Chapter Seven
Fortune Cookies
Silas
" O h my god, this is amazing. Thank you for this," Charlotte comments between bites. I watch her devour the egg rolls and sesame chicken I ordered for her, satisfied. I know I must look like a smug prick right now.
We're parked on the side of the street in my truck, about half a block down from her house. I want to make sure she eats again before I drop her off at home.
"Better than gas station food, huh?" I already know the answer, but I tease her anyway, which earns me an eye roll.
"I would've been perfectly happy with the gas station food, but yes, this is delicious."
"The Lucky Star is my go-to spot for Chinese. Their General Tso Chicken is the best in town," I tell her before popping a crab rangoon in my mouth.
I'm happy to be able to give her this little bit of normalcy in her otherwise unconventional life. It is the least I can do for her.
"This is my first time ever getting Chinese takeout. Everything tastes good to me."
"Seriously, the first time? ”
"Yeah, I've never had the chance to try it before.” She holds her hand in front of her mouth while trying to talk between bites. “This is amazing."
“If I had known, I would’ve ordered more options for you to try."
"Silas, this is more than enough. Thank you."
I dig through the bag of food sitting between us on the truck seat until I find what I'm looking for. Fortune cookies. I hold out my hand, offering her a handful of individually wrapped cookies.
"If this is your first time, then you have to experience the best part—picking a fortune cookie. They're a must."
The excitement on her face over something as simple as a cookie takes me aback for a moment. I didn't expect the girl in the photo I found to be so sweet and innocent considering what she was doing on the cam site.
She bites her lip, then her eyes dart up to mine. "Will you open one with me?"
I nod. "I will, but ladies first." I hold my hand out a little further, waiting for her to choose.
She looks at them all trying to decide which cookie is the best one.
She finally makes her choice and tears into the package, breaking the cookie inside open to find the hidden strip of paper inside.
I watch as she unfolds the fortune, her eyes scanning the message.
"What does it say?" I ask.
She studies the tiny strip of paper for a minute before reading it out loud.
"A new beginning awaits, but it requires a leap of faith. Your courage will be your compass." Her face lights up, "Oh, that's a good one. It's your turn, pick one."
I let all the remaining cookies in my hand fall into the bag except one. I open it up to read the fortune and laugh to myself .
Even my fortune cookie has to be a know-it-all prick. Fuck you too universe.
"What does it say, Silas? Read it to me."
"Choosing a dangerous obsession can consume you, leading you down a path of destruction and despair."
Like I don’t already know my path will only lead to my destruction.
Fate rarely offers us a choice. I am set on the path I was fated to take, not one of my choosing.
I've come to peace with the fact my life would be consumed by my obsession a long time ago.
I made a promise I intend to keep, no matter the consequences.
If I have to crawl through the depths of Hell to fulfill it, so be it.
I might even enjoy Hell. Even more monsters to kill.
"That fortune took a dark turn. Pick another one, I don’t like that one." I crack a smile at Charlotte's reaction, watching as she starts digging through the bag for another cookie.
"No, Charlotte, I like this fortune. It’s probably the only one I’ll ever get that might come true." Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement on the front porch of Charlotte's house.
"Who is that," I ask pointing in the direction of a man walking down the front steps.
Charlotte stops rummaging through the bag to look at who I’m pointing at. "That's Corey. My mom's dealer. I'm glad you had me out late. I won’t have to deal with him now that he's leaving."
I study the man as he walks down the sidewalk, his skinny frame is dressed in a white tank and jeans, with an open flannel shirt hanging loose.
Greasy blond hair, pockmarked face, and gauged ears complete the look.
If he was going for the ‘I’m the human equivalent of a participation trophy’ look, he nailed it.
"He’s the one who hurt you? "
Charlotte nods her head. "Yes, I hate when he comes around. I try to avoid him as much as possible."
"Consider Corey taken care of." Charlotte looks at me, her eyes searching mine. “I mean it. Give me a few days and he won’t be a problem anymore.”
