Chapter Twenty: Premonition
DANIEL sat in the driver’s seat of the ambulance he shared with his partner, Krishnan Malhotra. They had just finished a long, mostly uneventful night shift, predominantly filled with visits to retirement homes and non-emergency ‘emergencies’. They had finished their paperwork for the last client visit of the shift and were taking the ambulance back to the motor pool.
Daniel was exhausted; the shift hadn’t been strenuous, but the last couple of nights had been almost sleepless. Since waking up in his apartment the day before last with no idea how’d gotten home, he’d been plagued by disturbing dreams, almost certainly a result of his frightening hallucination at the Sand Flea. His last coherent memory of that evening had been standing over the bathroom sink before turning to speak with Nikki. Then he’d jerked awake in his bed, heart hammering as he gasped for breath. He’d awoken convinced he was still in Afghanistan, panicking when he couldn’t find his rifle. It had taken the better part of a minute before his survival instincts loosened their hold, allowing him to think rationally.
He’d repeatedly replayed his memories of that evening, starting with meeting Nikki outside of Harry’s through to his brief stop in the motel bathroom. He could remember most of what they’d said and done: picking her up; conversing with her; folding her in his arms...that had been a surprise! After that, he remembered heading to the bathroom, needing to cool off.
Then the dream.
He had no recollection of anything between washing his hands and his hallucination of ruined Half Moon Bay. The series of horrific and frightening dream images were indelibly imprinted into his memory. He was deeply disturbed by the apparent discontinuity of the memories. He had resolved to call Nikki and check in with her -- perhaps see if she could perhaps fill in the missing memories. Unfortunately, when he’d called the hotel, he’d been informed that she had checked out without leaving any messages. He had been chagrined when he realized he had no way to contact her.
He wondered if Nicolette had run and whether it had been something he’d said or done that might have driven her away. The first shift after his meeting with Nicolette had been an extremely trying one as he grappled with his partial memories from the night before, but Krishnan had managed to smooth things over with his usual unflappable good cheer.
He hoped was that she’d call him or, in the absolute worst case, that she’d call the Hayes home and get his number from Ramona...though two days later he still hadn’t heard anything.
Jesus, Mom, he thought with consternation, what did you say that spooked her so badly she wouldn’t be willing to call the house? What did I say that would scare her off like that? What could I have said?
Or done, he thought with sinking unease.
He wondered if his blackout was related to his hallucinations. Had Nicolette seen him pass out? Had Nikki gotten him home? She didn’t look a pound over 110 soaking wet...he seriously doubted she’d be able to get his 200 pounds out of the bathroom, much less up a flight of stairs to his apartment. But if she hadn’t, then she had to have called someone for help. Tommy or Dane would have called him by now...though he couldn’t imagine her calling Tommy. Who did that leave?
I must have driven myself home. Good thing I didn’t get pulled over.
As he paused at an annoyingly long red light, he eyed a bit of silvery graffiti drawn along the sidewalk; it resembled some kind of Chinese ideogram. He had seen similar bits of graffiti during his last two shifts, but they seemed most prevalent in Half Moon Bay. Though he was hard-pressed to explain it, the silvery, faintly shimmery paint filled him with a brief rush of apprehension. He wondered at its significance.
Krishnan quietly called, “Clear on the right,” as the light changed.
The silvery graffiti was momentarily forgotten as he pulled cautiously into the intersection. As he drove, his mind returned to his earlier worries about Nicolette and his hallucination. He wondered where she was, his longing to see her and perhaps explain becoming almost physically painful as he dwelled on the problem.
“Hey Krish -- let’s stop for some java on the way back.”
Krishnan paused, studying Daniel thoughtfully, “Right-before-bed coffee, Dan? This’ll be a first.”
Daniel shook his head in irritation, “I know. The craving just...” he shrugged.
A slow smile spread across Krishnan’s features, his teeth very white against his dark skin, “You just realized we’re near Coffee Beach! We can see if Paula’s on the current shift!”
Coffee Beach -- a bikini coffee shop -- was the latest shot across the bow of the good ship Feminism. It had opened some months before, a continuation of a trend that Daniel heard had originated up north, spreading elsewhere when it proved that sex could, in fact, sell coffee.
