Oracle (Dragon Oracle Book 1) Page 2

  Whew. Crisis adverted. I just hoped that everything would return to normal and I could finish the rest of my shift without any more incidents.

  2

  No Bystanders Here

  It turned out that we didn’t have nearly enough lemons to get us to the weekend, so after I finished cutting up enough for the day, I quickly wrote it on the whiteboard by our manager’s locked office. Once I was done, I headed back to the front, only to see that it was my break time.

  Well, that was a pleasant surprise.

  But still, I wanted to make sure my coworkers didn’t need help before I disappeared. I stuck my head out to see that there wasn’t a line, and everything seemed pretty quiet.

  “All clear?” I asked, our code for if it was safe to use the bathroom or go on break.

  “All clear.”

  “Thanks!”

  I ducked back inside and cut through our prep-area to the small breakroom. It wasn’t much, but there was a table and chairs, a mini-fridge, a water cooler and—of course—a coffee maker.

  I was more tired than I had any right to be, but I wasn’t going to argue with myself. I’d never been much for routine, preferring to change my schedule to fit my needs on a day to day basis, so naturally, working life tended to grind me down.

  However, if I could make my living with art, now that would be some real fulfillment. Ever since I had started to show a knack for drawing and painting, people had no problem telling me how I was going to be a starving artist and I needed to get a job that would pay the bills. I couldn’t always help but think that getting a job only for money’s sake sounded like a terrible existence, but I never said as much.

  People just didn’t understand what art did for me. It helped me focus, helped me understand the emotions going through me, and most importantly, it stopped other…very stressful things from happening.

  I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. I was wasting my break chasing my thoughts in circles again when I should just be enjoying myself. With a stern shake of my head, I crossed over to the water cooler and grabbed a bio-degradable cup.

  “So, who did you get for Secret Santa?”

  “I can’t tell you that! That ruins the whole point of Secret Santa.”

  I yelped, dropping my cup and splashing water all over the floor. But I couldn’t care less about that compared to what had caused me to jump in the first place.

  Those voices. They were clearly Stacey and Presley, part-timers that only worked weekends. Normally, that wouldn’t be that alarming, except for the fact that it was June and Presley definitely wasn’t working.

  Oh, and the fact that neither of them were in the room.

  “Aw, come on. Don’t be a stick in the mud. I mean, unless you got me, in which case, I don’t wanna know. But I’m pretty sure Shelly has me because she’s asked me what my favorite color is about ten times in the past month.”

  “Fine. I got Davie. I’m not artsy, but I got her this mini-pastel set that my sister never used. Apparently, the thing is, like, fifty bucks.”

  I let out a long groan and threw my cup away. I knew exactly when this conversation happened—it was at our last Christmas party when Presley had given me such an expensive gift. I remembered it because I had cried so hard that I’d gotten a headache and had to leave a bit earlier than everybody else.

  But I couldn’t have possibly overheard this conversation, which meant it wasn’t a memory. But if it wasn’t a memory, that could only mean…

  “No,” I pleaded to no one in particular. “No, no, no, no, no.” Had I forgotten to take my medicine this morning? I didn’t think so. It was as routine as brushing my teeth was.

  I crossed over to my bag and dug around for my emergency supplies. Sure enough, I found the small pillbox there and quickly poured out the two meds I needed.

  I wasn’t willing to risk more water talk, so I just swallowed them dry. As I did, I felt a calm wash over me.

  There. All better.

  As my heart settled, I returned to the table and sat down, resting my head on my arms with a sigh.

  The peace didn’t last very long, as I suddenly heard noises that sounded like someone was sucking on something right next to my ear.

  I sat up with another jerk to see Stacey and Presley fervently making out with each other. My mouth dropped open in shock and for several seconds, I didn’t really know how to react.

  Stacey was seated on the table, her low-rise jeans not doing much rising, and Presley had his arms wrapped around her tightly while their lips moved against each other with more of those noises.

  No. This couldn’t be happening again. It had been years since I last…

  “Whatever!” I snapped, jumping up from the table. If the breakroom was determined to torment me, then I was just going to go somewhere where reality was more stable and I didn’t have to worry about seeing things that weren’t there. Things that were impossible for me to see.

  I hesitated for a moment in front of the doors back to the main area, wondering where I would go, before deciding that the bathroom was probably the best option. Keeping my eyes squarely on my non-slip shoes until I was safely inside a stall.

  Ah, a little three-by-four haven away from the world. There were a lot of terrible things to be said about public bathrooms, but at least no one bothered you in them. Or at least…hopefully, no one did. I couldn’t imagine more of a bad day than someone intruding on me while I was on the toilet.

  I laughed at the thought, imagining all sort of awkward sequences. For some bizarre reason, it put me in a better mood. As I finished up, I managed to push my stress down and tell myself everything was going to be okay.

  Of course it wasn’t, but I had no way of knowing that then.

  Just when I stood, I heard the noise of something small hitting the ground and rolling. Looking down, I saw that a purse had tipped over in the stall next to me, allowing a tube of lipstick to fall out and roll against my foot.

