A Shot in the Dark

Devil in a Storm

I left Sarah urging the kitchen ladies to get back to work and away from the window. Lindsey was easy to find—messy, dark hair spilled down her back from her low ponytail while she dug through the cabinets and tipped cups full of crayons by the welcome desk at the front doors. There was no amount of hassle to keep that energetic girl organized.

My hands worked fast to grab the coloring materials before they rolled away. Lindsey looked at me with grateful blue eyes, but stress etched her otherwise gorgeous, youthful face. "Thanks," she said.

"You were supposed to be grabbing the rest of the meals for your assigned tables by now." We got back to our feet, everything having been put in its original place. "Better get to it before Sarah has you mopping the entire kitchen again, Snow White."

Her face relaxed slightly at the nickname before I watched her hurry away, dark waves swaying with each step. A first job was stressful enough and having Sarah scrutinizing her every move only added to that. However, managing a five-star restaurant was not easy, and I knew Sarah was also under a lot of pressure. But, eventually, a new girl comes to take your place, and you move up in responsibilities. I have been in her shoes before and knew that she could handle it.

The hustle of other waiters and waitresses I knew reasonably well raced in and out of my peripheral vision as the bell signaling a new customer sounded from the doors.

A man strolled in like a devil in a storm. The air in the room turned cold at the sight of him. Eyes shaded in night from a jet black fedora pulled down low matched the rest of his pure black suit and shirt tucked under a heavy midnight coat. In fact, he did not shake off his coat nor fedora as was traditional for luxury restaurants, masking his features in the shadows. Everything about him screamed peril, yet my feet stuck firm. Pale skin flashed from the folds of fabric surrounding him to reveal a hand clutching a cane. Silver glinted off of the top, but I kept my eyes focused on his shadowed face as he walked forward; a slight limp on his left was the only distinguishable thing from the man.

"Table for one," was all he said to me. Words cut into me like ice, freezing me to the bone. His voice was more profound than typical men with a rasp clinging to each syllable, sending shivers down my spine. Finally escaping from my trance, I reached for a menu and napkin wrapped around utensils. Only turning my back when necessary, I led him to a particular table in the very center of the room. A lamp positioned above the table only helped deepen the shadows cast around him.

Hands shaking uncontrollably, I swiftly set the menu in front of him, noticing how his hands were completely drained of color as he set the cane against the side and reached for the menu. His skin was white as paper and terribly wrinkled, showing how old he must be. Even by standing so close to his side, the shadows seemed to thicken around his face.

"What can I get started for you, sir?" I cringed at the stutter in my voice, but he either did not notice or care about how his presence had affected me.

He seemed to take his time looking over the options and causing the tension in the room to grow in magnitude, possibly unbeknownst to him. Purposeful or not, his appearance captured the attention of several other guests. Their eyes darted back to him with a mixture of fear and curiosity. Several men seemed to square their shoulders, sizing him up, but the man in the fedora kept his line of vision on the menu. Even my coworkers shot me looks of panic when I caught their eyes.

A glint of metal drew my eyes to the cane at his side. Leaning up against the table caused it to look less menacing, although the orb in the center seemed to be infused with a blood-red color. Combined with the possessive eagle-like claws reaching around the orb, it resembled more of a weapon than a simple cane.

The man's voice shocked me into dropping my pen on the ground. Reaching down to the floor, I caught sight of his shoes. Instead of ones polished to perfection like other guests, his were stained and dirty with mud tracing up the front and sides. A speck of red that resembled blood at the base sent a shiver through me. Attempting to still my hand enough to make the writing legible, I listened to his order with panic weighing down on my shoulders. His icy-cold words dug into my skin and chilled the air. I nearly ran away but forced my feet to calm down and walk to the kitchen without tripping.

I was greeted with a collision.