The Loop

June 3, 1988, pt 3

Melonie woke up at 6:15. Everything was the same as yesterday, and everything would be the same tomorrow. Nothing new, nothing better or worse.

She felt her lack of sleep as she stumbled through the motions of showering and drying her hair. The same clothes stared back at her, the same hairstyles, the same shoes. But she still chose the same old uniform and same simple ponytail.

Tyler pushed past her at the sink to brush his teeth. Even he was going through the motions today.

Melonie went down to the kitchen and made the same scrambled eggs and put them on the same plate for Tyler, who ate them without really thinking about it. She fought the gag reflex before giving up and throwing the plates into the sink, only to have them crack once again.

The pair walked down to the school together. Main street was once again filled with people asking Jerome how many days it'd been. The crowd was smaller than usual, so he never ran inside, just soaked up the attention and answered questions when asked them.

Tyler attempted to pull away from Melonie as they approached the preschool, but she held on to him. The other kids snickered at and pointed as she left him with the teacher. "Tyler needs his mommy to drop him off at school!" they would whisper behind his back.

She could feel the same judgemental looks as she passed the teachers lounge, where the same left-over teachers lounged around drinking hard liquor.

"Another day, another sheltered child."

"It's all she's got left, do you expect anything less?"

"He's all that's left because she's a neglectful mother, nothing other than that Susan."

Even after all that time they still talked about it. And they wouldn't stop until there was something more troublesome to that community.

By the time she arrived at work, it was full again. Once her apron was on, Melonie began to do rounds, pencil and pad in hand.

Peterson seemed hesitant when she came around to him that day. He looked longingly at the menu and sighed. When his head went up, he appeared dejected.

"Eggs and bacon," he said quietly. "No toast."

She nodded and wrote it down calmly on the pad. "Wise choice," she smiled.

The rest of the orders scrawled out on the paper from memory. Thirty years worth of doing the same thing over again certainly wore on the nerves.

A crash sounded from the front of the eatery. Everyone looked around, meeting each others' eyes in surprise if not pure terror.

A redheaded man with a leather jacket sauntered in and leaned on the counter. He pulled a pair of thin sunglasses off of his face, to reveal a pair of rectangular glasses underneath.

"What's a guy gotta do to get some coffee around here? He asked, looking around the room for the waitress. "Can't find a frickin McDonalds, nonetheless a Starbucks!" His eyes stopped at Melonie, who was backing away slowly.

Peterson took charge, stepping up to the bar and leaning in close to the stranger.

"Give the woman some space!" he exclaimed firmly, pushing him to the side.

The redheaded man punched Peterson in the face, his eyes growing wide as he realized what he'd done. Nobody in the diner moved, staring in bewilderment.

Melonie yanked the phone up from the corner and dialed the sheriff's office.

"Anne?" a male voice on the other line asked. "Is it twelve already?"

She stuttered for a moment before gaining her footing. How long had it been since she made a phonecall where she didn't know what she was supposed to say?

"This is Melonie Greene, from the diner," she sputtered out. "And there's a stranger who just punched Peterson!"

The man on the other line stood up; a chair audibly creaked against the floor.

"Another wanderer?" he asked, clearly struck with fear at the thought.

The redhead started running to the door when a deputy blocked the way. Both seemed awkward and unsure what to do next. At last, the redhead made a bolt for the door, only to be tackled by the deputy who made use of thirty-two-year-old handcuffs.

"No, a stranger!" she shouted into the phone.

"That's impossible!" The man insisted.

The deputy dragged the redhead over to the counter reaching his hand out for the phone.

"She ain't lying sarge; there's some redhead punk who waltzed in here and punched Peterson in the face," The deputy shouted in the outstretched phone. "I'll bring him down once I finish my coffee."

The sheriff was silent for a moment. "Are you certain?" He asked at last.

The deputy sighed, a look of resignation in his eyes. "This job is nothing without its risks sir," he said firmly. "I'd just want to finish my coffee first."

"Take all the time you need William," the sheriff said quietly before hanging up.

Melonie refreshed the deputy's coffee cup while he cuffed the redhead to a water heater. Nobody did anything but continue to stare. The room was thick with anticipation as they watched the deputy lean back in his chair and slowly sipped his coffee.

At last, he reached the last drops, at which point he paid his bill and took the redhead away. Everyone stared after him, watching him slowly walk away. Peterson looked down at his blood covered hands, clearly distressed by them. Or at least what they represented to him. Something gone that should've remained.

A/N
That's odd, breaking from cycle seems almost dangerous. Why would that be?
Any guesses as to how this stranger is going to play into later chapters?