Destiny Calling

by Maureen L. Bonatch

  Griffith continued to stare, as if looking into my very soul. I’d like to ask him what he saw, if only to satisfy my curiosity. Otherwise, his interest was making me uncomfortable, especially with an audience.

  “Did she send you?” Griffith’s deep baritone brought me back from my concern regarding the essence of my soul. “You shouldn’t have come. It’s not safe. You don’t understand enough yet because you’re not from around here.”

  Jerking my arm down freed my hand from his grip. The ghost of his touch lingered on my skin. I forced some confidence into my swagger as his gaze followed me back into the bar.

  Opening what I assumed was the ladies’ room door with the word Babes painted on the old wood, choosing it over door number two labeled Bikers, I said, “I am now.”

  ****

  “Nobody workin’?” A spindly legged, barrel-bodied woman called out. With a huff of breath, the cotton-candy textured hair escaping the long braid hanging over her shoulder rose, exposing a wrinkled forehead. Despite sagging skin on age-spotted arms, she hoisted two bags of groceries onto the counter with one hand.

  I’d stayed in the restroom long enough for Griffith to leave. When the roar of a motorcycle announced his departure, I hustled out, unable to resist peering out the window at his retreating form straddling the same huge, black motorcycle he rode in my dreams. He slid into the studded, leather jacket hanging over the handlebars. With not one strand of his wavy, black hair out of place, he was a man worthy of dreaming about, except when the dream turned into a nightmare.

  He tore down the road, spraying gravel and slushy snow as he went.

  Who rides a motorcycle in April? Trouble all right. Like I didn’t have enough.

  Ritchie swiveled his stool. “Hey, Ruthie, what took you so long? You missed all the fun.”

  “How could that be? I’m here now. That’s when the party gets started.” Ruthie gyrated her wide hips, which strained against khaki shorts and a stained Kiss the Cook! apron.

  She laughed, while strolling to the interior of the bar. With her free hand, she straightened the baskets of peanuts then refilled the napkins without stopping, as if having difficulty containing the energy within. “What’s up?”

  “Bob’s outta here,” Chief said.

  “I’m surprised it took you that long,” Ruthie said. “He’s a nice fella, but working here isn’t the best environment for him.”

  She turned so quickly her braid smacked her in the chin, her movements slowing as she approached me. Peering through thick, pop-bottled glasses, her blue eyes looked like a deranged fish. “Well, I’ll be.”

  Shaking her head, Ruthie squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. “It’s about time, I say. Who might you be, girl? What do you call yourself, that is?” Ruthie extended a hand in greeting.

  I didn’t touch her hand. “I’m Bob’s replacement, Hope. The new bartender.”

  “Sure you are. Hmmm, makes sense.” She lowered her hand. Taking a step back, she pulled out a glass and filled it with seltzer and ice, chugged the drink, then slapped the glass onto the counter.

  Chief shrugged and slid off the barstool to head down the hallway adjacent to the bar. Wearing a scowl, he shook his head. “Don’t be long with a bunch of women talk, Ruthie. You gotta get some fixin’s started in the kitchen. Send her to Mrs. Shaw after you say your hellos and all.”

  “Bob Hope, huh?” Without taking her eyes off me, she reached under the bar and located the seltzer to refill her drink. “You have a place to stay yet, Bob Hope?” As she waited for my reply, she filled and straightened things above and below the counter.

  Where does she find the energy? “Well, I…”

  Ruthie pulled a key ring out of her pocket and bent toward me, the smell of grease emanated from her pores. Swiftly flipping through the keys, she slid one off and pushed the key across the counter. “Don’t bother with any stories. I’ve been around a long time and know a lot more than a woman ought to. Working in places like this taught me things you’ll never learn in any school.”

  She shuddered. “Plus it’s my guess you’ve heard a lot of stories.” She pointed her finger at me. “Just so you know, they’re not all stories.”

  I jerked back, unsure if she meant the stories Tessa always used to spout, or the ones I’d heard about this town. I’d been starting to wonder if they were one and the same.

