Chapter 5 Right Here Waiting
FIVE
RIGHT HERE WAITING
CASSIDY
My heart jumps up to my throat. My fingers tremble as I refuse to blink, like that will help me see through the nightfall any easier.
It seems like a man, though the silhouette makes it impossible to tell. It’s a shadow in another shadow, hidden by the street lamp, and I realize that, as fearful as I’ve been that Ryan might find me, I’m not scared. Not of him.
He’s found me twice before. Each time I confronted him, then pretended that his love-bombing worked.
He’d give me gifts, buy me flowers, and promise that this time it would be different.
I’d go along with it, giving him hope that we could get back together, leading him on until I had the perfect opportunity to ghost him again.
It’s the not knowing that has me looking over my shoulder. It’s the waiting for Ryan to finally lose his temper with me and smash my head with a water glass that has me eager to hide. But when he does find me… it’s like a switch flips inside of me.
Shoes.
I need my damn shoes.
I find my sneakers by the locked door. Jamming my feet into them, I undo the bolt lock and the one on the knob before flying down the stairs.
I don’t even stop to grab my phone which, in hindsight, was a pretty dumb idea.
It’s like I was compelled to see if it really was Ryan, and the idea that some other creep could be peering up into my window didn’t even cross my mind until I’m jogging down the porch steps, hurrying toward the nearest street lamp.
It’s empty. The wind whips by me, carrying the scent of autumn on the air, but I’m alone.
I spin around just in case.
No.
If there was someone here, they’re gone now, and I don’t know if I’m relieved or frustrated that, after all this time, Ryan Donovan still has so much control over me.
Muttering curses under my breath—may his dick and balls shrivel and fall off… may his hair fall out… may someone bash his head and he lose all memory of me…—I take the stairs two at a time, fisting my hands beneath the oversized sleeves of my sweatshirt.
I’d left my door partly open. Storming inside, I slam it shut, reengaging all of the locks. My shoes go flying again, but before I can move any further into the living room, I freeze.
I freeze—and I sniff.
What the…
Smoke. It smells like smoke, and not like woodsmoke, either. This is cigarette smoke stinking up my living room.
We’re not a smoke-free building. If you see the pile of butts out in front, it’s obvious we have some smokers here. I’ve never smelled it so strongly before, not even when I do crack the window, and I wrinkle my nose.
It doesn’t last long. Either I get used to it or it fades pretty quickly. It was just an added annoyance to imagining some faceless, shadowy figure outside, and I shove all of that out of my head as I nuke up some leftovers and boot up Practical Magic.
I sit down on my couch, grabbing the blanket from the back, throwing it over my lap. I nestle my bowl of spaghetti in the crevice between my folded thighs, and lose myself in the movie.
Well, no. I try to, but maybe it’s how Earth Angel is still running on a loop in my head, or maybe it’s how the air feels thick with anticipation because the weight of the eyes on me has my whole body prickling in awareness.
I glance around, seeing nothing but shadows being thrown from the television.
“Casper.” My voice is a shaky laugh. “Is that you?”
“Cassidy…”
No.
I heard it. I fucking heard it!
It’s a good thing I already placed my empty dinner bowl on the small side table next to the couch. Jumping up from it, I whirl back and forth. I still don’t see anyone, but I know what I heard.
It was my name, or the idea of it. I can’t say for sure if it was a man or a woman, but I heard it in my head, in my heart, and I’m so sick and tired of thinking that I’ve lost my mind when someone… something… is haunting me.
Toying with me.
Fucking with me.
“Who are you?” I demand.
Earth angel, earth angel…
“You’re here,” I call out. “Where are you?”
A chuckle, and then a single word that I… I don’t hear this one, but it impresses itself on me regardless.
“Soon.”
I clamp my hands over my ears.
Soon?
What the hell does that mean?
And why was I more afraid that I saw Ryan on my street than that I hear a strange voice in my head?
By the next morning, I’ve thoroughly convinced myself that Halloween in Shadowvale has messed me up. Too many stories, too many legends, too many myths… somehow my poor, damaged psyche picked up on them, convincing me that it was possible to be haunted.
It’s bad enough that I have a stalker. Just because Ryan hasn’t figured out the number on my burner phone or my new address yet doesn’t mean he’s given up.
The last time he tried to convince me that there would never be anyone else for him, he made it clear that I could keep running, but he would forever chase after me.
We were never married, not even engaged, but he meant it when he said that the only way I’d get rid of him was in death.
It was one of those grand gestures he made when he was doing everything he could to get me to fall into his arms—and his bed—again, but I wasn’t naive enough to think it was meant out of affection.
No, it was a threat, and all the more reason why I refuse to let him find me again.
I’m already living my own nightmare. I don’t need to add ghosts, whether they’re friendly or horny or unsetting yet familiar to me. Come Halloween, it’ll all be over with, except I’ll still have to worry about Ryan.
No, thanks. Right now I simply don’t have the ability to worry about anything other than staying off the grid and making sure I can pay my rent…
With that thought in mind, I tell myself that ghosts aren’t real, Halloween is a holiday full of make-believe, and if I want to eke some extra tips out of my customers today, pulling on the Halloween costume that Emily picked up for me is probably the best way to do it.