  I hoped whoever was in the next stall had hand sanitizer and bent down to pick it up.

  “Hey, I think I’ve got something of yours.”

  “What? Oh! My purse!” I saw dainty hands with one of those really snazzy manicures reach down and right the bag, quickly shoveling things into it. “I’m so sorry! I’ll be out in just a minute.”

  “Oh no problem. I’ll just wash it off while I take care of my hands.”

  Stepping out of the stall, I crossed around to the sink and made sure I followed the proper technique for ensuring my hands were thoroughly cleaned. A lot of people didn’t know it, but washing for anything less than thirty seconds was basically pointless, so I gave both my hands and the lipstick the full, soapy rundown.

  The door to the other stall opened just as I was drying the tube and I sent the woman a smile.

  She was certainly pretty. One of those blonde, tanned, perfect makeup model types that looked like they belonged in an art exhibit rather than a local coffee shop.

  “Ugh,” she murmured, full lips curling into a smile. “You are just the best. I would have killed myself if I lost that.”

  Alright. Poor choice of words, but I chose not to point it out. “No problem,” I said, handing her over the little tube.

  But the moment our hands touched, reality cracked in two and darkness washed in all around us.

  It would have been terrifying if it hadn’t happened so many times before. After my parents had died, I’d often been forced into viewing scenes that I couldn’t possibly know or understand. It had continued, unchecked, for quite a while. One could imagine how hard it might be for a young girl to figure out what was real and what was not, all things considered.

  “What the hell is this?”

  Suddenly, all the color rushed in, going from a miasmic rainbow soup until it solidified into a small but meticulously maintained apartment.

  “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—”

  “You never mean to! But you do anyway! The freaking rug is completely ruined. I’m going t
o have to replace the entire thing! Do you know how much that’s going to cost us? Cost me? No, you don’t. You just sit on your rear end all day here and spend my money!”

  I winced away from the angry voice as two characters appeared before me. One was the woman, and the other was a man. He was tall and relatively slim, but had a sort of intensity in his eyes that spoke of violence.

  “Do you have any idea how hard I work to give you this place, and then you just go and spill crap all over it!”

  “I’m so sorry! It was an accid—”

  He lashed out so fast that I hardly saw it, but I certainly heard it. The woman fell back, her face red where he had struck her, only for him to kick her soundly in the leg.

  I reached out to stop him, to try to push him, but my hands moved through him. Like they always did.

  That was the most frustrating thing about the delusions, and one of the reasons I had buried them so deep. I didn’t know what was causing them to resurface now, but I didn’t appreciate it. Not one bit.

  As if life had heard me, the vision dissolved and left me standing in the bathroom, still holding onto the lipstick and staring at the blonde.

  “Um…” she murmured uncertainly. “You can let go now.”

  “Are you okay?” I heard myself ask before I could even think the question through.

  She finally pulled the little piece of makeup from between my fingers and gave me an odd look. “Uh, yes. Why?”

  “I just…” Well, I had stepped in it now, so there was no backing out. Besides, I wasn’t the type to see something like that and not do something about it. Mickey always said I had a knack for sticking my nose exactly where it didn’t belong. As much as I had worked to shove down the strange echoes and scenes that I saw, I hadn’t been able to trim down my other bad habits. “You know you don’t deserve to be hit, right? No one who loves you should treat you like that. Ever.”

  “I… He… How did you…” She took a breath. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said finally, steel in her voice. I opened my mouth, trying to think of something to say that made sense, but she brushed past me and went right out the door.

  “Well, that went great,” I grumbled, looking at myself in the mirror.

  Except, I didn’t see myself. I saw the beautiful blonde standing there instead. At first, it was just her normal reflection, perfectly coiffed and face glowing. But then her expression changed to one of sadness. And then fear. Her lip swelled, then split, then her cheek bruised, and then two black eyes. All if it played out in a few moments until, finally, her skin turned grey and her gaze went lifeless.

  He was going to kill her someday.

  I stood there, shaking as my mind caught up with what was happening. How had I gone from swooning over too-pretty men to getting involved in a domestic abuse situation? It wasn’t my business and she certainly didn’t want my help. The smart thing to do was walk away and go about my business until the antipsychotics kicked in and I stopped hearing voices and seeing things.

  But I couldn’t. The truth was, I had a terrible temper. I managed to shove it down to the deepest parts of me most of the time, as I’d rather love than fight, but once I was set off, there was no stopping me.

  And I was definitely set off.

  Nothing made me burn hotter than the powerful taking advantage of those in their care. I had first learned just how cruel people in authority could be when Mickey and I were slipped into foster care with a couple that was clearly in it for the money and not to help children. I wished I could say that was the last time I had encountered it, but it was a recurring experience throughout our lives.

  And I wasn’t about to let a woman die when I could stop it. How old was the blonde? Seventeen? Nineteen? She couldn’t be older than twenty-one. Just because she was young, foolish, and possibly brainwashed didn’t mean she deserved a death sentence.

  That thought was the last straw. I turned on my heel and marched right back out into the seating area. Just in time too, as I spotted her standing next to a guy at the counter who was picking up two drinks in to-go cups.

