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“I wasn’t sure what she’d want.”
When I walked into the small little coffee shop and bakery, I was overwhelmed by nostalgia, and my wallet took the hit. Well, technically Nico’s.
It’s nice to have a friend to look forward to seeing.
Mario laughs again.
“You’re a good friend,” he says. “And in our world, that’s a high compliment.”
“Thanks, Mario.”
We drive a few more miles to the diner that has been Julia’s and my spot for a long time.
The second Mario stops the car, I hop out, closing the door and rounding the back of the car to follow him in.
I have my coffee in my hand, and I smile to myself. This is the start of something new, something even better than before.
I can see that she’s texted me, and I’m about to respond when I feel a hand against me.
My back straightens, immediately knowing that something isn’t right.
Julia: Forgive me.
There’s a noise, loud and sudden. And then a pain exploding across my face and neck.
Something hits my head, hard. A rough hand tries to cover my face with a scratchy towel, smelling of something awful. I can barely process what’s happening as I throw an elbow back and try to squirm free.
No.
My coffee smashes against the ground, the cold liquid splashing my ankles.
That’s when I hear Mario yelling. “Run. Christina. Run!”
Run. My mind is moving too slow, and my feet won’t do what I want.
There are men fighting nearby, their bodies slamming against things as people scream.
I need to get away.
Think, Christina. Get it together.
But I can’t, no matter how hard I try to focus, it’s like a heavy fog closes around what I can see. This isn’t right.
Gunshots echo throughout the room. The sound shakes something loose inside me. I open my mouth and scream.
Someone should be helping us. Surely the gunshots and the fight will bring the authorities, right?
Why is no one helping us?
The strange man opens the door and shoves me down, overpowering my flimsy attempts to fight against his hold. Cautionary tales from real life crime shows play in my mind. Whatever you do, don’t be taken to a second location.
I fight harder, to no avail. His large, clammy hands force me into the backseat of a car and hold me down.
The door slams shut and I’m trapped. I’m vaguely aware of my name being shouted.
Mario. Oh, God, Mario.
I can see him just beyond the darkened glass of the car window. He’s running towards us with his gun out.
