Chapter 10 The Hollow
The Hollow
Ispent the next four days sleeping, running, and forcing food down my throat.
The memories were a constant unwanted companion. The only time I found any reprieve was when I’d run myself to a point far beyond exhaustion.
The wolf had joined me on every run. I was no longer scared of him.
I began to look forward to seeing him, his presence a comfort.
He hung in the shadows of the trees. He’d stop when I’d stop.
Move when I’d move. His size was perplexing, but perhaps he was crossed with a malamute or something.
Maybe he was once someone’s pet, dumped in the forest when he became too much to handle.
Having decided it was time to apply for the job at the bar I’d seen advertised, I stood looking in the wardrobe at the pitiful amount of clothing I’d thrown hastily in my bag.
Most were jeans and T-shirts, my usual attire.
I pulled out a green paisley-print, long-sleeve dress and held it up in front of my face.
It was pretty, but not suitable for bar work.
I threw it on the bed. The only decent option I really had was a pair of black silk pants and a white blouse.
I pulled them on and stared at my reflection in the mirror.
I’d lost weight, and the slacks hung off my hips.
Dark circles lay under my eyes like tire tracks, giving testament to the nights spent tossing, turning, and dreaming.
My skin was unusually pale, and my face was gaunt.
I grabbed the makeup bag, applying foundation, along with soft-brown eyeshadow, eyeliner, subtle blush, and a nude lip.
The makeup made my skin look a little healthier at least. I pulled my hair into a ponytail, then changed my mind and let it fall loose, allowing the waves to cascade over my shoulders. I hoped my hair would pull the attention from the sorry state of the rest of me.
“You got this,” I murmured to my reflection. My reflection nodded back unconvincingly.
It was mid-afternoon before I drove through the wide streets of town.
Passing by the bookstore, I made a mental note to pop in there later.
Clouds congregated in the sky, but the heat was stifling.
A film of sweat formed on the back of my neck as I stepped out of the car.
A few kids in school uniforms floated around, and two boys tussled with each other, laughter echoing from the group.
A young, starry-eyed, loved-up couple walked past hand in hand. Sickening.
The bar was quite nice. It had an upper-class, homely feel.
Timber slats reached halfway up the walls, while above them was painted cream.
Antique gold pendant lighting protruded from each wall beneath the high ornate ceilings.
A small sunken dance floor sat in the middle of the room, with a jukebox off to the side and a couple of pool tables.
Wooden tables were dotted around the outside of the dance floor, and a few male patrons sat sipping their beers.
I headed to the large wooden bar, and out of the corner of my eye, a group of four men turn to stare.
I ignored them and walked toward the barmaid who stood in the middle, wiping glasses dry with a clean white cloth.
She was attractive, around fifty years old, I guessed.
She was a slightly built lady, with shoulder-length brown hair, and hazel eyes.
Craggy wrinkles trekked across her forehead like trenches.
Above her lips, pinched lines ran vertically; she was, or had been, a smoker.
I’d never had to apply for a job before.
I’d always just been offered them, and the prospect of applying for one was a little nerve-racking.
I really wanted this job, but it wasn’t like I needed the money.
My mom had had life insurance, and I had a large sum in the bank which could tide me over for a few years.
I needed the distraction, and I enjoyed bar work.
It wasn’t something I wanted to do forever, but I’d fallen into it after my mom died, and life was yet to present me with a better opportunity.
At nineteen, I’d worked at the front of house, then at twenty-one I’d moved behind the bar.
Nerves buzzed in my stomach like a hive of bumblebees.
I felt the same as I did standing outside the principal’s office at school, which had been a common occurrence for me.
Fighting was the usual offense. I was always the new kid in school, the foster kid.
I was the target of the bullies’ cruel tongues.
I learned two things quickly. First, ninety-five percent of challengers would back down if I called their bluff.
It was one big game of chicken. If I talked tough and held my ground, they lost the power they got from terrorizing me.
Or I’d rattle their nerves, they’d doubt themselves, and most would walk away.
Except of course when they didn’t. That was the second thing I learned: I had to be prepared to act.
My parents had enrolled me in self-defense classes to try and curb my temper, which, given the right circumstances, would go off like a firecracker. I’d learned discipline, and it also gave me the skills I required when I needed them.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for the manager.”
“What for?” she asked without looking up, placing one glass down and reaching for another.
“My name is Amy. I heard there was a position going here.”
“You’re looking at her. Do you have any experience?” The manager finally glanced up, and the light in her eyes was glazed with dull disinterest. She grabbed another glass and turned her attention back to it.
“Yes, I worked for Major’s—it’s a bar in Ohio.”
“You’re a long way from home. What brings you to Church Heights?”
“I just needed a change, and it’s beautiful here.”
She surveyed me briefly with a look in her eye that said she didn’t like what she saw. She sighed. “Give me your number and I’ll get back to you.”
I didn’t think she would, but I reached down, unzipping my large tan bag to grab a pen.
Finally, I found what I was looking for in the far corner at the bottom of my bag.
But I didn’t have any paper. When I looked up to ask for some, she was now at the far end of the bar talking to a man.
My view of him was obscured by her. I couldn’t hear what was being said, but I did hear her sigh loudly when she turned back to face me, and the dull disinterest had morphed to something much sharper.
“You start at four tomorrow afternoon. Don’t be late,” she said brusquely.
“Thank you, I appreciate it.” I smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
The manager didn’t answer; she didn’t even bother to make eye contact. She turned her back and strode through a door behind the bar, and out of sight.
My focus returned to the end of the bar, and I caught the man’s gaze. A current, like an electrical cord had just been plugged in, shot through my body.
He was the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on.
Startled, I soaked all of him in. He had thick dark-brown hair that looked like it was made to run fingers through.
From underneath long, dark lashes, brown eyes locked with mine, and his look was blistering.
His jaw was carved of stone, and his mouth—oh, his mouth .
. . soft crimson lips looked like plush silk pillows.
He wore a crisp, collared white shirt filled out by his broad shoulders.
He held the confidence and smug arrogance usually found in excessively good-looking men.
But there was something else about him that intrigued me.
Something I couldn’t put my finger on. Something I couldn’t tear my gaze away from.
His lips curved up. My heart fluttered.
Jesus, Amy, get a grip.
I broke eye contact. Although I was only walking, I felt like a horse bolting out of the gates for the door.