Friday

Ayan woke up both giddy and anxious about the day ahead. Junna had already told him she had prepped the day before while the men were working on the window and hunting down cameras, so luckily there wouldn’t be a delay in the baking. He wanted to just lay in bed with her, content in their togetherness, hiding from the icky feeling that currently came with returning to the cafe. But that wasn’t an option.

Ayan and Junna quietly got dressed and headed out, tip-toeing past Soren’s sleeping form on the couch. They were both rubbing the sleep from their eyes as Junna drove them to the cafe. They walked in and got to work, prepping, baking, and setting up.

Two extra days of being closed that week had taken their toll on the small cafe, especially when it came to the finances. They were on such a razor-thin line when it came to being able to pay the staff, keep the lights on, and donate at the levels they were donating at. Being out for that much time could be devastating for their bottom line.

Ayan was acutely aware of the worried murmurs of his staff, as he switched between baking and serving throughout the day. They were curious about Soren and Sakura. Worried about the safety of the place and wondering what was going to happen in the long-term.

Around 8am, officers came in to get his statement. He talked to them in the back by the exit door, telling them everything he remembered about his crazy week with Elijah. They seemed to listen well enough, but the interaction didn’t give him a lot of hope that proper action would be taken. Then they left just as quickly as they’d arrived. He noted they seemed rather unconcerned by the whole situation, and they had made it clear that there wasn’t really much they could do if Elijah hadn’t actually threatened him.

The customers, it seemed, were happy to be back. Apparently, word had gotten around about Ayan saving Sakura’s life, though the details of the story seemed to change from every single person who told them.

“They said there was blood everywhere and she lost an arm, but you used a tourniquet that you ripped from your shirt!” exclaimed one teenage boy. Ayan shook his head in pure bafflement.

“Is it true you summoned lightning to restart her heart?” asked the boy’s friend.

“How does one summon lightning?” Ayan asked.

“I don’t know, with a rod or something?” the friend said.

“Did you want to order anything else?” Ayan asked, quickly changing the subject.

A few women ended up flirting with him. By the end of the day he had four receipts with phone numbers on them, one of them was from a man who winked when he left. Ayan had to admit that the guy was pretty handsome, but the only relationship he was interested in was the one he had with Junna.

“I didn’t realize it was going to be such a big deal,” he muttered as he stood by Junna, who was currently running the till.

“I mean, the news crews were here yesterday and everything, you just chose not to talk to them. It was a pretty sensational story,” Junna pointed out. “Also, it’s good for business. We’re making up for a lot of lost revenue today. And that guy flirting with you left a hundred dollars in the jar for Soren and Sakura.”

Ayan grinned nervously as he scanned the dining room for the umpteenth time, waiting for him. For Elijah to show up and take his usual spot. But he was nowhere to be found today.

“The police might have had a chat with him. Hopefully, he’ll leave you alone now,” Junna said, clearly noting Ayan’s scanning gaze.

Or he’s waiting to pounce.

“Stop it,” Ayan said.

“Stop what?” Junna asked.

“What?” Ayan looked at her. “Oh, sorry. I was…sorry. I’m sure he’ll leave us alone now. All his cameras are gone, he’s probably gone to stalk someone else in the name of Jesus. I just wish I could return the money. It doesn’t feel right to have it.”

“After the mental anguish he’s put you through, it’s the least he can do,” Junna insisted. “Use it for something good. Give it to Soren for his medical bills, or to help pay for a place for him to live.”

“I already tried giving it to him,” said Ayan, “He wasn’t interested. I want to give Elijah the money back to make it clear that I don’t owe him anything.”

“You shouldn’t have to worry about seeing Elijah again. Have someone else give it back to him.”

“It’s not just the $6000, it’s also the small fortune he spent at my auntie’s gallery. Money she won’t easily part with, even though I’ve begged her to think this through. She claims it was gifted to us by the gods, and therefore we must keep it, or we would be rebuking them.”

“Tell her it’s from a crazy stalker and if she doesn’t give it up, her favorite nephew is much more likely to end up as a pair of leather pants,” Junna shrugged.

“And if she does give it up, that could very well mean the end of her gallery. She’s been struggling for a while now, looking into bankrupty and retirement before this windfall. The gallery was a dream she’s worked hard at for the last forty years. Losing it, having to retire and give up her life, would devastate her. She already lost a husband, a sister, and a nephew. She deserves to be happy. Plus, it would also mean that Sasha would have to give the money back as well. Money that is going to help her when she needs to move next year. I mean, you can understand what I’m up against.”

Junna nodded somberly, before turning away to help check out the line of customers that were running all the way back to the door. Rather than having to answer any more awkward questions from the nearest customer, who looked ready to burst with curiosity, Ayan made his way back to the kitchen, and returned to preparing food. They were almost out of fresh-baked items, and he wanted to stretch it just enough to make it until they closed at 3pm. He made a few more batches of the more popular items, then took a deep breath and headed back up front, always checking for that familiar tall figure. So certain he would be waiting around a corner somewhere. But Elijah never showed his face in the cafe that day, which also happened to be the day of their best sales ever. It more than made up for closing the store the last two days.

Angela and Darcy were hard at work making sandwiches, wraps, and drinks. Alexander had come in on his day off to cover for Soren. All of them were curious about what had happened since none of them were there to witness the incident, but they were too busy working to get a real answer out of Ayan.

Several times that day, the tin that Junna had set out for Soren and Sakura’s expenses was filled up and emptied, only to be filled up again. By the time 3pm rolled around, and they had finally managed to get the last happy customer out the door, Junna had counted up all the cash.

