Chapter 2

As Emily's shift came to an end, she gathered her things and headed for the door. But just as she was about to leave, she remembered that she hadn't thanked Michael for stepping in earlier and stopping that woman from hurting her. She felt a pang of guilt, knowing that she should have expressed her gratitude sooner.

Determined to thank him before she left, Emily rushed into the kitchen and collided with Michael, who was just emerging with a tray laden with cups of lemonade. The collision caused him to lose his grip on the tray, and the cups tumbled to the floor, their contents spilling everywhere. They both stood there, stunned by what had just happened.

 

"Goodness!" Michael exclaimed, his jaws clinched. "What's the matter with you, Em?"

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," she cried as she knelt and gathered the shattered glass into the tray.

Michael stared at Emily as she cleaned up the mess on the floor. After a few seconds, he bent down to help, his movements a bit jerky and agitated. As he reached for a broken piece of glass, he winced as it sliced into his skin. A thin line of blood appeared on his wrist, and he pulled his hand back in surprise.

"Oh my gosh!" Emily gasped, as she noticed a small shard of glass embedded in Michael's wrist. He had pulled his hand back quickly, and a small trickle of blood was already forming. "Let's get you some first aid," she said, her voice firm but reassuring.

As Michael removed the shard of glass from his wrist, a small stream of blood gushed out. He looked pale and a little shaky. "I'm going to go clean this up in the restroom," he said, his voice strained. Without another word, he walked out of the kitchen, leaving Emily alone with her thoughts.

After Michael had left, Emily finished cleaning up the mess, disposing of the broken glass in the garbage. She felt guilty and responsible for what had happened, and she wondered if there was anything she could do to make it up to him.  

"Hey, Chris, do you know where the first-aid kit is?" Emily called out to Chris, who had just come in with a tray of food leftovers.  

Chris placed the tray of leftovers in the sink and turned to face Emily, a mischievous grin on his face. "Did you really need first aid?" he asked, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. Emily just stared at him, not sure what he meant.

"What are you talking about?" Emily asked, genuinely puzzled. 

Chris doubled over in laughter, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "You're killing me, Em," he said, wiping a tear from his eye.  "How can you forget such suffocation?" 

"Do you think this is funny?" Emily said, finally realizing what he was referring to.

"You should have seen the look on your face!" Chris said, crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out, trying to imitate her expression. "Your eyes were so wide, and your mouth was hanging open!" He snickered, clearly enjoying himself. Emily resisted the temptation to slap him in the face.

"You were enjoying watching me get strangled, weren't you?" She inquired, her eyes narrowing and her head nodding slightly.

This new statement sent him into a fresh fit of laughter, his eyes watering as he struggled to catch his breath. Every time he started to calm down, he would glance at her, and the whole process would start again. Finally, he wiped the tears from his eyes and tried to speak. "I'm really sorr -" But the sight of her expression stopped him in his tracks, and the giggles started again. 

Having noticed Michael heading to the restroom earlier, Emily figured he was probably still there. She made her way down the hall and towards the restroom. 

As she peeked into the restroom, Emily saw Michael standing in front of the mirror. He was so deep in thought that he didn't notice her standing there. She hesitated, unsure of whether to speak up or to leave him alone. He had clearly been distracted by something, and she didn't want to intrude.

She cleared her throat and spoke again, this time a little louder. "Mike?" she said, gently shaking his arm. 

He turned to face her, and the look in his hazel eyes was one of pain and sorrow. It was clear that something was weighing heavily on his mind. She could feel the tension in the air, and she wanted to help him in any way she could. "What's going on, Mike?" she asked, her voice soft and concerned.

He mumbled "Nothing" as he tried to turn away, but she held his gaze and wouldn't let him leave. "Please, Mike," she said. "I want to talk about whatever it is that's bothering you. You can trust me." She looked him in the eye, wanting him to know that she was there for him.

He nodded in acknowledgment, and she continued, "I see you've done a good job of cleaning the wound." She gingerly took his wrist in her hand and looked at the cut.

 

She frowned, confused. "Where's the wound?" she asked. The skin on his wrist was smooth and unblemished, as if the wound had never been there at all. "How is that even possible?" She stared at him, wide-eyed, waiting for an answer. 

"Just go home," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Then he turned and walked out of the restroom, leaving her alone, standing there in confusion. 

"Going home is probably the best option right now," she muttered to herself. As she headed towards the exit, she heard a voice behind her. "Where are you off to?" it said. She knew who it was before she even turned around. "You can't just leave like this," Chris said, clearly agitated. "Elsa isn't here yet." He followed her out the door. She stopped in her tracks, turning to face him. 

