Anonymously Yours by Shirley McCann Read Free Book Online

daily schedule. I was tired. My feet ached. All I wanted was to go home and soak in a warm tub.
    But money was tight. I needed a new phone. I needed a place of my own. So I agreed.
    In the kitchen I deposited the tray of broken dishes into the trash, then selected an assortment of cups, saucers, and silverware. I returned to the dining room and distributed them around the table. At the beverage station, I placed coffee granules into a paper filter, then added water and turned on the switch. Gathering small packets of sugar and creamer, I returned to the table. “The coffee will be ready in a few minutes,” I told them. “What can I get you gentlemen for dessert?”
    It was his eyes that I noticed first. Narrow slits as black as coal. They appeared to look right through me, sending chills of panic throughout my body.
    Michael Black raised his dark head slowly. The corners of his mouth contorted into an evil grin. “I’ve lost my wallet,” he said. He pushed his chair back and stood, taking a long stride toward me. “Can you help me find it?”
    I forced myself not to react. I backed up slowly, bumping into something soft. I gasped and spun around. Mr. Winslow’s face was just inches from mine. My heart beat so hard, I was sure he could feel it as well.
    “Help him find it, Miss Thomas,” he said. “It’s good customer service.”
    I willed my legs to move. With an awkward stride, I backed away from the table. Behind me, my hands fumbled for something to steady myself. My heart beat so erratically, I thought I would collapse. Five sets of eyes followed me to the front door. I breathed a sigh of relief when I felt my hand grasp the handle. Without turning around, I shouldered the door open, thankful to feel the warm night air seep into my lungs.
    “You can’t leave.” Heather’s harsh voice roared. “You have customers.” Her emerald eyes sparkled. “That’s not good customer service.”
    I bolted out the door. My legs flew across the parking lot. At the intersection, I punched in the red button on the streetlight, willing the “walk” sign to appear on the screen. I had one leg out, preparing to cross the street, when Justin’s voice stopped me.
    “Denise,” he said. “I can give you a ride.” The voice was distant, faint.
    I braved a look behind me. An unexpected bolt of lightning sliced against the night sky, illuminating the diner’s front window. Images of Heather, Mr. Winslow, and the four men in black stood silhouetted against the pane.
    I heard the roar of an engine, then Justin’s voice again. “Get in,” he said. “You’ll get drenched.”
    I spun back around, Justin’s Malibu in front of me. I reached over and opened the passenger door.
    And screamed.
    Michael Black’s coal black eyes squinted from the driver’s seat. His expression remained deadly, uncaring. “Get in,” he said. But it wasn’t his voice I heard. It was Justin’s.
    I slammed the door shut and ran.
    My lungs threatened to burst against the strain. My legs weakened, but I couldn’t give in. I had to get away.
    The soft, ominous glow of evenly spaced streetlights lit the way as I continued running. But it wasn’t my house I saw when I arrived. It was Michael Black’s house.
    A bolt of lightning shrouded the corkscrew willow in a haunting radiance. The flowers that had once lined the driveway were now uprooted and lying on top of the Toyota like a funeral hearse.
    My legs had a mind of their own. I staggered up the front steps and pushed the front door open with the tips of my fingers. Inside, the black leather-upholstered furniture was now blanketed in dust and cobwebs. Behind me, the door slammed shut with a deafening bang, propelling me forward. I gasped, stumbling backward. Catching my balance, I spun around and pounded my fists against the door.
    Then I heard a voice. A woman’s voice.
    I stopped pounding. My breath quickened and I rotated slowly. In the corner of the dark living room, the overstuffed