A Collection of Stories

The Far Table

I didn't notice him until I sat at the far table. And ever since, I never failed to notice him... or anything else. Strange things happened when he was near. And stranger still was that I somehow read the lives of the people to which these odd things happened. However much I was aware of him though, I never approached him, or gave him anything more than an acknowledging nod when our eyes met. But he read me. There was that painfully knowing look in his eyes during the boring train rides home or the lazy Friday nights at the diner and even the countless Sunday afternoons at the museum. Most times, though, I ignored his presence. In fact, I became so wonderfully good at it on the exterior, but inside, he was everywhere, and I knew very well that was precisely what he wanted.

"Who are you working on today?"

My pen stops abruptly just as I am about to swirl in the s in because. I stare at the blue ink that's leaving a dark dot at the u's tail.

"This is your forty-fourth noted observation for the month. You've been stalling."

"Go away."

He slides into the seat across from me and puts his elbows on the table, interlacing his fingers.

"I imagine the lady in the pink pantsuit is your current muse. A murderess with no evidence against her though her sister, the one on her right with the round glasses and Pokémon t-shirt, instinctively knows she's guilty."

"Stop." Voices are ringing in my head, but his own dominates them all.

"She'll inherit every penny—but you already know that. You know the day and time her mother couldn't afford those pink Mickey Mouse Crocs she wanted from Target when she was seven, as well as the time her father had to pawn her bike—how she did love that little bike..."

Flashes race across my mind. Expensive restaurants with men in pressed suits and women with chunks of glinting stones around their throats. Dancing campfires and singing children. A couple arguing and throwing insults at each other while their children watched from the stairs. A girl being pressured by friends to drink and picked up guys at the bar. Some college kids trying cocaine for the first time... I close my eyes.

"You can hear it. See it. Feel it. Smell it. And therefore, you know it all."

Roasted coffee beans and blueberry muffins from behind the counter reach my nose. A cute waitress in a black miniskirt passes with a steaming tray of bacon and eggs—she didn't tell a soul about her cancer report from the doctor the previous day. She's so young. A bearded gentleman near the door reeks of stale cigar and bourbon—he'd been laid off, his wife left him and took the kids and his landlord was on his way to the apartment with an eviction notice. My head is spinning and I tighten my grip on the pen.

"It's a lot, I know... But you know how to relieve all that pressure, don't you?"

I shake my head. "I won't." In my mind, he shrugs as his silky laugh raises goosebumps on my arms while silencing the other voices in my head. I inhale.

"I can help you." There's a something genuine in his tone, but I don't open my eyes.

"You know I can help you... But first you have to let me."

My hands are clammy now, and sweat taints my forehead with sticky fingers. The bearded man is staring at me and I see the woman he spent the night with; her cheap red lipstick and musky perfume reach me and I nearly gag. I turn away from him and glare at the unfinished sentence in my book. A gentleman with smooth chocolate skin and reading glasses steps through the door. He's a regular. David. He likes the young waitress. She smiles at him but is thinking of that doctor report. I see it in her eyes, but she plays it off well. He realizes she's thinner than the last time he saw her, but he's polite and won't make any comment. He wants to tell her how pretty she looks today, but asks how she's doing instead. She'll lie and he'll know it; there's an unfocused glint in her eyes but he won't push it. She takes his order—she knows it by heart and they laugh over it—her laugh is genuine, but when she leaves, her mind is racing... She doesn't want to die yet...

"Some don't deserve it, but oftentimes it is best for them."

I finally meet his gaze. Intense and knowing.

The waitress disappears behind the counter, and the woman in the pink suit is flirting with David. She wants to know what he does for a living. The center of my palm burns. I rub it before glancing at it in frustration. A dark bruise glares at me with black streaking tentacles crawling from it towards my wrist and fingers.

"Stop it," I hiss at the man across from me, but he only watches me.

"You have to," he whispers.

I shake my head, but my heart is racing, and the air is getting thinner. The ink on the page blurs to ridiculous swirls of blue, yet I put my pen to the paper, anyway. The pain in my palm intensifies three times over and I cry out loud enough to shake Hades before raising my pen and shutting the book with a snap.

The woman in pink, who was moving towards the door, falls to the floor like a puppet whose strings were suddenly cut while dangling from the master's fingers.. Her head makes a disgusting crack when she hits the floor and I don't smell the familiar scent of blood as a steady stream oozes from her head. There are shrieks and screams, but I don't hear them. Her sister is on all fours at her side. The black mark on my palm is already fading and the voices in my head have quieted to a hum.

"Good girl," my companion says.

Angry storm clouds roll across the sky and thunder roars like a wild predator. The waitress is crying into David's coat while paramedics rush inside with a stretcher. He grabs my hand as I move towards them.

"Don't. What's the point? You know how it ends."

He's right, and I stare at her for a moment before meeting his gaze. "She deserves a little peace."

He shakes his head but releases me. When I'm close enough, I reach out and touch a lock of her hair. She doesn't budge but relaxes her stiff body. Her head turns to me.

"Was someone here just now?"

David lifts his chin off her head. "No, I would've seen them. You okay?"

After a pause, she nods and the two walk off down the street. She'll live her last few months to the fullest...

~

The grimy flower clock above the door ticks off the next minute. The diner is quiet, with a few audible mumblings in the air. I feel his gaze long before he slides into my booth and we both observe. My pen stops just as the bell chimes and three men enter. The middle one looks towards our booth and says something to his friends and they all share a laugh. He doesn't want to be here because he stole from the guy on his right. He's been stealing from him for months and means to get away early, but that won't happen. They move towards our table.

The far table.

My palm burns.