Available Darkness Season 2

continually fed life after life in an endless string of murders.

    **

    They returned to their table, and Abigail sat, not knowing what to say. She told Katya that her stomach was sick and that she wanted to go home, but they had to wait for the waiter to return with the bill. They sat mostly in silence as the cop continued stealing glances.
    He knows. He recognizes me.
    Abigail looked down at the table, trying to ignore him.
    The waiter set the bill on the table. Katya paid it, then they stood to leave. On their way toward the door, Katya stopped at the cops’ table.
    Oh God, no, what are you doing?
    “I’m sorry, Jerry,” she said to the cop who’d been eying their table. “I’ll have to catch up another time. My friend here isn’t feeling well.”
    Wait. He wasn’t looking at me? He knows Katya?
    Abigail felt a wave of relief wash against her fear’s shore.
    “It’s OK,” the cop said. “Not feeling too good, eh? My kid’s got a bug, too. It’s going ‘round. What’s your name, sweetheart?”
    “Abigail,” she said, meeting his eyes with her best smile.
    “You look so familiar. You go to Elmswood?”
    Abigail shook her head no.
    “She’s homeschooled,” Katya said, setting a light hand on Abigail’s shoulder. “OK, Jerry, see you later. I’ll tell my dad you said hi.”
    “Tell him he still owes me for that Seahawks game!”
    “Will do,” Katya said, then waved goodbye to both officers.
    “Bye,” Abigail said, quick to follow Katya out the door, hoping the cop wouldn’t remember where he’d seen her. Far more troubling than the officers, Abigail couldn’t stop thinking about what happened in the restroom. Why had all those memories returned, and would it happen again?
    It was if Abigail held a million scars inside her, each suddenly itching to be torn open again. It was enough to have lived through the nightmares she’d endured — she prayed she wasn’t now cursed to repeatedly live through those of her victims. If that was the case, she didn’t know how long she could go on before she snapped.

    * * * *

CHAPTER 4 — Hannah

    Greg stared at Hannah from across their kitchen table as if she were a delicate flower whose bloom might be lost to the slightest breeze.
    “I’m fine,” she insisted. “I just want to go.”
    Their trip was slated for the morning, delayed once by her accident. She wasn’t willing to postpone it again. Given their schedules, if they didn’t leave tomorrow, she and Greg probably wouldn’t find time for another year.
    “Are you sure? You’re not just doing this for me?”
    “I swear,” Hannah said. “They wouldn’t have let me come home if I wasn’t OK. You heard the doctor, I’m fine.”
    Greg pushed his coffee mug aside and reached for Hannah’s hand. “I’m sorry, I know what the doctor said. It’s just that I can’t help but think — ”
    “What?” she asked as he trailed off, as if afraid to voice his worst fear.
    “I just can’t get over the feeling of you looking at me like I was a stranger. I mean, you had no idea who I was. It was so, I don’t know, surreal ,” he finished with a whisper.
    “The doc said it was temporary,” Hannah said. “Hell, I don’t even remember waking up that first time when you said I didn’t recognize you. Everything was normal when I woke up again, right?” She smiled, but didn’t wait for Greg to smile back. “I’m OK, Honey. Really. We should go. Besides, after messing up the wedding, I need this trip! The last thing I want to do is go back to the Boutique right now.”
    Greg said, “Mrs. Graham will get over it.”
    While Hannah’s man always had the right things to say, he wasn’t always convincing. She knew he didn’t really believe Mrs. Graham would get over her daughter’s wedding being ruined. Sure, it was an accident, but it was an accident that never would’ve happened if Hannah hadn’t stored the stupid flowers in Mr. Fanaroff’s cooler. The why didn’t matter, Becca’s wedding was botched. There was a good chance Hannah’s shop would never recover once whispers grew to shouts that she’d shit the bed on such an important wedding. Who would entrust her with their most important of days after this?
    “Maybe,” she said, not wanting to argue. “But right now, I need to get away. And I think we both need the time together,don’t you?”
    “Yes, I just want to be certain you’re OK.”
    “I have a few bruises, a wrecked van, and plenty of dead flowers dotting