Sinister

Chapter Nine

Dante's Tavern was extremely busy. Friday nights were the shifts Leighton always hoped not to draw. It seemed like everyone in town poured into the pub on a Friday night, eager for small talk, the game and a glass of something.

The past few days had dragged with the absence of Tate. He had all but disappeared after their trip to Rosewood. Without him around, Leighton's life had slipped back into the mundane, making her wonder if she had witnessed the frozen flowers at all.

"Leighton!" Emma yelled from across the pub, waving a manicured hand.

Leighton turned, "Yeah?"

"Ladies bathroom."

Leighton made a noise of disgust as she pushed her way to the back of the pub, smiling at customers as she tucked a cloth into her apron. Leighton pushed the bathroom door open with her hip, grabbing the mop and bucket from behind the door as she entered.

"Leighton?" Bethany called, pausing at the mirror. "I didn't know you were, like, working here now." Leighton froze, mop in hand. She felt like a trapped animal, the kind that knew it was about to be prey. Bethany, with all her plans and dreams, was the predator. Behind the thin door the pub's music was a constant, heavy soundtrack to the hunt.

"Uh, yeah, hey Bethany. How are things?"

Bethany smiled, touching the rim of her glasses as she turned back to the mirror to apply a smudge of lip gloss. "Things are great," she mused, rolling her lips together to spread the colour. "Everyone missed you at the memorial for Jack Norton, up at the high school."

Leighton frowned. "I didn't know there was anything happening for him outside of his funeral," she said. Bethany dropped her lip gloss back into her yellow purse. Leighton cringed.

"The students arranged it," Bethany informed her, "I guess no one texted you about it."

Leighton grinded her teeth. "I have to get back to work. "

"Even that hiker dude that found him was there," Bethany went on, mock frowning. "And it wasn't like he lived across the street from Jack for eighteen years. That hiker and his friend were super cute we all felt so bad for him because he had to see the dead body and all. It must've been so traumatic."

"His friend?" Leighton inquired, interest peaking. Leighton wasn't surprised Tate had attended the gathering for Jack Norton, she was just shocked he hadn't been alone. Who would have attended Jack Norton's memorial with him?

Bethany nodded, "It was really cool of them to pay their respects and stuff." There was a biting quality to Bethany's tone that let Leighton know she was being judged.

Leighton rolled her eyes, she wasn't getting any more information out of Bethany. "Good luck next year at school, Bethany, really." Leighton meant it too, at one point, they had been close.

Bethany blinked but didn't miss her chance to bite. "Good luck cleaning bathrooms." Leighton grumbled a string of swear words when the girl left the bathroom, wishing she could retract her wishes for success. They had been close, but clearly, they weren't anymore.

Tuning her attention back to her job, Leighton did a quick mop over of the floor and made sure the stalls had toilet paper before checking off the time she cleaned the washroom, scrawling her initials and getting out of there.

A rowdy group of men had taken over the bar by the time Leighton returned to it, wiping down a table a few feet away. From the looks of them, they had come from some sort of sporting event.

Emma stopped by, lifting her tray above Leighton's head as she leaned in closely. "Watch those guys," Emma waned, "they can get kind of grabby." Emma slithered off, moving in between tables with experienced grace.

Leighton eyed the men warily, moving to clean a table on the other side of the restaurant. Customers came and go, leaving tips for the waitresses and messes for Leighton in their wake. The night flowed easily, earning a steady stream of revenue for the pub.

Leighton hung around the back of the pub, rolling cutlery into napkins and setting them in large bins for later use. She chatted easily with the wait staff now, becoming used to her coworkers in a way she hadn't been comfortable with her peers in a long time.

The night's first fight came from the rowdy group of athletes at the bar. Two men got into an argument, one fist flew while the other ducked. In the end, no flesh was hit instead it was a pitcher of beer that took the blow.

