Sinister

Chapter Five

Finding Tate wasn't easy. A full week passed with no sign of him and as June came to its end, Leighton started to abandon the hope that she was going to see him again.

Leighton was curled on a lawn chair in her backyard, cradling a paperback and sipping on a lemonade when her mother appeared at the backdoor. Karen was dressed like a tennis player, ecstatic at the break in the rain.

"Leigh!" Karen shouted, waving an arm. "The phone!"

Leighton creased the top of her page and jumped up, nervous energy swirling as she made her way to her mother. Karen smiled as Leighton approached, eyes bright. "I think it's good news," Karen said, making a show of crossing her fingers.

Leighton ignored her mother as she entered the living room and grabbed the phone, knotting her finger in the old-fashioned cord as she mumbled a hello. The voice on the other end was familiar.

"Hey, Leighton," a man greeted, "this is Trevor from Dante's Tavern." Leighton made the connection. She was talking to the bartender.

"Oh—yeah, okay," she replied, "hi."

"I'm calling about the application you filled out," Trevor continued.

Leighton's heart bulged with hope. "And?"

"Well," Trevor said, "we're pretty short staffed this summer so I was wondering if you'd consider coming in for an interview."

Leighton blinked, ignoring Karen as she waved her hands around and mouthed off questions. "Of course, when?"

"As soon as possible would be the best," Trevor said, "would today work for you?"

Leighton caught her mother's eye and nodded. "Yeah, that's cool."

"Awesome," Trevor rattled off, behind him the sound of clinking glass and conversation swelled. "How does three sound?"

"Perfect," Leighton replied, excitement starting to creep into her voice. "That sounds perfect." Beside her, Karen was grinning.

"Okay, see you then."

Leighton returned the phone to her cradle just as her mother pulled her into a fierce hug. Leighton laughed a little and hugged her mother back, feeling proud. She was one step closer to being employed.

"I'm so proud of you, Leigh," Karen beamed, "this is just fantastic!"

"Thanks mom," Leighton mumbled into Karen's shoulder.

Karen placed her hands on Leighton's shoulders and leaned back slightly, her eyes roaming her daughter's face. "I was so worried after everything that happened with Braden. You were so lost and convinced that you'd never be able to move on with your life."

The moment disintegrated.

"Braden?" Leighton repeated, mystified as to why that name was tugging at her gut.

Karen blinked. "I'm sorry, Leigh, I shouldn't have brought him up."

Leighton was struggling to breathe. Braden. It was another name that pulled at the threads of her memory. Braden. McGuinty. Rook. What did they all have in common? And more importantly, why couldn't Leighton remember?

"No, mom," Leighton said woodenly, "It's fine. Really."

Karen seemed surprised. "Anyways, I'm proud of you." Karen kissed her forehead and left, leaving Leighton confused. Leighton wished she could press her mother on the subject further but she couldn't, not unless she wanted to come clean about her failing memory.

Trying to shake off the lingering discomfort, Leighton rifled through her closet as she tried to regain some of her lost excitement. She took her time picking out clothes, eventually choosing a pair of dark shorts and a loose t-shirt.

Leighton practiced smiling at herself in the mirror as she raked her hair into a ponytail and dabbed concealer over a small zit on her chin. Feeling somewhat confident, Leighton re-adjusted the shirt on her shoulders and took a step back.

After a moment of thought, Leighton went through her clothes again, pushing clothes aside as she sifted through them. When she had tore through her entire closet, Leighton sank back on her left leg, tiling her head to the side. She didn't own anything nice, anything form fitting.

"Huh," Leighton breathed, an odd feeling settling over her. For some reason, that same name came to her: Braden.

"Leigh!"

Leighton almost jumped out of her skin. Shaking off her jitters, Leighton stuck her head out of her door. "Yeah, mom?" she yelled.

Karen appeared at the bottom of the stairs, "Do you want anything to eat before you go? Do you want me to drive you there?"

Leighton bit her thumb. "I was hoping to borrow the car."