He shook his head, amused at the idea of a bikini barista; a girl in a bikini or lingerie serving coffee. He found the idea absurd, perhaps even a little repellant, but some days it was all Krishnan could talk about, especially his favorite barista, a spunky little blonde with huge grey eyes and the sexiest smile Krishnan claimed to have ever seen. After weeks of listening to Krishnan’s ruminations concerning Paula, Daniel suspected he would probably recognize the girl if he bumped into her on the street.
Daniel shook his head, feeling some of his worry momentarily pushed aside, “Sure, Krish...though for the record, you’re the one that wants to ogle those poor teenagers.”
His partner turned an amused grin on Daniel, radiating approval of the idea.
Daniel snorted, shaking his head at Krishnan’s irrepressible good cheer and generally unselfconscious pervy-ness.
“Coffee Beach it is...someday you’re going to get arrested if you keep going that way -- don’t look to me to bail your pervy butt out, Krish.”
“Hey, dodging pepper spray makes It more exciting!”
Daniel laughed, shaking his head as he made the left turn toward Coffee Beach, “Someday you’ll have to explain to me how you haven’t been fired yet.”
Thursday mornings weren’t Nicolette’s favorite shift. They tended to be bursty; lengthy spans of time spent mostly idle, interspersed with a few moments of frenetic activity. She preferred when it was consistently but not frantically busy; slow days left her too much time to reflect on how silly she felt, standing around, wearing a bikini more appropriate to the set of a Miami crime show than a Half Moon Bay drive-through coffee shack. The chilliness of the early morning -- when the small shack hadn’t warmed up yet -- added to her discomfort when she wasn’t in motion.
She absently blew a little strand of hair off her forehead as she finished working the steam wand for the current customer’s coffee creation, added the necessary finishing touches, then capped the disposable paper cup. She was painfully aware that the middle aged man waiting for his order was shamelessly staring at her behind while she worked. He was one of her ‘regulars’, showing up every day at the same time. Though he hadn’t asked for a selfie with her yet, it was probably only a matter of time. He favored her with a guilty sheepish grin, blushing slightly as his eyes jumped back up to hers when she turned around.
You’d think he would realize that half the surfaces in here are chrome or glass, and I can see him staring at me in the reflection while I work, she thought, both amused and annoyed; and wanting to take a shower, as though his eyes had left a distasteful residue, like a snail sliming everything it touched. She suppressed a shudder, though she didn’t drop her professional smile.
Doing it for the tips, she reminded herself. It’s this or a life of crime...though maybe if I stick to little crimes...
She leaned forward, passing him his half-caff, soy milk cappuccino, extra foam, with a dash of cinnamon. She wondered if his order was needlessly complex, intended to draw out the preparation time to maximize his ogling.
“Enjoy your coffee, Mr. Walters.”
His smile widened as he accepted his coffee, “Thanks, Erica! I’ll see you tomorrow!”
She watched a
s he drove off, grateful that her coworker had convinced her to use an alias. Thankfully, he wasn’t one of the customers that recognized her from her previous life; those encounters were a special Hell of awkwardness...though the tips were usually exceptional.
She closed the little window, surprised to find no customers waiting.
So. It was going to be one of those shifts; all creepers with long waits in between. Wonderful.
She leaned against the countertop, ruminating on the last couple of days while she absently rubbed her arms for warmth. Ever since she’d awakened in her motel room alone, she’d been wondering what had happened to Daniel. Her memories of the evening were hazy, but she could remember some details pretty clearly...embarrassingly clearly, if she was being honest! -- right up until Daniel had ducked into the bathroom. After that...nothing...nothing until the nightmare. It scared her how vivid the dream images had been -- vivid enough to leave aftershock nightmares on successive nights.
She’d awakened the next morning with a panicked yell at the piercing ring of the motel phone -- the wakeup call she’d scheduled the night before. Once the immediate panic had subsided, she’d turned on every light in the motel room, eventually sitting against the headboard sipping bad motel instant coffee to ensure she didn’t doze off again.
