Wilhelmina Maddox
Rain was striking the building with loud thuds that filled the awkward silence. It was three in the morning. They had been debating on the killer's next move. On the table before them, the contents of the very first parcel he had left for their investigative team was uncovered. Its contents, which held sealed plastic bags marked as evidence, held a dirty old Barbie doll with its hair shorn, a once gold plated necklace that was now tarnished with a pendant that was meant to be adorned with rubies and diamonds. The hand scrawled note was unfolded, its black writing hard to read. You think you're so smart, don't you Peter?
Will bit her lip while Strahm clicked his pen furiously. She was exhausted. They had been at it for hours, ever since Strahm stormed out of the crime scene. With all this rain, I hope they got the scene cleaned up in time. Will's cell phone began to ring. She pulled at it, recognizing Mark's apartment phone number on the caller ID and her heart skipped. She looked up at Strahm who was leaning back in his office chair, watching her.
"I need to take this," she gave an apologetic frown as she turned away from the contents. She flipped the phone, pulled out the antenna. "Hey, Mark?"
"Will, it's me," Angelina's voice whispered on the line. Will's heart sped up.
"Ange, what's wrong?"
"Vernon Knox died. Mark's not doing so well. His apartment's a mess and he wasn't eating until I made him. And I'm worried. He has his gun." A soft sigh followed by a long pause, then, "You see, Vernon killed himself. And he was like Mark's second father. I - it's just that I don't think I've ever seen him this way. Not even when our parents died. I know you're busy, but… you see he won't give me his gun. I'm just scared he'll…"
"I -," Will turned just briefly, locking eyes with Strahm whose already angry stare had darkened further. She felt her face harden in response. "I'll catch the next plane back. I just need to wrap things up here."
She heard Angelina sigh in relief. "Thank you. You're seriously the best."
She bit her lip. "No, you are. Thanks for looking out for him. I'll be there as soon as I can." She hung up, looking at the large clock that ticked above the door. A flash from outside followed by the deep grumble of thunder shook the room.
"Trouble?"
She turned and cleared her throat. "Yeah. Family emergency. I'm afraid I need to head back for a few days."
Strahm clicked his pen again, lips pressed together. It was clear he wasn't happy about it. "We were finally starting to get somewhere, Will."
"I know. I know. But." She ran her fingers through her hair, noting how oily the locks felt. She needed a shower. Some sleep. Like him, she was near the end of her rope. This case was draining her of everything she had. "You're going to have to get through this without me."
"I'll take you to the airport. We can continue this discussion while I drive." Despite all his previous tantrums, Strahm got to his feet and retrieved his suit jacket, pulling it on. "At least we won't likely hit traffic this early. You need to get your stuff first?"
"Uh, yeah." Her mind was currently stuck on Vernon Knox. She wondered about the circumstances and feared the worst.
Allison and Lindsay were likely fast asleep, unaware that she was about to leave the state. She got into Strahm's car, now familiar with the smell of car leather and his cologne; sandalwood and pine.
"Earlier," Strahm was pulling the car back out of the parking space, "you mentioned something interesting. You said you thought he was taking their hearts, not to steal, but -,"
"To take what he thinks is his. He displays them as if to humiliate them. And he brings them to places where he wants them to feel shame in," Will felt herself fall back into the shroud of this persona. She was trying to think like the killer. To understand him and why he did this. "He feels entitled to their hearts."
"And where would that entitlement stem from?"
She was biting her lip, keeping her eyes ahead. "He gave them his heart. And when they threw it away, he decided to take it back. An eye for an eye. A heart for a heart."
"If he didn't have his heart, he'd be dead."
She gave him a look and was surprised to find he was smirking at his own joke. "Too far-fetched?"
"No. I think it's brilliant. The locations mean something - something terrible in his eyes. And so he takes his victims to clean them. To purify them. And then he brings them to the place where the victims did something terrible - a wrong that he must right. And so he kills them, takes their hearts, and leaves them to rot in that location. He has the final say. He casts them aside, in his finality."
They were pulling onto the highway, the roads completely devoid of other cars. They sat in silence with only the hum of the engine in the background.
"Everyone all right back home?" Strahm's voice was thick with concern.
She turned to look at him, his profile a shadow in the dark. She wondered if she should share anything with him. If he would judge her, for dropping such a serious case. So far, he hadn't done a good job hiding his honest feelings of her dating Mark Hoffman. "It's Mark. His old partner killed himself."
