Bury Me Before You Go (Pandemonium Book 1) Page 2
Swallowing a relieved sigh, I nod even though he doesn’t see it since he’s already walking past me. Rude, but whatever. I need the money, so I’d probably call him Almighty and lick his shoes if it would give me the job.
Desperate? A lot.
But I sure wish he won’t spend too much time here because the guy who I first thought was nice-looking, a hair over thirty-year-old, giving some hot Mark Wahlberg vibes, turned out to be all of that but with a bad attitude.
Dean gives me a tour around the coffee shop while I tie a red apron around my waist and try to memorize everything, but damn, he isn’t wasting time on details. I’m going to need a written manual for this, that’s for sure. My mind is a disorganized hodgepodge from all the information he’s grunted at me so far as he pushes the double doors open and motions toward the bar. There’s a woman with short, multicolored hair and a petite form, stacking glasses.
“Hayley,” Dean calls out, and the Rainbow Dash’s human form spins her head toward us, flashing a dazzling smile, but her attitude changes nothing in Dean’s dull tone as he continues, “This is our new waitress Cierra”—he pauses, glancing at me—"with a C.”
This guy, seriously.
I’m not sure if that’s his way of joking or if he’s annoyed with me already. Keeping my face straight, I greet Hayley with a handwave and a hi. She wipes her hands to the white dish rug, stepping closer, and extends her hand to me. “Hey, so cool you were able to start on such short notice.”
“The sooner, the better for me.”
Hayley reads the slight confusion from my face and elaborates, “I’m this grumpy face’s sister. Katie, our long-term waitress, broke her arm, and we’ve been in neck-deep trouble ever since.”
That’s probably why Dean hired me on the phone without seeing me first. It might also be a reason for his attitude, or at least I can hope it is.
“Well, I’m here to help.” I glimpse at Dean, choosing my words carefully since his presence by my side is ridiculously aversive. “Hope I got it all registered from the quick tour.”
Hayley laughs, motioning me to the bar with her. “Come on. I’ll continue from here and get you settled. Do you want coffee?”
“Uh, no, I actually prefer tea.” I follow her while Dean is already walking back to his little office with tense shoulders. He could use some chamomile tea. Focusing on Hayley, I make notes in my head about where everything is behind the bar.
After I’ve gotten a warm cup of tea in my hand, she shows me how to use the espresso machine, make milkshakes, and introduces me to their young cook, Nash. We don’t get to share many words yet before the midday rush cuts the briefing, but he seems nice.
Hayley’s part of teaching me the manners of the house comes quickly into use when people start to gather inside, not leaving even one seat free. I hustle around, serving customer after customer, as does Hayley, but every now and then, she throws me a thumbs up with a smirk.
Pretty soon, I get the hang of it all, and my erratic heartbeat starts to steady after the fast start. So much that I even joke with Nash while picking up plates from him to deliver those on the tables.
Wiping a veil of sweat from my forehead after the last customer leaves, I grin at Hayley. “Whoa, that was intense.”
“Just wait for the next lunch break. It’s usually even more hectic since there’s also those who’d gotten off work and come here to chill before going home,” she answers, pouring herself a soda. “It keeps you fit, I promise. No need to go for a jog after this.”
“I’m more into calm walks anyway.” I smile at her, taking a sip from my water. “It gives me time to enjoy the views.”
“So, you’re a nature lover?” Nash throws from the kitchen, leaning his elbows on the counter between the bar and his kingdom.
“You could say that. I’m actually a photographer, and nature is my muse.”
“That’s so cool,” Hayley chirps, hopping onto one of the barstools. “You should definitely check out the hiking trail on the other side of the city.” She writes the address on a napkin, handing it to me. “Give it a go. It’s magical.”
Saying my thanks, I stuff the paper in my back pocket, a happy smile dancing on my lips. I might actually survive here long enough to gather money to get the fuck away from Mom.
