Sins of Saint Anthony Page 2

  Georgina, Annette, and Stan were all on the floor, completely still, but breathing. My eyes scanned over each of their bodies looking for damage. They had been immobilized without me even knowing it. Things had gotten very, very bad. Everything, the woman, the baby, the wallet, had been a distraction. Shit.

  Alexander stood, “Let’s give it up for Emily, or should I say Evangeline. Evangeline Lawson, descendant of St. Anthony of Padua, Patron Saint of Lost Articles. Good job little GPS.”

  I straightened, keeping my back to him. I needed time to untie the knot in my apron and the knot in my chest. Heart-beat steady, deep breaths, remain calm. My instincts told me all night this man was bad, I just didn’t think it was this bad. Countless weridos in this place had dulled my edge. There would be time to castigate myself later.

  The only thing I was better at than locating lost objects, was escaping. Before applying to work here, I mapped all possible exit routes and strategies. Working at this diner wasn’t random, it was strategically located in-between the arena and arts districts. Two places that maintained crowds well into the evening every night. The best thing for my friends was for me to get away from them, as fast as possible, before they became leverage.

  Apron fisted in my hand, I turned to face Alexander. “Who was the girl?”

  He winked at me. “Just someone I paid earlier tonight to come in and drop her wallet in the trash, then convince you to find it for her. I must admit the baby and the abuse story were just a bonus.”

  I only had one trick up my sleeve. The only one my grandmother taught me before she died.

  “She was good. I bought it, hook, line and sinker.” I took three steps toward the counter. Moving toward a target would switch them from offense to defense, taking him off balance, all while positioning my body between him and the front door.

  The fear and anger inside me began to spark. If this was going to work I needed more. I stoked and stoked the feelings, feeding images to them. Images of my troubled friends, the lying Chelsea, all the towns, all the identities, the friends I gave up, my Grandmother, my Mother, my entire family’s suffering, all of it went to fuel the fire. Fear and anger melded into a red-hot ball of rage. It’s flames licked along my limbs, strengthening them.

  Alexander stood only three feet away from me, arms crossed. Arrogance would be his downfall. He controlled everyone else in this diner, he did not control me. I already knew what he wanted. The same thing they all wanted. Me. They wanted me to find something, just a little something, then something else, something bigger, and bigger and bigger. Like feeding an addiction, they wouldn’t stop. And they would pay me, keep me, even in luxury. But they would never let me go. I would never be free to be my own person, live my own life, make my own choices. They would want my children, and my children’s children. If I ever bucked, I would be destroyed. I would not submit to the life of livestock.

  He was saying something, his mouth was moving, but I couldn’t hear it, didn’t care what it was. I was playing out the next sixty seconds in my head, checking and re-checking every detail, trying to find the holes in my carefully thought out plan. It was flawless. I tightened my grip on the ball of fabric in my hand. Every second would count.

  I closed my eyes, and brought a deep breath into my chest. The breath when paired with my ball of strength and rage, formed the only weapon I had. I didn’t really even know what it was, only that I could use it in a pinch if I was very upset. Eyes open, I tunneled my vision into the center of Alexander’s chest. I exhaled in a rush, throwing the apron and an invisible force generated from within me directly at him.

  Before it even hit, I turned and ran out the door. The sound of dozens of plates and glasses breaking let me know my target found its mark. I had thrown him into the counter and hopefully halfway through the wall. If I was lucky, he was unconscious.

  Outside the front door, even at this late hour enough people populated the roads and sidewalks to obscure my movements. I did my best to walk fast enough to get gone, but not draw attention. Turn right, turn right, turn left. Cross the street. I would find my way to one of the three emergency packs I set up when I first arrived in the city, grab it and get out. I burned through identities the way other people burned through clothes. Trash one and reinvent yourself with another.

  Goodbye town. Goodbye diner. Goodbye Georgina, Annette and Stan. I liked you. For all our sakes, I hope I never see you again.

  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