Strahm nodded, swallowing, his eyebrows softening. "I'm sorry to hear that."
Will turned away. "His sister called me, telling me he's not handling it well."
"I don't blame him. It's hard. Losing someone that way. You never get over it."
She studied Strahm, seeing his jaw clench and unclench, eyes fixed on the road. "Did you lose someone?"
"Yeah." Strahm's left hand twitched and Will looked at his ring. Lindsay Perez had told her that Strahm, despite wearing it, was not currently married.
But Lindsay never elaborated.
"If you don't mind me asking, who was it?"
"My wife." Strahm's voice sounded almost hoarse. She instantly regretted asking him. He added, "She had been depressed for a while. I was always working. And I kept my distance back then. I didn't want to share all the horror with her. She was lonely." Strahm's eyes flashed over to Will's, haunted. "She suffered from insomnia. Was prescribed sleeping pills. One night, I had to work late. And she downed the whole bottle. I didn't come home until the next day. By then, she was long gone."
"I'm sorry," Will whispered, feeling the world press in over her with dread. "I can't imagine."
Strahm cleared his throat. "You blame yourself, after that. You wonder if you could have done things differently. Cared more. Showed that you cared more. And no matter how many years go by, there's always knowing that they were suffering."
The silence had grown awkward. Will wanted to reach out and touch his shoulder, to offer some comfort, but found her hand hovering just over his jacket. "What was her name?" She desperately wanted to fill the silence, pulling her hand back and resting her folded hands into her lap.
"Jessica." A longer pause, then, "We met in college. She and I were both psych majors. She wanted to settle down. I was more career driven." Strahm shook his head. "Sorry, Will. I don't want to burden you with my problems, not now. You've got your hands full. I'm glad Hoffman's got you to look after him." He spoke with genuinity, no hint of resentment or malice sneaking through his words.
"It's okay, Peter," Will felt it was all right to touch him. She put her hand onto his shoulder. "You don't have to feel bad for opening up. You can't keep things bottled up forever. It's not good for you." Will tried to diffuse the dark mood. "You know, they say that's why law enforcement get heart attacks in their forties."
Strahm breathed out of his nose, huffing with a smirk. "Is that what they say?"
"Yep. You guys keep your emotions all in and it literally ages you prematurely." Will was delicately grinning. "A shrink that shrinks to no one will shrink into nothing."
"God, that was terrible." Strahm was chuckling. "And made no sense."
"Don't act like you don't think I'm hilarious," Will boasted, glad the conversation was making a new turn.
"The term shrink came from the historical context of how heads of fallen warriors were shrunk. The shrink doesn't get any smaller themselves."
"Nerd," Will teased. "Way to turn a pun into an object lesson."
"I'm just making sure you understood where the term came from."
"I thought you were called that because you made our problems seem smaller."
Strahm nodded. "I can see how that was interpreted." His long lashes blinked before changing the subject. "What airline do you fly?"
Eric Matthews
"You've done good work, Matthews," Grissom held out the cigar case and Matthews helped himself to one, smelling the honey on the paper with that comforting scent of luxury he knew he deserved.
"Damn straight," Matthews reached for the cigar cutter and lit himself a healthy puff. "Mm-mm. Tastes sweet. Cuban?"
Grissom eased back into his chair, holding a match and taking gentle sucks of his cigar. "I cannot confirm or deny the origin, you got that?" There was a playful warning in his eye and the two men chuckled amongst each other. "You've done an excellent job picking up the slack, what with most of this precinct handling the K2K case. You and Hoffman, both. Despite all your problems at home. You're a damn good cop, Matthews."
"I aim to serve, chief," Matthews felt like he was floating. Sure, his life was a damn mess at home. His ex-wife kept nagging at him for child support. Daniel could apparently speak, now, and kept asking him to stay and play with him whenever he visited and it broke his heart when he had to tell the kid no.
Grissom flicked some ash into the tray on his desk. "So, I'm thinking of getting you and Hoffman raised to the next pay grade, for all the damn good work you've done."
Matthews brightened. "You don't say? About time." It wasn't exactly a promotion, but a pay bump was always a good thing. "So how about moving us to one of them good offices. The ones with the windows?"
"You want a view of the back alley?" Grissom's smug smirk melted as he looked down at his desk. "IA's been getting antsy. Gibson's got it out for you two. I've been sweeping things under the rug, because I see the big picture. Like you and Hoffman. I understand what you're doing is, in the end, right." Grissom took a thoughtful puff. "But if the public start learning the dirty details, they may suddenly grow a conscious and want us to pay for their guilt. So best if you try to keep your nose clean these next few months."
