Disclaimer: Disclaimers are lame.

I sit on the porch, thinking. But mostly waiting.

Annie's been gone for too long, and it feels odd not having a shadow. Should I tell someone about what I've seen?

They might look at me differently. Would they even believe me? I wouldn't.

And what about that mark? The one that appeared on my forehead—does it have something to do with that white figure and the forest?

Maybe I'm just delusional. This is probably just a way of coping. What comes after denial again?

I push my fingers against my eyelids.

What if we're in danger? What will happen?

I know what Mom would say. She'd sit me down, give me a little speech about how I'm riling myself up. Tell me to go to a happy place like an island or up on a hill. She'd say something about patience.

I sigh. No, I finally decide, I'll just wait.

I don't want this to turn out like everything else. A chance has been given to me to start anew. I have no choice but to take it, crazy or slightly-less-than-crazy, and push everything else aside.

'Wait and see' will be my new mantra.

—

"You're late," she hisses from the steps.

"I know I know, but you have to let me explain—"

A wrinkled finger shoots up to shush me. "Five minutes is five minutes. You don't need to explain anything."

She sighs, "I can overlook your tardiness, seeing as it is your first day. But only for today."

She says no more and walks through the entrance. I follow behind, already regretting getting up this morning.

The building itself is large and mostly brick with the exception of the metal panels slanting from the roof and the wooden veranda holding outdoor seats. Tables scatter the hardwood floor with little salt and pepper shakers on each. The sunlight shimmers through a window to my left and onto a door near the register.

"You can sight see later," the woman says from behind the counter. An opening is cut through the wall; a rectangular window peering into the kitchen.

"Are you my boss?" I wonder if she can smell my fear. Not once has she looked at me without an annoyed glare on her face.

"No," she says while going through money in the cash register. My tense shoulders fall back with ease. "But that doesn't mean I cannot and will not fire you if you mess things up. Especially with Nayla."

She rounds the counter and throws something. "Here."

A ring with two silver keys land in my palm.

"One for here and one for the house."

I sway from my tiptoes to my heels a few times. "I'm a little confused. Why would I need a—"

"You can go." She shoves me toward the door quickly. "I have things to set up and you have work to get to."

She slips a piece of paper between my fingers and proceeds to slam the door in my face.

"You have got to be kidding me," I grumble. Turning away from the door, I unfold the slip and read off the directions. "It's only a couple of blocks from here; I guess it won't be too much trouble."

—

"Where. Am. I."

I've never seen this street before, I've never been in this area before. No one's outside, there's no noise coming from the houses. All this leads back to the same question—where am I?

I pound my head against the nearest wall and sigh. "She didn't even tell me where to go; how am I supposed to know where this is; am I getting paid for this?"

Turn a corner. Count more numbers. Read off street names. At last, I'm a few houses away.

"No," I hiss at the heavens. "This can't be it. What did I do to deserve this?"

At the end of the street, in a tree encrusted semicircle, lies a one story brick house. I'm going to overlook all the suspicious things like the vine infested fence and flickering lanterns and the squeaking gate just to save myself some sanity and walk—maybe more of brisk jog—to the front door.

My eyes wander from side to side as I tap lightly against the door. No one answers so I knock again, louder this time. And again. And again. "Please just come answer the door," I whisper harshly. "I don't like being out here!"

And, of course, the door swings open. So, of course, I lose it. "Nope. I'm going home. I quit, I don't want the job anymore."

But, of course, making a scene does nothing to keep me from going inside.

I tiptoe inside and close the door. I mark every noticeable feature as I creep around—an unlit fireplace, a dining room table, a window overlooking the backyard, and skyscrapers of books lining two of the four walls.

"This is wrong; this is someone's house," I sigh. "I can just tell the lady they weren't home."

A sharp jab throws me on the floor.

"Who are you?" the lady demands. "What do you want?"

No taller than five feet and yet the amount of sheer force she knocked me down with is something other worldly. Unlike the woman back at the café, her vibe is brute-like and her stare even more so.

"One more time: who are you?" Her cane is pointed to the middle of my stomach and she makes a quick jab but I scoot farther to a wall before she can.

I raise a nonexistent white flag, "The lady in the dress at the café." I try to control my breathing. "She told me to come here."

She doesn't let up much though her frown puckers with thought. "Zora?"

"I think that's what Martha said her name was."

The hard expression vanishes from her face and a subtle smile replaces it. "I see it now."

In even hastier events, she pulls me up to usher me to a chair by the fireplace and goes off somewhere in the house.

"She attacked me. With her cane," I say disbelievingly.

And she would've beat the crap out of me, too.

That's the type of stuff you see in movies. Am I in a movie?

"It should be ready in a few minutes," she flies from the hall.

"What will?"

"The food! It'd be wrong to have a guest over and not show them the proper hospitality, wouldn't it?"

She's off again but back even sooner with a pitcher of water and some glasses. As she pours, she asks, "What did you say your name was?"

"Maria. It's Maria."

"A pretty name for such a pretty girl." She laughs at my expression and keeps talking. "I'm Nayla, and I apologize for earlier. You're not hurt are you?"

I poke the spot where her cane landed. I want to shriek from how acute the pain is, but instead I convince myself, "Nothing I can't manage."

I look around more, then say: "Not to be straightforward or anything but what is it exactly that you'll have me doing? Is it cleaning? Cooking?"

She huffs. "There isn't a particular job for you to do. Zora's too stubborn—on top of being blind as a bat—to understand that I'm fine on my own."

I really don't mean to say this but it comes out like a reflex, "No one's fine on their own. You'll always need someone, somewhere, someday."

She blinks, zero amount of expression on her face.

My hands shoot out in front of me (why didn't I do this when she was pummeling me with a stick?) "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to say that!"

"You seem too wise for a child your age," she laughs. Not the answer I thought she'd say but I'll take it. "We'll make fine friends, you and me."

And it's quiet for some time. I'm unsure of how I should get the conversation up and running again. At least the thoughts come easy here in this tall cushioned chair.

"What did you see?" I ponder after a while. "You looked at me and said you saw 'it'?"

Her smile keeps going but it's her eyes that turn forlorn. "If your hair was shorter and your skin was darker, you'd look just like her."

The answer's obvious. I don't know why I ask: "Who?"

"I'm sorry she's gone. It must be—"

"How did you know?" I don't mean to come off as defensive as I am, but there's something about people knowing things you don't tell them that's a major pain in the ass.

She scoffs, "Ha! When you've been kicking as long as I have you know everyone. Everyone who's ever taken a step on this street, everyone who's breathed so much as a hello to pruney old Mr. Hikaru up the street, and maybe even some I've met in past lives."

"You don't want to talk about her, I can see that," she says after another silent interval.

I stand. "Is it alright if I go home?"

She nods and I try not to feel bad. "I won't have anything for you to do until a couple days from now, but feel free to drop by any time."

I thank her for her hospitality and bid goodbye, saying how soon I'll see her. In all honesty, though, I don't know if I want to come back.

"Before you go," she calls from her seat. "Take this piece of advice with you: Death is a secret to no one."

Even after I shut the door I can hear her voice trail off, "Remember that."

Just in case: Nayla's pronounced nye-luh.

Arigato for reading. I hope you'll all stay tuned for more~

TTFN