The Stories of Latia, Vol. 2: Demon's Curse

Chapter 8: Long Night

Chapter 8: Long Night

Robin Brooks

"Hey, you okay?" I asked James, but let me back up really quick.

It's yet another quiet friday, there are a few people in the diner this time, though, and James came in as he usually does, but this time he looks super scuffed up. I mean, he always comes in scuffed up, but this time it was really bad. He's limping, his right hand is all bandaged up and twitching in pain, and his white eye is almost completely red with blood.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just... long night."

"It's 5pm."

"Whatever," he chuckles, but with an 'oh god it's only 5pm' expression on his face.

"You need to be easier on yourself, James. One of these weeks you're just going to not show up," I'm not saying I'm super attached to him, it's just I don't really enjoy the thought.

"Yeah," he hollowly responds, staring blankly at the table like if he even looked away from its blue, mildly stained surface he'd break down.

"Is something else bothering you? I mean, other than this?" I vaguely gesture to his wounds.

"Nope," his voice cracks, which pretty much confirms that something else is the matter. I slid into the seat across from him.

"Listen, I know you're a 'big, strong macho man' but... you can have feelings, y'know. And you can talk about those feelings with strangers in diners," I can't help but smirk at my own bad joke, and he does too a little.

"Life's just gotten... heavy. Heavier than usual, I should say," he pauses briefly to gather his thoughts, before continuing.

"Have you ever felt... helpless? Like no matter what you do, the outcome of something will always be the same? Or no matter what you say, you can't fix something that you feel you are responsible for?"

Yep. I'm all too familiar with the feeling.

"Yeah. A car crash, 15 years ago. I was only four, there was a big pileup down some road I'd been on a hundred times before... turns out mom and dad had been caught in that and uhm..." I'm tearing up now. I don't know why I'm still talking.

"They were rushed to the hospital, but it was a busy night... They both bled out in the hallway. They were together, at least... And I remember getting to the waiting room with my uncle just in time to see their motionless bodies being wheeled away. Four years old. Death wasn't even a fathomable concept to me, and Auntie had to explain to me why mommy and daddy weren't coming home," tears are fully streaming down my cheeks now.

"And the worst part is... they were on the road because of something stupid that I wanted. They got an ice cream flavor I didn't like from the store and I begged them to go back..." Why am I still talking?

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to overshare..."

"Hey, hey it's fine. We all need to let things out sometimes," he reassures me.

"Your turn?" I tearfully laugh.

"Heh. There isn't much to tell in the parents department... not about my real parents, anyway. Dad was a scumbag and was never in the picture, and Mom left me in an adoption home when I was 6 months old. I completely understand why, I found her a decade later and she told me everything. But that's a story for another day," he then laughs his family trauma off like it was nothing more than a tiny inconvenience.

"Where'd you find her?" I'm kinda invested now.

"Some inn, not far from here. Same place I met my first partner the year before, funnily enough."

"Oh, was it your wife?" I'm trying to be as respectful about his loss as possible while also getting all these juicy details at the same time.

"Oh god, no," he laughs.

"He was just my first partner. I didn't meet Kara for another... couple years."

'He'?

He must've picked up on the look of bewilderment on my face, because he quickly chuckled: "not as 'big, strong macho man' as you thought, huh?"

We both pause awkwardly for a few seconds.

"Anyways, thanks for the coffee, and thanks for the company," he says, struggling a little to stand, and then fishing around in his many pockets for his wallet.

"Oh, you're coffee is on me today," I quickly stood, slapping $8 on the table and picking it back up immediately.

"Thank you, sir, have a nice day," I say to myself in a fake deep voice.

"See you next week, kid," James softly chuckles, departing the restaurant into the brisk February air.