Drown Like Heaven (Ultraneon Duet #1)

Chapter 1

Dakota

“That’s the best I can do, darlin’.”

I stared at the man for a minute, trying to keep myself from tearing up. My hand was pressed flat to the glass countertop, the fresh black nail polish on my fingernails already chipping. I am never getting out of this place.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Alright.” I took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

He popped open the drawer to the cash register and began thumbing out bills while I tried to calculate how far this money would get me. Not far enough. I watched his calloused hands gathering up the bundle of twenties and tens, my foot tapping on the broken tiles of the pawn shop.

A tinkling bell rang as the door opened and I glanced over, my eyes colliding with those of another old man, his face worn and weathered in the way that kind men’s faces were, lines creased into his skin from smiling or squinting against the sun—he wasn’t from here, I presumed.

He gave me a polite smile before beginning to browse the selection of preowned handguns under a different counter.

Through the barred windows I could see the earliest stages of more rain stirring up in the sky.

“Seventy-five bucks,” the cashier announced, bringing my attention back to his outstretched hand. I took the cash with as grateful of an expression as I could muster.

“Thank you.”

“Not a problem. I hope your luck turns. Sorry I couldn’t do more for you.”

“It’s okay. Maybe I’ll see you again if I find something else to sell.” A dry laugh fell from my lips.

The cashier just nodded with understanding, his eyes genuine and shining under the humming fluorescents.

I cast a final look at the earrings while the shop owner picked them up off the glass and moved to put them away, the gold glinting softly, the little flowers dangling from their posts.

They’d been a gift from someone I should’ve forgotten by now.

Maybe this was good. One less reminder of him in my life.

I pushed out the door into the gloomy light drifting down from the clouds in veils of blue.

The air was damp and cool as I pulled it deep into my lungs, scented with pine and saltwater.

Somewhere to my left, the Pacific ocean raged against dark sands and jagged cliffside, white spray flipping off the peaks of black rocks near the shore.

My shift didn’t start for another forty minutes, but I didn’t really have enough time to get back to my trailer and then down to the gas station in that amount of time, so I decided to head there early.

I scuffed my feet on the gravelly pavement at the bus stop, cars whizzing past me along the sloping road.

Dim flickering drew my eye back to the front of the pawn shop, to the black bars over windows, the sign above the door: We buy gold!

A different man pushed out the door and crossed the crumbling parking lot to his truck.

The door creaked metallically as he opened it, causing a seagull to fly off one of the light poles spaced around the lot, then shut with a thud.

His truck rumbled to life, the wheels crunching over gravel as he turned onto the street.

I crossed my arms and shuffled closer to the sign for the bus stop.

There wasn’t a bench to sit on, no covered area, just the single sign, one corner of the metal bent backwards and the words fading.

If the ground wasn’t wet, I would’ve sat on the concrete-paved sidewalk that ended just a few feet past the bus stop, breaking off into grass and dirt and pebbles, but it rained so often here the ground was hardly ever really dry.

After a few minutes, the bus finally pulled up to the curb and the door whooshed open, brakes hissing. I climbed on and situated myself on one of the plastic seats next to the window, holding my bag on my lap as I popped my wired earbuds into my ears.

I leaned my head against the fogged up window, staring at the wet pavement and gray sky as we rattled down the road, my sleeves pulled over my hands. My phone buzzed on my lap and I picked it up, thumbs flicking over the cracked screen to unlock it.

Mila : Do you want to come over tonight?

I smiled. My final year of college would start next week, and maybe I should’ve been spending time reviewing the syllabi for my classes, but I could really use a night of horror movies and med school gossip about people I didn’t know.

Me : Yes. Can you pick me up after my shift?

Mila : Yay! Of course, when are you off today?

Me : Seven

Mila : Okay perfect, I’ll see you then

Tucking my phone back in my bag, I propped my chin on my palm, biting the inside of my cheek until I tasted iron and letting myself get lost in the daydreams I always tended to conjure up about my own circumstances.

In an alternate universe, this wasn’t my life.

I just wished I could live in that universe instead of this one.

A few minutes later, the bus rolled to a stop and I hopped off, then started the walk towards the gas station.