Karen's head fell to the side. "Are you sure you're okay, Leigh? I feel bad about the whole Braden thing, that was a misstep on my part. I shouldn't have s―"

"It's fine," Leighton rushed, she didn't want her mood to plummet again and discussing things she couldn't remember would almost certainly disrupt her frame of mind.

"Okay," Karen gave in, stepping off the subject. "You can take the car, just make sure you turn your phone off as your driving." Leighton consented to the terms and walked down the stairs, allowing her mother to plant a kiss on her cheek. Karen squeezed them after, "I love these freckles."

Leighton pretended to be appalled. "Bye, mom."

"Are you leaving now?" Karen asked, glancing at her watch. "You still have over an hour. You'll be waiting in the parking lot for forty-five minutes."

Leighton shrugged, "I want to get there early. Just in case." Shrugging, Karen fished into her pockets and tossed Leighton a set of keys before heading to the backyard. Leighton smiled and half ran towards the car.

Shoving the key into the ignition, Leighton flipped down her visor to combat the sun as she pulled out of the driveway and took off. Leighton hummed along to the radio as she drove, running over her resume in her head. Her resume wasn't much. She didn't have much experience aside from a few summers spent refereeing soccer and an unreliable babysitting gig for her neighbour's twins.

Leighton's chest seemed to tighten when the forest flashed on her left, dredging up memories she found it hard to suppress. After a few deep breaths, Leighton realised she couldn't stop her mind from reeling.

Pulling off to the shoulder of the road, Leighton flicked on her four ways and let her head fall to the steering wheel. Her mind's eye went blank during the brief moment before the onslaught of images.

The orange glow of the overhead lamps. The beer bottle slipping from Jack's hand. The rain falling harder. The dark figure. The light. The frost. Jack's unmoving body. The shadow that took something from her very soul.

Leighton drew in a strangled breath as she blinked and was slammed back to her conscious mind. Her arms were stiff but her hands were shaking as she looked around, catching the time and shaking harder when she realised she had lost almost ten minutes.

A dull thud on her window rammed Leighton's heart into her throat. She spun, her arms coming up in front of her chest as she met eyes with Tate. He smiled at her, lip ring catching the sun.

Slowly, Tate rapped his knuckles against the glass.

Feeling frenzied, Leighton rolled down her window. "Can I help you?" she asked, voice thin.

Tate's eyes were unrelenting on her face. "You've been parked out here for over ten minutes. I came to see if you were okay." Leighton almost wanted to laugh. A murderer was worried over her wellbeing.

"I'm fine," she replied, tense. Leighton kept her eyes straight ahead, not wanting to meet his gaze. Despite what she had told herself, Leighton didn't want to ask Tate anything. She didn't want to be around him, not when his aura pulled her closer and made her feel cold.

Tate leaned against the frame of the car, one arm over his head. "You seemed distraught when I came up to you."

"No wonder," Leighton countered, "a murderer is apparently stalking me."

Tate chuckled. "You're parked outside of where I live," he moved to the side so she could see the squat apartment building. "Not so out of the blue when you take that into consideration."

"I find it a little unbelievable that you were worried," Leighton said, dismissing his earlier point. "Maybe it's your casual manner or the fact that I watched you kill two people but I just don't buy your nice guy act."

Tate raised an eyebrow. "You think I'm being nice?" She didn't reply. After a moment, he conceded, "is there a way we can get together to talk? Maybe you can swing by here after you're done doing whatever it is you're doing."

The thought of being in a tiny apartment alone with him jumbled Leighton's thoughts into a ball of fear and timid shyness. "No," was her response.

Tate seemed to be attuned to her thoughts. "Somewhere more public?" he offered, watching her reactions. "Isn't there a pizza place in this town?"

Leighton shivered. The only pizzeria was next to Rudd's bookstore. "No," she said, "We'll meet at Dante's Tavern."

Tate smiled and tapped his fist twice on the car's frame. "Great," he said, "what time?" Leighton looked to the dash and frowned, the time wasn't right. She watched it for a prolonged moment, waiting for the numbers to turn over but they never did. "Leighton?"

