Sugar & Salt ✩ Michael Jackson

Three: Hotshot Is Probably A Magical Criminal

So, I have a theory that Hotshot is a magician.

That's the only explanation I've got going on to explain this situation right now. I mean, who disappears that fast after being shot? Obviously not normal people. So, there you have it. He's an eavesdropping and stalking magician with a nice face and ridiculous curly hair.

As I stepped inside, tension burned through my body. Everyone had a look that was asking for an answer to what in fact just happened, but how could I provide them one when I myself didn't know? Simply saying a gunshot went off and an injured magical curly-headed hotshot was now on the loose wasn't exactly what you would call a reasonable explanation.

"Everything is fine, everyone. Don't cause yourself worry." I said with a false smile, but I knew my eyes were reading I actually have no idea what's going on and I'm feeling a little scarred with a sprinkle of fear.

Many began to calm down, feeling at ease. As I walked back to my station, chatter began to slowly start up and create the usual chatty diner aroma as a song from the fifties tuned back into my ears. Andrea followed behind, as puzzled as me. Once I made it around the counter, she instantly took a seat and bombarded me with questions.

"Okay, what the hell just happened, Aliana?" She asked, intently concerned. "Did someone just die? Did you just witness a murder? Are you going to call the police? You need to call the police."

"No, I didn't witness a murder...I think. I don't really know what just happened, but if I did, I'd tell you." I answered. "However, I feel like something's...wrong. It's not because I know what's happening, but because this is the second time..."

I looked around, making sure no one could hear our conversations. The waitresses and waiters were minding their own, serving customers and obeying their stations. Customers were relaxed, but most likely gossiping about what was happening. No one suspicious caught my eye, so I pretended to be giving Andrea service by refilling her mug and attended back to our conversation.

"This is the second time something chaotic has happened with Michael, the first being the bombing. When I went outside, I saw Michael outside on the ground, bleeding out." I whispered. "It's obvious he was shot because there was a gunshot that went off. The bleeding wasn't something minimal. I've never seen someone bleed that much, but maybe that's because I never saw someone injured by a gunshot before."

Andrea gasped. "You're lying. I didn't see him out there."

"Because he..." I trailed, again. How do you say the guy disappeared without sounding hard to believe? Answer: you can't. "Disappeared. Don't ask me how, but he disappears like he's a magician."

"Disappeared? Come on, Aliana. How could he disappear into thin air while being injured?"

"Let me go take a peek in my crystal ball and see." I said.

"Okay, don't get mad at me because you sound unbelievable. It's just not sensible."

"Fine, Andrea. Don't believe me." I muttered, walking away.

I started cleaning the machines that played a key part in creating our most populous drinks. I knew that Andrea knew she made me slightly ticked because I could feel her eyes burning through my back, but I didn't retreat to her. I focused on the white cleaning rag and began to wipe down the milkshake machine, my eyes catching my polished nails from two weeks ago sporting tiny spots of nail polish, bound to come off in another day or two.

"Now you're mad at me." Andrea said, easy to hear due to the diner not being that full today. "You know I'm not calling you a liar, but someone disappearing like that doesn't sound real. Plus, you know you can't stay mad at me for long."