Leighton was called over to clean up the mess as the two men were escorted outside to be calmed down. Leighton eyed the men warily, smiling at Trevor as she approached. Beer and glass was everywhere. Trevor handed her a bucket from behind the bar.

"Watch the shards, Leighton," Trevor warned, running a hand over his slick backed hair. "Don't want you getting hurt on the job."

The man nearest to Leighton whistled. "Definitely don't want that," he grunted, "not when you're so pretty." Trevor met Leighton's eye for a brief moment before she painted on a smile.

"Thank you."

The man grinned, happy she was receptive. His eyes were round and greedy, like a toad's. Leighton tried to ignore the weight of their gaze as she picked up the larger shards of glass and placed them in the bucket beside her.

"When do you get off work, honey?" the man asked, taking a sip of his beer as he glanced down at her. Leighton smiled, soaking up some of the spilled lager with a towel. The only thing worse than getting hit on by a guy like him was to be hit on while you were on your hands and knees.

"Not till late," she replied evasively. The back of her neck began to tingle. It made her sick to comply with them but it was an unspoken part of the job.

The man laughed. "I'm a night owl, you know." Leighton smiled and said nothing more. The man watched her the entire time she worked, setting his sights on her with a kind of greed and hunger; for the second time that night she was prey.

"You're awfully stiff for a barmaid," the man said, dragging a heavy finger along her waist. Leighton jumped back, feeling as though she had been zapped.

Trevor sighed lightly but his eyes showed his austerity. "Hands off, Rory, I won't tell you again."

Rory lifted his hands into the air, pretending as though he had never touched Leighton at all. "I'm being good," Rory proclaimed. The barfly threw a sideways glance at Leighton and added, "despite the teases you keep around."

"Do you have any idea how grossly inappropriate that comment was?"

Leighton turned at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. The man beside her was young, perhaps twenty-two. He was around Trevor's height but had none of Trevor's harshness. This man was all soft angles and curves.

His smile was lazy, his hair was golden and slightly curled, his eyes a sincere brown. Everything about his face was soft, pleasant to look at. He had high cheek bones and a smooth arch to his brow bone and the kind of jaw they used in shaving commercials. The way he held himself however, made his overall demeanor slightly unsettling.

The man slipped his hands into the pockets of his beige slacks as he waited for Rory's reply. Rory didn't disappoint. The barfly took a long sip of his beer, locking eyes with the man as he drank.

Rory paused to drag his arm across his mouth before speaking. "And who would you be?"

"A gentlemen, I suppose," said the man, smiling briefly at Leighton.

"The girl's fine," Rory said, hooking an arm around Leighton's waist. She jumped instantly, skin crawling as her stomach clenched in fear and fury.

Trevor growled out a warning. "Let her go, Rory."

The man's lip twitched slightly. "I don't like people who don't follow the rules," he said politely, "the rule here is that you don't touch the staff. And the rule of being a decent human being is to treat others with respect."

"Rules were made to be broken," Rory grunted in response.

The man grabbed Rory's arm and squeezed, pulling him close. Rory made a strangled sound and released Leighton out of surprise. "No," the man said, reaching into Rory's pocket, "they really weren't."

Trevor spoke up as soon as the man let Rory go. "Out," he barked, "come on Rory, I said I wasn't going to warn you twice. You can't keep harassing my people."

Rory sucked in a breath, holding it in his chest, his hold body tight with tension. "Yeah," he said, backing off. "Yeah, okay, Trev." It was silent until he left.

"You alright?" Trevor asked Leighton, genuinely concerned. With Leighton's nod, Trevor took his leave, moving to the other side of the bar to handle calling customers.

Leighton turned to the man, grimacing. "Thank you for that," she said, "it was pretty cool of you to do that for a girl you don't know."

The man chuckled, checking his watch. "We might be better acquainted than you think."

Leighton found his comment slightly odd. "Well, thanks."

The man smiled graciously, eyes travelling to her nametag. "No problem, Leighton. Interesting name by the way. Familiar." The man didn't let her speak. "That guy was stupid, any person could tell you were taken."

