A New Meaning to the Night

Chapter One: The Willow Tree

Samantha Burton wasn't a stranger to the night. She walked with her earbuds in, completely at ease on the dark and empty streets of the town. Humming along as she made her way to the deserted corner, she crossed the street into a narrow alleyway, the air becoming stale with the stench of old garbage the deeper she went. The alley was a dead end to most, but not to her. If her grandmother, Rebecca, ever caught her granddaughter out at this time of night—worse still, here—she'd be flayed. 

 The Willow Tree's sign hung haphazardly above the door; a door hidden by a magic she could admire. The wooden sign, covered in peeling white paint had the words burned permanently in place along with the image of its namesake. Underneath the willow's wispy branches, Sam liked to imagine sitting and watching the world, enveloped by the calming feeling of peace. Peace. Something that always seemed permanently elusive to her.

The phone in the pocket of her hooded sweatshirt began to vibrate and she pulled it out, glancing at the name lighting the screen before frowning to herself and ignoring the call. Pulling the earbuds from her ears, she lifted a hand to the door and pushed it open before stepping inside.

The Willow Tree was altogether rather unimpressive, appearing just as worn out as its sign outside. Its walls were sparsely decorated, save the worn-out chalkboard listing the four-item menu for the night and a handful of televisions playing whatever sport was in season. The bar ran the length of one wall and was typically managed by the owner, Clarissa, a woman with nerves of steel. A dozen stools were lined up along it, their black leather held together with more patches than the original fabric. The back wall was lined with five booths, all dimly lit and small. Seating was limited because the hard oak flooring was clear of tables to make room for a dance floor as music blasted throughout the place.

It was, as usual, tightly packed with patrons. The crowd was its only saving grace so far as Sam was concerned, but she never mingled, preferring instead to observe. She slipped through the crowd to the back and slid into the stool at the very end. Clarissa came over with a disapproving scowl. "Told you to stay out of here, didn't I?"

Her green eyes sparkled with mischief and she cracked a charming smile. "But then when would I be able to enjoy your cooking? Could I get that Ruben you're advertising?" A twitch of a smile flittered briefly across Clarissa's hard, round face, but it disappeared just as quickly and she walked away without another word.

Pulling out her phone, Sam held it to her ear and listened to the voicemail her mother had left. "Hey sweetheart, I just wanted you to know I'd be coming in for your graduation! See you soon!"

"It's a wonder you could clear your schedule," she muttered to no one in particular. Kaitlyn Reynolds had made it clear from the start that motherhood came second to her job, and Sam had learned to live with it. Not that she'd had much choice in the matter. Any pain she may have felt from her mother's absence was something she'd long ago learned to live with or bury deep.

Her father had been out of the picture since before she was born. Aside from sharing his last name, she knew next to nothing about the man. Her mother refused to so much as speak about him, let alone tell her daughter why he hadn't stuck around. It seemed to be a sore subject, and Sam had never wanted to push it because it always drove her mother further away.

On the other end of the bar a man's glass exploded, causing him and his friends to jump back with a curse, looking around wildly. Clarissa's gaze shot over to her accusingly and Sam quickly looked away, deliberately pushing any further thoughts of her parents out of her head.

Clarissa set the plate down in front of her with a hard slap. "Don't be starting that in here Samantha. You know my rules."

Because she did, and because she'd lost control, she just focused on the food in front of her, "Sorry."