'Breaking News, a corpse washes on the bank. Another death on the new moon. Is a new serial killer on the rampage?'
The Tv volume didn't help my mood as the stubborn stain just wouldn't come out! I scrubbed it with everything I could get my hands on, though it seemed like it faded yet its remnants clung on. My shift had just begun when Olive bumped into me, spilling our best seller 'Hell's Chicken Sauce' over me. It was a slow Wednesday, like all other Wednesdays.
Our restaurant is usually quiet, except for weekends when herds of tourists are paraded to our cities' trademark, The Central Lake. It's just an ordinary lake, the only thing that stands out is the old worn-out bridge, a lousy imitation of the chapel bridge, barely balancing on its rotting pillars. The locals revere it because of some folklore-a portal to 'the other world' every new moon or so they say. But the lake didn't live upto to the towering praises of the locals, its water was murky, its banks smothered with outgrown bushes which had become a haven for forbidden affairs and druggies. The frowns of tourists had now become a common sight.
"I'm so sorry Sneha, I really didn't see you" Olive leaned over the counter worriedly. "So, any tea on the Fam group?"
"Nothing much, the usual. David didn't get the promotion again, Katty got a new piano student but he's just as bad as the previous one and Nathan..."
"Nathan? Oh, the dramatic one?"
"Yes, he's been crying for a week about losing his Uni's football match"
Olive wasn't really the sassy type, quite a sweet freshman but her countless piercings and tatoos slithering across her body conveyed the opposite. Most of the days its just two of us apart from the grumpy cook and a few handful of loyal customers, a librarian proabably in is 70s, a middle aged women who owns a small souvenoir shop beside us and a small group of teens who made it their club of sorts. The newest addition was a lady, probably in her 40s, with her hair sprawled over her face and the same grey pullover she wore each day. She was been visiting out little Persian Restuarant the past two days, occupying the same corner table, looking over the lake. Fortunately, she was a kind customer, the kind who compliments servers, be it Olive's tattoos or my hair that supposedly resembled her daughter's.
"They still don't have a clue, do they?" Olive signaled at the phone
"Not the slightest" I said proudly, though it's nothing to be proud about. But I don't think many can pull-off what I did, it needs a certain kind of talent you see, with a presence of mind and quick thinking.
"How long are you going to do it?" I shrugged in response. There are some things which you don't know when to stop. It just happens when you least expect it. But I must confess, I did seriously question stopping it, but despite the guilt there's a certain indescribable joy one gets from peeking into another's life, learning their secrets, knowing the unknown if you say so.
"Are you done chit-chatting?" A rude croak rumbled across the room as the cook signaled at the toast. "Would it kill him to be nice for once?" Olive mumbled as she left to collect it.
"I swear"
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The next morning was like any other day. I woke up to my Neighbour blasting her husband for coming late last night, the bus was 20mins late as usual and the restaurant quiet. But one thing didn't follow the routine and it left me debating. In the wee hours of the morning, 'You have a message' the blaring phone rudely lite up the room cracking apart the darkness.
"Stay away from Iva, or this time I'll make sure you're dead"
The unknown number wasn't on my contact nor on Cynthia's contact. Oddly, the Fam group was quiet, too quiet.
