Chapter Five #2
"There are no obvious connections between them.
Right now, it all seems random. No shared friend groups, workplaces, common interests.
All the victims lived in different areas, but their bodies were dumped here in Fairfield County.
" I tap my fingers on the steering wheel putting on a show for Sterling.
Making sure my aggravation at the case is obvious to him.
"This case has us gridlocked with no leads to follow and no clues to point us in any direction. I’m really hoping a pair of fresh eyes on the case will be the break we’ve been looking for.”
He can look all he wants but he won't find anything. He may be good, but I’m better.
He's sitting beside the very monster he seeks, and he doesn’t even know it.
I’m good at what I do. The only hope they have of catching me is if I slip up, which isn’t going to happen.
I’m too careful. Every move is calculated, every detail considered, leaving nothing to chance.
I know how investigations work, how to cover my tracks, and how to misdirect and stay one step ahead.
But in the unlikely event that I would fuck up, getting rid of evidence isn’t that difficult when you’re hunting yourself down.
As we drive, our conversation moves away from the case and onto other topics.
We make small talk, and I fill him in on the area.
Pointing out landmarks and giving him a mini tour of the town.
All the while, my mind is elsewhere, keenly aware of the time.
School must be out by now, which means Charlotte should be walking through the park on her way to the diner if what Sydney said is right.
Pulling into the parking lot, I catch a glimpse of someone entering the diner. A young woman with long raven black hair and a worn-out red backpack slung across her shoulder over a denim jacket. By the time we step inside, she’s nowhere to be seen.
We pick a quiet booth in the back corner and settle in. I ask the usual get-to-know-you questions, and he fills me in on his background, as we wait for our waitress to take our drink order.
Our server, a middle-aged woman who looks like she has a chip on her shoulder and an attitude to match, approaches our table. She slaps down a few napkins and some pre rolled silverware on the table between us. "What do you two want to drink?"
"I'll have a coffee," Sterling replies.
"Just water for me." I smile politely at her as I keep my eyes on her, taking pleasure in the irritation that crosses her face at being looked at so directly.
"You two know what you want to eat, or do I have to get you menus too?" The waitress snaps, as if performing the most basic aspects of her job is an inconvenience to her. She’s clearly not interested in being hospitable or doing her job.
Sterling shoots me an irritated look like he can't believe the nerve of this woman, and I can't agree with him more.
"I wouldn't want you to have to do any more than absolutely necessary, ma'am," I answer, remembering why I always avoid this diner like the plague.
The service here is just as shitty as the food.
"I'll have a cheeseburger and fries. If you’d prefer, I can always go back to the kitchen and retrieve our orders when they're ready and bring them back to the table myself. But naturally, I’ll expect a tip for my extra effort.”
The waitress huffs out a breath while rolling her eyes at my remark. I continue with my order, "Lettuce, tomato, ketchup, and hold the mayo." Just the thought of that condiment makes my fucking skin crawl.
The waitress's eyes flick to Sterling, expecting his order .
"I'll take the same,” he says. “But keep the mayo on mine."
"No mayo." Sterling looks at me, clearly confused, and understandably so. I know my reaction is over the top and I'm being weird as hell right now. I need to calm down, but the thought of watching him eat mayo… Fuck no. It triggers me.
"Sorry, Sterling, I have a... thing. I can't tolerate anyone eating mayo near me." I hesitate, unsure how to explain my aversion without sounding like a complete lunatic.
"Okay," Sterling says slowly, clearly unsure of how to handle the situation. "Ma'am, I'll have the same. No mayo."
The waitress gives us both a look that could kill. What little patience she did have is clearly wearing thin. "I’ll get your drinks when I have time," she mutters, turning and marching towards the kitchen.
I give Sterling a nod of gratitude. "Thank you."
“No problem, man. Do you have an allergy or something? You seemed pretty adamant about the mayo.”
Well, that sounds a hell of a lot more reasonable than the truth.
“Yea, I do. I have a severe reaction to it, so I get a little nervous sometimes. I apologize for interrupting you.” Feeling slightly awkward, I decide to excuse myself.
"I'm going to hit the head before Miss Personality gets back with our order.
