Flesh and Bone

1.2

Chapter Two| Whispered Warnings

I slide my hands into the warmth of my coat pockets. My left index finger slips through the gaping tear of fabric and forces me to curl my hand into a fist.

The letter is ice in the pocket of my jeans; so cold, it has begun to sink through the coarse fabric and burn skin. My head pulses with too many thoughts to comprehend but, one. The content of the letter and more urgently, how I proposed to fix the situation. I tread down a familiar path between high rise buildings, cars swooshing past me and the click of pedestrians' feet on the pavement.

The late afternoon blooms splashes of red and orange that stains the sky, but the sight of it slunk behind the city buildings. The shadows rose cloaking me in darkness. I didn't like walking at this time of day; the worst kinds of people lurked under the veil of darkness. Around the corner, a column of trees lined one side of the concrete path, brown leaves decorated the floor and crunched under the soles of my shoes. I cast a glance at a man slumped underneath one, his beard hung in white curls under his chin and the thin coat he wore did nothing to hide the blue veins that stuck out.

He squinted his eyes at me before veering his gaze off into the distance. Whatever he saw in me, I can only guess but I got the impression my beaten converse and the collection of stains adorning my clothes were the main cause of the frown pulling at his face.

I keep walking. Head low. Eyes lower. "Excuse me," a voice coughs and I snap my head behind me. The man scratches his beard, "Sir, can you spare some change?" He pleads, his voice a meek murmur. The man clad in a business suit runs a hand down his face and nods, fishing into his back pocket. I drop my eyes to the pavement, my hair cascading around my face in a makeshift scarf.

A few people shuffle down the pavement with me. Their heads bowing to their phones or venturing into their thoughts. I wonder what plagues their minds. I wonder what lives they live. I wonder what it would be like to care more about what you were going to wear each day then if you were able to afford new clothes. At the last tree, the flashing neon lights of Eden shine through the dark and force a flutter of nerves to wake in the pit of my stomach.

Here goes. I cross my fingers in my pocket.

The door opens with a small push, the bell announcing my entrance. Beer and sweat swarm my senses and I gag, the door slamming behind me. I have never gotten used to the smell in all my years here, but I knew after my shift I'd need a shower, the aroma is digging into my pores. No one notices me. The people here only care for what they clasp in the hand or what's behind the bar. I barely take a step and already Alyssa is striding over to me.

"Frey, whatcha doing here?" Alyssa raises a blonde eyebrow at me. Her name tag reads Emma today, and I purse my lips at her instead.

"Emma, really? I thought you were past your name stealing days." I tease, a smile curving my lips. The nerves forgotten for a moment.

"You know I don't like using my real name here." She whispers and drags me into the corner by the entrance, slinging the tray she carried under her arm. "Now, tell me why you're here. We both know you hate it and you're not working till Wednesday." She urges.

I sigh. "I'll tell you later." She tilts her head and gives me 'the look.' "I promise. I just need to speak with Amos first."

Alyssa opens her mouth but, a customer opens their mouth faster and shouts, demanding another beer for himself and his equally loud friends. Alyssa's shoulders deflate and she sucks in her no doubt, fifty other questions. "He's in the office." She hits me with one last pressing gaze and saunters to the bar.

I untuck and tuck a curl behind my ear, my ears zeroing in on the office in the left corner adjacent to the stage. If I stood on my toes, I could just make out the guitarist mop of shaggy hair. What was his name again...?