"Taken?" Leighton quipped.

The man laughed. "Of course, you don't look at the guys around. You don't scope out any of your customers. You don't respond to their gazes. Only a person who's infatuated doesn't let their eyes wander."

Leighton pressed her lips together, nodding awkwardly. "Well thanks again, I've got to get back to bussing tables unfortunately." Leighton left the man, feeling his gaze on the back of her head until she turned in the corner.

"Told you they were grabby," Emma said, coming up behind her. Leighton jumped, clutching her chest. Emma laughed, "they must've really rattled you."

"Yeah," Leighton lied, "yeah they did." But it wasn't Rory who had unsettled her, it was what she was sure she had seen the man slip into his pocket.

A black stone.

The next morning Leighton had all but forgotten about her night at Dante's Tavern as she sat opposite from her mother at the breakfast nook in their kitchen. Karen was reading the paper, her greying blonde hair tied up carelessly on the top of her head, glasses magnifying her blue eyes.

"Mrs. Wendell passed away," Karen murmured, "I once treated her grandson's broken wrist. What a sweet old woman. She lived to eighty-seven, good for her!"

Leighton looked at the paper as Karen slid it over to her. In the middle of her obituary was a picture of the woman from Rosewood. Leighton swallowed her toast woodenly, cringing as she felt it inch its way down her throat. "What an age to live to," Leighton remarked lifelessly, frozen flowers obstructing her vision.

Karen smiled and peeked up at her. "You'd better live that long or I'll start thinking all the care I put into you was for nothing."

Leighton rolled her eyes. "Start thinking? If I live to eighty-seven than you'll be gone already." Leighton paused for a moment, thinking that over. What were the chances of Tate collecting her mother's soul? She tried not to think about it.

Karen swore. "Shoot, you're right. You'll just have to believe I'd be scowling at you from the afterlife." Leighton's heart contracted at the flippant tone her mother used. Karen never worried about her own health, her own death. Recently, death was all Leighton could think about.

"Do you think there's an afterlife?" Leighton spurted out, unsure where the question had come from. Karen set down the paper and tipped her nose downwards so her eyes met Leighton's over the frame of her glasses.

"Do you?"

Leighton was suddenly eager for a change in subject. "Do you want to go out today? There's a bookstore two towns over I wanted to go to, maybe we could go there," Leighton proposed.

Karen watched her daughter for a long moment before shrugging and righting her glasses. "Sure, Leigh, sounds fun. Are you looking into anything particular?"

Leighton shook her head. "No, I just haven't been book shopping since Rudd passed. I thought it would be nice for us to get some time together. You've been working a lot."

Karen flipped a Cheerio from her bowl over to Leighton, scrunching up her nose. "You have no idea how much I love it when my teenage daughter tells me she misses me. I gloat about you to all my friends."

Leighton snorted, "you do not."

"I do!" Karen yelled, "really! None of my friend's kids will even acknowledge they exist and here you are planning a day with me!"

Leighton sighed, picking apart her crust. "Would it be better if I ignored you? Pretended to be slightly normal so you weren't so different from your friends?"
Karen frowned, eyes creasing. She walked around the breakfast nook to wrap Leighton in a protective hug. "Oh no, Leigh, no. I love you just how you are. And you've gotten so much better over the last few weeks, it's like you're becoming the girl you were before everything happened."

Leighton didn't respond, she just smiled. "I'm going to get ready, we'll leave in ten." Karen murmured an agreement and went back to her paper after kissing Leighton's forehead. After washing her breakfast dishes, running a comb through her hair, and pulling on a pair of jeans Leighton was ready to go.

The drive to the bookstore wasn't long. In fact, the closer Leighton got to their destination the more she wanted to go. Karen drove, giving Leighton time to wonder about Tate. He had all but fallen off the face of the earth after Rosewood. She tried her hardest not to feel stung by his absence but she couldn't deny that she wanted a phone call.

