Only a Dream Left in This World
When I went to pick Diana Grant up, she just tossed the car keys toward me.
Dangling from the silver ring was a plush white bear pendant. I paused, knowing that she had never kept a keychain or a decorative charm on her keys.
Once I slid into the driver's seat, the entire alignment felt off. The seat had clearly been adjusted.
"Did you let someone else drive your car?" I asked, keeping my voice casual.
Dazed from the alcohol, she offered a dismissive shrug. "Yeah. I lent it to an employee for a quick business trip."
I didn't press further.
The next morning, the chime of the doorbell broke the silence of the house.
When I pulled the door open, a shy, clean-cut young guy was standing on the porch. He blinked, then forced a sheepish smile and handed over a cup of coffee.
"Hi," he stammered. "I'm just here to drop off a fresh coffee for Ms. Grant."
But my attention wasn't on the coffee. My gaze dropped to his left hand.
Twirling lazily around his index finger was a set of keys, and swinging from the metal loop was the same white bear pendant.
I took the coffee cup from his hand and quietly closed the door.
In the room, Diana's phone lit up on the table. A new notification flashed across the lock screen.
It was a message that read: [Diana, I just met your husband. He looks kind of scary. Coffee was delivered safely anyway. Try to drink less alcohol next time, okay?]
I picked up the phone and pulled up the video camera. With the recording running, I held the coffee cup over the kitchen sink and slowly poured the warm liquid down the drain.
Then I uploaded the recorded video to Diana's social media, broadcasting it to her entire social circle.
The caption read: [Thanks for the concern, but she doesn't drink coffee.]
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