Salt

Not long after my run-in with Zoey, I got a call from work to fill in for Ramsey for the night. I told my boss, Maureen, I'd be there in the next half hour.

I got to the staircase before my mother shouted from the lounge.

"Don't stomp, I swear it's like you girls were brought up in a barn."

Slipping on my sneakers, I snuck a glance at my parents. They sat on opposite ends of the futon, the TV remote between them acting as some kind of impenetrable barrier. They'd even brought inanimate objects into this performance of theirs, how fucking great.

Tying my hair up, I walked in to see my mother nursing another glass of red wine. My father, for the first time today, was flicking through his paperwork.

"Where are you off to?"

"Ramsey called in sick, I'm covering."

My mother's lips formed a thin line. "I really wish you'd get a real job, Ashley. A smart girl like you should be pursuing something high and ambitious."

I wanted to roll my eyes, believe me, but I was cut for time and I didn't want to be here any longer than needed.

"Uh huh, says the woman who's never had a job her whole life."

"What–"

But I dashed out, I had somewhere to be, after all. Besides, that was a conversation for another time, or not, hopefully. It wasn't exactly frustrating, I'd say, mainly because it headed nowhere every time. I honestly couldn't see why she liked to point it out.

However, I made it to work safely enough, although it wasn't without a few bumps and sorry's. As soon as I entered, Maureen showered me with thanks, smelling faintly of lemon. I sussed that was what she'd be drinking today.

Fitting my phone deep into my front pocket, I was still tying my apron by the time I arrived at the main cashier point, claiming I was here to Beth, the part-time worker who couldn't wait to leave this place. She was already lighting up a cigarette before she reached the outside.

The first few hours passed in a blur, and the rush was slowly dying. I slyly looked at the clock, before turning around to Desmond, who was picking at onion rings that had been sent back previously.

"Do you know why Ramsey couldn't make it?"

The cook shrugged at first, before a playful smile rested on his misshapen lips.

"Just said she's sick, why? Did you have something better to do?"

"No," I narrowed my eyes, pocketing my notepad. I don't even know why it was out, a lot of people had requested the same meals they always had. This was Jasper, not a lot of folk here for variation. "It's not like them, that's all. They don't ever get sick."

Desmond's reply got drowned out by the sharp stinging of the doorbell. Normally, its cheery tone helped me warm to the bodies walking in, waiting to be greeted with a smile and a sole promise to be with them soon – but for some reason, it dragged, the pit in my stomach from this afternoon only growing and increasingly making me feel faint.

I turned, just in time to see hands slam down on the island, nails that were once manicured to perfection now chipped and dry.

"Help me." Ciara whispered.

I blinked. "Ciara? I'm at work, what's wrong?"

She shook her head, somewhat stiffly, but once again, the look in her eyes was to be withheld as a mystery. Although, I didn't second guess her, I'd only just got to my shift, I couldn't abandon my post.

And I wouldn't like to think I was one of those people that prioritized work over the safety and well-being of my peers and friends (if I could call her that), but this was different. It wasn't about the money, except for the fact that it totally was.

That wasn't to say Ciara's clear distress didn't hook me, because it did. I even moved to stand beside her, offering my support.

But she literally stomped her foot.

"I don't need your pity, I just need you to come with me. Now."

Meeting my eyes, hers couldn't stay still. They jumped, and grew moist, and barely blinked – I recognized it the same as I had last time.

"Ciara, what did you take?"

She laughed. Not just in your typical that's-so-funny sort of way, but it was laced with something else. I didn't know if I should be scared.

"That's the thing, I don't know! I don't know if I didn't put enough sugar in my coffee, or if the breakfast bar I had this morning had some weird E-color in it. Everything is swimming into each other either way," She giggled again, fingers now itching at the inside of her arm. "I... don't even know how I got here."

My brows furrowed of their own accord, as I caught sight of Desmond munching on some more onion rings.

I went to direct her to a table, about to promise her a glass of water or something on me, but she recoiled, crashing into the table behind her. The condiments smashed upon impact on the floor.

She didn't even notice, instead just starred blankly at the walls, that is until Maureen materialized right in front of us.

"I need you to leave, Ciara, you're disrupting people who actually came here for a lovely time. Please don't come back, you're not welcome if this is the state you'll show up in."

"But–"

My boss just held a hand out beside my face, silencing me before I got the chance.

"I know you're too nice to put your foot down, Ashley. Well, I'll finally do it for you." Maureen pointed to the door, but Ciara was looking everywhere else but. "Please, before we have to use force."

Instinctively, I approached her, but it seemed the teenager was still resolute on nobody touching her. On her retreat, she knocked down more condiments, this time, with a low yelp that jumped out of her skin.

Before disappearing out the door, her eyes connected with mine, glassier and more colorful than the numbers intertwined in the Aurora Borealis.

"I'll wait out here. I'll wait here for you."

Maureen, closing the door almost forcefully behind her, turned back to me, looking to catch my attention. Her silhouette faded, blurrier than under the water, as I watched Ciara out the window, looking for a bench to perch.

My boss was talking, but almost too much, that I couldn't hear anything over the beat of my own heart.

I didn't think I'd heard, or felt, it this loud before.

Disregarding it the best I could, I bent down to collect the broken condiments from the floor. Shattered remains buried somewhere between the million of grains of salt, stuck to my sweaty palms.

