What was it? I couldn't put my finger on it, but as I approached the restaurant early on Wednesday morning, I could feel it.
Nothing looked out of place. No one else looked concerned as they walked past me.
You're imagining it, I told myself. Jumpy because of everything that's happened.
That was totally fair. Things had been crazy. I couldn't help remembering Solomon Danforth and the way he disappeared in the middle of the soirée. Another thing I was more than likely overthinking; sometimes paranoia was our worst enemy. Okay, more than sometimes.
Solomon never gave me any reason to think he'd do anything wrong. Showing up at a party wasn't a crime. If it was, we'd all be guilty of it.
Some of us more than others.
I entered the alleyway behind the restaurant and started to unlock the door.
Stopped when I realized it was already unlocked.
That wasn't unusual; some days Erin arrived before I did and started to prep the kitchen. She was nothing if not keen to learn and grow. I adored that about her.
Shoving my keys into my pocket, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
"Morning," I called out, adjusting my bag on my shoulder.
No one called back.
That was strange.
Had Erin not heard me? I supposed it was possible.
It was also possible someone broke in on our days off, and left the door unlocked. If they did, they'd end up on the menu. If there was something I hated, apart from abusive assholes and cold blooded murderers, it was thieves. I worked hard for this place. Not to have someone steal from me.
I stepped carefully, eyes scanning back and forth, looking for signs of damage. Seeing none.
Had we left the door unlocked for two days?
None of us were ever that sloppy. This was my livelihood, after all. I couldn't afford to give anyone free access to the equipment and food we kept here.
The deeper into the restaurant I went, the more aware I became of an all-too familiar smell. One that shouldn't be so strong, not here.
The unmistakable tang of blood.
What the fuck?
Swallowing hard, I moved forward slowly, tentatively making my way to the kitchen.
Glanced inside.
Nothing in there looked touched. Everything was as spotlessly clean as we left it on Sunday night.
Heart in my throat, I moved past the kitchen, towards the sitting area.
Every single table seemed to be covered in blood. It was on the walls. On the floors.
I stepped around a disembodied hand.
Then a foot. A small one.
Wearing grey sneakers.
My hand over my mouth, I kept on inching forward, eyes stinging. Hoping I wouldn't see what I knew I would.
