Don't Tell Ellie
Chapter Eight: Late Shift

“Jack, it’s Ellie. I’m working the late shift tonight, stop by if you can.” This is the third message I’ve left Jack since I got home. I gave up on texting him half an hour ago, but he’s even ignoring my phone calls.

I’m standing in my kitchen with the black and white photograph of the table and flowers in my hand, I’m squinting but I don’t need to in order to see the mark. Like a painter who signs their finished product, Marlow had a way of signing her paper flowers. Each outer petal of the roses was creased, dog-eared like a page in a book, it was subtle, almost unnoticeable to anyone who wasn’t looking for it, but I was, and on the inside of each folded petal was a tiny inked M.

I’d watched Marlow do this day after day, folding and inking as if she were signing autographs for fans. When I asked her why her response confused me, she’d said, “It’s the creator’s burden to leave a mark.”

I walk toward my garbage bin and stop, glancing down at the bouquet cautiously. Do I even want to know? I pluck a single rose from the shredded brown paper and twist it in my fingers.

“Fuck.” Is all I can say as the tiny black M stares back at me.

I’ve got to be losing my mind, maybe I’m the one that should be in Bellevue. That feeling the Xanax was supposed to help with, that paranoia threaded with anxiety is bubbling up somewhere inside of me and I suddenly feel like someone is watching me. Like this is some sort of new reality show called Let’s Fuck with Ellie.

Something touches me and I jump, dropping the rose and nearly trampling Lagertha as she dashes away from my feet with a hiss.

“Sorry, girl. I’m a little out of it.”

My phone chimes and I grab it to read the text message scrawled across the screen. It’s Viv, most likely hating the fact that she has to text instead of call.

“Let’s make plans for the 7th, I’d like to see u. Hope u say yes. Xo Viv.”

The 7th is this Friday and I don’t have any plans that I can think of, maybe I can get more information out of her because the feeling that there’s something she’s not telling me is fierce.

“Sure, see you then.” I text back.

When I’m ready for work I decide to call an Uber instead of walking, my nerves are shot and I’m not interested in checking over my shoulder every step of the way to the bar.

My Uber driver is a young kid who looks like he’s barely old enough to drive. But he doesn’t say much except, “Hey,” and “See ya,” when he drops me off in front of Thermal. Five stars.

I tighten my ponytail and tug on my shirt to expose the perfect amount of cleavage, most people tip better if you give them something nice to look at. It’s Wednesday, so the bar won’t be packed, but I can still hope to make at least one hundred and fifty dollars in tips.

“You’re early,” my boss, Rachel says as I step behind the bar. She’s about a foot shorter than me and built like a prepubescent boy, but even the bouncers are afraid of her.

“Am I?”

“It’s 9:30,” she says sliding two beers to a pair of guys, “I guess you can start your shift, it’s pretty slow tonight.”

“Cool beans.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Rachel is looking at me like I’ve just insulted her, “Who the hell says cool beans?”

Not me, that’s for sure, “Sorry, my mind was somewhere else.”

“Alright, well get it together, I don’t have time to hold hands tonight.”

“I got it, don’t worry.”

Rachel rolls her eyes and heads to the other end of the bar to refill drinks.

I scan the thin group of customers, there are about thirty people, we’re used to at least two hundred on a weekend, so this is especially slow, people must be hungover from the Fourth of July.

Thermal is a bar I frequented a lot in my early twenties, it’s just above being classified as a hole in the wall. There’s a digital jukebox that isn’t up to date and is currently blaring Satisfaction by The Rolling Stones. Two pool tables sit empty of players in the back right corner next to a small dance floor if you can even call it that. But, the atmosphere is nice, the lighting is dim and the bathrooms are clean, thanks to Rachel who won’t allow anyone else to clean them, because they never meet her standards. The liquor and taps are always fully stocked and there are more than enough tables and couches for guests.

By midnight the crowd has doubled and my coworker, Jess is behind the bar with me, flitting around in a black miniskirt and skin-tight tank top, the regulars love her.

“El,” Jess winks at me as she pours a shot of vodka, “You’ve got a gueeest,” she sings.

Jack, he came, thank god, “Where?”

“He’s sitting at the two-top by the back door.”

“Can you handle the bar for fifteen?” I ask.

“Hell yes girl, go get that man.” She blows a kiss in my direction and serves the guy across from her with a smile.

Looking at her, you’d think Jess was a bit of a ditz, and I know she likes it that way. She says people are intimidated by intelligent women, I used to think it was just a line to make herself feel better until one night I found a paper sticking out of her purse, I shouldn’t have looked, but I was glad I did. It was a printout of her GPA from NYU, a fucking 4.0 in Physics. Never underestimate a pretty face and short skirt.

I exit from behind the bar and make my way through a group of people who have clustered by the pool tables. I hadn’t even seen Jack come in, he must have come up to the bar when I was busy, but at least he’s here now. I duck under two guys raising their glasses into the air and singing an awful rendition of LMFAO’s Sexy and I Know It. When I make it through unscathed, I’m standing in front of the two top, his back is to me. Finely pressed, lint-free, and if I had to stake my life on it, I can say before he even turns around this is not Jack. Jack doesn’t wear suits, but he does.

I’m thinking about going back to the bar, telling Rachel I’m sick and taking the rest of the night off, but...I have to know what he knows. I clear my throat.

