Stitches

7: The Last Breakfast

Note: Time referenced below is tied to when chapter six ended.

—Tiffany—
8 Minutes Earlier...

"How do I live without you?" The ballad's words grated on Tiffany's nerves as she sat in the booth plotting out her move.

"So, what are we doing?" Travis asked her, his eyes burning a hole in her from across the table.

"You need to give me a minute to think." Her head turned to the window as she scanned over her surroundings. Nothing looked amiss, yet. Whatever else was out there would soon converge on the town.
It was in their nature to hunt for fresh material to work with.

"How do I ever, ever survive?" If anyone could survive, it was Tiffany. She knew how the creatures worked, their weaknesses... but there was someone who needed that information right now.
Kendra.

The condiments on the table rattled. She glanced back to see Travis awkwardly making his way out of the booth as he gripped at his side. "Ugh," her verbal annoyance made him halt.

His teeth gritted. "You're not doing anything!" he said, trying to keep the conversation low. "Kendra is in danger-" She saw her opening to diffuse his argument.

"She is, and you think your injured ass can save her?" He stared her down. "Are you able to help her if she's hurt?" Her brow rose. "Tell me, do you know how to stop these things?"

"I want to know." The timing of the song was perfect, as reality set in for Travis.
He might be open to a suggestion now.

"I need you to let me handle Kendra. I have something you can do for me in the meantime."

His slumped shoulders perked. "What do you need?"

She gave a weak smile. "So I need you to watch for anything coming from outside. If you see anything else, send Della or Fred to come get me, but be subtle and tell them to be quiet about it."

He nodded. "Okay."

With Travis placated, she just needed to wait for an opening to sneak past Della and into the back of the diner. She watched as the older woman moved about in the dining room.

The diner had dozens of people in it. They all went about their morning, blissfully unaware of what was about to come. Making plans with friends and family that would never come to be. Enjoying the last breakfast they would ever have in this place. The last morning of their routine.
It was the dawn of the day that all hell would break loose.
Tiffany had lived it all before.
The pangs in her heart had snuck up on her.
But there was no time for them.

Della moved about when a customer pulled her attention. This was Tiffany's opening. Her body tensed and moved one step at a time until she crept through the kitchen door. Despite her careful movement, the door creaked and caught the attention of the man at the grill.

"Hey!" the line cook, Fred, yelled to her. "No customers back here, even if they're friends with the staff!" Della must have heard him, heels moving with purpose toward the door. Tiffany had to go. "Hey!" He said as she turned to leave, only to hear the door behind her creaking open.

"Dear, you better have an explanation for why you're back here." There wasn't a hint of amusement in her voice. Her gloved hands rested on her hips as she glared through her cat-eye glasses. She only needed to tap her foot in impatience to complete the angry caricature.

She only had one chance to convince Della. If she ran, Della would follow her, and she would be anything but quiet about it. If she was vague, the woman would drag out the berating retort.