"Five," Leighton replied, not sure why she was planning to have dinner with a killer. Leighton didn't wait for a reply as she rolled up the window and took off, resisting the urge to look at Tate in her rear-view mirror.

Walking into Dante's Tavern was like returning home after a long vacation and once more Leighton's feelings towards the pub was confirmed. This was where she needed to be this summer. She knew it.

The pub was surprisingly busy for the middle of the afternoon. Half of the tables were in use and a few stragglers were hunched over the bar. Waitresses mulled around with trays of drinks, nametags pinned to white t-shirts.

There was a haze of smoke drifting from the designated area for smokers, clouding the entire restaurant in an ethereal mist that caught the hanging lights and created a warm atmosphere. Leighton drew in a deep breath and held it, feeling sure.

The walk to the bar was short. Leighton took a seat on an empty stool and leaned on the bar top, smiling at the person next to her. She glanced at the clock and then did a sweep of the restaurant, looking for Trevor.

A few moments later, he emerged from the kitchen. This time around, Leighton paid more attention to her future employer. Trevor wasn't overly tall, maybe five foot eight but what he lacked in height he made up for in breadth. Wide arms, covered in tattoos. Thick wrists bound with leather braided bracelets. Dark hair, gelled and spiked.

His smile caught Leighton's attention. "Leighton, right?" She smiled, nodded, and held out a hand for Trevor to shake.

"Thanks for calling me back," she said, "I was nervous you wouldn't."

Trevor placed his hands on his hips. "Let's go to the back of the pub for the interview." Trevor led the way to a quiet booth in the back, carrying a folder with Leighton's application and resume in it. One of the waitresses brought them some water.

Trevor folded his hands over the folder and smiled shyly. "Before we start, I just wanted to be honest with you. When I read your application and found out your full name I became a little worried. I remember what happened to you a couple years ago and I just wanted to make sure that it wasn't going to be a problem if you were to work here."

Leighton's face was hot. Strangers knew more about her own life than she had. Suddenly, she was more anxious to speak to Tate than she was for the interview at hand.

Rigidly, Leighton shook her head. "It won't be."

Trevor grinned, "Great. We don't judge here, I just wanted to make sure that you weren't putting your health at risk. Some of the customers can get a little touchy when they start drinking, you know?"

Leighton felt nauseated. "Yeah. No, I'm fine. Really."

The rest of the interview passed without any moment standing apart from the next. Leighton answered every question as confidently as she could, despite being putout earlier on. Trevor seemed happy with her responses, but he almost always wore a half smile.

The more questions Trevor asked the more Leighton could forget about Braden and her failing memory. The glasses of water sweated all over the table, occasionally leading Leighton's thoughts away. Less than half an hour later, it was over.

"Leighton," Trevor started, "You don't have the sort of experience we wanted but you seem smart and trainable. I'd like to hire you for a part time position. Before you get too excited, it's just bussing tables, nothing fancy."

Leighton smiled, cheeks rounding. "Thank you, Trevor, thanks so much!"

"We'll start you with a four hour shift at the beginning of next week, sound good?"

"Yes!" Leighton beamed, "perfect." They stood and shook hands, Trevor offering congratulations while Leighton thanked him again. Trevor excused himself after, returning to work and leaving Leighton with an hour and a half of time to kill on her own.

Leighton phoned her mother first, letting her know the good news and the plans she had made for the evening. Karen was pleased Leighton had gotten the position but was infinitely more interested at the dinner date.

"Is it with that new boy?" Karen pressed, "Tate?"

Leighton grimaced as she leaned against the side of her car. She wasn't sure if her voice would remain steady enough to pull off a lie. "Yes," she said, relenting. "But it's not serious."

"Oh, Leigh, I wished you had dressed up a little more."

Leighton frowned at her scuffed up sneakers. "It's not a big deal. Will I see you tonight?"