Benjamin’s head turns to the right and he’s looking at me from the corner of his eye, “Hello, Eleanore.”

I move around the table to face him, “How do you know where I work?”

“Jack told me you wanted to see me,” he’s assessing me carefully, “I can see that is not the case.”

“You expect me to believe-”

“Here,” he interjects, sliding his cell phone across the table. On the screen is a text message from Jack.

Eleanore is looking for you, she works at Thermal on Fulton St.

What a prick. Jack is so passive-aggressive sometimes it kills me, he assumed I was going to ask him about Benjamin, so he sent Benjamin instead.

“I can leave if you’re uncomfortable,” Benjamin says and I can only assume from the tone of his voice he’s genuine, he probably doesn’t want to make a scene.

I want to tell him to fuck off, take whatever bullshit you’ve dug up from my past and shove it up your ass, but I want answers.

“Did you send me the flowers?”

Benjamin has a drink between his hands and he’s staring at it intently as if it’s about to do a magic trick, he lifts it and takes a sip.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I whisper harshly, reminding myself that I’m at work.

He places his glass down and straightens his back, looking at me squarely, “I did not,” He says, “Paper flowers, I assume?”

“Nice assumption.”

“I understand your distaste with this relationship-”

“There is no relationship,” I shoot back, “are you that fucked up in the head? Have you been stalking me?”

“Never,” he shakes his head, “I want to help you.”

“Help me how?”

“Change your past.”

I cross my arms over my chest and look at him with the most deadly gaze I can muster.

“You don’t truly believe your family died from a gas leak, do you? In the same house where you were sleeping. How did they say you survived again? Oh right, an open window. Didn’t you share a room with Marlow?”

“If you’re trying to insinuate they were murdered you can get the hell out of this bar right now.”

“It’s not an insinuation, Eleanore,” he sighs, “it’s a fact, and the person who did that is still after you.”

My foot is tapping uncontrollably and my nails are digging into my sides. Murder, stalkers, portals to the past, what is happening?

It’s all so overwhelming to think about, “Who exactly is it that’s after me?”

“Can we meet when you get off?” Benjamin asks.

“My shift ends at 2 a.m, don’t you think that’s a little late? Not to mention, how do I know you’re not the one after me?”

“Time is of the essence, and if I had wanted to harm you, I had all the chance in the world to do so when you were in my house.”

He’s got a point. “Fine.”

Benjamin smiles. “My place?”

“Why not,” I stalk away back to the bar.

“Well you don’t look happy,” Jess frowns once I’m behind the bar.

“That man is infuriating.”

“Most men are, sweetheart,” Jess scoffs, “Here,” Jess hands me a shot, “Cheers to not needing a man.”

“I can drink to that!” I say tossing the shot back.

The night drags on as the bar dies down and by 2 a.m. I feel wired in preparation for my meeting with Benjamin.

“How’d you do?” Rachel asks as she helps me and Jess wipe down the bar.

“A buck twenty.” I shrug.

“Not bad,” Jess says, “I got about the same.” She smiles, but we all know she made more.

“Hey, you live uptown right?” I ask Jess.

“Yup.”

“Mind if I walk with you? I’m meeting someone.”

“Booty call!” Jess shrieks.

“It’s not like that.”

“Yeah, sure I hold all my business meetings at 2 a.m.” Rachel snickers.

The summer night is cool, or is it morning? I never consider it the next day until I’ve actually gone to sleep, and with the work schedule, I keep that means my nights are very long.

Jess is sucking on a hot pink electronic cigarette that smells like watermelon while I puff away on the real thing, “What are your thoughts on time travel?”

“You’re asking me about time travel?” Jess coughs.

“Well, yeah, I heard you’re majoring in Physics.”

“Perceptive woman,” Jess smirks, “I can neither confirm nor deny time travel,” she says in a theatrical British accent.

“So then it’s possible?”

“I suppose, it’s all theory though, you know—quantum theory,” Jess shrugs. “Have you been watching Doctor Who?” She squints and points her e-cigarette accusingly in my direction.

“No, just been thinking about the past,” I admit.

“We’ve all got fucked up pasts, El. Leave it in the rearview baby.”

“I wish I could.”

“Well, if you’re really interested in traveling through space and time, I know a guy that sells killer mushrooms, there’s nothing like a psychotropic adventure to clear your mind.” Jess snorts.

“I’m good,” I laugh.

“Alright, this is me,” Jess stops in front of a brownstone, shit. Her folks must be loaded. “Let me know if you change your mind about those shrooms, or we could always get a bottle of Jack and bullshit about theoretical physics—how dignified!”

“I might take you up on that bottle.”

When I arrive in front of Benjamin’s apartment building I’m surprised to see how close he lives to Jess. I scan the list of names and doorbells until I find Marston, Benjamin: PH. Before I reach for the bell I stick my hand in my purse and feel for my pocket knife, I pull it out and stick it between my cleavage, just in case I need to defend myself.

The doorbell next to his name is white and backlit by a yellow light, I press it and wait.

“Hello?” Benjamin’s voice blares through a metal speaker and he sounds like he may have been sleeping.

“Hi, it’s me,” I hesitate, “Ellie.”

“I know,” his voices comes through again, “buzzing you in.”

I place my hand on the door handle and a shiver runs through me, what the fuck am I doing here?

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