"Fucking Gibson," Matthews scoffed, hate rooting in his chest. "The punk's not learned his place yet."
Grissom shrugged. "The rookies are always the idealists. Just give it more time. He'll come around. Like you and Hoffman did."
Mathews blinked at this. "Us? Idealists?"
Grissom let out a laugh. "You probably don't remember too much, what with all the years you've got behind you. How long has it been now? Fifteen years now?"
"I think it's still under fifteen," Matthews took a puff, suddenly feeling ancient. His lower back was sore. Every time he looked in the mirror, his scalp kept reminding him of how he used to have a thick head of hair that was now a thinned remnant of what had once been his youth. He sometimes woke up choking for air, coughing and desperate to get his morning cigarette in. "Yeah. Hoffman and I were in the Academy back in eighty. Fuck. Thirteen years."
"I remember a rookie who once prided himself in being so straight-laced and by-the-book." Grissom flicked ash and chuckled. "We all had a more sunny disposition, back then."
"Yeah, back when murder was a weekly case and not every single goddamn day." Matthews scoffed at the past. "We got to do what we got to do, to keep up with this crazy fucking world."
"Ain't that the truth?"
John Kramer
He had everything planned. The basket was packed. He had an extra blanket in his trunk, in case the warm weather took a turn for the worst. The Fall air was rich with crisp leaves and the trees would be at their peak level of color. He had checked the weather daily as this Saturday approached. He had looked at the past ten years of climate patterns and foliage surveys to ensure that this would be that one special day.
The perfect Autumn picnic.
True, plans often did not always succeed. But that was why he had various contingencies in his back pocket, should the need arise.
He was confident there would not be a need to utilize one of his backup plans. For one, the location of their vista point was at the edge of a cliff, facing the valleys and mountain ranges of the park. He had explored the hiking trails and found this one to be simple enough to explore while being private enough to ensure they would not be disturbed by fellow hikers.
He had managed to acquire one of Jill's favorite vintages, a zinfandel they had discovered when they vacationed in the Maldives, their first trip together, many years ago.
He had this romantic day planned for his beloved wife.
Jill, having worked tirelessly for the downtrodden who wandered into her clinic, was in dire need of some pampering. She would work even later into the evening than he did on his busiest nights. While he would wrap up his schematics and the urban renewal renovations past sunset, he would then go to drive and pick her up at her clinic which closed at ten in the evening.
She always looked exhausted, eyes closed while he drove her home. She wouldn't say a word, instead taking a quick shower before collapsing onto the bed as soon as they returned.
To him, Jill Tuck was a saint. His Lady Madonna. She gave every piece of herself to others and never asked for anything in return.
Except for one thing.
She had always wanted to be a mother, for which he had always kept the idea out of both of their reach. He had his reasons for not wanting to be a father. One of them, being, he was afraid he would turn into the very man he had despised. His own father had been a cruel man.
It had taken him time but he finally felt ready.
They had been married for many years and Jill was at that age where it was now or never. And they were not worried about the money. Oh, no. He had made a fortune throughout his career as a mechanical engineer that evolved into independent consulting that left them with more money than they knew what to do with.
He wanted to give Jill the one thing that she always wanted. And what he now wanted as well.
"John," Jill wrapped her jacket tighter around herself, beaming at him. "Where are you taking me?"
"It's a surprise," he grinned as they pulled up to the trailhead. They trekked up the dusty path, stepping over jagged roots and ducking thick branches as the wind rustled through the leaves.
It took them about an hour before they reached the end of the trail. There was a clearing where the trees ceased but grass spread outward with giant rocks that protruded about like teeth.
"It's so beautiful out here," Jill sighed, closing her eyes to feel the fresh air on her face.
He laid out their blanket and Jill was opening the bottle of wine. They enjoyed the peace together. Often, they spent many moments in a comfortable silence where they had no need to say anything at all. They were connected on a level that transcended words.
They ate their meal and looked out toward the long mountain range, taking in the textures of trees and deep blue shadows of the landscape. He waited for the right moment. And when it came, he turned to Jill.
"My love," he whispered and she looked up at him with such innocence and admiration that his heart swelled. He took her hand in his. "I have a proposal for us."
"What is it?" Her eyes widened and her smile did not waiver.
