I would rather die a meaningful death than to live a meaningless life – Corazon Aquino

  “Hey, Bridges, can I talk to you?”

  I grimaced as I finished marrying up the ketchups at my tables. It wasn’t often that the manager stayed all the way through the closing shift. He usually disappeared for at least half of the time before turning up at the very end to handle the cash deposit, but this time, he’d been around for almost ten hours. Either something was really wrong, or he was avoiding the missus at home.

  At least he’d finished the schedule for the next week, put some supply orders in, looked at some resumes for other overnight servers, and generally helped around the diner. It was probably foolish of me, but I had thought maybe things were on the up-an’-up. The moment he called my name, I knew something was wrong.

  “Yeah, just a moment.”

  “Sure, sure, just check in before you roll your silverware.”

  “Uh-huh,” I agreed, decidedly not pointing out that nobody cared about rolled silverware at an overnight diner. It was an argument I’d made before, but it always fell on deaf ears.

  So, a few moments later, I headed to the office my manager had disappeared to and knocked on the door.

  “Come in!”

  I did, trying to paste my customary grin on my face. “Hey there! Been a busy night, hasn’t it?”

  “It’s always a busy night,” he responded, not even looking away from his computer. Which was rude but not exactly the rudest thing he’d ever done. He wasn’t a nightmare manager, not by far, but he was just about as prickly around the edges as I expected most restaurant managers to be.

  “Very true. You wanted to talk to me?”

  “Yeah. Unfortunately, Amy had a fall and might have fractured her wrist, so she can’t come in this weekend. She had a Saturday four-to-midnight shift, and I wanted to see if you’d pick it up.”

  Of course it was that. But as much as I needed the money, I just . . . couldn’t. I’d been working my tail off without a single day to myself for a month. Because between three jobs, it was a borderline miracle to ever get a day without any of them. And maybe it was financially stupid, but I just needed a break. I had a dress I was so close to finishing and a new pattern that I was drafting, and it would be so nice to just binge my favorite creators on YouTube and be with myself for a while. I’d even have time to cook a real meal!

  “I’m sorry, I’ve already made plans that I can’t cancel,” I refused, but even I could hear how weak my resolve was. I knew better. A moment of hesitation was like blood in the water for a manager at a low-wage job trying to find coverage.

  “Look, I know that you’ve been looking for more shifts, Bridges. This is the perfect opportunity.”

  “I’d rather no—”

  “We really can’t go into the weekend night shift without three servers,” he interrupted.

  That wasn’t my problem!

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “But I understand I’m asking a lot of you, so let me tell you what, I’ll not only cover your end-of-shift meal, but I’ll get you a manager meal during your first break.”

  Two meals????

  I wanted a weekend to myself, sure, but how could I possibly turn down all that tip money and a pair of hot meals that I didn’t have to pay anything for?

  So, despite all my daydreaming about having two days back-to-back for my body to heal and to catch up on the rest I was constantly shorting myself, I took a deep breath and nodded.

  “Sure, I can do that for ya.”

  “No, Bridges,” he said with a smile. “You’re doing this for us.”

  ***

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I hissed to myself as I biked through one of the better-lit parts of my journey home. I’d been looking forward to my two days off for so long, and I’d given it up in under five minutes of grilling. “Stoooopppiiiddd.”

  But the real crux of the matter was, even if I had hemmed and hawed and really held out for an hour even, I would have given in eventually. Because at the end of the day, I needed that money. I knew it, my manager knew it, heck, even the government probably knew it. I was broke, and all the savings that I’d managed to scrimp together had been wiped out the year before when I’d suddenly gotten pneumonia. One would think that with all-powerful gods roaming around that medical treatment would either be instantaneous or free, but nope. It still pretty much cost an arm and a leg if you weren’t a devotee.

  So really, the fate of that conversation had been determined the moment my manager decided to ask the question. And I hated that. I hated feeling like a pawn. That was probably why I had such a strong resistance to ever joining any congregation. I liked being part of a community, but it was the other stuff that made me feel a bit . . . off.

  If I had the breath, I would have sighed. However, I was biking home way faster than I usually did, so all that came out was sort of an angry wheeze. At least no one was around to hear it. The roads were relatively empty at that hour with only the occasional car passing by. I was alone as I sped down the side of the road, free to berate myself without any interruption.

  Or at least, that was what I thought, until I heard a strange noise. I couldn’t quite explain it, as my mind couldn’t supply a single description for what it could possibly be. All I knew when the strange gurgle-screech-snarl-howl hit my ear was that it was a sound that very much did not belong.

  I skidded to a stop, my mind going through a rolodex of what kind of hurt animal that could be. I’d read online about the crazy sounds that foxes, mountain lions, and other more dangerous creatures made, but those weren’t really common in the city. No, if anything, it was likely a dog or a cat that had somehow found itself in a dangerous situation.

  Perhaps it was a dangerous situation that having hands would help?

  “Hello?” I asked cautiously, getting off my bike and walking it to the side of the building I had stopped next to. “Hello, is anyone there?”

  The noise didn’t repeat itself, even though I could still hear it echoing in my own head. What I did hear was the tiniest little whimper that almost sounded like someone calling for help.

  Uh-oh.

  I don’t think I had ever whipped out my cell phone so fast. I had my flashlight on and 911 queued up before I realized the sound was coming from the alley just up ahead of me.

  If I was ever in a horror movie, I would absolutely be one of the characters that walked into an obvious trap while the entire audience screamed at them to turn around. I knew that, and yet I couldn’t stop myself as I slowly ventured forward, inching my way into the alley as I swung my light this way and that in the darkness just beyond the illumination the streetlights gave.

  “Is someone in here? Are you hurt? Do you need me to call an ambulance?”

  For a moment, there was no answer, just the continued latent noises that came from late-night city life, and I stood there debating if I really was stupid enough to go further in.

  I went further in.

  I really was playing into the stereotype of ditzy bleach blondes making bad decisions in horror movies . . . but my hair color was all natural, so I figured I’d probably be alright.

  I grabbed the pepper spray that I kept clipped to my belt whenever I had to ride home after dark. There were very few things that could take a shot of that straight to the eyes, plus I’d been able to rhinestone it, so it was a fun accessory too!

  Fashion alterations aside, I strained my ears for something, anything, swearing to myself that I would wait about thirty seconds then hightail it out of there and go straight home. Once there, I would immediately lock my door, slide the dead bolt into place, and close all the curtains.

  “Hey, if there’s someone here, I really need to know.”