Karen sighed. "Work called, I'm pulling a night shift at the hospital. I will be home with coffee and muffins in the morning and you can tell me all about your date."

"It's not a date," Leighton mumbled grizzly. For her, it was going to be an inquisition.

"Of course not," Karen agreed thinly, "I'll talk to you later."

Leighton decided to waste some time driving around St. Hope. She tried her best to avoid the side of town that was heavily wooded and instead took some time driving along the main strips of town.

Petra's Store of Mythical Mayhem caught her eye. Leighton pulled into a parking spot as she eyed the tiny shop warily. The quaint shop was crammed between a coin operated Laundromat and a risky looking movie rental store.

Locking the car over her shoulder, Leighton pulled the front door of the shop open. Wind chimes sang throughout the small space as Leighton hit them with the door, once as it opened and again as it closed.

Leighton shoved her hands in her pockets as she looked around. The smell of candles and spices overwhelmed the small space along with the shelves and shelves of trinkets and books. Leighton had to resist the urge to reach out and grab everything she saw.

As Leighton stalked along the back wall, a woman emerged from a small door carrying an array of dream catchers. The woman was tall and willowy with heaps of red curls that reached down to her waist.

"Hello, there," the woman greeted, her smile was large. Leighton tried not to be thrown off by the woman's eyes. They were two different colours, one green and the other blue.

"Hi," Leighton mumbled shyly, feeling an itch to leave.

The woman swept her arms out wide, the feathers and beads strung to the dream catchers in her hands swayed. "Welcome to my shop," the woman, who Leighton guessed to be Petra, said. "Are you here with a question or just to browse?"

"Oh, uh, to browse I guess?" Leighton bit her nail.

Petra moved to the counter a few paces away, laying the dream catchers out and pulling out a labelling machine. "You seem to have something on your mind," Petra observed, tagging the largest of dream catchers.

Leighton shrugged as she walked up to the counter, gazing at the multitude of stones gathered in a basket to the right. "Doesn't everyone?"

"Not everyone has been through what you have," Petra replied absently. Leighton stilled, focusing on Petra's heavily ringed fingers move over the dream catchers as she tried to organize her thoughts. Did Petra know Leighton in the same way Trevor did?

"What do you mean?" Leighton asked lightly, trying to sound disinterested.

Petra's eyes levelled with Leighton's. "Weren't you touched by the supernatural?"

Leighton recoiled immediately, feeling cold all over despite the stifling heat. Without replying, Leighton turned and left, feeling nauseated at the sound of wind chimes. She needed answers.

Leighton drew circles on the table with the condensation from her soda. She hunched over her drawing, focusing so intently on the watery rings that she didn't hear Tate as he took a seat.

"Hello."

Leighton jumped, almost knocking over her drink. She cleared her throat. "Hi."

Tate smiled politely and picked up his menu. "How was your day?"

Leighton's mouth popped open, confused by the normalcy of his question. "Um, fine."

"Mine went by slowly," Tate said, rolling his piercing into his mouth as he read over the menu. "Any recommendations?" He took off his beat-up baseball cap and smoothed a hand over his hair.

Leighton couldn't bring herself to look at her own menu. "I don't know what murderers eat. Small children? Puppies? Unicorns?"

Tate's smile turned dry. "If you keep calling me a murderer, I won't answer anything you ask me." Leighton's heart was thumping too loud for her to hear her own thoughts. She remained silent as Tate ordered a water for himself.

"What did you do to them?" Leighton asked when the waitress left.

Tate's eyes were constantly on her. "I already told you, I helped them."

"But they're dead," Leighton argued, tongue like paper.

Tate shrugged. "That has nothing to do with it."

"What?" Leighton asked, blinking.

"You heard me," Tate said briskly. "The fact that they're dead has nothing to do with me helping them. I did what I had to do to help the kid and the old man."

"They were more than that," Leighton retorted, face slack with utter disbelief. How could he speak so flippantly about death?

Tate rubbed his chin with his knuckles, grazing along his stubble. "I know, Leighton, I attended both of their funerals."

