Chapter 4

The night dragged on. Every time the door opened, cold air sliced through the torpid warmth in the main room and chilled me behind the counter. As the clock counted down to midnight, the customers thinned and then disappeared altogether. I locked the cash register and leaned in the doorway between the front counter and the kitchen. “Merry fucking Christmas,” I growled.

Chris whirled around, burger in hand, and licked his fingers as he glanced at the clock, then almost choked when he saw the time. “I gotta take out the trash,” he said, dropping the burger on the sandwich counter in his haste. The words sounded rehearsed, as if he had stood there turning them over in his head as an excuse to go outside and get into the suit. Sure enough, the trash bags were already tied and waiting at the back door. I made a move to help him, but he said, “No, I’ve got them. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”