The Dead Scout's Handbook of Afterlife Survival

Chapter 37: Believe

Wood creaked beneath his ears and Cayden slouched up to find it was his own restless toiling that stirred him. A two-paned window permitted the dull sunrise to sift through the room on its own time. Rolling over, Charlie's bed groaned in agony as his red flannel pajamas slid over his figure to adjust to their painful torsion.

"Morning."

"Mornin', Charlie."

"These beds sure aren't comfortable."

"No, they are not."

Charlie held his thoughts then spoke. "What are we supposed to do?"

Cayden shook his head. "I can burn stuff with my hands and you can break a building by slappin' it and we can't even convince someone to be around us."

"Yeah...it must be that we're caring too much and trying too hard."

"That definitely isn't the problem."

"We'll need to talk to them, huh?"

"Yup. But why do I care? Sarah and I didn't have anything here. We aren't married and I only remember a few hours of being with her... yet I still didn't sleep good."

"I'm gonna link up with Rebecca again. This whole thing's a rough patch. I bet I've done dumber things than blow up a hotel."

Cayden didn't doubt it. A sharp pain in his stomach reminded him that his sole sustenance in the previous 24 hours consisted of last night's beer. "I'm walking downstairs. Wanna come?"

"The girls will be there. They didn't want to chat before, so should we sit elsewhere with different people? What if they bail when we sit down?"

"The food and women are there and one of those is something we can't live without. If they don't wanna talk, we'll eat somewhere else until they're ready. Let's go."

"Alright, let me put some pants on. They left a bunch of free clothes in the bureau though they won't be your style."

#

A tight grip on the metal, staircase railing allowed Cayden and Charlie to steady their feet as they descended to the dining room. The clack of silverware and ceramic echoed up the stairwell as Cayden's stomach protested yesterday's decisions. They rounded the corner to a wide, open, cafeteria-style window with sparse samplings. Their shoes scraped against the pine floors in their zombie-march to the first real cooked food that blessed their nostrils in months.

On the opposite end of the counter, four ladies in white aprons stood unmoving, fixated on a flickering television. Cayden paid little attention to what lay behind it, for atop the counter, in rectangular trays, a pool of milky water surrounded islands of scrambled eggs, bacon lay limp and flat on its own tray, biscuits rested on a lukewarm glass, serving dish beside a vat of congealing gravy, and Cayden couldn't have been happier. They both piled their plates as tall as possible with biscuits and eggs and poured the gravy indiscriminately atop the edible mountains. Tired soles carried them into the main dining area to the sound of several quiet voices interrupted by Charlie's one word statement.

"Dammit."

Dozens of tables stretched from each end of the room, all empty with exception to one. Sarah sat across from Martha and Rebecca, all turning toward Cayden and Charlie as they stepped beside the tabletop. Charlie hesitated then slid on the bench with a resounding creak next to Sarah as Rebecca stiffened. She paused and pushed off, floating on the chair to the corner and facing away at the most distant table. Martha nodded at Sarah then at Cayden and Charlie before ambling to Rebecca's table.

Sarah glanced at the others. "Sorry, guys. Cayden, I imagine Charlie mentioned our discussion yesterday. I'm not mad and I'll talk with you later. Now, I'm concerned with Rebecca. Accident or not, she was badly hurt, and she's thinking it was intentional..."