_____
Thanks to my luck, Mom isn’t home when I get there after finishing my first day. I’m dead-tired, but staying in this house more than is absolutely necessary gives me chills even thinking about it. With that thought, I pack my camera, a spare battery, and a water bottle into my backpack and change my boots to trail shoes. I don’t waste time and abandon the house before she could get back from wherever she is and force me to accompany her for dinner with her royal highness.
I check the bus schedule while walking to the nearest station, thankful for the money left in my own account that’s out of her reach. Not much, but enough so I can be somewhat independent before my first paycheck comes. I’m still in awe of my mother’s stunt.
How can she be like that?
Of course, I never expected to live with my father’s money for the rest of my life; hell no, but I didn’t think even my apartment would be taken away from me. I’ve been living like a fucking fool for not preparing myself financially sooner.
Why did I let myself depend on them in the first place?
I know why.
Because I deserved to study the profession I wanted, after all the shit he put me through. It was only justice that Dad paid for my studies and gave me money, so I could focus on it one hundred percent.
But still... I’m paying the price now.
Pushing my parents out of my head, I jump into the bus and take my place near the doors in the middle. My chest feels instantly lighter as I put my headphones on, connect my phone to it, and play “Better” by Kerli. I watch as the bus takes me on a tour around the city, which I have to say, doesn’t charm me with the busy tourist centers and casinos. All the concrete and neon lights make me feel trapped—so many people.
Nothing genuine or down to earth.
Atlanta isn’t the home of the saints, but this city is a sinner’s paradise. Casinos, racetracks… everything which draws criminal activity like a moth to a flame.
I have pepper spray in my backpack just in case.
The scenery changes from the concrete jungle into a luxury suburb for a while before the grand pools and big mansions leave behind. Now the yards are filled with kids’ toys and older station wagons before those, too, are past us, and the bus veers to a stop beside a shady forest. Thick redwood trees reach high to the sky, casting shadows on the gravel road ahead. The trail map beside the street tells me this must be my stop.
An earthy scent fills my lungs the second I step outside the bus, taking in the surroundings. It hasn’t been raining, but there’s still the freshness from the forest in the air, which feels like a fog on my face. I can almost feel the moss under my feet as I close my eyes for a brief moment and fill my lungs with nature. It’s so clean and pure, utterly different from the polluted air in the city, and especially in the house I’m forced to live in.
Even the air in that awful house is poisonous.
Adjusting the straps of my backpack, I step closer to the map with a newfound lightness in my chest.
Nature has always been my safe place. No matter how dark of a forest, how deep into the unknown I walk, there’s nothing as scary as the monsters I’ve faced in the pure daylight. In my home. In my room.
Where there should’ve been my sanctuary when I was a child, was only an embodiment of evil. When my skin was tarnished with the filth of what should’ve been good, only the utter darkness was enough to purify me. The air is cleaner in the dark, and it sanctifies you from the inside out as you breathe it.
I pull my phone from my pocket and snap a picture of the map in case my m
emory fails me before heading to the trail lingering between gigantic redwood trees. Their dense, leafy canopies form a roof upon the path, leaving the forest shadowy and mystic. My skin tingles from the excitement as my feet carry me further with light steps. Flipping the headphones to my neck, I listen to the sounds of the trees: the little creaks and subtle whooshes from the leaves.
Maybe they’re whispering secrets to each other and making notes about who walks in their land.
When I was little, I always thought forests were like the ones in Lord of the Rings, and the trees could actually talk and move. That the darkness in there would protect me if I’m respectful.
So far, it has never failed me.
Enjoying the sounds of a different kind of silence, I listen to the chirping of the birds and watch as now and then, one flies past me like they’re little spies, keeping an eye on me. I stop, picking my camera from my backpack as I come across a freshwater creek rushing beside the path. Right now, right here, taking pictures of the purest things in the world, I’m at peace. Like I’ve stepped into the wardrobe and took a trip to Narnia, leaving real life behind me. There’s no past, no future. Only now.