  I didn’t waste a single second.

  I strode over there with purpose, cutting through the room like I owned the place. Squaring my shoulders and hardening my jaw, I stepped right between the man and the door.

  “Excuse me,” he said, sounding more surprised than evil. But that was the insidious thing about abusers: they rarely showed their true face to the outside world. It was one of the easiest ways to discredit their victim. If everyone else thought they were an angel, they would never believe what was really going on.

  “Real men don’t hit their girlfriends.”

  “Excuse me?!” he repeated, obviously surprised.

  “You heard what I said. Real men don’t hit their girlfriends, so I want you to apologize, walk out the door, and then never talk to this young lady again.”

  “What the hell did you say to her?” he barked, craning his head to look at the blonde behind him.

  “Nothing! I swear. She’s crazy!”

  By now, we were starting to draw attention to ourselves and that was the last thing I wanted.

  “Look, Anabelle, I know you think that he loves you, but—”

  “How did you know my name?”

  That actually surprised me and I blinked at her a bit. “What?”

  “My name, Anabelle. I never told you it. You never even asked.”

  Oh darn. I hadn’t. Great, it was worse than I thought.

  “Whatever, let’s get the hell out of here.”

  The man went to brush past me, obviously planning on delivering a shoulder check. Instead, I stood firm, and he ended up bouncing off me and nearly colliding with a table.

  In addition to the visions and auditory hallucinations I’d had since childhood, I had two notable physical quirks. The first being, although I looked soft, I had a solid core of muscle from hauling around my 5’11” frame and having been on the wrestling team when still in school. I certainly wasn’t any sort of pro, or strongman wannabe, but I had a type of strength that most people didn’t expect.

  The man rounded on me, that same violence flashing in his eyes. He swung wildly, trying to deliver what I recognized as a hook, but I caught it in my hand.

  It probably should have hurt, but it didn’t. My second physical knack was that I had a very high tolerance to pain. Mickey always used to joke that I absorbed energy just so I could sleep it off later, but I found it was a pretty apt way to describe it. Heck, it made more sense than the voices I’d heard all my life.

  Abruptly, a cool feeling spread over me, starting at my head and reaching down all the way to my toes. Without even thinking about it, I leaned forward until I was just a breath from his face.

  “I would stop if I were you,” I murmured without even choosing my words. The only thing I could do was look into his eyes, which were level with mine and filled with confusion. “All it would take is one little phone call to the police a few counties over and they would love to pick up someone who has three warrants out for their arrest. You just got a new job, right? One that pays five thousand more than before, right? How do you think they would like to know that an old drug pusher is on their payroll?”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “That’s not important,” I hissed, lips drawing back from my teeth. I wasn’t a fan of my body, mind or mouth driving itself, but I was certainly enjoying the show. “What’s important is asking yourself whether having your own personal punching bag is worth losing everything else you have going for you.”

  “Babe?” Anabelle asked shakily.

  The man looked from her, to me, then back to her before letting out a string of curses. “Whatever. I don’t need this kind of drama in my life. Go home.”

  “Babe, what!?” But he was already gone, rushing out the door before another word could be uttered. Unfortunately, that meant that no one else was standing between me and the suddenly jilted woman. “Why the hell
did you do that!?” she cried, stepping forward as if she was going to slap me. I made no move to stop her and her hand faltered before it could even touch my face. Defeated, she crumpled into a seat.

  I ignored all the stares and knelt in front of her. “I know it’s hard, but he really didn’t love you. It sounds crazy, but there’s something much better in your future.” Cautiously, I reached out to pat her arm. Before I could stop it, words were pouring out of my mouth. “It’s going to be so wonderful that you’ll never even think about your ex who used to kick you when you were down. You’ll have someone who comes home to you with flowers, not punches, and every day, he’ll tell you how wonderful you are and how lucky he is to know you. But you can’t get to that point if you don’t let go of the voice in you that says you’ll never be worth anything.”

  I looked up at her face and it was as if the light was breaking just behind her eyes. I saw hope there, as well as confusion.

  “Who are you?” she breathed.

  “Oh, you know, just your friendly neighborhood barista.” I smiled nervously and stood. “Do you have someone we can call to come collect you? Your parents maybe?”

  “Yeah. I…I think I have a charge.” With a shaking hand, she reached into her purse and pulled out a phone. Quickly, she hit a contact and it rang once before answering.

  I could sense how the conversation was going to go, so I stepped away. I hated making such a spectacle of myself and I was anxious to slink into the background of life.

  I waited by the door until her parents arrived to pick her up. There were tears and hugs and worried faces all around, but I managed to stay out of the heartfelt reunion. I could tell that plenty of people near the scene were watching it unfold with curiosity, but had chosen to stay uninvolved.

  That was one thing that would never happen to me. As much as I hated the limelight, I hated being a bystander to injustice more. If there was something wrong, I would always do my best to fix it.

  Finally, the family left, and I could practically see the happiness stretching out before them as they piled into their van. Good things were going to happen for them, and honestly, I believed they deserved it. But then they were gone and I was the only one who remained of the little drama that had played out.