“Just over $600, not too shabby,” Junna said. “Hopefully this takes some of the load off. I think they have even more on their gofundme. I had Darcy print a bunch of pages of the QR code to their gofundme, and I kept stapling them onto every to-go bag. That’s ethical, right?”

“Hopefully their parents don’t take it all,” Ayan pointed out.

Everyone had done a great job of cleaning up already. There was just some trash to be taken out to the back. Darcy, Angela, and Alexander had gone home. It was just Ayan and Junna now.

“I don’t think their parents need to know,” Junna said. “I think they can go fuck themselves, honestly.”

“There’s a thought,” Ayan grinned, grabbing the trash and heading toward the back. He picked up three more bags that had been set beside the door, already tied up, and stepped out the back door, which swung heavily shut behind him. He walked over to the dumpster, using the trash key on his keychain to unlock it and toss in the bags. He had just finished securing the lock when he heard a voice that had him spinning around so fast that he dropped his keys.

“You found my cameras.”

Ayan’s heart was fluttering as Elijah stepped around the corner of the building, an eerie smile on his face, a strange scarf around his neck.

Grab your keys and go back inside NOW!

“Eli-lijah,” Ayan breathed, swallowing back against the lump of nausea that had come bubbling up his throat. He stood frozen to the spot, torn between leaning over to get the keys, and not wanting to take his eyes off Elijah for a second. Unfortunately, the back door could not be opened without the keys, and he was fenced in in every direction except the one where Elijah now stood.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Elijah said. “I’m so sorry. I just wanted to talk, and I know you wouldn’t want to face me in the cafe.”

Ayan thought about insisting they talk inside, then thought about Junna being in there, vulnerable to whatever insanity this was. He could never conceive of putting her in danger. He said nothing.

“First, I did what I did for a reason. When I discovered what you are, I knew I had to share it with the world. The way I went about it was wrong perhaps, and for that, I do apologize. But I felt I had to do it.”

“I don’t understand,” Ayan said, aware of the tremor in his voice.

Why are you waiting here? Pick up your keys and get inside now!

“You and I, we’re going to make the world a better place. I knew it that first day I met you,” Elijah said.

“I sh-should get back to cleaning up,” Ayan said, finally leaning over to grab his keys. “Perhaps we can talk later.” He jumped when he saw that Elijah had moved closer while he was leaning over.

“Charlie’s hurt,” Elijah blurted, looking a little panicked now. “That’s why I came here. I left him in the van. I picked him up from the hotel.”

He’s lying.

“Why didn’t you take him to the hospital?” Ayan asked.

Ignore him. Get inside, now! Call 9-1-1!

“I’m sorry. I panicked. But he needs you. We need you. You have to help me.”

Ayan patted his pocket and felt the familiar rectangle of his phone. He could call 9-1-1 if this turned out to be a lie, but the odds of him overpowering Elijah were somewhat slim. He tried to tell himself that he was blowing this all out of proportion, that Elijah wasn’t going to do anything dangerous. That he was being genuine about Charlie, and actually wanted to help. That he was clearly mentally ill, and just needed someone to talk him through this strange situation logically.

“What’s wrong with him?” Ayan asked.

Elijah took a step back toward the corner of the building, “He was screaming. He couldn’t tell me what was wrong.” His voice had a sort of calm panic, like he desperately needed Ayan to believe him.

Ayan wasn’t sure why he was trusting the words coming out of Elijah’s mouth right now, but it somehow sounded legitimate. He had been up front about the cameras as well. There was an unsettling urgency to him, and Ayan was struck by the fear that something really was wrong with Charlie.

Don’t!

“Where is he?” Ayan asked.

“I told you, he’s in the van,” Elijah indicated, backing up and pointing just beyond the wall. Ayan hesitantly walked that direction, keeping some distance between Elijah and himself as he stepped beyond the wall to see the back of Elijah’s van backed all the way in, taking up the whole exit. Elijah opened the back of the van, and Ayan cautiously stepped forward, immediately searching for Charlie.

He found him, lying on the floor of the van, wrists bound behind his back, unconscious.

Fucking run!

It was too late. As Ayan took a faltering step back, Elijah slapped one strong hand over his mouth, holding him in place. A moment later, just as he was letting out a desperate scream that was too muffled to bring help, he felt a painful sting in his neck. Ayan clawed at the hand holding him in place, then threw his elbow back sharply until it made contact with Elijah’s rib-cage. He heard a grunt and felt Elijah crumple a bit, while in the same moment, a rush came over him and it was suddenly very difficult to stand.

Don’t stop fighting him!

Ayan stomped hard on Elijah’s foot and just managed to tear himself free when a violent wave of dizziness overcame him from whatever Elijah had injected into his neck. He fell against the brick wall of the building for support, and a moment later, strong hands were dragging him back toward the van.

“N-no,” he fought feebly against Elijah’s grip, but his vision was now obscured, his ears felt full of cotton. Sounds were distant, like he was hearing them through a tunnel. A body was being moved into the van, but it did not feel like his body. Hands were working to secure arms in a tight rough material. His arms? He tried to kick, but only ended up falling hard on his back. He tried to pull away, but he was slipping. Slipping away from his body, from reality. Falling deep into a cascade of thoughts and utterly incomprehensible sensations.

“You’ll understand. I promise,” said a distant voice, like a strange reverb in an old song. Pressure was leaving him. Distant thuds. Humming sounds. Strange movement.

Darkness pulling him under.