She wondered if Daniel had put her to bed after...whatever had happened. She wanted desperately to call him, to ask him about the night’s events. When she’d finally worked up the nerve and dialed the number she remembered from high school, she’d been shocked to discover it was out of service.
If I had realized things were going to get so strange -- hallucinations, nightmares, blackouts, oh my! -- I would have gotten around to exchanging phone numbers first thing. She shook her head ruefully at the missed opportunity. Did I just...drop to the floor, twitching and drooling on myself? Speaking in tongues? If that’s what happened, no wonder he ditched!
She frowned glumly, embarrassed at the mental image of herself flopping onto her back and foaming at the mouth with Daniel pressed against the wall, staring down at her twitching form in horror. She desperately wanted to find out what happened, perhaps offer some kind of explanation.
She snorted in exasperation, What could I possibly say? “I uh...mistook an Alka Selzer for a breath mint...and I’m allergic to Alka Selzers...so, uh, yeah!” Good luck with that, Nikki.
She wanted to gnash her teeth in frustration and worry.
Up until the passing out part, it hadn’t gone that badly...had it? Had it?
She couldn’t help a bitter chuckle as she reflected that prison clearly hadn’t been kind to her dating skills if that was the standard she was measuring her dates by. She stared into the shiny chrome of the espresso machine, smiling at her distorted reflection, chirping, “Up until I had a convulsion and mouth-foamed all over myself, it was GREAT!” She added a high pitched giggle and hair flick for good measure.
She sighed, the moment of levity passing as she replayed what she remembered of their evening. She knew she shouldn’t have gotten playful or allowed things to get physical between them, but it had just happened so quickly. It had been exciting, but her near loss of control frightened her. Back in high school, things with Daniel had been intense, but never that intense!
No need to go over that for the umpteenth time, she thought, shutting down the memory before it could become distracting. Nikki, you still work at Harry’s; you still know where his family lives; we both still know Shelly and Dane -- there are a bunch of different ways we can reconnect and try again.
As a distraction, Nicolette busied herself cleaning the coffee shack while reflecting on some of the strangeness in the wake of that scary pair of dreams.
The strangeness had started with the silvery graffiti which seemed to be appearing all over town, graffiti that seemed too lively to her eyes. She’d first seen it on the sidewalk, next to a path leading down into Pilarcitos Creek where it wound its way under Main Street; a path she had never noticed before despite having walked past it twice a day for several weeks. The strangely shimmery writing had drawn her eyes, bringing her to a stop as she came abreast of the narrow dirt track.
The graffiti hadn’t rubbed off the concrete when she’d knelt down and gingerly touched it, or when she’d scrubbed it with her fingertips. It had brightened slightly as her hand approached the ground, feeling warm and imparting a tingly sensation in her fingertips. The strange ideogram had quietly shimmered in the shadows, oblivious to her pounding heart or fearful eyes. She didn’t understand how it could be so...lively. While she examined it, other pedestrians had passed, giving the blonde woman in a black cocktail dress curious stares as she knelt on the sidewalk, seemingly oblivious to the ideogram they were trampling. Unsure what to make of it, she had hurried away, unconsciously resolving to find a different route home so she could put it out of mind.
Or at least, she’d tried to put it out of her mind.
The silvery ideograms had hovered on the edge of her thoughts all morning, imparting a vague anxiety that threatened to blossom into fear when she gave herself time to think. She couldn’t have articulated why it bothered her so much until, completely unbidden, a thought had occurred to her late last night, a thought which had robbed her of sleep. It had periodically resurfaced throughout the morning, leaving her shaky and frightened whenever it wormed its way out of the dark recesses of her subconsciousness: Some types of insanity were hereditary.
She shuddered violently, remembering Mother’s calculating smile...the suddenness and extremity of her mood swings...the cake...the belt...
She forced the thoughts out of mind.
Out of sight, out of mind, right? Right? Out of my mind, more likely.
She shook her head in irritation, trying to ignore the icy shiv of fear worming its way into her heart.
Not helping, Nikki.
Of course, it would have been easier to put the strangeness out of her mind if the dead man driving the Land Rover hadn’t stopped for coffee the previous morning...