"Here we are," Karen said, cutting the engine. Leighton rubbed her eyes, pretending her absence of mind had been at the whims of drowsiness. She knew her mother worried when she thought Leighton was stuck in her head.

"Let the hunt for literature begin," Leighton said with a smile. They left the car, heading into the large bookstore. This shop was far more commercialised than Rudd's had been, losing that organic feeling. There was something about book covers mimicking movie posters that chipped away at the integrity her favourite hobby held in her mind.

Karen seemed happy enough, she browsed the magazine aisle first, not so much into heavy reading. Leighton wasn't bothered as she circled her way through the store, thumbing through random pages of obscure books and reading synopsises.

Leighton trolled through the Fantasy aisle, hoping to find something worth her time. After rummaging through half the store, Leighton selected and purchased a mystery novel while Karen left with a DIY magazine.

"That took less time than I thought it would," Karen sang, flipping through her magazine on the way back to the car. "Maybe we should get some coffee." Leighton nodded, heading to the driver's side out of habit. When Karen noticed she waved a hand, moving to the passenger's seat. "Just make sure your phone is off."

"Always," Leighton sighed, starting the engine. There was a cool looking café only a few blocks from where the bookstore was. Leighton drove to it without thinking, not pausing to worry over how she knew it was there.

Slowing at the construction site, Leighton listened as her mother rambled on about what to order. Debating between a latte and an espresso like Leighton knew the difference.

"Good find, Leigh," Karen said, "I'll get as a seat." Leighton turned off the car as her mother bounced towards the front doors, purse clutched under arm.

Leighton was slower to get out, an odd sense of premonition pulling her towards the construction site at the end of the road. Knowing she was crazy, Leighton moved a little faster, hoping to get there and back by the time her mother noticed her absence.

Leighton rounded on the construction site, eyeing the looming cranes and intimidating machines warily. She was about to turn around when she caught something out of place. Or rather, someone.

Running around the perimeter of the site, Leighton waved her arms around as she came closer to Tate. He was shadowing a worker. Throwing a glance over her shoulder, Leighton ran into the site, ducking under a piece of the fence that had been pulled back.

Immediately, the men working the site started to yell and toss up their arms. Leighton ran past them without hearing their voices, focused solely on stopping Tate. None of the workers seemed to notice him as he moved around the site, no one but Leighton saw what was coming.

"Get out of here, girl!" A worker shouted, bright vest flashing.

Leighton manoeuvred around him, eyes fixed on Tate. Leighton watched as the worker he was stalking stumbled, tripping over a misplaced tool and cracking his head against the machine closest.

Leighton didn't hesitate. She sprinted towards the man, yelling in an attempt to warn his coworkers. It was futile, as long as Tate was there no one but her was going to be looking. She crashed into Tate before he could get started.

"Leighton?" he growled, equally as surprised as he was angered.

"Not this one," she gasped, chest rattling as she sucked in air. "Please not this one." Leighton looked to the man on the ground, teeth clanking together as the air got a little colder. He was young, earlier thirties, there was a good probability he had a family.

"Leighton, I don't decide these things," Tate warned, "If he doesn't go now he'll still have to go later."

"Give him more time," Leighton urged, "I was drawn here for a reason and I don't just think it's because you're carrying a piece of my soul." Leighton wasn't sure where the words were coming from, but they felt true. "He needs more time."

"Don't they all?" Tate thundered, his tone was a warning Leighton had to ignore.

"Please Tate," she begged, "please just let this one go."

Tate's jaw jumped. "Killian will just mark him again, and the pull to him will get even stronger. It's not something I can postpone indefinitely, Leighton, I don't know what you're fighting for."

Leighton was desperate. Somewhere in the back of her mind she registered that her mother was shouting her name. "Tate, please, I'm literally begging you."

Tate's voice was a growl. "I thought you understood me, I thought you understood what I do. What I have to do. I thought showing you the death as Rosewood would make you understand."

