Page 101 of Freaks Of Nature
Just act normal, I tell myself as I stuff my empty backpack into my locker and put on my paint coveralls. I’ll be doing a custom full-body paint job on a 1970s Dodge Challenger this morning. I already finished the base coat on Tuesday, and since I took yesterday off, I’m now a day behind.
I check my notes before I start mixing paints and cringe. I forgot it’s going to be bright candy apple red—my least favorite color today. This will be torture.
I’m right. The car mocks my memory lapse with each pass of my spray gun. It takes every ounce in me not to throw up. Everywhere I look, I see blood.
A single question repeats in my mind.Did I really kill someone?
After finishing the first coat, I take a break. I rip off my mask and unzip the front of my coverall.
I pause before tugging off the gloves. I’ve washed my hands several times since this morning, but there was never any blood under my nails, which makes me wonder whether I had been wearing my motorcycle gloves. I should probably burn them too just in case.
Leaning back against my worktable, I pull out my phone. I type out a text to Emily, then hit send and wait.
A minute goes by.
And another.
My hands start trembling when I don’t get a response. I know she could be sleeping or simply be ignoring my texts, but what if she’s not? I was so angry at her in the woods. What if it was Emily’s blood on my clothes?
I squeeze the phone in frustration as the sound of a laugh makes me turn. Through the plastic divider between my paint room and the workshop, I catch sight of Ash. His head is down, and he’s looking at his phone.
Is he texting her?
Or more importantly, is she responding tohim?
I can’t take the not knowing. I have to see her. I need to make sure that she’s okay, that I didn’t go to her apartment last night, that I didn’t hurt her.
—
Emily replied to my text two hours later, putting my mind at ease about her being alive and well yet rejecting my plea to talk to her.
Fuck that!She’s going to hear me out whether she wants to or not.
I decide not to break into her apartment this time, though, and instead ride across town to the diner. Her shift hasn’t started yet. I want to catch her before she goes in.
Parking in the alley around back so she won’t see me immediately, I remove my helmet and gloves, then dismount to wait.
While I lean back against my bike with my stare on the asphalt between my boots, my mind is grasping at straws.
What the fuck am I gonna say to her?
Pinching my eyes shut, I groan. I really haven’t thought this through. When I do recon or run errands for Mr. DeMarco, I make a plan. I know every step. I’m out of my element here.
I vaguely hear the back door swinging open.
“It’s Ash, right?”
My head shoots up at the chipper tone I can only assume is directed at me since there’s no one else around, to find a scrawny kid with unruly black hair and dark eyes bouncing down the stairs to take out the trash.
I meet his curious stare as he drops the lid on the metal can in front of me. He’s the bus boy I’ve seen sharing Em’s shift.
Of course he thinks I’m Ash. She wouldn’t tell anyone about me. I’m not the kind of guy you introduce to your friends.
“Yeah,” I grumble back.
“I’m Jake. Drew and Laura’s nephew.”
Drew? Laura?How many times has Ash been here?
