by Amy Cross
“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Sam says, backing away. “If you think you can just sit around here and do whatever you want, you're wrong. I'll be watching you. This isn't over yet.” With that, she turns and starts walking away, while desperately trying not to show any weakness.
“What about Henry?”
Stopping, she pauses for a moment as her blood runs cold. Slowly, she turns and looks back at him.
“Don't worry,” he continues. “I wouldn't dream of threatening your son. That would be... gauche, and unfair. I was merely wondering how your son is doing. Or don't you know?” He smiles again. “I can understand how my inquiry might have sounded rather sinister, but that certainly wasn't my intention. Can't friends ask one another such questions?”
“I'm not your friend,” she says firmly. “I'm your jailer.”
With that, she turns and makes her way across the town square.
“Will you at least stop by in the morning?” he calls after her. “It's going to be my first day running the cafe, and I'd really like your thoughts on the cakes. It's going to be trial and error for a while, and I'm worried people won't like anything. The cupcakes in particular are proving to be very difficult!”
She keeps walking.
“Please, Sam?” he shouts. “As a personal favor? Please? I'm an expert at most things, but I've never worked in the baked goods industry before!”
Once she's headed a few steps up the next street, she stops and leans back against the wall, while trying to get her breath back and keep from turning into a panicking, slobbering mess. When the Devil was down in the crypt, secure and silent in his coffin, keeping an eye on him was already difficult. Now that he's up and about, she can't help thinking that it's only a matter of time before he finds a way out of Rippon.
Looking up at the sky, she spots a shooting star arcing toward the horizon.
“Good night, Henry,” she whispers, imagining her son staring up at the same sky somewhere, maybe even seeing the same star. “I'll keep the world safe, I swear.”