"I do!" Leighton cried, "I do understand. It's you who doesn't understand me. I want this man to live, I don't want to see you die another person with so much life to live!"

"So much life?" Tate repeated, dumbfounded. "You don't know this man. You don't know anything about him. What life does he have left? He's supposed to be dying right now."

"But he doesn't have to!" Leighton argued, "you said it yourself that death can be delayed, so why not his?" Tate stared at her for a long, drawn out moment. Eventually, he took a step back.

"Leighton?" Karen cried, running up to her. "What―oh my God, Leighton! Call an ambulance!" Karen fell to her knees beside the injured construction worker, medical training kicking in as she checked his vitals.

With shaking hands, Leighton called ambulance. She rambled off the street name, panic swelling in her chest as the man started to wail. The other workers had gathered, pushing Tate further away from her, his gaze burning into the side of her face.

Leighton hung up after the Emergency Operator and shouldered her way through the construction workers, following the line of Tate's movements. When she broke free from the crowd she barreled forward, picking up her pace in order to match Tate's.

"Wait!" she called, desperate for Tate to hear her out.

Without any warning Tate rounded on her, bringing both of them to a stop as he glowered down at her. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked sharply, "You're playing with people's lives, Leighton. Not just the construction workers but his friends and family. Now he's going to miraculously survive what should have killed him only for them to face the difficult truth that he died out of the blue later."

Leighton fumbled for words. "Certainly it's better they have a little bit more time with him, regardless of that."

Tate rolled his eyes, looking at her as if she were a petulant child. "What would you know about it, Leighton? What do you really know about death?" He held her gaze for a long while, clear eyes reflecting the storm clouds that were beginning to gather above their heads.

"I know―"

"Nothing!" Tate interrupted, fury peaking. "You know nothing about me, about the construction worker, about death, about the order of things."

Leighton recoiled, feeling her stomach harden into something with jagged edges. "You may be right," she said, "but I don't feel as though I was wrong."

"Maybe that's the problem," Tate told her, voice simmering between fatigue and fury. "You just don't understand the difference." Leighton didn't say anything. She couldn't. All she could do was watch as Tate turned his back on her, walking away and leaving frost in his wake.

It took Leighton two days to work up the courage. She doubted herself the entire way up the elevator, wondering if she was crossing a boundary she couldn't see. When the doors slid open she had no choice but to pluck up the courage to face him.

Leighton kept her head low as she made her way to the corner apartment, passing by one of Tate's neighbours. Her hands shook as she lifted her fist to knock, her body betraying her mind's calm.

At first, Leighton thought Tate wasn't home but after the fifth knock the door was pulled open. Tate didn't say anything as he stood in his doorway, glowering down at her. It was easy to forget how tall he was when they spent time apart.

"Hi," she squeaked, clearing her throat out of embarrassment.

"What do you want?" Tate asked. The worst part was the fact that he didn't sound angry. His indifference hurt Leighton more than his recent silence. She had wanted to think that the only way he could stay away from her was by suffering through immense withdrawal in the same way she was.

"To apologize," Leighton said, titling her nose upwards.

"For saving the construction worker?" Tate said, hanging off his door.

Leighton shook her head stiffly. "No, for not being clear about where I stand. You were honest with me and I should have paid you the same courtesy." After a moment of debate Tate backed up, opening the door wide enough for her to squeeze through.

Leighton entered the apartment, looking around. Not much was different, from where she was standing she could see into the bedroom and the bed was still unmade from when she slept in it. The fact that he had left it sent an odd thrill through her.

"So what is it you have to be honest about?" Tate asked, perching himself on the armrest of the couch.

Leighton stood awkwardly, shifting feet. "I understand what you do, at least I understand it as much as anyone in my position could."

"Apparently not," Tate snapped, "Since you got in my way."

Leighton held up a hand, "want to let me finish?" Tate grumbled and crossed his arms. "I understand what you do," Leighton continued, "I just need you to get that I can't understand why you don't give everyone as long as they could possibly have."

