Page 2 of Bloody Quarter

“How ya doin’ sugar? What can I getcha?”

“I’m actually here about the job,” I said and pointed to the sign on the door.

“You ever worked tables before,” she asked, stabbing the bun on her head with her pen. It stuck there like a decoration.

“No, ma’am.”

“What experience do you have?”

I stuffed my hand into my pocket and looked away. “I’m sorry this was a mistake.” I turned to leave.

“Now hold yer horses. I didn’t say I wouldn’t hire someone without experience,” Harper said, walking around the counter and wiping her hands off on her white apron.

“I don’t have any experience, ma’am,” I said, clutching my small bag tighter. The only paying job I’d ever worked was stocking shelves at a grocery store. I’d only been there a year before I got tossed in jail.

“Are you willing to learn?” She looked at the bag in my hand, and it felt like I was waving a red flag announcing that I’d just gotten out of prison.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Come by Monday, and we’ll see what we can do,” Harper said.

“Really? Thank you, ma’am, I really appreciate that,” I said, excited at the prospect of working and making money.

“Call me Miss Harper. When was the last time you ate, hun?” She held her hand out toward one of the stools at the counter, but I hesitated, knowing I needed to make every penny I had last two full days. If not more.

“I can’t pay.” A flush of embarrassment swept through my body. I couldn’t even afford the dollar-fifty coffee that was advertised on the board.

“This meal is on the house. I made way too much gumbo, and I hate to see it go to waste. Come on now, hun, sit down.” Miss Harper pulled out a cup and poured a coffee before unwrapping a large piece of cornbread and setting it down. There was no way to say no to that, and my stomach led me to the table.

I probably shouldn’t have missed breakfast, but it was tradition that you didn’t eat breakfast the day you were getting let out and instead gave your food to someone else. It was a screwed-up version of catching the bouquet at a wedding. It was supposed to bring you good luck so that you would get out sooner. I hadn’t seen it work once while I was inside, but everyone still insisted.

“Thank you, Miss Harper,” I said, sitting down on the stool and pulling off a small chunk. That golden morsel tasted like a million-dollar meal, and I moaned as it hit my tongue.

“Here you go, hun,” Miss Harper said, setting the gumbo down and then waving at the new people walking in. I’d never been a foodie, but now here I was, eating like I was inspecting each warm bite.

By the time I left Harper’s Diner, I had a little spring in my step and a dab of optimism in my heart. My next stop was Second Chance, and as I stared up at the blue and white sign, all the joy that had been building dissipated on the afternoon breeze. Was living at a halfway house really any better than prison? At least there, I knew what to expect each day, but out here in the real world again, I had no idea what tomorrow would bring.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door.

Present Day

Greyson

Putting the car into neutral and shutting the lights off, I let it roll the rest of the way into the abandoned church parking lot and tucked myself among the shadows. I’d done this so many times that it had become as part of my routine as anything else was when I was on the hunt. Nothing changed from my modus operandi, at least not anymore.

Stepping out into the cool night air, I took a deep breath and rolled my shoulders as I stared out at the mausoleums. They surrounded one side and the back of the church while the other side was scraggly trees and abandoned row houses. For the most part, it was always me and the dead. The deconsecrated church had come up for sale three years ago, and I wasted no time snatching it up. I didn’t use it to play with my victims. I had no need when a mausoleum—that had been in the family for generations—had a crypt beneath, unbeknownst to my parents.

Popping the trunk, I stared down at my prize before heaving out the guy I’d been stalking all night. He didn’t think anyone was watching, and even if they were, no one stopped to help anyone anymore, which allowed scum like him to flourish. But I saw everything, including how his elderly mother shied away from his touch. Her eyes filled with fear when she dropped the grocery bag she had been carrying, and all the items spilled out onto the sidewalk. I saw how he glared at her. He roughly picked up a few items and shoved them into her arms, leaving the rest behind as he dragged her across the street with a grip that I knew would leave bruises. He didn’t think anyone heard him as he told her that she was useless and he wished that she would die already, but I did.

I’d watched him as he took his mother into an apartment building that was known for being rough and dangerous and then left a few minutes later. He’d walked down the street smiling and flirting with those around him like he hadn’t just abused his elderly mother. I even waited while he ate dinner with his date at the five-star restaurant that sold the best seafood around and then stood in the dark of the living room as the two fucked in the bedroom.

When they fell asleep, I made my move.

New Orleans was my home. In my time here, I’d perfected the art of being seen and yet never noticed. I loved it here and thought of myself as the trash removal, but I preferred the nickname the newspapers gave for the disappearances of those who were never seen again, The Forsaken.

I heaved the passed-out man over my shoulder and closed the trunk before wandering down the path that led directly into the cemetery. Most people didn’t come here at night, but the dead had never bothered me. In many ways, I was one of them. I just happened to have flesh on my bones.

Unlocking and pushing open the door to my family’s resting place, I stepped into the utter darkness and closed it behind me. I didn’t need the light to know where I was going. From the time I was little, I would close my eyes and count the steps to walls and chairs until I could see a room in my mind.