My phone chimes in my pocket, making me sigh as the birds nearby get scared and fly away. Pressing the button in my headphones, I lift it on my ears and get on with the trail.
“Hey, Cece.” Nixie’s bright voice carries through the lines, pulling a smile on my face. “How was your first day at work?”
I let the camera hang from the strap against my stomach and tighten the ponytail at the back of my head, shrugging one shoulder even though she can’t see it.
“Quite hectic, but good. I think I handled it pretty well,” I admit, a slightly proud tone in my voice. “Who’d know I’d be such a people person.”
Nixie laughs. “I’ve known it all along, but you keep telling yourself otherwise. Your face practically calls people to like you.”
“Phew, no, it doesn’t.”
“It sure does. You scream friendly and trustworthy. One look at you, and people know you won’t spit in their coffee.”
Well, that’s partly true. I wouldn’t spit in anyone’s coffee because it’s just nasty. Maybe dropping a steak on the floor or adding a little extra salt if someone’s a real asshole. I could do that for my mother’s dinner.
She continues before I get to shake myself off the sidetrack I slipped. “What about your mother? You’ve seen her? Acting crazy, is she?”
Her horde of questions makes me roll my eyes. “I haven’t seen her today yet. You’ve drunk energy drinks again, have you? I told you not to drink that shit, damn.”
“For a worthy cause. I took a few extra shifts to save money for you to get out of Maleficent’s nest.”
My steps screech to a halt, as does my heart at her words. “What?” I slap my hand over my mouth, shocked, and mumble the words through my fingers, “Nixie pixie, Jesus, no.” She’s already working her ass off to pay her grandmother’s nursing home fees, and it’s so much, I can’t... “You didn’t take money from me when I wanted to help you, so don’t you dare to—”
“Cece, this is different! You’re my best friend, and I want you back,” she stops me, her voice firm and steady. “I’ll help you out of there. End of discussion.”
Sniffling my nose, I gather my thoughts and swallow the thick lump down my throat. “You’re making me cry, but thank you. I love you.”
“Stay strong, and don’t let that bitch bring you down.”
That’s probably easier to say than done, but fuck if I’ll let my mother ruin my life more than she already has.
“I won’t, I promise.”
3
Trust the timing of your life.
The sweat pours down my chest and back, permeating to the waistband of my gray running shorts. Wiping the beads gathering over my brows off with my bare arm, my eyes stay locked on the inspirational quote as my feet keep moving on the treadmill—white letters on a black postcard. The one you buy with a dollar from the nearby grocery store. Those are the most soulless thing in the world, and when you give one of those to someone, it shows you really don’t give a fuck about the person who gets it.
This one wasn’t an exception.
But the quote on that card—nailed on my living room wall with a bloody butterfly knife—is pure irony at its fucking finest.
My time is running out.
As if sensing me thinking about my upcoming doom, the music stops, making room for a particular ringtone, set for one person who’s been breathing on my neck for the past month. Ever since I got the fucking card. Like there’s nothing else wrong and fucked up in my life because of it than the upcoming Pandemonium.
Shutting down the treadmill, I take a long inhale to prepare myself, and tap the green button on my phone, letting it connect to the speakers.
“What’s up, Dad?” I ask, even though it’s clear why he’s harassing me first thing in the morning.
“The meeting with the Order is tonight,” my father states, as if I’m not aware of it. “Are you ready?”
I wipe my face with a white towel, suffocating the frustrated groan rising from my chest. A headache creeps to the surface, making my head feel like a balloon. Expanding more and more until it’s too full and explodes. Controlling my tone, I answer while walking to the bathroom, “I will be.”
Doesn’t look good, though.
His disappointed sigh only tightens the rope around my neck. “Quentin.” From the tone he says my name, I can see him closing his eyes and shaking his head in disbelief as I’ve already let him and the Order down. “I’ve already pushed the meeting back once. There won’t be a second time.”