I got back to work, but things weren't the same. I could plaster a smile on my face, joke with regulars and exchange smack talk with Desmond, but I had seen a whole new side of Ciara today that couldn't be ignored. I'd gotten so used to the girl I grew up knowing that I forgot she was just that – a girl. A frightened little girl.

Between bustling between tables, my phone vibrated a few times, but I knew that since Ciara's appearance my boss had been keeping a close eye on me, as if her showing up was part of shoddy a plan. Therefore, I didn't answer, and I refused a break, so it just had to wait.

I was wiping the coffee machine, when Maureen popped into the kitchen. I eyed carefully.

Her normally calm expression was wrought with wrinkles, and she kept fidgeting her appendages. Almost like she wanted to put her hand on her hips in a scold, but thought better of it every time.

Desmond was also speaking in a low tone, almost in a whisper that I could only catch onto my boss's words.

"...there is always drama."

Looking up through my lashes, I eavesdropped as much as I could until it all became just pure mumbling, then I cleaned off the machine.

I didn't get much time to think about what they could possibly be discussing (although I could hazard a guess), as I turned back to tend to front of house.

And was suddenly facing the wide, inviting smile of the Chief of Police, Mason.

"Good evening, Ashley! It's refreshing to see you at this time."

I met his eyes, prevented from giving in to my buckling knees only due to my sheer resilience... I think. He also wasn't in uniform tonight, instead donning a plain red tee and jeans. While most people wanted him in nothing but his uniform, I would take him in anything, I thought all to myself, especially if it meant he would be sleeping in my bed.

"Mason, hi."

Tucking hair behind my ear, I shrugged, reaching for my notepad when his laugh stopped me.

"Don't fret, sweetheart, I'll just be taking a black coffee tonight."

Grabbing the lukewarm pot, I rested it on the stove. As I waited on that boiling, I was almost hyper-aware of the authority figure drilling his gaze into me.

Screaming internally to get my shit together, I leaned back on the counter and gave him my best grin, of which he returned in kind again.

"Having a good shift?"

"It's not without its moments," I commented, catching on to his hands that were using stirrers as drumsticks. "Is Fletcher fitting in alright?"

The look of joy that encompassed his features was so genuine that I mirrored it for a brief moment.

"Perfectly, he's made a good lasting impression. Andrews was saying he felt like one of the lads already, that he told this joke..." He trailed off, as the screaming steam of the kettle was alerting us. His mouth juggled with what to do. "Forgive my tangent, I'm just excited."

I giggled softly, as I poured his cup, the steam rising to envelop my face in a cloudy kiss.

“Don't apologize, I'm pleased he's doing well." I cleared my throat, as he continued to drop sugar cubes in. "Can I ask you something?"

Taking a sensitive sip of his piping coffee, I dived deeper into those eyes of obsidian. I didn't know how far it went, if I'd ever see life again. I'd been lost in the entirety that was Mason Gilbert plenty of times, heart palpitations and all, so I knew how I could get.

A part of me wanted to touch him, to judge once and for all if those hands were soft or demanding. I knew they could wrestle two-hundred pounds of man to the ground on their own, but this was something different, something new. And not just for me.

“Say someone underwent some trauma – categorized as severe maybe – is it possible they could conjure a... a, um, dark figure?"

Despite my stuttering, I'd caught his attention. He licked full his lips thoroughly before answering, complimented with a burgeoning scowl.

“Did something happen to you?"

Fuck me, I should never have brought it up. Of course he wouldn't believe I was talking in a hypothetical sense. He was trained to sniff out that shit.

I forced out a chuckle.

"No. It was a stupid question, nevermind."

"Ashley–"

"Oh, look at that! My shift is over. I'll see you at some point, okay? Thanks for the pep talk." I rushed out, aware I was committing an offence by abandoning my post, unattended, and a customer. Maureen would have my head if she caught me in time.

I entered the staff, hanging up my apron at the same time that I was throwing on my jacket. Realizing that Mason would highly likely still be in the café, I clocked out swiftly before I left out back.

The dry, calm midnight air swathed over my body, holding it sweetly while promising me a good night's sleep. I could see my breath the second I stepped out, like a porcelain puff of cotton candy.

I fumbled for my phone, the stinging reminder that I had four missed calls and a voicemail blaring in my face.

Picking up pace, I listened.

On the line, there was a discernible rustle of leaves, fast and fleeting. After concentrating as much as I could through tired ears, the friction of clothes against the cell speaker led me to immediately believe I'd been pocket-dialed.

"Ashley, help..."

Did that sound like...?

Ciara?

Ignoring wondering how she even got my number, I tuned in, clasping my hand over my free ear. The noises vibrated through me in response.

"I know... I know and... I'm in the woods... oh God, help me..." She yelped along the way, and there was a huge rumble, so I assumed she fell. Too right, and as she scrambled for the mobile, I could hear her crying. My face was growing hot with her, every step of the way.

I looked up to the streetlight, in its amber glow, which any normal night would've set me at ease, except now where it just looked like it was mocking me.

Orange was a beautiful color. It meant the dawn of a brand new day, the vibrant fur of a mischievous fox, the warmth of a cosy fire.

But not tonight.

My heartbeat stirred up a frenzy, ready to burst at any opportunity.

The sickening, ear-piercing scream that reverberated in my ear and mind, was cut off short by the timer running dead. A sound so dreadful, so eerie, the robotic voice asking me if I wanted to have a second listen to my missed conversation dared not bring me back to life.

Moving my iron legs because I had to, I jogged to the woods, finally committing to a full-on sprint.