"Listen, I'm done covering for Elsa. I can't keep dealing with her tantrums and mistakes," she said, her voice rising in anger. "I'm sick of having to cover for that jerk." She mounted her bicycle.

As he was about to respond, something caught his eye. He turned, and Emily followed his gaze. There, walking towards them, was none other than Elsa. They watched as Elsa emerged from a gleaming white Lamborghini, her heels clicking against the pavement. She nodded to the driver before walking towards the entrance, her dark hair flowing behind her. 

Chris couldn't help but stare. Elsa was dressed in a short white dress with black polka dots and thin straps that hugged her body, accentuating her curves. The glow of her skin was highlighted by the shimmering body lotion she had applied, and her deep red lipstick gave her lips a bold and dramatic look. Her thick, dark hair was perfectly curled and rested on her shoulders, giving her a classic and elegant appearance. Every inch of her screamed sophistication and glamour.

Elsa was the same age as Emily. She had been the object of Chris's affections since they were in high school, and it seemed that nothing had changed. With a resigned sigh, Emily turned and pedaled home, leaving Chris alone in the parking lot. He ran back into the restaurant, realizing that she was gone.

As he entere, he saw Elsa sitting in a chair near the kitchen, her legs crossed and her eyes fixed on her nail file. The air around her seemed to exude an air of confidence and self-assurance. She looked completely at ease, almost as if she was used to being the center of attention. 

"Why haven't you been coming to work, Elsa?" He asked, attempting to keep his nerves in check.

"Well, hello to you, too, Chris," she said, not even bothering to look up from her nails. She continued to file them, her movements precise and controlled. "I've been busy. You know how it is," she said with a casual shrug. Her tone was nonchalant, but there was a hint of smugness in her voice. "I've only been absent for three days," she said, without even lifting her eyes from her nail file. "I hardly think that's a reason for concern." Her tone was flippant, as if his question was a mere trifle.

"Do you realize how difficult it was for me to cover for you?" he said, his voice more serious now. "My brother, the manager, was going to notice your absence. How do you think that will look?" He felt a sense of frustration building inside him. It was clear that she didn't care about the impact her absence had on the restaurant or her coworkers.

 

She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his. "Please," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Then, she went back to filing her nails as if nothing had happened.

Chris let out a sigh of frustration. "I'm not trying to be difficult, but the customers have already placed their orders," he said, his voice slightly raised. "I need you to help prepare them."

 

"You expect me to cook?" she said, a look of disbelief on her face. "But that would ruin my manicure!" She held up her hands, showing off her freshly painted nails. "I just got them done, and they look amazing." She frowned at him, clearly annoyed by his suggestion.

"I can't believe that's your priority right now," he said, a note of disbelief in his voice. "You've been MIA for three days, and you're worried about your obnoxious nails?" He shook his head, stifling a chuckle.

"A girl with unpolished nails is a fool's errand," she said, a sly smile on her lips.

"That's it!" He shouted, his temper finally boiling over. "I've had it with you, Elsa. I'm done!"

"Oh, please!" she said, her voice rising to match his. "Do you think I'm blind to the way you look at me? You're always staring at me." She narrowed her eyes, giving him a pointed look.

The line was crossed, he thought. He was going to tell Michael about her absences, regardless of the consequences. She had been taking advantage of the situation for too long, and it was time for her to face the music. He couldn't care less if she got fired; it was about time she faced the consequences of her actions. 

As he turned to leave, he felt his legs give out beneath him. He stumbled and fell to the floor, unable to catch himself. He tried to get up, but his limbs were like lead. It was as if they were glued to the ground. He looked up and saw her walking toward him, her heels clicking against the floor. He tried to back away, but he couldn't move. Before he could react, she stepped on his hand, her sharp heels digging into his palm. He howled in pain and tried to free his hand, but it was stuck fast.

Her words echoed in his mind. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." The way she said it, so calm and collected, sent a shiver down his spine. 

The invisible force that had been holding him down suddenly released its grip, and he was able to move again. He sat up, his mind whirling with questions.  

They kept swirling in his mind, each one more confusing than the last. How had she known his intentions? Was it possible that she had read his mind? But that was impossible, wasn't it? And why had he been unable to move? Had she somehow used her mind to control him? Or was there something more sinister at play? He shivered at the thought, a chill running down his spine. Could she be some sort of paranormal being?