Page 11 of The Beautiful Dead

“Hey, kid?”

Halfway across the driveway, I glanced over my shoulder. “Yeah?”

“What’s your number?”

Unease curled in my stomach. My shoulders tensed, hunching against the rain. “Why?”

Arti let out a flat laugh. “So I can let you know when they’re gone. You can come see your mom.”

Oh. My throat tightened. I hadn’t expected that. “I, uh…” I shifted on my feet, forcing my expression to stay neutral. “I don’t have one.”

His brow furrowed.

“Had to sell it to keep the lights on,” I admitted. “Got sick. Couldn’t work.”

Arti studied me for a long moment, then nodded like it made perfect sense. “When you get one, tell Doll to let me know.”

I gave him a two-fingered wave and kept walking.

His voice chased after me. “I’ll check in with her until then, yeah? Just… check in with Doll every day.”

I didn’t answer, slipping into the shadows beyond the treeline. The night swallowed me whole. The path ahead was well worn, but the trees loomed overhead like silent sentinels. Moonlight trickled through the canopy in broken shards, painting the forest floor in silver and shadow. I wasn’t sure how much it would help.

But I wasn’t in a position to complain. All I could do was follow my feet; what will be, will be. I slid my AirPods in, and Every Me Every You by Placebo drowned out the howling of the wind ripping through the trees.

CHAPTER 3

REMI

Denny’s Diner looked like it had seen better decades. Paint peeled from the weathered wooden exterior, curling like dead leaves. Above the entrance, a neon purple sign flickered erratically, missing an N, so it readDe_ny’sinstead.

The bell above the door jangled as I stepped inside. Rain running in rivulets down my face, soaking into my hoodie. Small puddles pooled around my boots on the faded black-and-white checkered floor.

The place smelled like stale coffee and grease—comforting in a way I didn’t expect.

It wasn’t empty, but it was close. A couple of men sat at the counter, hands curled around steaming mugs. Thick beards. Dirty jeans. Flannel jackets. Either passing through or lying low, trying to disappear into the cracks of the world.

In the far booth, a group of college kids picked at baskets of fries, their laughter too loud for the quiet space. The hum of life vibrated through this place, low and steady.

“Take a seat, darlin’. I’ll be over in a minute.”

The woman behind the counter didn’t even glance my way. Gray hair twisted into a messy bun and her grease-stained apronthat looked like it used to be white had the Denny’s logo across her chest. She fit the diner like she’d always been here.

I shrugged, heading for the booth in the far corner—the one where an overhead light had burned out, leaving it cloaked in shadow. It felt safer there, out of sight.

The red leather was cracked and split at the seams, but it was dry. I slid into the seat, my weight deflating the cushion beneath me. Shrugging off my soaked jacket, I draped it over the opposite bench and then pulled my sketchbook from my bag.

The plastic menu was laminated to the tabletop, edges curling with age. The selection wasn’t bad, typical greasy diner food.

The thought of food made my stomach roll. I hadn’t eaten since last night, not the slightest bit hungry, but I knew I needed to eat. I just… I had to at least try.

“What can I get ya, darlin’?”

I looked up.

The waitress smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re new.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

---