Chapter 8

Tara, Amy, and Michael sat numbly in a rounded corner booth at the Espresso Pump down the street, cradling steaming oversize cups of cocoa. Amy's eyes were red-rimmed, as were Michael's, his dark eyeliner smeared into a caricature of Goth, but both had seemingly run out of tears to shed.

Tara had been the only one who had really been able to move at first, and had run upstairs to call the police. They had arrived swiftly with an ambulance following them, but the EMTs had only been able to strap the empty shell of Andi onto a gurney and take her to the morgue.

Then had been the seemingly endless series of questions. Tara had again been able to say the most, what had happened, but Amy and Michael were both heavily questioned as well. Amy had wept, but Michael first lashed out with rage before finally faltering into tears. They had finally been told that none of them were suspects, and an officer offered to drive each of them home.

None of the teens really felt like going back home, though, and instead had come here, to the Espresso Pump. Denise had given them a secluded booth, and the mugs of cocoa on the house. She had offered to let Tara have the following day off, but the blonde had declined. She needed the money; besides, it might take her mind off things for a while.

"I should – I should probably call my dad," Amy managed, still not breaking her staring contest with the cocoa mug. Those were pretty much the first words she'd said since the police quit asking her about Andi.

"Yeah. Me too," Michael stated blandly. It was almost like someone had come up with a mystical Hoover and sucked the spirit out of him.

Mary approached the table hesitantly, blue apron around her slim waist and deep brown eyes full of concern. All she had heard was that the friends had been out shopping and had walked in to one of the stores and found the shopkeeper's body. They all looked shaken and shocked, and Mary wanted nothing more than to take away their pain. Unfortunately, all she could offer was her support and more cocoa. "Hey," she said quietly. "Do you, do you need anything?"

Amy turned her blank gaze in Mary's direction, and Michael merely shook his head. Tara sent a thankful look in the waitress's direction. "Thanks, Mary, but we're … we don't need anything." Saying 'we're okay' was pretty much not a part of Tara's vocabulary at this point. Things were far from okay.

"I gotta go call home," Michael said mechanically, rising from the booth, leaving his cocoa untouched. Amy got up and followed him to the pay phone up front, still speechless.

Mary looked around and took a seat next to Tara. "I can't even imagine what … any of this is like for you, Tara. I just wanted to let you know that if you need someone, someone to talk to. I'm here, any time." She pressed a slip of paper into the Wiccan's hand. "My number," she explained. "I'm serious, if you need someone to talk to, give me a call, day or night."

Tara's already vulnerable body language softened even more. "I – I don't know what to say. I mean, I think I've already exhausted 'thank you' at this point. But really, it means a lot for you to offer. I'll … I'll keep it in mind." Mary's answering smile was compassionate and slightly hopeful.

At that moment, Michael and Amy, zombie-like, returned the corner booth. "My dad's coming to pick me up," he stated robotically. He seemed so empty, so non-Michael. "Amy's dad is coming to get her, too. I probably – both of us, probably – won't be in school tomorrow." Amy slid into the booth, leaving room for Michael at her side and cradling her oversized cocoa mug once more, though the mug's contents had now gone cold. Michael sat stiffly on the outside, his arms folded tightly across his chest. Tara noticed that the dark paint on his nails was chipped on the ends, as though he had been chewing at them. When was there time for him to chew his nails? Tara wondered.

"I – I can stay with you, if you want," Mary offered. "I'm on my break now, so it's okay. If you want me to."

"No, you should probably just go," Michael said harshly. "There are probably a lot more fun people than us to be around right now."

Mary nodded, understanding the dark youth's anger and his need to be alone. She turned again to Tara. "If you don't mind hanging out here until 11, I can give you a ride home if you like. It's the least I can do. I know if I was in your shoes, the last thing I would want to do would be walk home in the dark like this."

Tara met Mary's eyes. "Okay, that - that sounds good. Thank you so much."

Within half an hour, both Michael and Amy had been picked up by their respective fathers. Tara was now alone to contemplate the afternoon's events with her unending supply of cocoa. Denise and Mary both checked in on her every now and again. Denise had brought a fuzzy blanket in from her car and wrapped it gently around the Wiccan's shoulders.

Promptly at 11, the Espresso Pump's lights dimmed, and the remaining staff lifted chairs onto tables to clean the floor. The sign on the front door was flipped around to "CLOSED," the blinds were lowered, and the front door was locked. Mary came out from the back with a light jacket on and her hair now worn loose instead of pulled back into the loose on-the-job ponytail she usually wore. She led Tara out the back door and to her car, then drove the blonde back to her building. It looked a good deal scarier in the dark, enough to worry Mary.

"Are you going to be okay getting in? I could walk you," she offered, her car idling in front of the old brick structure.

Tara shook her head. "No, no, I should be – I should get in fine. Thanks."

"See you tomorrow," Mary added.

"Night, Mary." Tara exited the car, Denise's young son's blanket still wrapped around her shoulders as she disappeared into the building.