  “I also know as far as bartending, you’re as green as the beer on Saint Patrick’s Day. I have a house in town with an apartment over my garage. You can stay there. It’s not much, but it’s bigger than that car you’ve been squatting in.” She inclined her head toward the door.

  The warmth from a flush heated my neck. I stared at the key still partially covered by her hand as the fatigue of the past month settled upon my shoulders.

  She slid the key closer, and I reached for it. As I grasped the key, she snatched her hand back before my fingers got too close.

  “No offense, sweetie.” Ruthie smiled, revealing amazingly white teeth. “But like you, I don’t want to take any chances.” She placed her hands on her ample hips.

  “I’ve been waiting on you. Now stop gaping at me like I’ve grown another head and get on back to see Mrs. Shaw.” She scanned over her shoulder. “Don’t let her scare you, now.” She winked. “Then get on over to the apartment and settle in. We’ll talk rent later. You’ll have to be back here tomorrow evening to start your shift.”

  I slid off the stool.

  Ruthie glanced at the clock. “You see, there’s others been waitin’ on you too, and they’re not all as friendly as me.”

  “Others?” I furrowed my brow. “What are you talking about?”

  “You notice things, and they notice that you notice. Most people can’t or don’t.” She waved her hand. “You’ll find out soon enough.” Ruthie paused, and narrowed her eyes. “What in tarnation did you do to your hair?”

  “What?” I fingered my poor attempt at being a hairstylist. “There’s nothing wrong with my hair.”

  “I’d say there was nothing wrong with your color before.”

  “Before?” How Ruthie knew what my hair looked like before baffled me, as much as why I’d tried to color it black. Perhaps seeing my red hair every day reminded me of the blood pooled around Tessa’s lifeless body. The memory I’d been unable to get out of my mind for the past month.

  I repeated the question Griffith asked me that I couldn’t answer. “What are you? Are you…”

  She snorted, and then peered around to ensure no one was listening. “I’m a witch, of course.”

  I’d been about to ask her if she was my mother, so I felt a little foolish. Even though it didn’t feel exactly right. I thought I’d be able to tell if I actually found her. But nonetheless, I felt a kinship with Ruthie. “Is that what I am?”

  “No, honey.” Her tone became serious. “You’re nothing like me.”

  Chapter Two

  “I’m sure you’re familiar with an employment application.” Mrs. Shaw drew her lips back into a thin line. Her bony hands rested on the form with each of her fingernails filed to a point. Odd. Large, gaudy rings dwarfed her tiny fingers.

  “I find it unorthodox to hire someone prior to finishing the normal process of employment,” said Mrs. Shaw.

  “Yes, I understand.” I nodded, picking up the paper. Place of employment, length of time working and references were all required. Crap. “I’m not sure I can remember all of the phone numbers from my prior jobs.” I’d been counting on this place not caring about these little details, but I hadn’t counted on the likes of Mrs. Shaw working here. She was as out of place here as an office manager, as I was as a hairstylist.

  “It’s not that I’m saying you wouldn’t make a good underling, I mean, employee.” Mrs. Shaw sank into the leather chair, which practically swallowed her up. So far, the scariest thing about her was her dress. The flowers covering the polyester material shimmied as she swayed back and forth in her chair, as if longing to return to the
sixties when the dress was made.

  My eyes were drawn to her necklace. The tiny silver masks were similar to the ones hanging on the sign outside. I placed my hand on the desk. If I could only touch her arm.

  “I understand.” Having endured rejection many times, I understood all too well. “I need this job, Mrs. Shaw.” That is, if I valued food and shelter.

  She peered over her tiny-black rimmed bifocals and sighed. “I know you do. They all do.” She raised a carefully penciled eyebrow so high it almost met the fringed bangs complementing her salt and pepper pixie haircut.

  She picked up a pen and tapped it on the desk. “If Miss Ruthie feels you’re appropriate.” She cleared her throat. “Despite not yet completing the process of an employment record.” She took a sip from her herbal tea. “And Chief, of course, he is the boss.” She smiled.