" I get up from the table and make my way across the diner to the restrooms.
I walk into the men's room, and just as the door begins to close behind me, I hear a voice that stops me in my tracks.
I keep the door from closing as quietly as I can and holding it slightly ajar.
Peering through the crack between the door and the frame, I see the raven-haired girl I noticed earlier, the one with the red backpack .
"Mom, I'm hungry. Can't you get me something to eat from the kitchen? You know there isn't any food in the house," she pleads with our waitress.
The waitress, who I now realize is her mother, responds with indifference. "You know I only get one free meal a shift, Charlotte. I'm not wasting it on you. Figure it out."
Charlotte persists, her plea becoming more desperate. "Mom, please. I'm hungry."
The exchange leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
How could a mother, or any parent, be so cold and heartless towards their own child?
I sense the same resentment and longing in Charlotte's voice that I once felt myself.
It strikes a chord deep within me, reminding me of my own mother's pleas to my father.
I witnessed her beg for mercy, only to be met with cruelty.
I stand there, a mix of emotions washes over me, anger, pity, and an overwhelming need to help her. As their exchange continues, my mind is already working, planning, and calculating.
"God, you're so damn needy." I watch through the crack as her mother turns and walks through the door to the kitchen.
A few moments pass, and she returns, thrusting a bag of bagels at her daughter.
"Here, I was supposed to throw these into the dumpster," she mutters, her tone laced with annoyance.
I watch as Charlotte flinches, catching the bag of stale bagels in her right arm while protecting her left wrist.
I understand now the pull I felt towards her from the moment I saw her picture. It was that very hurt in her eyes that I’m looking at now. A hurt I know all too well. I'm drawn to the brokenness, recognizing the same cracks in my own soul.
"Thanks, Mom," she mumbles, as her mother turns and walks back into the kitchen .
I push the restroom door open with more force than necessary, making my presence known.
The movement startles her, and she takes a step back, her blue eyes widening at my sudden appearance.
I can't help but notice the way she holds herself. She’s like a frightened animal, ready to bolt like she's expecting me to attack at any moment. My gut instinct tells me this girl’s life is a living hell.
"Is she always this fucking chipper?" I nod toward the door to the kitchen her mother just walked through. Hopefully Charlotte will realize I’m not a threat and will relax.
"Yeah, when she's in a good mood." Charlotte smirks, and I can visibly see some of the tension leave her body. "You should see her when she's in a bad one."
I can't help but smile at her smartass remark. Reaching out, I take the bag of bagels from Charlotte's arms, and without a word, I push open the restroom door and toss the bag into the trash bin inside.
"Hey!" Her initial surprise quickly transforms into anger as she realizes what I've done. "Those were mine!"
I turn to face her, my expression softening as I see the indignant look on her face. "I know, Charlotte, but I'm not going to let you eat fucking garbage. You deserve so much better than that. You shouldn’t have to settle for someone else’s scraps."
As I speak, I watch the conflicting emotions playing out on her face. She's torn between her anger at my action and the underlying truth in my words.
Charlotte freezes in place, and I see the anger slowly drain from her eyes. Her mouth moves wordlessly a few times, confused, struggling to believe someone would show her a modicum of care or attention.
She seems to finally manage to get her thoughts together. "How do you know my name? "
“Because I heard enough of your conversation to know it and to know I’m buying you lunch.” I motion for her to join me. "Come on, let’s get you something to eat. My treat, whatever you want."
Charlotte takes a step forward and then stops. She’s struggling between her hunger and her distrust of a stranger offering to help her.
“Whatever you’re expecting me to do to pay—”
“Jesus Christ,” I interrupt, raising my hands in surrender.
“I don’t expect anything from you, especially not what you're thinking. I’m just being a decent human being offering to buy a new friend lunch, nothing more.
Take it or leave it, Charlotte. I’m not going to beg, but I'd appreciate it if you'd accept my offer, so I know you've eaten something today. "
She’s hesitant and I get it. Trust doesn’t come easy when life has beaten you down time and time again.
It makes it hard to believe someone might actually want to help with no strings attached.
Just when I think she is going to turn down my offer, she surprises me with a slight nod and a soft, “Thank you.”