Autumn Reed is a brilliant trauma surgeon by day and a guild leader by night. Her bright red hair and radiant green eyes manage to fool everyone who crosses her path.
No one knows about the dark secrets that cloak her, the mask she wears and the li...
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An inner voice, a sixth sense, a hunch, or a gut feeling, whatever you want to call it, is an instinct that warns you about what's to come.
Something is wrong.
I can feel it.
Never ignore your gut because these pure intuitions are always right.
It's probably nothing.
My heels clank against the tiled floor as I clean up the last of the tables in the small coffee shop, desperately trying to get rid of the uncanny suspicion of being watched.
Undeniably, most people would consider the shop tiny, but if you ask me, it's heaven compared to the sorry excuse of a car that I live in.
On finishing the last of my chores, I regard the area with satisfaction. The tables stand perfectly, not an inch out of place, acquainted with upside-down chairs positioned on top of them. The brown wooden walls covered with beautiful paintings give the compact place a homey feeling. The counters shine brightly, not a spot of dust on them. I smile to myself and walk towards the staff room.
On my way, I glance at the clock reading '11:59 pm'. Just one more minute to end my eighteen-hour shift, I sigh to myself.
Why work an eighteen-hour shift at a coffee shop? Well, when you live in a car you don't usually get enough to feed yourself and the scarcity of jobs drives you to work an eighteen-hour shift in hopes of getting extra tips.
However, if you're me, then those hopes are usually not fulfilled.
I open the door to the staff room. The tiny place with its white windowless walls radiates an aura of emptiness. I slouch down at the corner of the room devoid of furniture and scroll through my button phone looking for a single message.
Bingo!
Unknown user Today in North Street at 2 am.
Guess I'm getting extra tips after all.
Since this job barely pays me, I went hunting for openings in the black market a few months back. On the same day I received a mail from an unverified account advertising that I could earn money through drug dealing, all the materials would be provided by the one behind the mail. All I had to do was go to Avenue Street at midnight on that day, and so I did. A masked man handed me a stack of different types of drugs and gave me a list of potential buyers. I hadn't understood what he would gain by helping me, but I'd shrugged it off.
As I got deeper into the job I discovered that all the people listed were in recovery after their addiction, but my miserable conditions led me to get them back into doing drugs.
Eventually, I found out that the lesser the age of the person, the more you can trick them into paying higher amounts. My primary customers became twelve to sixteen-year-olds. I didn't particularly like the idea of getting kids high but I didn't mind it either. As long as I got my money, I'd be alright.
Today is the first time I'm going to be offering drugs to an eleven-year-old, as stated, at the north street. I ready myself, slinging my red jacket over my shoulder as I stand up. I don't bother changing out of my waitressing outfit, since that's the only decent wear I have besides the jacket. I simply unpin my tag reading 'Adrianna Bowmen' and tuck it into my side pocket.
The rattling of the bell announces the entrance of a customer. At this time? The sick feeling of being watched once again settles in my gut.
Relax, it's probably just a customer. You must've forgotten to put up the 'close' sign, that's all, I tell myself.
Heavy footsteps follow the sound of the glass doors closing. I get up to leave the staff room. Just as I reach my hand out to open the door, it flings towards me, the force causing me to lurch back. A man with a silver mask hiding his face and silver clothing covering his body barges into the area.
Before I have time to react or even register the events, he whips something out of his pocket, and the sound of a gunshot echoes through the room.