  I was surprised she referred to him by his nickname, since she was so formal with everything else. With one look at her face, the reason was obvious. He was why she worked here. Guess there is someone for everyone.

  A dull ache started behind my brows. I rubbed my head.

  “Have you tried taking medicine for your headaches?” Mrs. Shaw reached into her desk and took out a bottle of over the counter tablets, gave it a shake, and then held it up for my inspection. “These work wonders for me.”

  Looking at the bottle, I wished relief could be that easy. People who’d never had a migraine couldn’t comprehend how debilitating they could be. Destroying a perfectly good day…or an employment record. Besides, my headaches weren’t the normal garden variety.

  I wished I’d never come to know that.

  “…or cutting down on your caffeine.” Mrs. Shaw made clucking sounds with her tongue. “I’ve seen those giant cups of coffee the young girls guzzle all day. Those aren’t good for you. If I had any children, I can assure you they’d never start on any of those toxic beverages.”

  Like a bobble head, I nodded again, trying to look as if I’d not heard this lecture before or tried everything to get rid of the pain.

  Mrs. Shaw’s face softened, and she appeared pleased, as if she’d offered a solution. I wanted to keep her talking, rather than have her dwell too much on the application I was hunkered over, filling out with haste.

  “Are you getting enough sleep?” Mrs. Shaw scrutinized me. “I’m sure a pretty girl like you is asked out a lot by the fellows. I saw you talking to Griffith.”

  “What?” When I glanced up, she was regarding me with interest, and her eyes held a glint of strange anticipation.

  “I’m sure it’s a challenge to find fellows taller than you, though.” She continued as if she’d never mentioned Griffith.

  Maybe she hadn’t. I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut.

  “What are you, six foot?”

  “I’m five foot nine.” I probably seemed like a giant to her who looked all of five foot two in heels.

  “You may think you don’t have to worry about taking care of yourself, but from your driver’s license I can see you’re in your twenties now…”

  Mrs. Shaw’s droned on. The smell of cinnamon seeped into my senses, filling my pores and enveloping me.

  “Oh no, not now,” I mumbled. Mrs. Shaw was in full-force lecture-mode and didn’t acknowledge my comment.

  I took in the tiny office, searching for an air freshener or other potential source of the offending odor. A crammed bookshelf housed ancient books on office management with spines cracked and peeling. A multitude of photos of dogs appeared to be a substitute for the children she didn’t have.

  Nothing around that could explain the smell.

  “Then there are herbal teas you could try instead of all that coffee—”

  “Mrs. Shaw.” There was still a chance there was another explanation.

  She looked at me blankly.

  “What kind of herbal tea are you drinking?” I eyed the offensive cup, holding my breath, trying to stop the infusion of cinnamon aroma only I noticed. Praying the little cup was harboring some kind of cinnamon tea with the ability to overtake the entire room with its fragrance.

  She smiled, like a proud teacher realizing her student was paying attention. “Why, it’s strawberry crème.” She nodded at the notepad beside the phone, as if waiting for me to write this vital information. “A delicious, refreshing beverage for the afternoon when you need to wind down. Though my personal favorite is—”

  “I think I’ll just buy a mixed box.” Hoping she didn’t notice the beads of perspiration forming on my skin. “Then I can try all the flavors.” Signing the bottom of the application proved difficult with my shaking hand.

  I had to get out of this office.

  “I hate to take up all of your time, Mrs. Shaw. I appreciate your suggestions. Really, I do.” Banging my knees against the wooden desk as I stood, but I didn’t let the discomfort deter me. I babbled what I thought employers wanted to hear. “I need to go settle in and get ready for my first day.”

  “Oh, why yes, of course.” Mrs. Shaw straightened and folded her hands neatly on her desk, appearing embarrassed she’d lagged from her professional role to chat.

  “Thank you, again.” I quickly left the office, regretting having to end the meeting abruptly. Developing a little rapport with her could be essential in getting information. But judging by the cinnamon aura, my time was limited.