It was only a few blocks, but when the weather was bad, those few blocks could be miserable.

Wasn’t much different than the couple blocks I had to walk from the bus stop closest to my single-wide, though.

The gas station was small, with just a few pumps in the pothole-ridden lot.

Old white siding covered the outside of the building, grime accumulating into stains that trickled down from the roof over time.

There was a freezer to the side of the door that held packed bags of ice, and a trashcan with an ashtray built into the top.

The windows were plastered with signage advertising cigarettes and beer and cherry-flavored slushy drinks.

I pulled the glass door open, the electronic chime sounding above me, loud and wonky and old. I hated that sound.

Instantly, I was greeted by the smell of cheap vinyl and burnt coffee, the soft humming of the fridges that lined the walls, and the yellow lights showing off chipped linoleum and spinning keychain stands.

After punching in, I slung my bag off my shoulder, setting it on a plastic crate as I plopped myself on the stool behind the counter. Eric poked his head out from the back office and I turned, narrowing my eyes.

“Oh, nice to see you, too, Dakota,” he scoffed, laughing and stepping to the counter with me, the door to the office ajar behind him. He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his worn jeans. “You’re early today.”

“I know. Do you want me to clock out early? I’m sorry I didn’t check with you before.”

“Of course not. I need the coverage whenever I can get it, butterfly. Come down here whenever you’d like—I’ll make sure to kick you out if I can’t pay you.”

“I really am grateful for your flexibility,” I said genuinely.

“It’s nothin.’ I was also gonna ask if you could make another pot.” Eric jerked his chin towards the coffee maker, a little more graying stubble than usual scruffing up his jaw. “I’m trying to—I don’t know. Fix up some records and shit that aren’t really adding up from last month.”

I blew air out of my mouth, lifting a few strands of hair off my face. Eric scrubbed a hand over his head.

“I mean—”

“I’ll do it,” I said and forced a little laugh. “Just not having a super lucky day.”

“Ah. I’ll make sure not to tempt you with the lotto tickets, then. Early and unlucky.”

“I appreciate that.” I’d never bought a lottery ticket in my life, though Eric did like to mention what the jackpot had gotten up to when it was really high.

He slipped back through the door and I hopped up to start another pot of coffee.

Tapping my nails on the counter, I glanced up at the clock—pointlessly.

I wasn’t anywhere near the end of my shift; I’d just gotten here. But it was a habit.

I swiped a disinfectant wipe over the laminate countertop, catching stray bits of powdery cinnamon and sticky drops of cheap creamer, then restocked the little coffee station. Stirring sticks, plastic lids, generic foam cups, shitty cardboard sleeves that didn’t do a whole lot to insulate the cup.

After straightening up the coffee area, I grabbed a push broom from the storage closet and walked up and down the aisles, collecting any small bits of trash and mentally taking inventory of what might need restocking on the shelves. Sour candy, small bags of chips, beef jerky.

I situated myself back on my stool at the register and watched a small black cat dart along the curb of the lot, slipping past the free tire air pump towards the back of the station.

She was a familiar little face, and I usually found her waiting outside the back door when I took my breaks, expecting some head scratches from me.

The bell above the door chimed as a customer walked in.

A man was heading straight towards the counter, dark grease stains smudged on his coveralls.

I glanced over at him while he approached, mindlessly toying with one of the keychains on the stand—a plastic cutout of the state of Washington with an orca on it.

“Twenty on pump two,” he said and slapped a crumpled up twenty-dollar bill on the counter as I faced him.

“Got it. That all?”

He ran a hand over the stubble on his jaw, his eyes roaming over the wall of cigarettes and lottery tickets behind me.

“Uhh, and a pack of Marlboro Ultra Lights. That’ll be it.” He fished out another bill and handed it to me. “Trying to quit.” He made an awkward, self-deprecating face. “Not quite there yet.”

I nodded. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. I get it.”

I stood to get the cigarettes before punching buttons on the cash register and plucking out the man’s change. The drawer shut with a loud clank. He gave me a short smile, then turned and left the station, wind from outside whooshing through the door as he opened it.