She relaxes again. Or maybe just loses interest because the woman in front of me doesn’t look like she ever relaxes. She’s almost my height, but her muscles are incredibly defined. She’s not Matt-level muscly, but she’s packing some serious guns.
“Alright, do you have anything particular in mind?” she asks.
“My neighbor uses these daisy-scented candles. I think she got them from here?” I say. “She’s your father’s neighbor, so I’m just guessing.” I bring in the casual Oliver again.
Her eyes narrow. “Who sent you here?” she asks, her voice stern.
“Just a neighbor?” Ugh, I’m being suspicious as fuck. “I also thought I’d ask how Dalton is doing. Haven’t seen the man in forever,” I laugh awkwardly.
Her eyes are now slits, and she’s taken a weirdly combative pose. “I haven’t seen Dalton in years,” she finally says. She takes an audible breath in. “Look, if you're not going to buy anything, you should leave.”
A loud noise in the back nearly gives me a heart attack. It also breaks her glare.
“I think we're done talking,” she says, then opens the door behind her and walks into what I assume is a store room.
I’m walking away, defeated, when I hear a low sound of distress. I turn back around and notice the outline of a door on the left wall. Before I can even process what I'm doing, I movetowards it.
I push, and it opens easily. Too easily. I look at the other door behind the counter, where the angry lady disappeared off to. It’s a normal wooden door that looks like, you know …a door, not whatever the hell this is.
I can’t hear any noise anymore. I glance at the counter again, no sign of Aurelia. I send a prayer to the universe to keep her in the storage for longer and walk inside.
The door clicks shut behind me, swallowing me in darkness.
My heartbeat picks up, my breathing the only sound in the room. I don’t like darkness. Well, who does? But this darkness is heavy, and the smell of incense and flowers almost feels suffocating.
“Hello?” I whisper. Why the fuck am I whispering?
When no reply comes, I try to open the door. When I can’t find a knob or handle, I truly start to panic. Fuck, that woman is definitely going to kill me now. I distinctly feel like one of the stupid college kids in cliché horror movies who voluntarily walk into the dark basement. What the fuck were you thinking, Oliver!
Then I remember I have my phone with me. I take it out of my pocket, and suddenly the door jerks open. I yelp before backing off, so it doesn’t hit me in the face.
I run out before I can even see who saved me. It’s a good thing I do because the man seems like he was moving to block me. I walk backwards until I’m safely away from the scary fucking room, assessing my savior.
He doesn’t look happy about the role. The guy is a literal mountain. Almost as tall and big as Matt. If he wanted to keep me inside, I wouldn’t have made it out.
“What were you doing there?” his rough voice booms.
“I thought I heard a cat,” I laugh awkwardly. God, what’s up with me today!
He tilts his head. “A cat, huh? Have you heard what happens to curious cats?” he asks ominously.
I laugh awkwardly. Again. “Good one,” I say. There are absolute zero signs of humor on his face. I start walking backwards towards the exit, oddly scared to turn my back to him.
I’m almost at the door when I practically slam into the woman from earlier.
I’m suddenly sweating under my thin jacket. “It's hot here, isn't it?” I say to the woman who’s blocking the door completely.
“Who sent you?” she repeats, ignoring my effort to make small talk. Generally, I like people who get straight to the point. Not today.
“Why would anyone send me here?” I ask, genuinely confused.
“I didn’t know WRB is hiring humans now, too,” the man’s voice says from behind me. He sounds closer.
A jolt runs down my spine, and the hair on the back of my neck stands in attention. My mind stops processing their words. I have just one focus. Get the fuck out of here right fucking now.
I look behind the woman. The pavement looks oddly empty for early evening. Where are the people of Los Angeles?
The man must have detected my intention. “You should have stayed inside that little room, boy. Might have improved your chances of leaving,” he casually comments.
