Sins of Saint Anthony Read online

  Sins of Saint Anthony

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  Sins of Saint Anthony by Elliot Parker

  If you enjoyed this, please check out Demon, Interrupted the full-length novel available now on Amazon and all other major online retailers. | You can also catch up with Elliot Parker at her website Elliotparker.com, Facebook @authorelliotparker, and Twitter @AuthorEParker

  I despise other people interfering with my finely tuned schedule. Thanks to a motivational staff meeting at my day job running over by five minutes, I pulled into the parking lot of my second job fifteen minutes late. I would be experiencing the butterfly effect into next week.

  The diner’s neon sign cast a macabre glow onto the rear parking lot. God forbid we actually get working streetlights back here. The rusty skeletal posts had long ago been mangled and left for dead. We weren’t allowed to park in the front lot. The customers got illumination and surveillance cameras, the employees got darkness and possible assault.

  I killed the engine and put the keys in between my knuckles, then power-walked to the back entrance. Beware criminals I’ll key you to death. The door nearly smacked into me when Georgina opened it for her smoke break.

  “Be careful out there,” I cautioned.

  “Don’t be such a baby,” she slurred through a cigarette. To Georgina I probably did seem like a baby. She’d been waiting tables since the beginning of tables. She refused to put her bottle-job blonde bouffant hair or her gingham smock to rest. Thank god retro-diners were back in style or else she would have an identity crisis.

  I rolled my eyes and scooted down the narrow hallway to the employee lounge, at least that’s what the sign on the door says. In reality it was a small paneled room that some genius contractor decided should catch the air venting from the kitchen. There were hooks on one wall, if you were willing to risk getting some weird disease from the layers of fryer fat that coated every surface. Each employee eventually rescued a cardboard box from the dumpster, and I threw my jacket in mine and pulled out my own smock and white apron.

  The basketball game hadn’t let out yet so the diner was fairly quiet, a young couple in the booth by the window, a mom and her two kids at table four, a couple in the corner booth, and a guy at the counter sipping coffee talking quietly with Annette, the third waitress. I grabbed a pitcher of ice water and refreshed the empty glasses.

  As I approached the counter to see if the man wanted some ice water, I overheard his conversation with Annette, more importantly, I overheard my name.

  Being talked about while you’re not around makes anyone uneasy, but for me paranoia doesn’t ride shotgun, it drives. I am enslaved by its constant dictation on everything. The clothes I wear, the places I live, even the hairstyles I chose. All carefully constructed to be pleasant and completely forgettable.

  A stutter step was the only indication of my switch from casual to combat. Deep breath and smile. I approached the conspiring pair.

  “Anyone need water?” I held up the pitcher and my eyebrows.

  “Emily! Oh, you surprised me, I was just telling....” Annette paused and looked at the gentleman. He was tall, over six feet, and of middle-eastern descent, dark hair, golden skin, dark eyes.

  “I’m sorry what was your name again?”

  “Alexander,” his voice held an agnostic accent as he spoke into his cup before taking a slow sip. Nothing in the world could rush this man if he didn’t want to be rushed.

  “Alexander, I was just telling Alexander how great you are at fixing things, how you are always helping the girls and I with our various car problems, toasters, microwaves, doo-hickeys, hell just last week she fixed my hairdryer, saved me from buying a new one, ain’t that right hon.”

  God save me from myself. How many times had my grandmother told me to lay low, never go out of my way? She would be clawing her way out of grave to slap me if she could. Let me not completely disappoint her.

  I needed to finish assessing this man. Changing course, I walked behind the counter with Annette.

  “It’s nothing, I just like knowing how things work.” A necessary skill when you have only yourself to depend on. His low-lidded gaze barely concealed murky brown irises. Could be contacts. I used dark brown color contacts to cover up the electric blue of my own eyes, and my true identity.

  Carefully, I nudged Annette out of the way using the excuse of reaching for a glass under the counter and filling it with water. I placed it beside the coffee cup without asking, and turned to Annette.

  “Stan is getting ready to call your order” I nodded toward the pass-through window.

  Annette turned just as the order bell rang.

  “You see! She’s always helping, I don’t know what I would do without her.” She squeezed my elbow, and hurried off to pick up her order for the mom and her two boys.

  “Emily” The sound of the man’s voice turned my head. I looked over with my fake smile.

  “That’s a lovely name. Is it a family name?”

  It’s a simple common question, I told myself three times before answering. It was a completely made up name, I picked from a billboard.

  “It’s my grandmother’s middle name.”

  He took another sip. “Are you close with your grandmother?”

  No. She’s dead. Murdered.

  “Yes, she lives with me.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Your mother?”

  Also dead. Also Murdered. Pesky family legacy.

  I refilled his coffee cup and took a breath. “She travels a lot for work. When she is in town she stays with us.”

  Smiling he said, “That sounds lovely, I can’t stand when people push their extended family out into nursing homes and such. So much to be learned from the older generations, don’t you agree?”

  Yes I did agree. I would’ve loved to learn a hell of a lot more from my grandmother before she was ripped out of my life, and I would’ve loved to even know my mother at all.

