19. Asher
nineteen
Asher
L eaving Maya was the last thing that I desired right now. The very thought brought the feeling of ice into my heart. But I needed to find something that would give me answers. I was tired of not knowing about why things were happening. And even more so bothered that Damien was around Maya. Maya was tied to the events somehow, and I have a sneaking suspicion that her grandmother is, too. Her dream has been stuck in my mind for days now. There's no possible way that she would know him. But her description was unmistakable.
The entire time I was helping her set up her booth, I found myself glancing at her. Each movement of her body sparked a fire inside of me. The way she bit her bottom lip gently while lost in thought, not looking away from organizing her small pastries and treats, sent electricity through my veins. One thing was for sure. That woman made me feral. Just the hint of that man touching her in any way lit an eternal fire that I thought I had long since extinguished.
In front of me was one of the most recent break-ins. The small shop sat abandoned and silent, with only the faint creaking of the for-sale sign swaying in the wind. The front windows were shattered, and the inside was dark and looming. There were no signs of life.
I hope she's warm right now.
I glance back in Maya's direction and catch my breath. To say her being alone bothered me was a severe understatement. But I can't bring her into these shops with me, especially if my suspicion turns out to be true. I glance back again before stepping up the splintered steps and opening the door.
The door shifts open with a low creak, and the light outside illuminates the dust that is still sitting in the air. The air inside is stale and dark due to the boarded-up windows. It was a small flower shop, and lining the shelves now sat dead and wilted flowers of all different kinds. I shut the door behind me and began walking through the shop. Nothing stood out. I had a hunch that they were targeting shops strategically. Whoever they were, they had a pattern. Picking off the weakest shops first. Or so I thought. If I were lucky, they wouldn't be back to run through it for a while.
I begin digging through the drawers, dumping the contents on the floor. I shifted through what felt like endless amounts of junk. Despite all my work for the past 30 minutes, I found nothing. Just a regular fucking shop.
"Goddammit." I huff, frustrated.
I begin turning over boxes and various shelves, knocking things to the floor, and glass vases shatter to the floor, spraying glass across the dead shop.
"Goddamnit," I snapped louder.
I begin walking to the back when suddenly my foot hits a floorboard and sinks about three inches. I step back and crouch down, pressing on the floorboard with my fingertips.
It gives again, and I reach between the floorboards and begin prying it up. It comes up easily, and underneath it is a small wooden box. The feeling of relief washed over me, and I snapped the box lid open. Inside is a photo stack I assume belongs to the shop's owner. Wedding photos, photos of children, a married couple, then an elderly woman who looked out of place. I turned the photo of the woman over my hands and signed the name Evelyn on the back with a small heart drawn sloppily underneath.
The woman looks like any other sweet old woman. She wears her hair up in a bun and a soft dress. Smile lines and crow's feet decorate her face. Her smile is warm, but her eyes are piercing—like a wolf in sheep's clothing.
I set the photo down on the floor and continued flipping through the photos. The next photo was another picture of Evelyn. She was taking a portrait with a man and a woman; both had the same eyes. The next photo was another photo of Evelyn with more people. The next was the same. I shifted through almost a dozen photos of Evelyn; each was signed the same way on the back; all the photos were of her with different people until I finally made it to the last photo on the stack.
A small girl sat on a stool. She wore a frilly white dress, black buckle shoes, and short, fluffy hair. Her smile was bright, and her eyes were large and bright. She was familiar.
I wipe the photo off with my thumb, trying to clear some dust and see a small white coin in her hands. I click my tongue.
I flipped the photo over, and the words' Northstar Beacon Maya', with a small heart at the end, were drawn in the same cursive handwriting as Evelyn's name.
My hands tremble with frustration.
None of this information makes sense.
Just then, I noticed the glint of another small box, and I reached my hand in further, grabbing it out. I snapped the lid open, and sitting inside was a pair of silver goat earrings, just like the ones Maya owns.
Suddenly, my name rings through the air like a soft bell across my ears. I shove the photos back in the box, putting the picture of Maya and the first picture of Evelyn in my pocket before shoving both boxes back into the floorboard and replacing the plank.
Within only a breath, I'm back behind Maya.
"His common whor-"
"Finish your sentence," my voice is low and dripping with venom.
In front of me stands a skinny man only a foot taller than Maya. He has ginger hair and freckles splattered across his face. He's holding Maya's wrist tightly.
Simon offers me his hand, and I take it, gripping it tightly. My mind is racing about the photos and what I found on the floorboards, and the man's words don't even reach me. I grip his hand tightly, sending a small fracture through his palm, and he doubles over.
"This is Simon. He was leaving." Maya's voice clears my mind. I release the man's hand, and he immediately walks away.
"You came," she looks up at me with relief filling her whole being.
"You called my name," I responded, smiling.
I don't know who this woman is, but I know I belong at her side, come hell or high water.