Page 2 of Diners, Damsels & Wolves

Two

Clarissa

T he roar of the engine cut off and Clarissa hoisted herself from the car. She looked over her shoulder at the driveway again. Empty.

She’d been looking behind her since she left Donna’s Diner. The intense blue eyes of Alister, coupled with his ominous last words, hung over her. Her nerves were frayed; anxiety bubbled in her stomach. On the drive home, she’d been so wound up she yelped in fright when a car on the perpendicular street honked.

But her worries had been in vain. No one followed her and she hadn’t seen the green SUV since the group left the diner. With a heavy sigh, she trudged up the steps into the double-wide. It was white, rusty, starting to fall apart, and her home for the last twenty-seven years. She had a lot to do before she went to Jeff and Eugene’s bar.

“Aunty,” she called out, “I’m home.”

“Maddy, is that you?”

“No, aunty, it’s Clarissa. Maddy’s daughter.”

She knelt in front of the recliner. Her aunt had shoulder-length, dark brown hair, light hazel eyes, and the same heart-shaped face and full bottom lip as Clarissa. At first glance, with her sharp gaze and plump rosy cheeks, no one would suspect Rachel was sick.

Rachel squinted, then looked startled. “Of course you are, I knew that. I was testing you.”

“Did I pass?”

“With flying colors.” Rachel smiled, her face bright and alert. “Now tell me, how was your day at school? You had a math test today, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did. I think it went well.” She kept her response generic until she knew which era Rachel was talking about.

“Good. You inherited your mother’s brains. Good thing too, my brother was dumber than a bag o’ rocks.”

“Thanks, aunty. Are you hungry? How about I make us something to eat. What do you feel like? We have the stuff for rice and beans or spaghetti.”

“Spaghetti sounds wonderful! I can make the garlic bread.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

Reaching out her hand, she steadied her aunt as she stood. Rachel wasn’t an old lady. Her body was healthy for a fifty-six-year-old, but her mind was an entirely different story.

Together they went into the little kitchen and started preparing the food. While the sauce was simmering, Clarissa started a pot of water for the noodles and readied a pan for the frozen hot dogs. She set the margarine and the last of the Wonder bread on the counter in front of Rachel, who smeared it absently.

Since Clarissa put all the sharp knives in a drawer with child locks and added locks to the stove knobs, buttering bread was about as far as Rachel got in the kitchen nowadays. Which was fine by Clarissa. She didn’t need Rachel snooping around and getting hurt while she was at work.

“Are those kids still bothering you?” The question caught Clarissa off guard. Was Rachel talking about her school days?

When she didn’t respond, Rachel continued, stepping away from the bread she apparently forgot she was buttering to sit at the kitchen table. “You know those girls only do that because they’re insecure about their own bodies. And the boys go along with it because they’re hormone-riddled fools who would do anything to get a pair of boobs to look at them.”

Ah, she was thinking about high school. Rachel was almost never in the present decade, usually fixating on junior year in high school, either Clarissa’s or her own.

“I know, aunty. And no, they weren’t too bad today.”

“Good. If they ever pull a stunt like that again, you let me know and you can homeschool. I’ll also get Greg to cuff the little bitches and toss them in jail.”

“I know you would. Thank you for always looking out for me,” she said.

“Hey, don’t look so down in the dumps. High school is awful for everyone, but it doesn’t last forever. Okay? Keep your chin up, and you’ll go far, girl.” Rachel smiled.

Clarissa’s heart squeezed. The truth was, they had pulled the stunt again, and again, and each time it got worse. She never told Rachel though. She knew her aunt would have followed through on every idle threat she’d made to her school bullies. She hadn’t wanted that. So, she kept her mouth shut and endured in silence until that last blissful day when she graduated.

She was a big girl, she’d learned how to take care of herself. In the coming years, she got over her fears of being naked. Though it wasn’t easy, and she still avoided public showers as if they sprayed burning acid. And every day she thanked her lucky stars she was out of school before phones with cameras were popularized.

Finishing dinner, she made a plate and placed it in front of Rachel. She looked at it, confused.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Dinner, I made you spaghetti and hotdogs with garlic bread.” Clarissa sat down with her own plate.

“You made this? Oh, I’m so proud of you! Look how fancy this is for your first time cooking. You’re bound to be a five-star chef one day. I guarantee it.”

“Thanks, aunty, I’m happy you like it. There’s plenty more, so eat up as much as you want.”

“Oh, if you insist.”

When Rachel finished her first plate, Clarissa scooped her another portion and put the rest in containers for Rachel’s lunch. Her stomach grumbled. She was still trying to pay off the maintenance on her car from three months ago. Groceries were non-existent until next payday.

She rolled up her sleeves, did the dishes, and cleaned the stove. Checking her watch, she realized she didn’t have too much more time.