So that’s what I do. Because the sweater is basically see-through, I put a tank top over my bra before buttoning up the sweater.
I adjust it so that the big ‘C’ is perfectly positioned over my left boob.
I don’t know what it means or why it’s there.
The script is loopy, plus it draws attention to my tits which can always be a plus when a majority of our customers are men.
The skirt goes on easily enough. I don’t bother with pantyhose though most of my older co-workers wear a pair; instead, I put on no-show socks and slip on my sneakers.
Throwing up my hair into a period-appropriate ponytail adds to the costume, but I admit I get a little stumped when it comes to the scarf.
In the end, I wrap it around my throat, knotting it just tight enough that stays in place.
There. All set.
It’s nice out. The sun is bright, but you can feel a bite to the air as I stare out for the diner.
I forget to check the weather earlier, and with my phone buried in the bottom of my purse, I can’t tell if it’s going to be a chilly Halloween, like the ones from my childhood, or if I’ll be sweating under my sweater by noon.
I’m comfortable for now, and that’s all I can hope for.
Twenty minutes later, I walk into the Shadowvale Diner.
Part of my brain is buzzing with how nearly everyone I passed outside was in costume, too.
I mean, I knew that Shadowvale took Halloween super seriously, but I saw a cop walking out of a donut shop wearing a clown nose despite being in full uniform.
And, okay, that was kind of on point, but still.
A mom pushing her baby stroller had on an Eeyore onesie.
I saw a business man get out of his car and even he wore a ghost-themed tie with his suit.
And this was all at five-thirty in the morning.
I thought I would feel out of place, walking through town so early while wearing my costume.
I almost decided to carry it in with me and change in the back, but one of Em’s firm rules is that all of her employees show up ‘work ready’.
That means hair slicked back, face on, waitress uniform and shoes immaculate.
On Halloween, I figured she’d expect me to walk in with the costume she bought for me already on, and I’m right.
Customers don’t get to come in until six.
It’s about ten minutes to, but the lights are on, Emily rolling silverware while Cookie gets the prep started.
Since Derek is interested in doing more than just bussing tables, he’s back there with him, chopping onions.
I hear his laugh as I walk into the diner, ready to drop off my purse in the back before I get to work.
Emily smiles when she sees me. I glance at her, seeing that she’s wearing a similar costume to mine. The only differences are that her scarf and her skirt are a powder blue color instead of pink, and the loopy letter over the left side of her chest is an embroidered ‘E’ in cursive.
E for Emily.
C for Cassidy.
Duh. See, that what happens when dreaming about ghosts keeps you awake, and you have a twelve-hour shift in the morning. I left my brain at home.
“Happy Halloween,” I say.
“You, too, sugar. Now make sure you put on an apron. You want somewhere to keep your order pad and your tips. And try not to get the costume dirty. We’ll use it again next year.”
That’s assuming I’m still in Shadowvale next year.
I slip into the kitchen.
Knife in hand, Derek looks up as my sneakers squeak against the floor. “Looking good, Cass.”
I grab my skirt, showing off the poodle applique. “I’m the bee’s knees. You look… wholesome.”
He laughs. Dressed in a white uniform with a flat white cap that has a black trim, it easy to see that—like Em told me—he’s dressed as a 1950s neighborhood milkman even without the container of empty milk bottles he has perched on the counter next to his pile of sliced onions.
“Thanks. It was Em’s idea. Last year she had me dressed up as a soda jerker, but some of the customers just thought it was a new busser uniform. Let’s see if I get a better reaction this year.”
“Just don’t spill any food on you. You’ll ruin the aesthetic.”
He points at me. “Five bucks says I do a better job than you do.”
“Sucker’s bet. You’ve worked here since you were eighteen. I only have, like, six months of waitressing under my belt.”
“That’s right. Ms. Mysterious Cass… what was it you did before the winds brought you to our fair Shadowvale?”
I smile, and Cookie barks at Derek to finish up with the onions so that he can get started on the potatoes. Sorry. It’s a lot easier to keep my secrets when I’m the only one who knows them.
Once I’ve tucked my purse in the back, tying my apron over my poodle skirt, I fluff the curls of my ponytail, practice my customer service smile, and walk out in time to see that it’s past six and the counter is lined up with at least five of our regulars.
At least, I think they’re out a regulars.
I see a Freddy Krueger. A witch. An inflatable dino that takes up the space of three stools. An astronaut. A crusty pirate.
Okay, then.
I approach Freddy Krueger, glad to see he’s keeping his knives-for-fingers glove in his lap; I’ve always been a bit weary around anything sharp.
Makeup is pretty good, and beneath it, I’m pretty sure I make out Jerry Goldman, the guy who owns the funeral home down the block with his wife Mal.
She dolls up the corpses, while he does the arrangements, which might explains just how good the fake disfigurement looks.
I smile at ‘Freddy’, pulling my order pad and pencil out of my apron pocket. “Happy Halloween. Now what can I get you?”