At the Cromellu Diner, Jetkins District (2)

13th of April

The night was already out, trees swinging with the wind's cool breeze, but the rain is falling hard that even driving won't be easy as breathing.

Until I can't recognize myself walking and fainted right after.

I wake up lying on some damp soil, light from the moon reaches my sight. Where am I?

Another dark place I can't determine. Rain was still pouring and thunder roaring as lightning struck.

I want to stand, but I can't help myself. My body is numb. I don't know-how. Was I beaten or injected some drugs? Either of the two, I should stand and find my way out.

But before I could move a finger, someone grabs me from my collar and no doubt pulled me like a piece of luggage.

"Who are you?!" triggered I asked, but none replied.

Seconds, I felt him dragging me into some damper soil. My clothes got wet, and friction started to induce, giving me aches and scratches.

He pulls me as easy as an empty sack, not minding me banging some tree roots and trunks. Small plants touch my face, leaving wounds and slices.

"HELP!!"

***

I'm on my way to the diner I visited a few days ago, but going there feels nostalgic—dusty road, scorching heat of the sun, quiet surrounding. None like chimes is whistling, or even birds are chirping. Such noise from my previous visit vanished.

Before getting inside, I roamed my gaze around. Nothing seems suspicious, but the abnormalities of the situation gave me awareness.

Searching for nasty things happening here stopped because I thought nothing and none indeed happening here. It's just like the other districts here at New Cica. But thinking now, this sudden twist of events tells me a message.

Before I left the church, Reverend Scott was informed by the citizens about a particular murder that happened just yesterday night. A 60-year-old beggar was killed by stabbing. He received over fifty stabs all over his body. The motive was not yet known, but thinking about the victim's situation and status, nothing may point to evidence about the reason.

And this morning, a certain woman living ten blocks away from the church was found by her son bathing on her blood bed. The cause of death was the punching of screws on her body right through her bones. Pretty inhumane act, but as reported happened, it happened.

On my way here, civil guards are roaming, and I've crossed paths with the two of them, but they're doing casual. I mean, nothing seems worried about their side around the murders reported.

I thought of telling Reverend Scott to stop our session as I'm feeling unsafe here, but indeed bet he'll scold me. So, I'll keep it myself.

The diner's chimes clanging echoed the whole place. Those pairs of different eyes looking at me the first time I set my foot here vanished. The children running, couples dating, and lone eaters are nowhere to be seen in this diner. Just two sets of eyes welcomed me and clinging of utensils from the lone eater near the counter.

I reached for the counter I've seated before and saw the same woman who takes my order cleaning some glasses situated on the countertop. I grab my chair and ask her the thing I've observed upon entering.

"Where's everyone?"

As the ventilation from the diner's window above the kitchen door resonates, her forehead creased as she didn't get what I'm pertaining to. After seconds she flinched and put the last glass she's holding on the countertop.

"People stopped coming two days ago. I don't know why, but maybe some told them that news about some murders will somehow reported," she mockingly answered and chuckled a bit.

I didn't feel any happiness upon her answer. When she looked at my expression, which is serious, she stands properly and clears her throat. She should not joke around in this kind of situation. I bet killings here seem normal to them, but I heard earlier that these two successive events are out of casual.

"The one I've ordered before." Talking about the food I ate the last time I've visited.

Even though not sure of what I'm pertaining to the before, she wrote it on a piece of paper, then brought it to the kitchen window and rang the bell.

"Got bored?" A man with a long beard peered in the small window. His eyes are huge, and he has thick brown brows.

"Customer's order. Don't slack this time!" The woman gave the man a stern look and pasted the paper to his forehead, and it didn't fall. Annoyed by the woman's gesture, the man takes his way further inside the kitchen, and the woman came back at the counter.

Waiting seems forever for me. Nothing amuses my eyes like before. The chimes clang, and saw the lone man eating a few chairs away from me disappeared. He's now walking the road out. And I'm left alone here in the diner.

"You know what?" The woman stopped the silence we're into. "That beggar who murdered seems good and I pity him. I always saw him digging from the grave near the church every noon, just for a living."

"You mean a dumpster like?" I asked, and she nodded. She added her sentence, but I can't understand a thing. I was put into deep thought. It's the man I've seen the first time I visited the church. He seems reasonable, and none indeed wanted him dead. What could they find and get from a beggar dumpster, by the way?

I finished my food without listening to the woman's nonsense. I thought she'd be quiet and morn for the loss of the beggar she pitied. I don't even have an idea about her statement, and why did she speak to me? I bet she's a woman who's fond of chatting with strangers and telling information indirectly.

I suddenly heard my phone beeped right after the diner's door closed. I received a message from Abella.

“Reverend Scott wants to tell you something. Come over.”