While he speaks, I grab two bottles from the medicine cabinet with my prescription. Dad goes on, telling me how I’ve always cleaned up the mess I’ve made, even when I was a kid, and how he’s never been disappointed in me. Clearly indicating he will be if I don’t handle my shit.
I throw down two pills with a gulp from my water bottle, trying my best to ignore what my father rants. One pill covers the migraine that’s about to blossom really quick without it, and the other restrains the anxiety and other delightful symptoms of the PTSD I was diagnosed with when I was fifteen.
Those have been my trusted sidekicks for eight years now. Though if you ask my father about it, he says I have no such thing.
I was already getting an upper hand on the latter, but last month... not so much. If the fact that I already had to double my Xanax dose a few weeks back is any indication, it’s here to stay.
“Don’t be late, Quentin.”
The line beeps dead without a proper bye. I know very fucking well how much is at stake when it comes to the Order and Dad’s reputation. If I fuck up, it’s a stain in his image.
But still… he hasn’t asked me even once how I am doing.
Am I fucking okay?
This past month, I’ve only got those disappointed sighs and a rope around my neck. He’s waiting for me to step off the stool if I don’t act like a proper Valentino—like a son of the Order.
We don’t get to choose if we become Reapers or not. It’s in our blood. When the wheel of fortune spins and you pop into the world as a firstborn son of the Order member, your destiny is set right there and then.
If you get through the initiation at the age of fifteen, you’ll become one of the Grim Reapers. Sounds fucking fancy, but truthfully, we are just the puppets of the Order. Whatever it is they need us to do, we make it happen without questions. Pandemonium is the annual ritual where we show our loyalty to them and everything they believe in.
What we should believe in.
I do as I’m told, but nothing more.
Eventually, when the time comes for the next generation to take over, we will be named to be the new Order, but only if we make it through that far. If we don’t, then our little brothers have to step up. In my case, my half-brother, who doesn’t even know about this shitshow that’s going on.
I’ve ne
ver been interested in following my father’s footsteps to become the head of the Order, but he’s made it fucking clear that if I don’t, I’ll feel it in my bones. We’ve been taking turns on the number one spot in the ranking list with Cruz for years. Where I do the Order’s tasks out of pure coercion, he does it because he wants to. I’d gladly hand him the crown if it’d be an option for me. Ladders to the top of the Order are made from bodies and painted red with blood. The one who has the highest ladder with the deepest color will earn his place as the head of the table.
After taking a quick shower, I stroll to my bedroom to get dressed. Bullet is hot on my heels in no time, his thick, black tail flapping from side to side. Considering how much it actually hurts to get whipped by it, I’m positive he must have lost a sense of touch from his skin at some point. I still have a bruise on my thigh where he slapped me with his whip-like tail when he got excited from seeing another dog at the walk a few weeks ago.
I reach to scratch his meaty head, laughing as he squints his eyes, the corners of his monstrous mouth turning upward. He’s hands down the happiest Rottweiler I’ve ever seen.
“Wanna tag along when I meet the guys?”
He answers my question with a violent whole-body wiggle.
“Yeah?” His excitement pulls a smile on my face too, and I snap my fingers, pointing at the corridor. “Go get your leash, buddy.”
Bullet spins around, speeding to accomplish his task with an otherworldly enthusiasm. His happy-go-lucky spirit is the only thing giving me a distraction, even for a moment, from the tangled mess of a life.
I pick dark jeans and a plain gray T-shirt with it, but because it’s one of those chillier days in Preston again, I throw a black cardigan over it before walking to the corridor where Bullet is already waiting for me, the leash hanging from his mouth, tail wiggling.
“Just a sec, boy,” I tell him, slipping my feet into the combat boots at the same time I fling the overcoat on. The weather here is stuck into one season, a mix of summer and fall, so you have to be prepared for basically everything when stepping out of the front door. Mornings and nights are covered with the thick, moist fog creeping over the city like a sad veil spreading from the forests surrounding it. But during the day, the small rays of sunshine are trying to save this doomed city and bless its citizens with warmth.