"Do you still want to start a family? With me?" He suddenly felt nervous. His palm was sweating. He had a lump in his throat. And his pulse was getting faster. But he pressed on, knowing that despite his insecurity, that with Jill, it would all be fine. It would all work out in the end.
"Oh, John," she looked excited and hopeful. "Do you mean…"
"I want us to have a child. If you still want to."
"Yes!" She threw her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his mouth. "Yes!" She was laughing, like bells in the breeze.
It was one of the happiest moments he had ever experienced in his life.
Mark Hoffman
Mark knew he should take another shower. But what was the point? He barely got out of bed, other than to use the bathroom or to try to stare at the TV. But there were too many things that reminded him of Knox. When the Eagles would be playing, he remembered Knox would clap his hands and cheer at the screen at every touchdown. When Trebeck would come up with a quip on Jeopardy, Knox used to snort in humor.
But Knox was gone. Forever. He would never see him again.
Mark felt that familiar loss, like a frozen punch to his throat. Just like his father, who had died in that accident. He never gotten a chance to say goodbye to him, either.
Life could be so fucking unfair.
Ange kept checking in on him. He didn't have the heart to yell at her to go away, though he wanted to. He knew she was trying and it reminded him of when he had taken care of her when their mother died.
He knew loss. He was familiar with it. But it didn't mean it was any easier when more people died on him.
He heard his front door knock. He rolled over so he could hear the commotion.
He heard Ange's voice. And then Will's.
Despite hearing her, he didn't bother to get out of bed. He only felt embarrassed at his state. She shouldn't see me like this. He shut his eyes and hoped that if they came into his bedroom, they'd think he was sleeping and leave him alone.
He heard his door open, the hinges creaking. He heard the soles of her dress shoes on the wooden floor. He felt her sit on his mattress, feeling the shift in gravity attract him closer to where she had sat.
Her arms slowly moved over him and pulled him into a careful hug.
He felt his eyes sting and he refused to move or say anything. He felt her kiss the back of his head and wrap herself around him.
It helped a little.
Feeling her, warm and firm, was a nice distraction.
"Hey, Mark," she whispered. "I'm right here. We'll get through this together."
(Power of Will)
Will had convinced him to shower, change, and go out to get some food. He just wanted to get a drink. Ange looked relieved as she left to go to work and kissed him on the cheek before leaving.
Will looked like she had a rough time in Virginia.
It was the hardened frown on her face that he noticed, when she wasn't looking at him directly. But when she realized he was watching her, she turned and lit up like a Christmas tree, all smiles. He knew she was pushing herself for his benefit.
It made him feel worse. But the two of them continued this charade of pretending that everything was fine. That they were all just going about their normal routine. Their old habits.
They were now at Larry's. Sitting at their usual swivel chairs at the bar. Larry was wiping the same bartop with the same greasy rag. The same channel was on the TV, showing the results of the last baseball game taking place.
Everything was the same, the world unchanged despite Knox no longer being a part of it.
Will ordered the usual basket of fries and grilled chicken sandwich. He ordered the same double cheeseburger he always got. He asked for a bottle of Jamesson and had Larry leave the bottle. Will joined him and the two clinked their glasses together.
He appreciated Will not asking any questions. She didn't keep quiet. She simply took a shot of the whiskey and talked about the case. "He's taunting us. He left a fucking doll for us to gawk at. And he kept leaving notes. He's a cocky sonofabitch."
He knew she was breaking the rules, telling him details when she wasn't supposed to. He knew she was doing this for him. To try to help distract him with the fascinating evidence of the most notorious serial killer case since Ted Bundy. "Will," he murmured.
She peaked at him at a side glance, her shoulders relaxed but her eyes sharp as a hawk's. "Hm?"
"Thanks." Hoffman didn't like talking about certain topics. Emotions. Feelings. They were off limits in the best of circumstances. But he felt as if he was boiling over. He was full of this poison. This anger. This rage. "But you don't need to fuck yourself over to make me feel better. Better not say anything else." He threw back a shot of whiskey and let the alcohol burn his throat, enjoying the pain. He felt like he deserved it.
"Okay," her voice was delicate and that made him angrier. "What do you want to talk about?"
He was silent as he fumed. He squeezed his shot glass and glared up at the TV. Thankfully, she didn't push it. They sat there, watching as Jimmy Key revved his arm and pitched to the White Sox. The batter struck out.
He took another shot. In the corner of his eye, Will matched him.
He couldn't help but smirk. He turned to her and she looked back at him with that competitive spark she always gave him when she wanted to prove that she could keep up with him in something. He refreshed both their shot glasses and they both downed them with the familiarity of high functioning alcoholics. She burped. He scoffed and the pressure growing in his chest subsided.