“Did you have a shower today, aunty? I got a new body wash, it’s rose, I think you’d really like it.”

“No, I didn’t, but that sounds lovely. I can go try it now.”

Clarissa waited until she heard the shower running, then started on the rest of her chores. She cleaned up the sitting room and recliner, checking the reusable stainless steel water bottles on the end table. Empty, that was good. Rachel was still drinking water. The recliner was dry. Another good sign: Rachel was still able to get herself up to the bathroom.

Going through the fridge, she found the meal she made for Rachel’s lunch was eaten, the empty plate put back in the fridge. She chuckled—if that was the worst that happened, she’d happily take it.

Running between the bedrooms, she started some laundry. She’d have to remember to put it in the dryer when she got home. The shower cut off. After waiting a minute, she went to the door.

“How did you like it?”

“It smells wonderful! I feel like a princess,” Rachel said.

“Good. I’ll make a note to get more.” In truth, Clarissa had been using that line on Rachel to get her to bathe for about a year now. She was able-bodied enough to do it—if she remembered.

Rachel came out of the bathroom. She looked at Clarissa and her face changed. Instead of calm and relaxed, she was abruptly anxious and agitated. Not good.

“What’s wrong, Rachel?”

“Claire?”

“Yes.”

“You smell like a bear.”

Clarissa pinched the bridge of her nose. Not this again. “I haven’t seen any bears, aunty. I’ve been at the diner all day. I probably just smell like grease.”

“No, you smell like a bear . I know that scent, I’d recognize it anywhere, and you smell like a bear. That’s not good. Bears aren’t good. They set things on fire! Don’t you remember?”

“Yes, I remember the fire.”

“My brother, my baby brother. Maddy, he and his wife died in the fire, but you survived. It was the bears who did it! And they know you survived … You have to stay away from the bears!”

“Okay. It’s okay. I’ll stay away from the bears. Don’t worry. Here, let me change and then I won’t smell like one, alright?” Clarissa said.

Rachel nodded, suspicion plain on her face.

Closing her bedroom door, Clarissa leaned against it. It was cheap, hollow, pressed wood, worn and falling apart like everything else in the trailer. Her room was at the opposite end of the double-wide from Rachel’s and the bathroom. It was dinky and cramped. A cheap tension rod she hung over her compact dresser in one end served as a closet. A yellowed rectangular window sat above a small bed covered in purple sheets and a quilt, once vibrant and cheery, now dingy and worn. The small desk she used for studying in high school had been converted into a makeshift vanity with her hair items and perfume.

Heaving, she rubbed the back of her neck. She didn’t have time to properly soothe Rachel, so she hoped changing would placate her. Stripping down to her panties, she let her hair down, then tugged a brush through it. All she wanted was to shower and fall asleep. Maybe tomorrow.

After spritzing herself with peony perfume, Clarissa went to her little mirror to redo her hair.

Pausing, she looked at herself. Only thirty-one and she had premature crow’s feet and circles under her eyes. Her chestnut hair had a dull look to it and her hazel eyes were tired.

Thirty-one and still stuck in this stupid little town, working a job going nowhere, her only family disappearing before her eyes. She was never overly ambitious or had any desire to be a CEO or high-ranking anything. She just wanted to be happy. Hell, she’d settle for getting laid once in a while, but dating was on the back burner while Rachel was sick.

That, and her early life experiences left her more than uncomfortable being bare in front of others in that sense. Her eyes dropped from her face to her neck, down her shoulder to her forearm, over her left breast and sternum, spilling over her belly. Twisted, red skin, puckered.

Picking her brush up, she gathered the top half of her hair into a bun, leaving the rest down. She pulled a fresh sports bra, a black turtleneck, and a pair of old jeans from the dresser. On a whim, she grabbed her necklace. It had been carved by her father and was one of the few things she had from before. Wearing it sometimes brought her comfort, as if her parents were still with her. Tonight, she needed all the comfort she could get.

She kissed Rachel on the forehead, pulled on her shoes, and left. Locking the door behind her, she ran to the car and drove back to The Barrel for what promised to be a very long night.

* * *

By the time eleven rolled around, Clarissa’s feet were killing her, her eyes stung, and her back ached. Then she spent another thirty minutes helping them catch up on dishes and trash, cleaning what she could.

The bar was covered in retro paneling, the tables and chairs were made from old whisky barrels, and the lights grimy. Everything was sticky and covered in peanut shells and it drove her crazy. She scrubbed her hands three times, then went to get her purse and say good night. Eugene handed her a wad of cash as she left.

The patrons at The Barrel were nice enough: typical small-town drunks and bored locals looking for a night out. The tips were good and the work was no different than waiting tables at the diner, but Clarissa didn’t think she’d make this a regular occurrence. It was far too crowded and far too messy. The jukebox had been blaring all night, making a headache settle in right behind her eyes.

