Author's Note: Thanks for the feedback! Just to let you know, I plan on updating this at least once a week. Twice if school doesn't kill and eat my life. Please NOTE the date and location in the story!
Chapter Three:
It
doesn't mean much.
It
doesn't mean anything at all.
The
life I've left behind me is a cold room.
I've
crossed the last line from where I can't return,
where
every step I took in faith betrayed me,
and
led me from my home.
And
sweet,
sweet
surrender
is
all that I have to give.
"Sweet
Surrender," Sarah McLachlan.
December 1, 2000, Friday; New York City:
Sighing and rubbing her hands against her red cheeks, Liz Parker cursed at her stupidity for wearing such a light jacket. She could've sworn it was thicker when she had felt it the first time at purchase, but now it felt worn down to the very last layer of threads. "Ahhhh," she breathed out as the wind seeped through the strands of her wool jacket and made contact with the skin of her stomach. It was a windy night with a cloud or two and the moon shone brightly in the sky, but not as bright as when she saw it from home.
Digging her hands in her pockets, she jingled the coins in her pocket, estimating how much she had by the sound. She walked into the nearest diner that reminded her of the painting, "Nighthawks," by Edward Hopper. It was a small run-down diner with yellow walls, but it had such a cozy feeling that made her feel at ease. The bell on top of the door rang as the door closed behind her. Looking around, she noticed it was pretty much empty, except for the waitress behind the counter, a scruffy-looking elderly sitting in one of the booths, and the cook waiting for his shift to end. She sat down by the counters in the high chairs and rubbed her hands together.
"What can I get 'cha?" said the blonde waitress as she smacked the gum lazily in her mouth.
"Coffee, please," replied Liz. She reached into her pocket and dropped the coins onto the table. Scattering the coins, she proceeded to sum the total up to pay the coffee. The waitress watched her with a raised eyebrow and gave her a look mixed of disgust and pity. Liz pushed the coins towards her and picked off the lint that came from her jean pocket that was wrapped around one of the coins.
Taking the coins, the waitress pulled a plate from behind the counter and set the cup on top of it. Pouring coffee into it, she slid the plate to Liz. Hastily grabbing it, she sighed at the sudden warmth in her hands. Taking a quick sip and burning her tongue, Liz closed her eyes and smiled. The steamy goodness travelled down her throat and into her stomach, leaving her an odd feeling of warmth that was surrounded by the coolness of her stomach muscles—she knew that was impossible, but it felt that way. Yawning, she drank the coffee as much as her mouth could tolerate. Closing her eyes, she let the aromas fill her senses—a hint of lemon from the cleaning products, the smell of greasy food from the burgers and french fries, and coffee.
Liz let her head drop low. Her purple-streaked bobbed hair created a curtain around her face. She let the steam from her cup coat her face. "Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock," said the clock. The seconds turned into minutes. Time ticked away, starting innocently at midnight and rushed to 1:30am in a matter of seconds. How long had it been since she had a proper night's sleep? How long had it been since she was a hundred percent warm? How long had it been since she was in one place for longer than an hour? She frowned as her stomach rumbled. She didn't have enough money for food. Heck, she didn't have enough for one more cup of coffee. Feeling herself dozing off, Liz struggled to keep her eyes opened. The coffee didn't help keep her awake, but only provided warmth. Giving in, she let her head rest on top of her arms.
"Hey, no sleeping here!" squawked the waitress as she tapped the table next to Liz's head. Liz groaned and began to lift her head, mumbling an apology.
"Yo lady, leave 'er alone. She wiped out aite?" said a deep scratchy voice.
Her eyes snapped open as the hairs on her neck rose. Raising her head, she turned towards the voice. When and how did he get there? Why hadn't she heard him? Hell, the bell on the door didn't even ring!
"You're—You're—" she stuttered.
"A lil spaceship told me you's lookin' for meh," he replied with a dangerous glint in his eyes.
"I was—," Liz sighed as she fought to get the words out. "I was hoping. I wasn't sure if you were even still—"
"Why you's lookin' for me?" he growled.
"I need your help."
"Word?"
"The royal four, they need your help."
"I dunno whatcha talkin' 'bout."
Liz scoffed. "Well, the tattoo on your arm tells me differently," she said with great amusement. Her hand, having a life of its own, slowly traced the four square tattoo with her fingers. He moved away from her as if she burned him. "Anyway, the usual saying is 'a little birdie told me,' not 'a little spaceship'," she said humorously with a twinkle in her eyes.
"Oh, you's so smart now, eh?"
"Smarter than you," she retorted.
"Listen lady, I dunno what yer trippin' on, but no one talks to me dat way!"
With a smile, she extended her hand out into his direction. "Liz. I'm Liz Parker."
Feeling compelled as if he knew her from a past life (and the fact that she intrigued him so), he stared at her tiny hand curiously before grabbing it with his larger own. "Zan."
To be continued.
I know I'm evil. I admit it. -snickers-