Page 37 of Fallen Omega

I take a seat in the back. Order coffee and whatever the third thing on the menu is. And I put the cash down. It’s habit. Something I never question. The kind of move a man who might want to turn invisible will do.

The waitress isn’t sure whether to try and eye fuck me or not. But she takes a closer look. Sees the scars. My stare. And she pulls back into herself.

The coffee, when it comes, is hot and that’s all it has going for it.

My stalker is inside now, sitting at the counter so he can watch me in the mirror behind it.

Hazel eyes, brown hair, because he takes his cap off to smooth a hand over his hair.

He’s new at this.

I’m not celebrating. Facts are facts. He’s new so he could be a pain in my ass and follow me when I leave, causing me to make my move before I’m ready, or he’ll get scared and scamper off.

Timing is everything.

I want this easy. No chase.

When I have half my coffee—a good amount of time to wait, my meal should be coming soon—I get up and go to the counter, bumping the guy, lifting his wallet in the process. I ask the girl behind the counter two things.

“I need to make a call. How long until my meal?”

“Another ten minutes,” she says, sounding all levels of nervous.

“And the bathrooms?”

She points to the back. “Past the kitchen.”

I smile, nod, and put the wallet back without being noticed.

Then I head out, just to the outside of the place, and I pull out my cigarettes, lighting one up and pretending to make a call. As I cross to the tree opposite the restaurant, I memorize his ID.

David Finch. Forty-two. He lives in one of the nicer suburbs, but not the nicest. He’s just across the water, so he may have lived there before gentrification hit.

I smoke, slide my phone away, and enjoy about half of the cigarette. Then I stub it out.

When I go in, I make a beeline to the bathrooms, dropping David’s ID right below his chair.

I don’t go all the way to the back, but I look for an exit. There’s an emergency one but it’s hooked to the alarms.

Instead, I turn left and cut through the kitchen and out into the alley, where I scale the fence separating this building and the one facing the street beyond.

I take the long, circuitous route back to the girl’s place and there I wait in the shadows, unmoving, until the outside light goes off.

Fucking cheap landlords. So many across this part of Starlight City do weird shit like this to save money. They turnoff the external lights, making it unsafe for tenants and a gift to people like me.

I’m good at being still, being at one with where I am. Disappearing in plain sight.

Even with a face like mine.

One scarred.

The face of a hardened criminal.

I’ve heard the word psycho thrown in my direction before.

Maybe I am. I haven’t examined it too closely. I’m exactly who and what I need to be.

And that particular word makes most keep away from me.

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