  I looked around for a reason to get out of the conversation. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but this man wasn’t right. Little warning bells were going off in my mind. Georgina still wasn’t back from her break and the couple at the booth was looking antsy.

  “Family is great. Will you please excuse me?” I scooted out from behind the counter and over to the fidgety couple. Upset their food wasn’t ready yet, they apparently thought everyone operated at the same warp speed they did. I pacified them and hurried to the kitchen to speed Stan along, sure to avoid Alexander at the counter. Crisis averted when the couple got their food before I thought Georgina’s tip might be jeopardized.

  Thankfully people began to trickle in as the game let out a few blocks away. The three of us worked our tails off for the next several hours, and I hit my zen state. The sound of a crowded diner was the best white noise. Clinking forks on plates, glasses hitting tables and the lull of constant conversation. The work became easy and wrote. We waitressed and bussed, cleaned tables, and even ran back to help Stan when we fell too far behind. People came, and they went. A few regulars, a few newbies, all happy to have a minute to themselves, a seat, and some greasy comfort food. And I was happy when tips started to pile up.

  Alexander remained at the counter like a king, sitting on a cheap vinyl throne. He faced the patrons, as if holding court. Arrogance punctuated every gesture, every word he spoke. Even the way he watched the diners all night, like someone watching animals at a zoo. Every thirty or so minutes he ordered a different plate, like they were courses at a five-star restaurant. First a salad, then a Reuben, fries separate as their own course, and finally a piece of pie. His demeanor was as out of place as that forty-thousand dollar Patek Phillipe watch I saw peaking out from beneath a JCPen
ny Blazer. Something just didn’t add up. Without these details, on any other night I would’ve passed it all off as eccentric, or perhaps someone avoiding something he didn’t want to go back to, but my paranoia forcefully insisted he was up to something that involved me. I stayed away but aware all night.

  The quieting sounds of the diner signaled closing time. Alexander the great remained rooted while we did our final cleaning and straightening. I filled salt shakers and catsup bottles. Annette wiped down glassware and Georgina counted money in the cash register. We were a well-oiled machine.

  Stan came out and shouted that we were closing in ten minutes. We started making him do it months ago since customers tended to argue less with a six foot five man covered in several layers of what my grandmother called “hard fat”, brought on by years of constant motion, and constant cholesterol.

  Customers shuffled out and paid their bills. Alexander still made no move to get his bill, or get out. He was Annette’s customer, but I was about to get pushy if he didn’t get moving.

  In a final visual sweep of the place I noticed a woman and a baby in the corner booth. She couldn’t have been older than twenty-one or twenty-two, the baby only a few months old. She was in Georgina’s section, so I didn’t know how much she had ordered or not ordered through the night. Georgina was nowhere in sight, probably on another smoke break. The baby began to cry as I approached the table.

  “Do you need anything else tonight?” I asked.

  When the woman looked up at me with bloodshot eyes, I could see the silent scream going on in her head, and it was louder than the wailing infant. She glanced down at her lap then back at the table before speaking so rapidly I could barely understand her.

  “I am so sorry, I lost my wallet at some point this evening and I ordered before I realized what had happened.”

  Now I know a scammer when I see one. I’ve heard the “I lost my wallet” trick a million times before, but something was wrong with this woman. She looked like a whipped dog who hadn’t eaten or slept in days. I looked closer and saw bruises up and down her arms, and dark circles under her eyes.

  “Do you remember the last place you had it?” Regret instantly wrapped around me.

  I was not going to use my abilities to help her.

  She opened her mouth to speak. but her cellphone rang on the table next to her. It might has well have been a cattle prod from the way it made her body jump six inches off the bench. The baby cried louder, the phone continued to ring, the woman trembled visibly as she attempted to shush the baby and silence the phone at the same time. I saw the name Pete on the display before she covered it up.

  Her voice was meek as she held up the phone. “Is it true people can track you through these things?”

  “I don’t....I think so...” I stammered as I put together what was happening. She was on the run.

  I knew what it looked like, knew what it felt like. Like nowhere is safe, no one can be trusted, nothing can be done to help you. You live from one moment to the next, and wait for the inevitable to happen, wondering if you had any control at all...if it was even worth trying anymore. Every time you thought you were all right, life would bitch-slap you back into remembering nothing was all right.

  I saw Georgina come out from the back and march towards the table. She was coming for money or blood.

  “Pay up or clean up!”

  She started in before I grabbed her by the arm and spun her around talking through my teeth

  “I’ve got this Georgina this is legit, she’s in trouble, let’s give her a minute.”

  She patted my arm where it joined hers and spoke loud enough for the woman to hear. “Wallet’s never show up my dear, in forty years of working diners I’ve never seen a wallet show up.” Then she threw over her shoulder, “Stan! We have a squatter get out here.”

  Great now the entire sympathy-free squad would be here soon. I looked back over at the woman. She removed the baby from the carrier, and rocked it back and forth frantically.

  I stared hard into Georgina’s eyes

  “Give me just five minutes o.k.? Five.” I pleaded with her to give in.

  “Fine. Five minutes or fifty, won’t make a difference, knock yourself out Emily.”

