Page 82 of Visions of Darkness

The diner wasn’t busy, Pax and I the only patrons in the restaurant other than two booths that were occupied and the solitary man who sat at the bar, sipping from an endless cup of coffee.

I shifted on the red pleather upholstery, the stiff material creaking beneath my weight, and I fiddled with the handle of my coffee mug as I stared at the man across from me as if I could sort him out.

Dig through the hard layer that lined his being.

Morning light poured in through the window, casting a spotlight on the harsh angles of his face as he studied me. He was somehow slung back in the seat, though he had both hands wrapped around a mug that sat on the table.

Just looking at him made my heart skitter, pitching with errant, extra beats.

Everything about him was menacing. A warning to keep your distance.

But God, I wanted to be closer.

He’d removed his coat, and tattoos covered every inch of his exposed flesh, each painted in horrors, some in color and others in all black. It was as if he’d used his body as a diary, a place to record his darkest secrets.

The scar that cut through the right side of his face only made him appear more terrifying. Proof that those secrets were dark and gruesome.

But I knew it was those keen, tormented eyes that set him apart from anyone else.

Labeled him as something to be feared.

“What are you thinking right now?” I suddenly whispered, pushing closer to the table that separated us.

Pax let go of a disbelieving chuckle. “That I can’t believe you’re sitting across from me.”

Heat flooded my cheeks as a rush of warmth skidded through my veins. “I can’t believe it, either.”

“Looking at you sitting there is like I got an answer for every single question I’ve ever had,” he admitted.

I diverted my gaze, and I fiddled with the fork that sat on my napkin. “I know. It’s like ... the fear that I’d forever harbored that I was wrong in some way? That my makeup was distorted? It’s gone.”

Disquiet gusted across Pax’s face, and his fingers, which were inked with an innuendo of the vapor in Faydor, twitched around his mug. “But this new fear is bigger.”

Air puffed from my nose as I lifted my attention back to him. “And it’s met with just as many questions. But I ...” I paused, unsure if I should say it, if I should admit the way he made me feel. “But it doesn’t feel so lonely anymore.”

Regret tightened his expression, the truth that this was fleeting.

We both jumped when our server was suddenly standing at the side of our table. She glanced between us in an apology for interrupting as she topped off our coffees. “Your food is almost up. Is there anything I can get you in the meantime?”

“No, I think we’re fine, thank you,” I told her, keeping my gaze low as I barely glanced at her, trying to remain as inconspicuous as I could, even though I got the sense it was an impossibility.

I doubted there was a single person in there who hadn’t noticed us.

She dipped her head and scurried away.

“Have to give her credit ...” Pax’s deep voice cut through the air. “She barely flinched when we first sat down.”

“What do you think goes through their minds when they see us?” I whispered it. A secret only we could share.

He shrugged a shoulder, though it didn’t come close to being blasé. “People always fear the unfamiliar. What doesn’t make sense to them.”

I had so many things I wanted to ask him. What his life was like. Where he came from. Who he was. But he scanned out the windows again toward the road, tensing when a Highway Patrol rolled by.

Worry thickened my throat. “Are they looking for us?”

Agitation twitched at the edge of his jaw, and he seemed to war before he spoke. “While you were getting changed, I searched for news articles. It’s all over the place in Albany. Mostly pictures of you. When you were younger and a few more recent. A statement from your parents asking for help to find their mentally unstable daughter.”

Sorrow bound my being. The swelling kind that made me feel as if I might drown in it. I could almost feel the distinction of my mother’s pain. Her worry and her grief calling out to me from across the miles that separated us.

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