“You don’t have to protect me, Silas. My mom should be the one dealing with Corey, not you.”
I know all too well the feeling of being at the mercy of the person who should protect you above all else, only to be used and discarded by them instead.
"You know, Charlotte," I continue, "Sometimes the people who are supposed to protect us are the ones we need protection from." I think of my own father, a respected County Sheriff, and the abuses he inflicted on my mother and me.
"I know what you mean, Silas. It's like the people who are supposed to care for you are the ones that can hurt you the most."
I reach out and place my hand on hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. I make a silent vow, I will be the protector she never had. No matter what it takes.
Twenty minutes later, Charlotte is finished eating and I'm watching her hop down from the cab of my truck.
She's graceful despite the awkwardness of the jump.
She turns to face me before shutting the door.
She almost looks like an angel illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights.
The complete opposite of my demons, but maybe my demons are exactly what she needs.
"Are you sure you are going to be okay at home? We can figure something else out for you. It's not a problem." I make the offer but I know before she even answers she isn't going to accept.
"I'll be okay," she says with a shy smile. "I only have one night and then I'm free as a bird. Thank you for dinner. And for everything else. It means a lot to know someone cares."
"You're welcome. Remember, if you need help, something to eat, anything at all, just ask.
Day or night, it doesn't matter. I'll be here.
" I want her to know that she has someone she can depend on.
"This friendship may be a little unconventional, but I think it's going to be a good one.
So don't fly too far without letting me know you're okay. "
I remain parked on the side of the street, watching Charlotte as she walks away.
My fingers drum lightly against the steering wheel to the beat of her steps down the cracked sidewalk.
I want to make sure she gets inside safely.
So, I wait, watching her and her red backpack until my eyes catch a movement in the shadows.
There, behind a car with its trunk slightly open, I spot a hooded figure. The person is crouched low, as if trying to conceal themselves. I notice the way he holds himself, coiled like a spring, ready to pounce.
I jump out of the truck, but it's too late. The son of a bitch is fast and I’m too far away to reach Charlotte in time.
I watch as he clamps a hand over her mouth, silencing her screams. Her eyes go wide with fear, and I can almost feel her panic.
He drags her backwards, her feet scraping against the pavement.
She claws at his hand, her struggles desperate and frantic.
In a matter of seconds, she's already been forced into the trunk, it's slammed shut, and the driver is behind the wheel taking off down the street .
“God damnit,” I curse under my breath, jumping back into the truck knowing I have to act quickly.
That bastard has Charlotte and I won’t let him hurt her.
I also need to be cautious and play this right.
One wrong move could tip this guy off that I'm following him.
If I make that mistake, it could cost Charlotte her life.
I start the engine, my hands tightening on the steering wheel as I pull out. I keep a safe distance, my eyes fixed on the car ahead. I can't let him spot me, but I can't lose him either.
I follow the car for about five minutes before it turns onto Linden Avenue. At one time, the homes on this street were beautiful historic Victorian homes. Now, most of them sit abandoned, their windows and doors boarded up and the exteriors faded and worn.
Many are broken into and used by the homeless population in the community for shelter, or by addicts for a place to get high. The few homes that are still occupied look almost as dilapidated as those that have been left to decay with sagging porches, peeling paint, and overgrown lawns.
I slow down when I see the brake lights flare on the car in front of me.
I watch as it turns onto a side street, and then into the overgrown yard of a house on the corner.
I drive past, careful to maintain a casual pace, and circle around the block.
I turn into the alley behind the house and park a few houses down, out of sight, and kill the engine.
I jump out of my truck, grabbing a pair of gloves and my tool bag from behind the back seat.
I move with purpose, pulling on my gloves as I walk down the alley. My pace is brisk but controlled; I know better than to run and draw unwanted attention. Witnesses might not remember the description of a man walking, but a runner? That stands out in someone's mind.