He didn't know how many hours it had been. But his head was feeling nice and numb. His face was hot. He felt sweat down his neck. And his vision was getting blurred. He knew he was pretty fucking drunk at that moment.
Will was hiccuping beside him. He had forgotten why they were there. He turned to her, glad she was there with him. He missed that giant mop of orange hair and brown spots on her face. And she smiled back at him, looking at him like he was the tastiest piece of cake she was going to eat.
"You… good, Mark?" She was slightly slurring her words. He smirked.
"Yeah. You?"
"Never better. I could use a water, though. My head hurts." She was rubbing her temple.
Larry had heard and was retrieving a glass to fill with the soda water from his dispenser. He wordlessly slid the glass down the bar and Will caught it, taking sips in between her hiccups.
Mark looked up at the game. The Yankees were losing. Badly. He remembered when his father took him to their first game. When he was just a kid. And when he was a young man, still a rookie, he had then gone to watch the Yankees with Knox.
Oh, shit. The pain in his gut had him hunch over for a moment. He had forgotten. How could he forget Knox, just like that? He hated himself for it.
"Mark?" Will's hand was on his arm. He looked up at her, blinking. "You okay?" She looked scared.
"Fine," he lied. He shook his head. "Just thinking."
She hesitated but finally began prying. "About Knox?"
He looked at her, angry and seeing red, so quick he couldn't stop the words already coming out of his mouth. "Yeah. Knox. No shit. The man fucking kills himself without so much as a goodbye. Just blows his brains out for me to find. How can I not fucking think about him all the goddamn time." He took the bottle and chugged the remainder of the handle, the amber liquid scalding his insides. He slammed the bottle to the bar and growled. "Man was like a father to me, you know. I let him down."
Will's face was red and her glazed eyes were glistening. "No, Mark. You didn't let him down."
"I should have visited him more." He was talking more to himself than to Will. He felt like he was at church, giving his confession. "I should have talked to him more. I would have picked up on it. He'd probably still be here, if I had."
She was close to him. He could smell the alcohol and perfume on her skin. "Knox wouldn't want you to feel guilty about this."
He shook his head. He didn't want to hear this. He wanted to hear the truth. That it was all his fault. "He's gone. We'll never know what he would have wanted."
"That's horse shit, Mark," Will huffed. He looked up, surprised. She looked angry, too. "Knox loved you like a son. And no father would want their kid to feel like they're to blame for something like this happening. I promise you." She turned away and wiped at her eyes. She let out a small laugh. "I never told you this, but Knox used to call me up every so often, asking about you." She had a small smile, her eyes distant. "He would call, saying he had advice to give or that he needed me to pass a message to Tapp. But I knew what it was really about. He wanted to make sure you were okay. He once told me that he thought of you like his son. He was such a caring man." She wiped her cheek. "Hey, Larry, another bottle, please."
Larry nodded and brought them more liquor. Will poured their glasses and held hers up. "To Knox. Such a loving man. A father figure to both of us. And we'll miss him."
Mark swallowed a lump in his throat. He felt as if a knife was twisting in his heart. But he held his glass up as well. He hoped Knox was in a better place.
Maybe it was the booze, but his mind went to Will's father. Still in a coma, since she was a teen. She never told him the full story. He never tried to push. But now, maybe it was time. "You never told me what happened to your father."
She swigged and sighed. "I haven't?" She was being coy but shrugged. "Well," she was stinking drunk, her words loud and lulled. "My father, you know he's been in a hospital since I was seventeen. Back then, I wanted to be a dancer." She gave a sheepish grin. "I was pretty good. Was talking to recruiters from Julliard." Her smile evaporated. "But then some burglars broke into our home one night. I was out at dance camp. My brother was still a toddler, but had been sleeping in his room, thank God." She ran her fingers through her hair, sighing. "They had broke in and my father had tried to fend them off. They shot my mother. She died quickly from blood loss. And they beat my father. Beat him to the point that they say he'll probably never wake up. When I got the call, the police came and escorted me to help identify my mother's body."
Mark felt the air escape his lungs. He had never known. "I'm sorry."
She shrugged. "At first, I was so angry. I wanted to find the men who did this to my family and hurt them like they hurt me. The investigator understood me. I'll never forget him. He told me that he wouldn't rest until they caught them."
"Did they?"
"No."
