Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 72561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
“Hey, sis,” Andrew called. “Can you pick up some dinner on the way home from work?”
He didn’t wait for the reply, which wasn’t surprising. He didn’t care that I worked until nearly three in the morning. All he cared about was getting a hamburger and fries. Did it ever cross his mind that I didn’t have the energy to do that after I got off? I had to be at school at nine tomorrow morning.
When I turned back around, I saw my neighbor shirtless, bending over the hood of his newest acquisition. A 1970 Plymouth Barracuda that I was just dying to take a ride in. In fact, I would kick my brother out right now if he gave that car to me.
It was loud. So loud that it made my heart race. The color could use some work, but the engine was sound. With all the work that the man put in it over the past three weeks, there was no wonder.
Did he even work?
I’d seen him outside on my way to work the last three days, and he’d still been there when I’d gotten home. Although it was nearly seven at night, and I was gone the entire day, he was out there. In the same spot he’d been in when I left. He could work sometime in the interim, yet I didn’t think he did.
I couldn’t wait to see what color he painted it.
“Hi, Channing!”
I screamed loudly and turned, finding my next-door neighbor, the creepy as fuck next door neighbor to my immediate right. Varian Strong.
“Umm, hi, Mr. Strong. How are you?” I asked, backing away toward my car.
He smiled at my retreat, knowing what he did to me.
My heart raced.
“I’m fine, sweet thing. Going to work?” He asked with feigned concern.
I nodded emphatically. “Sure am. Have a good night!”
I dropped down in my car, then locked it as inconspicuously as I could before starting it and backing the fuck out of my driveway.
I freakin’ hated my neighborhood.
Mostly.
Mostly, because I liked the way that my neighbor was watching me drive away, and the way his eyes narrowed in Varian’s direction once he saw me pass him.
I’d known he was paying attention. He was a smart man. He knew the neighborhood was just as dangerous as I did. Although he wasn’t a scared little rabbit like I was.
I’d grown up in a suburb in New Orleans before the levees collapsed. My mom had died in the floods shortly after, and my dad’s shrimping business had gone under as a result. We’d never done badly for ourselves, but with the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, there was nothing left for us to go back to.
We’d survived, but only just barely.
We relocated to Ruston, Louisiana, much to my brother’s annoyance. My dad had found a job as a truck driver, and left my brother and I home alone nine out of twelve months a year. My brother was a year older than I was, but he acted as if he was four years younger.
When I turned eighteen, I’d moved out to go to school in Monroe, about an hour away from our new home. I’d graduated with a cosmetology degree within a year. Ever since, I’d been working my ass off.
My newest gig, which brought me to Benton in the first place, was an unusual one.
After struggling for two years trying to make a clientele, I branched out, trying my hardest to save up for my future house and pay my insurance out of pocket.
I had asthma. And with the changing of seasons, I ended up having attacks that sent me to the hospital at least once a year. I also couldn’t lapse on my coverage, or I’d never get it again without paying outrageously for it.
My car groaned as I pulled it into my usual parking spot at the back of the building and died once I no longer had constant pressure on the gas.
It coughed, sputtered, and shook as it wheezed its final revolution before I turned the key and shoved my shoulder against the door. My car was a beast.
It was a 1975 Pontiac Firebird with gold worn out paint and black accents. It had a T-top, and it was my baby.
I had the best of intentions when I’d purchased the vehicle off the side of the road when I was twenty, but as the years went by, I only had enough money to keep the car working. Not make it pretty.
There were springs coming out in the seats, I’d replaced both seatbelts with junkyard finds, and the dash was so cracked that it didn’t even resemble much of a dash anymore. And don’t even get me started on the engine work the car needed.
Angling myself out of the car, I stood and bent inside for my purse.
Hitting the lock with the palm of my hand, I slammed the door hard, glad to see that it actually closed all the way, and walked inside.
The smell was always the first thing to get me when I walked in the door.
The sickly sweet scent of flowers.
I hated flowers now.
After seven years on the job, I could never see another flower again and be happy.
In fact, I’d go as far as to say I loathed flowers.
Why, you ask?
Because the smell reminds me of death.
I am a beautician.
My clientele were dead people.
Black Water Funeral Home had been my home away from home for over five years now.
Walking down the back hallway, I keyed in my entry code and walked into the back room. We called it the locker room. This was where we housed all the bodies. This was where all the magic happened.
I was alone when I entered, which was how I liked it.
The only person that was usually here at this hour was Brittany, the mortician.
However, she was nowhere in sight when I arrived; so I stowed my purse and jacket in the staff lounge room and walked to the computer to pull up who I was to work on first.