Chapter 3
September 17, 2007
Elizabeth Imogene Webber stepped onto the train platform holding two suitcases. Growing tired of her parents, she hadn't even told them she was leaving. They might remember when they sent out the family photo to all of their friends and business associates at Christmas, a good eleven months away. She had seen Port Charles on a map of New York a few years back. It was only today that she worked up the courage to hop on a train and never look back. It never helped to look back; it only ever ended in regret and a string of "what if's." Elizabeth had watched her parents do this: live their lives in total regret. She assumed that she was on the list of things that they would take back if they could. She had recently celebrated her eighteenth birthday, barely legal in case she ended up falling in love with an older man. The idea was ludicrous; who would love her of their own free will? She had met plenty of men who told her those three little words; men who had made her believe it because they had said it several times. They only ever said it when they wanted something from her; all they ever wanted was sex.
She had come here because of a man, desperate to escape him. He hadn't been abusive. She might have even loved him. They had tumbled into bed two weeks after they started dating. He was in partnership with her father which made the affair that much more exciting. She had thought she could handle it without getting wound up in a mess of lies and familiar promises. The first time they had sex, she told him she loved him. He had grown silent, somehow convincing her to let him inside of her again and again. She hadn't known that his divorce wasn't final until she walked into his house without invitation. She had memorized her father's credit card numbers when she was ten years old, so she had immediately gone to the train station after finding him in bed with his supposed ex. It had been a major blow to Elizabeth's pride. To think that she had let him touch her, let him have her heart before he ever asked for it. She hated him now.
If she was lucky, no one would notice her at all. She was out of school, having graduated last May, so there was no fear of being labeled as "the new girl." She just wanted to find a place to live, a place where she could lock the doors behind her and never have to face the outside world if she didn't want to. If Port Charles was anything like the rest of the world, they would accept her money without ever expecting an explanation for why she was there.
The first place she stumbled onto was a diner named Kelly's. It said family-owned in small white letters under the open sign. Family? Well good for them. Maybe families actually mattered here. It was a small-town; she wouldn't have been surprised to see married cousins and inbred children. Her sister had warned her about places like this. Everyone was so closely knitted together that there were no distinct differences between the residents. They probably paraded around in overalls and chewed tobacco.
"Why don't you watch where you're going?" A tall, somewhat built, blond demanded when Elizabeth's arm collided with her full coffee cup. The scalding liquid hit the woman in the face causing her to scream in pain and Elizabeth leapt back suddenly on alert.
"Sorry." Elizabeth mumbled, noticing how smartly the woman dressed. She wore a long, navy blue suit, a black scarf, six-inch black heels, and a small beaded black purse that reached her waist. Her shoulder-length light lemon-yellow hair flew from side to side as she shook her head angrily.
"You will be." The woman promised, dropping her coffee cup into a nearby trashcan and storming away, wiping her face with a Kleenex she had neatly folded in her breast pocket.
Unperturbed, Elizabeth sauntered into the tiny diner, her eyes falling on the elderly man behind the bar. He looked like a farmer in his red-and-white striped button-down shirt and faded blue jeans. His frosted hair reached the top of his ears, he had a scruffy five o'clock shadow, and his eyes showed him to be in his early sixties. He had a white apron hung low on his hips and a mess of tickets in front of him. He did what he could to sort through them before pulling out a drawer from under the register and knocking the papers inside, proving that what you didn't see wouldn't hurt you.
"What can I get you?" Mike Corbin wondered, watching Elizabeth hop up on a bar stool, her tousled chestnut locks resting against her short-sleeved, aquamarine top. She crossed her legs, the length of her cutoff blue jeans barely able to cover any part of her skin. She was a stranger he realized a minute later after running through a list of names and faces to whom she might have belonged to.
"What? Oh, nothing." Elizabeth shook her head; not wanting to know what went on in that kitchen. It was probably covered in white, dried grease and baby mice. No rats. There were probably rats. The tables appeared clean and there weren't any crumbs on the ground, but her stomach turned at the idea of accepting any type of edible treat from this place.
"You must want something." Mike argued gesturing toward her as if he saw something she didn't.
"It said outside that you rent rooms. I was wondering if there are any vacancies." Elizabeth stated, sliding her dark sunglasses onto her head so that Mike could determine the true color of her eyes: ocean-blue.
"We have two rooms. I'll have…" Mike paused, searching the room for any of his employees but finding no one. "I'll show them to you and you can choose which one you'd like. The rate is pretty cheap: a hundred a week."
"That is cheap. How do you keep this place afloat?" Elizabeth inquired, though she was just trying to be friendly. Perhaps the rats in the kitchen had connections with the mob.
"The food." Mike told her, leading her up the stairs.
"You know, I think I can do it myself. Tell me the numbers on the doors and I'll take a look. Can I have the keys?" Elizabeth wanted to know.
"I really don't think-" At that moment, a dozen customers walked into the diner, forcing him to give in. "Eighteen or twenty-three? I'm Mike by the way." He added as an afterthought.
"Twenty-three. Elizabeth." She replied feeling obligated to do so.
"Elizabeth…?" Mike pressed.
"My first name is all that matters. Is that all right with you, Mike?" Elizabeth challenged, snatching the key from him.
"I don't need to know your troubles or reasons for showing up here. I'll expect your rent the first of every month and the last two months as your deposit." Mike informed her.
"I'll leave some money in an envelope under the cash register with all of your bills." Elizabeth decided, hopping up the stairs.
"If you get hungry, I'll whip up something." Mike offered.
"I'm sure I'll just order a pizza or something. I'd hate to put you to any trouble." She called down the stairs.