  I staggered into the bar, as if I’d had one too many drinks. The clacking of ice cubes, as they dropped into glasses, sounded like hammers pounding. Pressing my hand against my head didn’t alleviate the thudding in my skull.

  The fluorescent lights weighed on my eyelids, and attacked my pupils. I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowing the taste of bile rising as it reached the back of my throat. When I opened them, Ritchie gained a twin as my vision blurred and distorted.

  I took in each of the bar patrons through a cracked eyelid. Spending most of my life in an orphanage, then hopping from town to town with Tessa had provided me with an elevated survival instinct.

  It wasn’t anyone in here.

  Somehow, I found strength in my legs to continue, and rather than risk passing out in the bar, I staggered toward the exit. Digging in my pocket, I located my old, bent sunglasses as I gulped the fresh air. I’d inhaled the equivalent of a pack of cigarettes in second hand smoke from the bar, yet my mouth still tasted cinnamon.

  I started toward my car then stopped short, almost tripping over my own feet. My relief was out here somewhere, but looking around through cracked lids showed nothing. I was alone in the parking lot. If I didn’t find the source soon, the migraine would overtake me, making it my shortest employment record to date.

  Something rustled in the woods, and I swung my head in that direction. The denseness surrounding this place contributed to my sense of foreboding. The trees swayed in the wind, branches hanging so low they appeared to be clutching at the top of the tombstones. The birds chattered. Pressing my hands over my ears, I tried to shut the noise out, along with the sound of the masks rattling against the signpost, their empty eyeholes and gaping mouths frozen in a blind, silent scream.

  Holding my hands against my head and squeezing my eyes shut, I let out a guttural yell as I fell to my knees.

  All went absolutely silent.

  I let out my breath and opened my eyes halfway, testing the effect of the light. I lowered my hands from my ears to look around the vacant, silent parking lot.

  A phone rang, shattering the silence. The birds called out, then exited en masse from the treetops.

  I absently patted my cell phone in my pocket, but it wasn’t my ringtone, and my battery was dead. Scanning outside the bar, I located a lone payphone barely hanging on to the corner of the building as if in homage to a past era.

  I struggled to stand, moving my legs toward the summoning ring. The scent of cinnamon began to lessen and subside. The ache in my head faltered, and the assault on my senses reached a plateau.

  I’d found my pain reliever.


  Unable to restrain the unexplainable urge any longer, I sprinted to the phone. Once I placed my hand on the phone, it stopped ringing. The headache subsided like a beast retreating into its cave until summoned again.

  I put the receiver to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Hope. Don’t trust him.” A soothing and somewhat familiar male voice whispered.

  “Who? Don’t trust who?”

  Static filled the line.

  “Who is this?” I pressed the receiver tighter, squinting toward the woods and around the parking lot.

  “Come to us. I’ll show you the way,” the caller beckoned.

  “How?”

  “Take a chance. You’ll see it’s your destiny.”

  Chief opened the bar door. “Just what in tarnation are you doin’?”

  The line went dead in my hand. I stared at the silent receiver. “I was on a call.”

  Chief scowled. “That darn phone hasn’t worked in years. I reckon the whole side of the building would cave in if I tried to take it off, so I leave the bucket of rust there.” He spit tobacco on the ground. “How could it work since some critters done chewed through the cord a while ago?”

  He eyed me with suspicion. “A call you say, um, who was you talkin’ to, then?”

  My anger deflated as the severed, twisted wires from the cord brushed against my leg. “I don’t know.”

  ****

  Avoiding the potholes proved challenging while navigating the narrow dirt lane leading to the main road. Driving Pennsylvania’s unkempt back roads as winter and spring battled for supremacy wouldn’t have been my first choice for a trip. But it was good to be focusing on doing something, rather than dwelling on how inadequate I’d felt since Tessa was murdered.

  I refused to say suicide. She wouldn’t have done that. Something had done that to her. I’d seen it. It wasn’t a figment of my imagination, like the cop said. Not that he’d had to say it. I’d seen the looks passing among the ambulance crew as they consoled me.