to the top floor. I shut the car off, then walked upstairs to my apartment above the diner and went inside.

The smell of eggs and coffee drifted through floorboards as the diner below hummed with activity, fixing everyone their breakfast. My shift didn’t start for thirty minutes, but I still needed a shower and a moment of silence. I sighed, knowing I’d only get the chance to complete one of those.

I dashed into the small kitchen, if I could even call it that. It was more like one counter, a portable stove top, and a microwave that sat on a shelf with a small fridge. There was no reason for me to cook up here, anyway. I regularly ate in the diner. Walter always gave me free food.

Pulling open the drawer that held my affirmation cards, I scratched off the hidden saying like a lotto ticket and read it. The harder I work, the luckier I get. I blew out a hiss through my teeth. “What a fucking joke.” I threw the card on the counter, discarding it as useless, and ran into the bathroom. “Today was not a lucky day and I’ve been working my ass off.” I wasn’t sure who I was telling, but if someone heard it, I hoped they understood.

I shook my head as the pipes knocked together from the heat traveling up to the showerhead. I’d almost expected the card to be filled with words of comfort or something like a fortune cookie, telling me ‘it would all be okay’ or ‘this was a slight bump in the road.’ Or maybe even ‘this too shall pass’ bullshit.

Stepping into the water, I scrubbed my hair and shaved my legs, then toweled off, dressed, and rushed around to find my apron.

I dumped out my dirty clothes bin, finding it with a new coffee stain from the night before when Crazy Rhonda came in spouting wild accusations that I tried killing her with egg yolks and hot coffee.

Walter called Sheriff Kennedy and removed her from the diner before she went psycho on anyone else. But it was only me. The moment I came into town, she latched on to me with this strange obsession and wouldn’t let up about it.

I wrapped the strings around my waist after wiping off a few crumbs from that day, then removed the bandage the medic applied.

It looked terrible, but in a few days, it wouldn’t be so bad. I dug into the cabinet and pulled out the first aid kit that was here when I moved in. I was an expert at mending wounds on my own. Hell, if I didn’t do it, who would? Pulling out two butterfly strips, I attached them with precision while taking deep breaths, then headed downstairs.

There was this static electricity that raced through the air. I could feel it, and it put me on edge.

“Hey, Mr. Jensen.” I waved to the elderly man working in the kitchen.

Even though Walter was somewhere in his eighties, he still worked the stove. He said it was because no one could do it like he could, which was why he had his customers.

“Hi, Ivy. We saw you on the news this morning.”

I froze as I poured more water into the coffeemaker and started a new brew. My heart leaped, causing a sickening twist in my gut for the third time today, as I worried if I might vomit again.

How did I not recognize this issue the moment I saw them? They would blast my face out from this tiny town to the entire country with news like this. He’d find me, and then I’d be on the run again. I was so happy here.

“Oh?”

“Well, they didn’t show your face, but we knew it was you. You’re the only one that goes running in the mornings.” He smiled to go along with his explanation, then flipped the bacon to show the crispy side up. “You forget we are mostly old folks here.”

---