"That's messed up," Leighton said.

"I went to pay my respects," Tate said, eyes starting to become guarded. Leighton knew that if she wasn't careful he'd flee.

"You were the one that killed them!" Leighton exploded, aggravated. How could he not understand that? "You took them away from their families then you had the audacity to grieve with them!"

"I didn't kill them, Leighton," Tate repeated calmly. It was a dark sort of calm, the kind that occurred just before a natural disaster. "I don't kill people. That's not my job."

"Not your job?" Leighton was baffled. "Are you telling me that you get paid to kill―sorry, to do whatever is it you do?"

Tate laughed harshly. "A salary would be nice."

Leighton had no idea what to say. The waitress floated back to their table and took their orders. Leighton ordered a burger despite the fact she had no appetite. Her eyes followed the waitress as she left.

"They were already dying," Tate said after a moment, his eyes were watching something behind her. "I just helped them complete the process."

Leighton didn't dare push the subject. She wasn't sure if her mind could handle it. Instead, she moved on to the next issue. "That night in the woods, with Jack and everything. After you―after he died―you touched me and something happened. You took something from me."

Tate didn't hesitate to agree. "I did."

Leighton stalled. "I want it back," she demanded hoarsely.

Tate laughed cruelly and leaned back in his seat. "No you don't."

Leighton was outraged. "You stole it from me!" she whispered furiously as her eyes roamed around the pub, she was suddenly paranoid that other people were listening.

Tate dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "It's better I keep it, trust me."

"What did you take?" Leighton asked, starting to feel the fingers of panic.

"A piece of your soul."

Leighton gripped the side of the table.

"Are you okay?" Tate asked, pale green eyes rounding out with worry. "You look sick."

"My soul?" Leighton muttered, sweat prickling the back of her neck. Out of everything she had imagined over the last two weeks, her imaginings hadn't come close to the truth. The truth was a homerun.

Leighton breathed heavily, thinking back to what Petra had said to her. Weren't you touched by the supernatural? Leighton looked up to Tate sharply, wondering for the first time if he was something far more sinister than a murderer.

"Just a small part of it," Tate informed her. His tone had changed. He lowered it, making it a little more soothing. He must've been afraid he was scaring her. "Hardly enough to harm the rest of it, I hope."

Leighton assembled a fraction of courage. "Why did you take it?"

Tate was hesitant to answer this time. He stalled until the waitress brought them their food. Neither of them even glanced at their plate.

"It was eating away at you," Tate said quietly, "It was tainting other areas of your life and I didn't think you deserved that sort of punishment."

Leighton felt as though she had been struck. "Who were you to make that choice for me?" Anger was starting to obstruct her vision and close her throat.

"I was helping you," Tate argued, for the first time getting angry. "I helped you."

"Helped me?" Leighton's voice spiked, reaching a higher octave. She pressed her eyes closed, thinking about the mess her life had been in since meeting Jack Norton in the woods. She couldn't remember anything, she had feelings she couldn't explain, she was losing her mind. He hadn't helped her.

"Yes," Tate replied firmly. He crossed his arms over his chest, rolled his lip ring into his mouth and glared at her.

"No," Leighton protested, "you didn't help me. All you did was make everything worse!"

"Worse?" Tate repeated, "How could you possibly know that? You can't remember what it was like before! If you knew, you'd be grateful."

"Is that what you want?" Leighton asked. "My gratitude?"

"No!" Tate sounded disgusted. He closed his eyes for a moment as he lowered his temper. "No, no. I just don't want you to keep jumping to conclusions."

Leighton tried not to stand up or scream or swear. "Didn't you jump to the conclusion that I couldn't handle whatever it was you took from me, whatever piece of my soul. You had no right to make that decision for me."

"I know a struggling person when I see one," Tate thundered, eyes blazing once more.

Leighton reached into her pockets and pulled out a crumpled twenty, placing it on the table as she glared. "You should do the struggling people of this town a favor, and leave."

Tate didn't try to stop her as she left.