Chapter 15
The bells jingle overhead as we step through the door of The Hidden Slice, and every pair of eyes in the room shifts toward us in unison, as if we've just stumbled in from another world.
"Any table's fine!" a woman calls from the back.
Sabrina points to a table with four seats, one closer to the oversized fireplace, where fat logs crackle and pop, filling the room with warmth.
We slip off our jackets and drape them over the backs of the plastic chairs. Then Daisy, our waitress, appears with a stack of menus, her smile looking like she just got her braces removed.
"Y'all in town visiting?" she asks, no older than eighteen.
"Yes, just for another night," Mara interjects, no doubt anxious to get back home to somewhere that feels normal.
"Can I get y'all something to drink?" Daisy is the picture of sweetness. Blonde hair, petite frame, light freckles over her perfect little nose.
"I could kill for a glass of ice-cold rosé," Sabrina sighs, eyeing the sparse drink menu.
"Sorry, we only have beer and the wine selection isn't that great. We've got a house chardonnay?"
"Blech," Sabrina sticks out her tongue. "I'll just take a Diet Coke, please."
Mara and I both order sodas, and Daisy gives us a moment to look over the menu. The lighting isn't the best here, so when every single lightbulb buzzes like they're about to simultaneously lose power, I can tell the three of us are wondering whether we'll be eating by firelight.
"Should we be worried?" I joke, just as the restaurant is cast in complete darkness.
The scream that blasts through my eardrums can only belong to Sabrina.
But as soon as her shriek fades, the lights blink back on, as if nothing happened.
Sabrina looks mortified by her overreaction, but I can sense Mara's having the same sentiments. Her eyes are wide, and I can almost see her readying herself for some sudden act of violence.
I won't lie, even I half-expected that when the lights came back on, the room would be empty, except for us. Like the beginning of a true horror story where the town turns against the outsiders.
"Backup generator," a man at the back of the room shouts toward us, clearly amused by our panic.
The three of us nod like, "Oh, right, we knew that," when in reality, none of us would even know what a breaker box does.
"Sorry 'bout that." Daisy brings over our three drinks—served in the classic pebbled red plastic cups that could probably survive a fall down a mountain without cracking—and we all accept our beverages with shaky hands.
How embarrassing. A bunch of scaredy cats who aren't used to outages.
"Does this happen often?" I ask Daisy, trying to sound casual.
"Yeah, we've got a backup generator that kicks in the second the town loses power."
"Does that mean every place and home is without electricity?" Mara's still holding onto that frenzied look, and I want to tell her to calm down before she scares poor Daisy.
"Everyone's got a backup generator."
"The Whispering Pines Motel, too?" Sabrina's panic is now as obvious as Mara's.
"Oh yeah, I'm pretty sure Chet has a backup power system in place for each cabin. Don't worry, we're used to this. Y'all won't freeze to death."
"Hey, while we have you here," I begin, lowering my voice.
"What can I help you with?" Her eyes gleam with kindness, unaware of the tension surrounding the impending question.
"Who is Albert?" I whisper, half-afraid I'll draw more attention to us by saying the dreaded name.
"Albert? He's harmless. Truly. He has dementia and has been in this town for decades. His whole family grew up here, but…" She trails off, and I catch the sadness in her tone. "It's tough. They don't take care of him anymore."
"Does he live off Deadwood Grove?" Mara pulls out the photo from her phone, showing Daisy.
"His family wants nothing to do with him." Daisy reveals a sad but resigned smile on her face. "But he's really harmless. He's lived here so long, everyone knows him."
Daisy seems too innocent and pure to be aware of the incident involving Albert's genitals that left us all scarred for life.
I guess, in a way, it makes sense that Albert would act out like that.
His behavior isn't excusable, but part of me wonders if he even understands what he's doing anymore.
Albert is losing his cognitive faculties, and I'm reminded of an interview we did with a daughter whose mother had Alzheimer's.
One day, the woman didn't recognize her own husband and killed him when he walked through the front door.
I remember Albert asked us where we were headed twice in the span of a couple minutes. Instead of being afraid of him, I find myself feeling a deep pity for him. He's been left here, abandoned in a town where no one seems to truly care for him, and now, slowly, he's losing his mind.