CHAPTER 4
A few days after the police called, my paranoia goes through the roof when I come out from the restaurant kitchen in the afternoon. I halt so abruptly the beer glasses rattle on my tray. It’s pure luck that I don’t drop them.
There, at the corner table, he sits again. Istvan Gabor. A cup of coffee in hand, looking out over the river as if the view here is better than at the parliament towering above the water.
“What the hell are you doing?” Izsák snarls when he almost bumps into me on his way through the swinging door. “Get those fucking glasses to the bar, or I’ll cut the damage from your paycheck when you drop them.”
Not sparing him a glance, I head to the bar.
“You’re lucky I’m keeping you on at all. I might as well…”
Izsák’s condescending growl fades behind me, but I don’t need to hear him to know the rest. It’s always the same, complaining about my lack of Hungarian. He often mentions it to point out my uselessness—a poor excuse to limit my responsibilities to menial tasks. But I don’t let it get to me. It’s his loss, really. Being fluent in both English and German, I’m more than capable of serving the tourists that fill the restaurant at this time of year. And right now, I’m decidedly relieved about the restriction. I don’t think I could meet the man by the windows with more than a quivery voice and downcast eyes. The mere thought of facing him has my heart pounding against my rib cage as my clammy hands clutch the tray.
The next hour passes in a nervous blur as I try not to glance in Gabor’s direction. Paranoia crackles along the edges of my mind, making me feel like eyes are on me everywhere. But whenever I glance toward the corner table, Gabor is gazing out over the water and all the other customers are deep in conversation.
The nerves keep building to the point where I almost double over from relief when I come out from the kitchen to find him gone. Here I was, making up ridiculous ideas of him being the third man, thinking I’d awoken something feral within him at our first encounter, but the man didn’t even spare me a glance today.
I almost want to laugh at myself as I stare at the empty table. Gabor is probably just one of those weird rich men who like to come down from his mighty castle to get a glimpse of regular life.
I wipe the sweat from my brow and allow my breathing to settle as I cross the room to clear his table. But my breathing stops altogether as I look down at the tablecloth.
There, on the white fabric, next to the coffee cup, is a note. Nothing more. Just a small piece of white paper. Three innocent words written in neat penmanship—symmetrical and flawless. They are the most frightening words I’ve ever read.
Until next time.