No, she would stick to pancakes and mornings. Even on the busiest days, Donna’s Diner was effortless to manage and ten times cleaner, with its pale pink walls and fun-colored booths.

Walking across the open lot, she inhaled. Fresh, cool air was a welcome sting in her nose and throat after so long inside the stuffy bar. A breeze tousled her hair and cooled the sweat on her face. She smiled; April was starting to warm up.

Rolling her shoulders, she headed to her car. Sleep was next on her list. She had to be at Donna’s Diner by six the next morning.

As she pulled out her keys, Clarissa froze. Someone was leaning against her car.

Panic crept up her spine, and her body trembled.

The parking lot was empty. She could pretend she’d forgotten something inside and turn around, but that would leave her back exposed. She could run, but it was a long way to the front door, and the other person might be faster.

The figure pushed away from the car, moving in her direction. As he sauntered closer, Clarissa caught a glimpse of brilliant blue eyes and shoulder-length blonde hair. It was Alister, the man from the diner that morning. Had he heard Jeff and Eugene ask her to pick up a shift?

“You never did give me your name.” He stood inches from her.

She had to crane her neck up to look at his face. It was angular, with a sharp nose and high cheekbones. What should have been a handsome combination made her sick to her core. She felt the turbulent energy again. Everything about this man projected volatile and violent , and something else lurked just beneath the surface that wasn’t human.

Instead of fleeing or screaming, she couldn’t move, her head yelling six ways to Sunday that this man was wrong—very, very wrong. Her heart hammered. Palming her keys, she shifted her grip to the little pepper spray keychain. She’d never needed to use it before and prayed it hadn’t expired.

“Hmmm,” he growled. “I can hear your heart flittering away. It sounds delicious.” He stroked the side of her face. She flinched away. Gripping her jaw, he yanked her close. “And I can smell you. Your sweat mixed with the perfume of peonies. It’s enticing.”

He nuzzled his face into her neck, then drew his tongue along her temple. Tears welled in her eyes. Her body still wouldn’t move. “I do hope you don’t stand there silent the whole time. I went through a lot of trouble to be here, what with giving my brothers the slip and then sitting in this stinking parking lot for hours. It would be such a shame if you let me down now.”

As he pulled back, she saw his eyes were no longer blue, but the horrible yellow, with pupils like slits. Seeing those eyes, the terrible yellow that flashed in the diner, her heartbeat quickened, then stopped, frozen in terror. The hand on her face gripped her tighter, sharp claws biting into her flesh. He shook her.

The inexplicable freeze on her limbs released. Squeezing her eyes shut, she brought up her pepper spray and pushed the button.

“What the fuck!” He dropped her.

Turning on her heel, she sprinted toward The Barrel. She cursed herself for parking on the side lot away from the front door. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Taking a hard right, she directed herself to the front entrance. Her boot slipped on the loose gravel. At the same instant, something slammed into her from behind. A scream tore from her throat.

Alister grabbed her shoulders, forcibly flipping her to her back. He slammed her into the ground. Kicking and scratching, she clawed at any part of him she could reach.

Punching her in the stomach, he knocked the wind out of her, then kneeled on her thighs. Clarissa tried to kick her legs, but they couldn’t move. He was too heavy. She went to spray him again; he slapped it out of her hand and laughed.

“Foolish girl!”

Grabbing her wrists, he leaned down, inhaling by her neck before licking her jawline. She wanted to scream, but all that came out was a strangled sob.

She closed her eyes, the feeble attempts to struggle getting her nowhere. The sounds of showers running and girls’ laughter echoing off tiled walls filled her mind. Against her will, she was transported back to her high school locker room.

The weight that was pressing down on her was lifted. Keeping her eyes closed, she curled in on herself. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be.

New sounds echoed around her. Sounds that were happening outside her memories: a scuffle and grunts as bone and flesh collided. Opening one eye a fraction, she saw there was another figure now. The new arrival brought his fist into Alister’s hooked nose, then another across his jaw.

Alister stumbled, spitting on the ground before launching himself at the new arrival. Her heart caught in her throat. A stranger had stepped in to save her, putting his own safety on the line.

Eyes blown wide, Clarissa watched in horror. Alister was strong, too strong to be a normal man. Would this good Samaritan get hurt? Then what would happen? But this brave man, this protector in the night, held his own. Receiving a hit to the mouth—a hit that should have sent him flying—simply disrupted his balance. She didn’t even see any blood. Didn’t people normally bleed when they were punched in the mouth?

This good Samaritan was holding his own like a champ. Maybe Alister wasn’t inhumanly strong, and she was just inhumanly weak.

Immediately regaining his footing, the stranger got in three more hits, kicking the back of Alister’s knees and making him fall. One final punch to the back of the head and Alister landed face first in the dirt.

