Killer Me

Chapter Two - A Cup of Tea

Alice rubbed her hands together, deciding the cold front warranted a cup of java when she stopped at the coffee shop she always passed between the subway station and Home Depot. Her stiff and cold fingers pulled the change from her pocket, counted it out, and anxiously awaited the warm brew; standing by the window and watching the traffic go by. Where the hell did all these people have to be in such a hurry? Didn't they know they could just leave five minutes earlier and be on time? That's the one thing Alice didn't understand about city people.

The bookstore across the street caught her eye, a new Dean Koontz gracing their window display. She loved her horror novels, almost as much as she loved Bogart. So, with her cup of coffee in hand, she crossed the street to read the blurb in the window display. She scowled; it didn't sound like typical Koontz, but she'd probably read it anyway, especially since she really didn't have much else to do besides work and taking her giant dog to the park. Alice never really had friends to speak of, not any close ones, anyway. Growing up in the foster system will do that to you. What's the point of making friends if you won't be around long enough to see one birthday? Her foster parents always sent her back within a few months; an invisible defective tag hanging around her neck.

She's too weird.

She's disobedient.

She stole ten bucks from my purse.

She keeps stealing eye liner from Walmart.

The list went on, and the excuses were always stupid. Shaking her head to block out the crappy memories, Alice was about to turn away and get to work, a cigarette in hand, when she saw a reflection in the glass. The hair on the back of her neck tingled as she noted the man staring right back at her in the reflection, and she whirled, seeing him a few feet away. He wore a beige trench coat over dark clothes and he'd slipped on some oversized sunglasses to hide his eyes and part of his face. As she watched, he walked in the opposite direction and her shoulders relaxed.

Maybe it had been her imagination and he'd only been reading about the new novel just like she was. But Alice couldn't shake the discomfort or the impression that she'd looked straight into the eyes of the devil. "Great, Alice, now you're just as freakin' paranoid as Benny," she mumbled to herself. Without thinking, her hands reached up to tighten her jacket around the neck as she crossed the street and headed to the big orange store.

Alice had dismissed her paranoia years ago, back when she'd exited the system. At eighteen, orphans were no longer welcome in children's homes and the government took no more responsibility for them. She'd promptly been handed a heavy bag with some sheets and clothes, two hundred dollars, and a swift kick in the ass out the door. She'd welcomed the freedom, especially after having been shipped from foster home to foster home and dreading each new place with a greater horror.

If it wasn't physical abuse, it was neglect that she found from the people who called themselves "parents" just so they could collect a paycheck for watching after her. And when she acted out; smoking at twelve, stealing change and eyeliner, and breaking car windows at fourteen, they'd shoved her back at the case worker claiming that she was impossible to handle.

The last three years were more tolerable. Alice resigned herself to staying in the group home as she counted down the days and tutored younger kids there to help pass the time. Considering what she'd seen happen to so many others in her position, she could have fared a lot worse. Alice didn't do drugs, and she wasn't a raging alcoholic or anything. She was just an average antisocial chain smoker or maybe Goth chick, as some had called her. Those were the worst titles that could really be applied to her.

Thanks, Mommy Dearest, she thought to herself with an overload of sarcasm as she stuffed the manila colored cardstock into the time punch machine. She wasn't one to blame other people for her problems but, honestly, without her dear mother's deep depression and sense of hopelessness, and her stellar desire to end it all, Alice would probably be in a far different situation.