Memories Of A Witness

Chapter Nine

"That will be 8.95$," said the cashier, a scrawny blonde, who had been peaking at the demoralized young adult in front of her. "Are you Megan Maxwell?" she finally asked.

Megan startled, hearing her name. She looked at her name tag which was pinned on the orange polo shirt. Gabriela Garfield it read and she was the 4th person who had asked about her identity. If she said, yes, she knew what would come. 'I'm so sorry, I hope you will feel better, no matter wherever he is, your parents will always be watching over you' and so on. It didn't help her, in fact, it only made her sadness worse.   

"No, I'm not."  Megan gave her her credit car and when she pressed the pin code, she could feel her dubious stare.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you just had a strikingly resemblance to her," she said. "You know, I cried when I heard about the news. It broke me down how evil people can be. Truly disgusting. And they say it was the same murderer who ran his wife through."

Megan kept silent. She felt sick to her stomach. It was exasperating how many people liked to gossip. She imagined her father going through the same process when her mother had died. 

She quietly grabbed the bag, asked the cashier where the ladies' room was and strode through the shoppers with her head held low. She locked herself in a stall and whimpered silently like a wounded cub for five minutes. Then went back out as if nothing had happened.

Her bag was dangling in her hand and she couldn't wait to finally devour them. Her appetite had in some way returned. 

Megan felt a hand on her shoulder and a familiar voice stated her name. She stiffened and cautiously turned around to see an unexpected person standing in front of her. 

"Blaise?" she said, surprised.

"Where the hell did you go? I thought someone abducted you," he uttered, his eyebrows contracted.

The lass stared at him in disbelief. "You told me to leave."

"Yes, but... You were just so stubborn," he said. "I thought you were gonna wait all day for me, since you said you had nowhere else to go."

She blinked at him. So did he want her to stay or to leave? 

He sighed. "Follow me."

She did as he told, staying close to his shoulder. Passersby goggled at her in an expression of bewilderment. Isn't she the girl on the news? But didn't she look heavier? 

Megan ignored the whispers and fixated on the art on Blaise's body. From up close she could see his tattoos more clearer. A tree tattoo was inked on his neck which presumably also went all the way down to his hips. His most discernible designs on his arms were a mandala pattern, an angel wing, a skull, a caged bird, a falcon and a quote from Chilean-French filmmaker Alejandro Jodorowsky - BIRDS BORN IN A CAGE THINK FREEDOM IS A CRIME. 

Blaise opened the door and led her into a commodious, but idiosyncratic room. It was much cooler than outdoor air and a faint whiff of cigarette was in the air.  A floor mirror and a desk nestled in the corner of the room with countless drawn papers embellishing the black walls. Not far away stood a tattoo chair, mayo tray and a chair where the fluorescent bars shed light the most. It was antiseptically clean as the black-and-white linoleum floor shimmered. 

"Sit there," he ordered. 

A sofa was right next to the entrance door which she hadn't noticed. Megan did what he told.

"What did you buy?"

"A juice and peanut butter crackers."

"Crackers?" He asked and raised an eyebrow at her. "You used to hate them. You said they were high in calories."