###003: THE STRANGER

//VESPER//

I’d been staring at the bullet for ten minutes.

It was small enough to fit in my palm, but that didn’t make it less catastrophic.

Taking it to the police station was the smartest thing to do. To file a report that someone broke into my place while I was sleeping and left me a bullet with a dried blood on it. That’s a major threat. That’s an evidence to a crime worth investigating. That’s exactly what cops are for.

Except…

My fingerprints were all over it now. I had picked it up and held it like an idiot.

And the last time I told people something happened, they didn’t believed me and even implied I’ve got loose screws in my head.

What if the same thing happened here? What if I walked into the police station and they checked the cameras in my building and magically there was nothing? I’d be the prime suspect in whatever violence this blood belonged to.

No, I couldn’t.

I just can’t.

I picked up the box, got on my knees and shoved it under my bed as far as it would go.

Then I got dressed and went to work like nothing happened. Praying and hoping that it never actually happened and I was indeed have loose screws.

Frankie’s Diner was exactly the kind of place you expect when you hear the word diner. Cracked vinyl booths, long counter with spinning stools and a jukebox that only played songs from before I was born. It’s jammy, though.

Frankie handed me an apron, barely even looking up to greet me.

“Table six needs coffee. Table four wants menus. Don’t fuck up.”

“Got it.”

The work was easy, hell stupid easy and I can even do it with my eyes close. Carry things, write orders down, smile at people, any idiot could do it. I am that idiot. And I am standing here in a cheap uniform, pretending my life hadn’t been fucked up in the last forty-eight hours.

By noon, I’d found a rhythm, ignoring the pain in my feet and calling it a welcome distraction until the prickling started at the base of my neck as though someone was watching me.

I casually scanned the room, trying to pinpoint where the unsettling feeling was coming from. There was only an old couple, a businessman who talks so loud over the phone, a family with a toddler... and a man alone in the far corner booth. 

There’s nothing weird about them. Supposedly, nothing wrong.

But the feeling didn’t go away.

“Vesper!” Frankie's voice cut through buzzing air. “Order up for table seven, now.”

I hurried over and grabbed the plate, heading toward table seven without thinking too much.

Only to realize the man was in the corner, the booth located farthest from the door, tucked behind the napkin dispenser, facing the room. He was wearing a baseball cap pulled low, sunglasses and a black mask over his mouth and nose. The kind everyone wore during COVID.

I tried to ignore it, but something about his build was familiar. Broad shoulders and lean frame. The way he sat completely still while everyone around him fidgeted and moved.

I couldn’t place it, I can’t even pull the memory out from wherever it was hiding.

“Here you go.” I smiled, setting the plate down right in front of him. “Eggs over easy, bacon crisp, and wheat toast. Can I get you anything else? Ketchup? Hot sauce?”

He shook his head. No words

“Okay. Well. Enjoy.”

I walked away, but I could still feel his eyes on me the whole time.

The diner got busier and I stopped thinking about the man in the corner. I shut down the hysterical voice inside my head, and stopped thinking about anything except orders and refills and the growing pain in my feet.

Just then the door slammed open and three men stumbled in loudly, laughing too hard. They were clearly drunk, and you can smell their booze from across the place. Work boots, dirty jackets and caps pulled low over red-rimmed eyes.

“Fucking freezing out there,” one of them yelled, pinning his gaze on me. “Get us a booth, sweetheart. Somewhere warm.”

My skin crawled from the way he look at me but I brushed it off and pointed to an empty one near the window.

“Right this way.”

They slid in, elbowing each other and knocking over the salt shaker. One of them grabbed my wrist as I reached for it.

I pulled back almost instantly, subtly wiping my skin on my apron from where he had touched me.

“I’ll get you some menus.”

“Get us a round of coffee,” the one with the red cap sneered, his eyes traveling over me in a way that made me feel like being stripped naked. 

“Coffee. Coming right up.”

As I set the mugs down, his eyes flickered over my name tag. 

“And maybe something sweet for dessert? Vesper, right?”

The other two laughed, thinking it was hilarious.

I don’t.

I didn’t smile at them when took their orders—burgers all around, extra fries, and extra patties. I tried to stay professional while they made nasty comments about my ass every time I turned around.

Stay calm, Vesper. Don’t react, you’re only gonna make it worse. This is your first day, just do your job and they’ll leave.

Yes, I am barely a noticeable person. Funny thing about being under the influence of something, even a toad starts looking pretty.

The orders came in a short, and they started gobbling down without even bothering to wash their hands and got louder by the next second. More dirty comments rained down about me, and more touching at my arm when I passed.

“Seriously though,” the yellow-tooth one said, this time he tried to grab my waist but I stepped back. It seems to annoy him at first, but only got more interested.

“One night. You and me. I’ll show you a good time.”

“No, sorry.” I pulled away. “Please, enjoy your meal.”

“Hey. We’re still talking to you. You’re not even that pretty to be playing hard to get.” He laughed loudly, his voice carried through the air for everyone to hear, ugly and mean.

Their words cut deeper than I wanted to admit, and tears started to burn behind my eyes. I bit my lip so hard I almost tasted copper. I blinked the tears away and I forced myself to ignore them, but then the world stopped. 

*Smack*

The sound of his hand connecting with my butt-cheeks echoed through the diner like a gunshot. I froze, pain flared from where he hit me. The blood drained from my face, replaced by a blinding heat it made my eyes watered more. The diner went dead silent, all eyes on me, all too shock to react by what just happened. Even the sizzle coming from the grill seemed to stop.

Then, like a hot knife cutting through the tension, the sound of chair scraped against the floor, screeching to a deafening high-pitch. It wasn’t a normal sound, it was like the wood was being tortured against the linoleum.

The man from the corner stood up and started walking towards us with a heavy, rhythmic grace that felt more like a countdown. He reached the table right before the drunk man could even finish laughing. Without a word, he snatched the drunk man’s wrist and and swiftly twisted it before I can even blink.

The crack was sickening, and bone jutted through skin, and the blood sprayed across the table.

The man’s mouth opened to a scream that would have shattered the windows, but he never got the chance. In a blur of motion, the stranger reached into his pocket, pulled out a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills, and shoved the entire roll into the man’s open mouth.

He stuffed it in deep, until the scream turned into a gagging sound.

The man’s eyes bulged, watering with agony, as he was forced to choke on the very thing most people would die for. His two friends—momentarily caught off guard—immediately scrambled backward, falling over their own feet to help their friend.

Then, the stranger turned.

He looked at me. Even through the dark sunglasses and the mask, I felt the terrifyingly calm weight of his gaze. His head moving subtly to check on me before he turned on his heel and walked out the door and into the pouring rain.

I stood there, lungs paralyzed, my brain struggling to process the image of a man choking on cold, hard cash while cradling his mangled wrist, and the stranger. It took three, four, or five second, before the scent hit me.

It’s him. The man in the archives.

Azrael.