The good Samaritan stared down at him, as if ensuring he wasn’t going to get back up anytime soon. Relaxing his stance, he turned to face Clarissa.

“Ma’am?” he said softly through his labored breath, his voice gruff. “Are you, did he hurt you? I mean, do you need to go to the hospital?”

She stared back at him stupidly, her mind not working yet. Blinking, she realized there were tears in her eyes. Brushing them away, she looked from the good Samaritan to Alister laying in the dirt.

Her stomach churned and bile burned her throat. Turning her head, she wretched, but there wasn’t anything in her stomach. She dry heaved a few times more. Drawing her sleeve across her mouth, she wiped away the thick strings of saliva and sat up. The good Samaritan was kneeling by her, watching intently.

“I don’t,” she panted and swallowed. “I don’t need to go to the hospital. I’ll be alright.”

He nodded and said nothing while she continued to catch her breath. Standing up, her legs were shaky, and he offered a hand to her. She cringed away from it, and he let it fall to his side.

“Ummm.” She ran a hand over the loose hair plastered to her face. “Thank you. I think … I think I need to go now.” She stopped and stared at her empty hand.

“Ma’am?”

“I … He threw my keys.”

“I’m not so sure you should be driving.”

“I need my keys! My keys! Where are my keys!”

The man sighed and started casing the area. She assumed he was searching for her lost items, but she had no idea how he was able to see anything. Jeff and Eugene seriously needed more lights in their parking lot.

He found her keys. Not too far from where she’d been, her discarded purse a few steps away. He dropped them into her hands without touching her.

“How far do you have to drive?” he asked.

“None of your business,” she snapped, walking to her car.

Jogging to catch up, he walked next to her.

“I’m not interested in following you, I’m just concerned. You seem shaken, and while understandable, it begs the question if you should be driving.”

“I only have one car. I have to work in the morning. Unless you want to pick me up for my six AM shift.”

“I could,” he offered.

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t like strange men knowing where I live.”

“I’ll drive you home and we can talk on the way, then I won’t be a stranger anymore,” he said.

She scowled at him. “No.”

“Don’t get mad, it was your suggestion after all.”

“I was being sarcastic,” she said.

“I know,” he said. She thought she heard a smile in his voice. Why were men so infuriating?

She pinched the bridge of her nose. Her head was pounding. All she wanted was to get clean and go to sleep.

“Listen, mister,” she began in forced calm. “I appreciate you beating up that scumbag, I really do, but you’re still a stranger. I have to get up early for work tomorrow, and the longer I stay here bickering with you, the less time I get to sleep tonight.”

“Fair enough. In that case, I hope you return home safely.”

“Thank you, bye.”

Unlocking her little white Taurus, she got in. The good Samaritan closed her door for her, then stood back, watching her turn the key and leave. Him watching her didn’t feel nearly as violating as when Alister had. This wasn’t a menacing or forced possessiveness; he seemed to be genuinely concerned. As the shock wore off, it annoyed her a bit.

Just because she got attacked in the parking lot didn’t mean she couldn’t drive herself home. It didn’t mean she needed constant watch to ensure she didn’t need rescuing again. What was with that guy?

Where had he come from anyway? She hadn’t heard anyone walking out of the bar while she was with Alister. How had he knocked Alister out so easily? She knew she wasn’t a match in a boxing fight against any guy, or most girls for that matter, so she really wasn’t a residing expert in this area.

Maybe the good Samaritan was a heavyweight champion. Bored with small-town life, he roamed around looking for scumbags to beat up. We have our own Batman in Fairville; she started chuckling. As a kid, she’d always had a huge crush on Batman.

Parking the car, she went inside the double-wide. Rachel left the TV on when she went to bed. Pale flashing light illuminated the dingy white room, the sagging brown sofa, and the rickety recliner. Turning off the flickering screen, she checked the trailer. Everything was as it should be, and Rachel was sleeping peacefully.

Clarissa forced herself to put the wet laundry in the dryer before locking herself in the bathroom for a shower. The steam felt amazing over her knotted muscles and sore limbs. Only her fatigue was strong enough to force her to leave the comfort of the scalding water.

Wrapping a bathrobe around herself, she gathered up her dirty clothes and went to her room. Her nose curled as she sniffed the bundle of clothes. Everything stank of beer.

Sorting them into her hamper, she paused. Something was missing. She tore through the articles of clothing. It wasn’t there. She sat on her bed, her head falling into her hands. Her necklace.

Her father’s carving was gone. It must have ripped off when Alister attacked her. If she was lucky, maybe she could find it in the parking lot tomorrow morning.

A shiver ran over her, eyes filling with tears. Everything that happened came crashing down on her. Curling in on herself, she cried until she fell asleep.