He grimaced, knowing something like this would have driven him mad. "Is that why you became a cop?"
She nodded, fascinated by the stains on the bar. She ran her fingers over the various nicks and dents in the wood. "I joined the police academy as soon as I graduated high school, after that. I always hoped the police at the time would find the killers. But if not, I wanted to try to. It wasn't until after I graduated from the academy that I found out it's against the rules to investigate homicides where next of kin is concerned." She let out a harsh snicker. "I was so naive, back then."
He didn't suggest she still was, knowing that when she was this drunk she threw punches. And they stung. "What about Bram?"
"Oh, my Aunt raised him. He never knew our parents. I really sucked as an older sister. I was so focused on becoming a cop. But despite all of this, he still calls me. He still lets me know how Dad's doing. He visits him every week, to read to him. Bram is a saint." Will sniffed. "Damn. How did I start talking about myself? My bad."
It was his turn to put his hand on her shoulder. "You have nothing to be sorry about," he told her. After all this time, despite how long they had known each other, he felt a new layer of connection with her. She, too, had lost her parents so young. And like him, she had taken her loss and had tried to make their deaths a purpose to fight back.
Fuck, he loved her so much.
"Closing time," Larry spoke, as usual, for the pure necessity to kick them out. "Last call."
Angelina Acomb
She found herself standing over a bowl of peeled potatoes, her tears falling onto the naked spuds. She gasped. How long had she been standing there? How long had she allowed her tears to drip into the food? She knew they were no longer fit to be served. She looked around, embarrassed, and fled with the bowl out the back exit.
The alley she walked into smelled of rotting garbage and tobacco. She tossed the produce into the nearest open dumpster and suddenly collapsed to her knees.
She just lost control of herself and began to weep. It had been four months now, and still no word from Peter. She was now worried. She had asked the liaison for military spouses to look into what had happened. They told her to stay patient. But now, she expected the worst.
She was violently shaking on the oil slicked pavement when she heard a voice clear its throat.
"Um, you okay?"
She turned to the sound of the male voice, looking up to see one of the dishwashers staring awkwardly at her, rubbing the back of his neck. He was one of the new hires. He had a scruffy face and his uniform shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a wife beater and various tattoos underneath. Despite his rough appearance, his eyes were kind and sympathetic.
"I'm fine," she wiped her eyes and got to her feet. "Sorry, you didn't need to see that."
"Don't worry about it," The man was smoking. He took a lazy drag and exhaled out of his nose, digging into his pocket and holding the pack out to her. "You want one?"
She shook her head and rubbed her arms, letting out a forced laugh. "Thank you. I don't smoke."
He shrugged. "Yeah, this shit kills you." He had a playful smirk. "He's not worth it."
She felt herself go on high alert. Whoever this man was, he seemed to know too much. It made her on edge and she quickly scanned the alley for an escape. "Who?"
"Whoever you're crying over. I don't know your life but seeing a lady get so beat up over something so heavy, I just think it's a man. Am I wrong?"
She blinked and felt her paranoia deflate. "Oh. No - I mean, yes, but it's not what you think." She suddenly felt the need to defend Peter. "My husband's been deployed and I haven't heard from him for months. I'm getting worried."
"Oh, for real? Shit, I'm sorry. Didn't know. That's a drag." The man took another puff of his cigarette. "I had a buddy who joined the army. Hadn't heard from him in years. And we used to be tight. But then one day, he rolls up and it's like he never left. What I'm trying to say is, it's going to be okay, Chef. Promise. He's probably just somewhere with no post office. Right?"
She smiled. It had been a while since she was comforted. She had held her fears inward for so long, not wanting to be a bother. And now, she was unloading to this complete stranger. Well, not a stranger. But one of her subordinates. It wasn't professional.
"Sorry. Thanks for this. I need to get back inside."
The man nodded. "You work hard, Chef. But don't forget to take it easy once in a while. It's not good to be so tense. You get me?"
She forced another smile. "I'll try." She felt guilty now, after this man showed concern for her well being. She didn't even know his name. "Sorry but I don't remember your name."
"Nah, I figured, I just started Monday. Name's Seth. Seth Baxter." He didn't hold his hand out for her to shake. He looked too cool to do anything but lean against the wall and take his smoke break.
"I'm Angelina Acomb."
He smiled. "I know who you are, Chef. I'd have to be blind not to." There was a glint in his blue eyes that made her cheeks flush.
"Take care," she retreated back into the kitchen.
"Take it easy," he called out behind her.