  I could feel Georgina’s eyes glaring holes into my back when I turned around to the woman and child.

  I took the seat across from her, and kept my voice calm. “What’s your name?”

  “Chelsea”

  “Do you need some help Chelsea?” Out of the corner of my eye I could see everyone looming at the counter. Alexander also remained, sipping his last cup of coffee, observing the final performance for the evening.

  “Yes, please yes, yes yes.” She held up her phone showing a screen full of missed calls from Pete. I understood. She needed out of here quickly, before Pete stopped being a name on her phone and started standing here in the diner.

  Alright, I was just going to do this quickly and quietly. No one would notice, and this whole situation would be cleared up. I could disguise my power as simply being a good Samaritan. This was a small diner, if the wallet was close I could “stumble” upon it.

  “What did your wallet look like?” I asked.

  “It was more of a clutch really, black leather with gold lettering that said CHD, a heart and a small little handle that wraps around my wrist.”

  As she spoke I constructed the image in my mind. The unique details helped, the lettering, the symbols on it. When the image was as clear as I could make it in my mind I extended my hand.

  “I’m sorry I forgot to introduce myself, I’m Emily.”

  She took my hand, and forged the personal connection I needed to locate her wallet. An image, a personal connection, and a prayer was all I needed to activate my power. When our hands released, I chanted in my head to my great great great whatever grandfather.

  “St. Anthony, perfect imitator of Jesus, who received from God the special power of restoring lost articles, grant that I may find this article which has been lost. To this favor, I pledge to remain your ever-faithful descendant. Amen.”

  I took a deep breath and braced myself. Assuming the wallet was close by when the signal kicked in, it would be powerful. The carefully constructed image in my mind swirled and swirled then suddenly snapped into place. A bone deep buzzing started in my chest, and began to radiate into my entire body. The intensity skyrocketed, and I felt my muscles wrap around my bones like hands gripping careening bike handles.

  Standing up, I tried my best to casually hold the edge of the table. I wanted to grab onto it for dear life, feeling like I might vibrate into one thousand pieces.

  “Are you alright?” Chelsea raised her voice over the crying baby. Great I wasn’t playing it cool, she could tell something had changed.

  “I’m just going to look around for your wallet” My eyes darted around the immediate area, playing along with the ruse. A few steps away from the table, and the right side of my body lit up in a thousand white-hot pinpricks. The bathroom. This would be over quickly. I kept my head down and went straight to the ladies room. Every step caused more and more pain to light up my flesh. I imagined a thousand wasps trying to sting their way out of my body from the inside.

  Once inside the bathroom, I looked for the wallet to be somewhere obvious. Of course it wasn’t. I walked a tight small circle on the gross tiled floor. A whimper of pain escaped my lips when I stepped close to the garbage can. Disguising. Once I touched the wallet, this would all be over. I needed this pain to be over. Glancing in, all I saw were the used brown paper towels from the dispenser by the sink. I told myself there was no old food, no used tampons, diapers, condoms, toilet paper...nope nothing like that in there. I fisted my hands, gritted my teeth, and shoved both arms in up to the shoulder. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I needed to take another one. Renewed flailing forced the back of my right hand up against something hard, and the buzzing stopped.

  My knees buckled. I hit the floor taking the
trashcan with me. I wrapped my trembling fingers around the wallet and pulled it out. I should be thankful, but I just glared at the wallet breathing heavy. This was almost over, at least for me. I helped Chelsea all I could, for the rest she was on her own.

  I used the last of my strength to stand and right the trash can in case someone heard the commotion. My mirror image was a fright. Face bright red and sweaty, hair a mess. I might have just run a marathon. I certainly felt like it. My muscles were weak, and I needed to eat soon. Locating objects drained calories faster than any form of exercise. I splashed water on my face and straightened my hair. The entire episode felt like hours, but only minutes had passed.

  Back out in the diner, Chelsea was packing up the baby while Stan lorded over her. I rushed over and shoved the wallet at her.

  She clutched it to her chest. “Thank you. Oh my God, thank you so so so much. Where was it?”

  Stan backed away and went to the kitchen, I patted his arm as he walked by. “It must have fallen in the trashcan in the ladies room.”

  “Of course, I’m such an idiot.” She finished the complicated configuration of straps and buckles on the baby carrier, then stood and hugged me.

  I hated my reaction to hugs. No matter how many times I was hugged it never felt comfortable. My arms hesitated up and down, my weight shifted forward and backward, I held my chin askew. Hugging wasn’t a thing in my family. Or maybe it was. I don’t know. Maybe they all died before they could hug me. I don’t know. I just wanted this to be over. It was an all-encompassing feeling of vulnerability that put me on edge. My body and senses felt trapped. This had to be over soon. Soon.

  “Thank you again, keep the change.” She shoved the check and a twenty-dollar bill into my hand. Her total was less than ten dollars. I guess my gift did pay off. Literally.

  I smiled, glad it was all over and watched her exit then turned to wipe up her table, and straighten all the dispensers and shakers.

  Slow clapping broke the silence like sudden thunder. I glanced over my shoulder at the counter. Alexander was reclined, continuing his applause, a smile on his face.