Thanks again for the reviews! They totally make me want to write faster. bodyandsoul, you continue to be great - so much help on this chapter.
I don't own the darkest powers.
It felt odd to walk into a restaurant with Derek, a nice restaurant no less. It looked like the stereotypical Italian restaurants you see in mob movies with exposed brick walls, checkered tablecloths and drippy candles set in wine bottles. The waiters were all in black pants and immaculate white shirts with bowties. It smelled divine.
I know the rule, you're not supposed to have Italian on a first date. There is the risk of marinara mishaps not to mention having to deal with stinky breath (though I've heard this doesn't count if you've both had it). But I hadn't had a good hot meal in a long time, and the scents of garlic, basil and oregano were making my mouth water. For the last few weeks we'd been making do with pizza, subs and fast food. We balanced out the sodium/fat overload where we could by having our hotel rooms fridges stocked with fruit and vegetables. Breakfast was inevitably cold cereal with milk. I was dying for a "home cooked" meal, and judging by the mom and pop atmosphere that's what we'd be getting.
The hostess gave Derek a wine menu, but the server must have had a better eye for ages and took it away with a sharp "you won't be needing that." Derek had asked for, and received a corner table. He maneuvered the chairs until they were to his liking, had me sit in one and then he took the corner spot. His eyes were constantly scanning the restaurant, I'm sure analyzing ever face that he saw, trying to figure out if someone could be a spy for the Edison group. But for all of that, he was surprisingly talkative. We swapped tales of growing up. His were all centered around Kit and Simon. Mine were all centered around friends.
The food was delicious. Derek ordered a piece of lasagna the size of a toaster. On the server's recommendation I tried the Spaghetti alla Bella Donna. It was spaghetti with anchovies, pine nuts and raisins. I know it sounds really weird, but it was soooooo good. Derek finished all of his and ate about two-thirds of mine too. Not that he was stealing food from me. I was almost full before the meal had even gotten to us. Both had come with salads and unlimited bread to dip in a plate of flavored oil. I couldn't stop eating that bread. My stomach felt like it was going to burst.
After the waiter came by to remove our empty plates, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. On my way back, I walked by the kitchen and the door flew open as a waiter rushed through. I should have known. Every stereotype is based on something. The restaurant looked like a mob restaurant because that's what it was. Or had been, anyways. I only had a quick glimpse, but it was enough.
There was a man strapped to the prep island in the middle of the kitchen, one leg had already been amputated just below the knee, blood everywhere. Two burly men held out an arm, while another, smaller guy took what looked like a mini chainsaw and started just above the elbow. The man on the table's mouth was open in a silent scream. The door swung shut on the gruesome scene. I knew it was the echo of an earlier event. No way would they be pulling that with a restaurant full of people, but still, my stomach rolled. I know it was weak of me, but I had to get out of here. The friendly warm atmosphere of the restaurant became hot and oppressive in a blink of an eye. I had to get some fresh air, before everything I'd eaten came up.
I quickened my pace to the table and asked Derek for the keys. I told him I'd meet him at the van.
Derek had been looking at the dessert menu, but quickly put it down. He looked at me in concern "What hap-" He interrupted himself. "not important right now. I'll come with you; I don't think you should be alone."
"What about the bill?"
He grabbed his wallet and threw three twenties on the table. "That should take care of it. Hell of a tip, but I don't feel like waiting around for change."
He hustled me out to the van, one arm slung around me protectively.
He put the keys in the ignition, but then dropped his hand and turned and looked at me. "What happened? Are you ok? Did someone –"
"It's a lot easier for me to tell you what happened if you would let me talk" I told him what I had seen. "It wasn't the blood so much as the terror on the guys face. They were torturing him. Although the idea of our food being prepared on that same table isn't exactly something I want to think about either."
"Do you want to go back to the hotel?"
"No, if we went back, I have nothing to do but replay that scene over and over again. Right now I just want a distraction, something to keep my mind from it."
He got a speculative look in his eye, and then he leaned over and kissed me. As far as distractions go, that one tops my list.
After a few minutes he leaned back again "Now do you want to go back to the hotel?" and he waggled his eyebrows.
I snorted a laugh.
"Riiiiiiiiight, you make it sound so dirty. You know if we did, we'd just end up sitting around playing "Monopoly" with everyone. Let's go to the dance." Truth was if I didn't learn to control my emotions after seeing things like that, I'd have to find the perfect safe haven and never leave it. I couldn't hole up every time I saw something. I would end up becoming a prisoner to my fears.
Next up is dancing!