"I have orders," Tate reminded her, "I don't choose, remember?"

"Yeah," Leighton snorted, "orders from some far off partner you talk to once every couple of centuries. You ignored your orders for two months with Jack Norton, I just don't understand why―"

Tate cringed. "I lied about that."

"About what?" Leighton asked, heart knocking into her ribs.

"He's not so far off," Tate admitted, "Killian's in town."

"In St. Hope?" Leighton mumbled, stupefied. In the back of her mind she recalled her conversation with Bethany at Dante's Tavern. She had mentioned Tate having company at Jack Norton's memorial.

"Yes," Tate said, "he came after―"

"You didn't collect Jack Norton's soul," Leighton finished. She felt side blinded.

Tate was slow to reply. "Yes," Tate agonized. "He was upset with me."

Leighton closed her eyes, shuffling to the La-Z-Boy and falling into it. "I think I met him," she stated, rubbing her hands over her face. "God, I'm such an idiot I should have known that was him."

Tate perked up. "You met Killian? When? Where?"

"Dante's Tavern," Leighton told him, "the day before the construction worker."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Tate pressed, mouth a hard line.

Leighton gave him a flat look. "Really, Tate? You were radio silent for days before and we weren't exactly talking after I stopped you from killing that guy."

Tate sighed, rubbing his eyes. "If Killian found you it was for a reason. He doesn't talk to mortals unless he's forced to."

"Forced to?" Leighton echoed, "What about me would force him to speak with me? I don't understand." In the back of her mind, Leighton expected the worst. She didn't want to vocalize her fears.

"Killian's a stickler for the rules, it's one of the reasons we don't get along." Tate took a deep breath, looking Leighton square in the eye. "You're one big breach in the rules."

"Way to charm a girl," Leighton replied sarcastically, some of the weight on her chest lifting. Leighton sighed, planting her face in her hands. "Why didn't you tell me he was here, Tate? Why didn't you tell me you were in trouble? Maybe I wouldn't have―"

"Wouldn't have stopped me from collecting the construction worker's soul?" Tate interrupted, shaking his head. "You still would've done that."

"How can you know that?"

"Because you fight for life," Tate said, softer now. "It's what drew me to you."

Leighton felt a flurry of activity underneath her ribcage. "That's stupid."

Tate's laugh was drenched in self loathing. "I know." Leighton got up from her spot, moving without her mind's consent. She relocated next to Tate, rolling her lip into her mouth as she reached for him, fingers tracing the imprints on his skin.

"I'm sorry," Leighton murmured, confidence sprouting out of nowhere, "for stopping you. I don't want you to be in trouble." Leighton slipped a hand around his neck, hiding the shiver that ran through her nerves.

Tate put his own hand over hers, trying to pull it away. "Leighton, everything up until this point with you has been against Killian's rules. Anything further and I'd be obliterating them."

Leighton couldn't stop herself from leaning into him. "You like breaking rules," she reminded him, "and you don't like Killian." A slow burning fire in the bottom of her stomach was starting to blaze.

Tate swallowed, moving his own face closer. "I don't like him either, you're right."

Leighton's eyes strayed to his lips and then darted back to his eyes. "But you like me."

"I do."

Without another moment wasted, Tate kissed her. The kiss wasn't soft but it wasn't demanding either. They moved together, mirroring one another and falling into a perfect synchronization.

Tate's hand snaked to the bare skin of Leighton's waist where her t-shirt had shot up. She shivered at his touch, feeling her skin break out into Goosebumps. Leighton tightened her hand on Tate's neck, fingers snaking into his hair.

He made a sound and pulled her closer, for the first time lighting her flesh on fire. Leighton's other hand slipped from his shoulder to grip his upper arm. She squeezed his skin before continuing down the line of his arm, approaching her own mark.

Leighton heard the end of his warning before she was pulled into a rabbit hole.