The Red Thread by Bryan Ellis Read Free Book Online Page B

g-g-going?”
    I stop in my tracks. “I thought you were leading the way?”
    “N-no. I was f-f-following you.”
    The two of us stare at one another, and we can’t control the laughter that follows. It is loud and happy. One would think we were crazy if they saw us walking down the street. Well, in my case I am, but looking at us we seem like two regular loons who belong in the mental hospital. And in my case, return to the mental hospital.
    “The only place that would be open now would be the diner.”
    “Lead the w-way.”
    I do a one-eighty spin, and I start walking, looking back at Adam. We walk for about ten minutes before we come to a small building, shaped like a rectangle. The diner is more window than wall. We enter the diner, and are met by the blinding fluorescent lights. The walls are painted a light mint-green color, with black-and-white checkered floors. The diner looks like something out of the 1950s, hence the name, Vintage Diner.
    The diner is basically empty. Only one other person is inside, a frail, wrinkled man who sits alone with a plate of pancakes and a cup of coffee. Adam and I walk to a table, sitting beside one of the many large windows. I always like to go for the window seats.
    A waitress walks right over to the table, hardly giving us a moment to look at the menu. She probably wants us out of here just as much as she wants to be. She’s probably in her midfifties, with bottle-blonde hair and a voice that sounds like she’s smoked a pack a day for the last fifty years. I just order a cup of tea, but Adam orders a bacon cheeseburger with a side of fries. I look at him, raising my eyebrow.
    He closes his eyes as he smiles, almost looking like an anime character. “I’m s-s-s-s-s-starving.”
    “I am still full from dinner,” I lie.
    “Oh I c-c-could always eat. When I was a k-kid, my p-p-p-parents used to s-s-s-s-s-say I had a healthy appetite.” His eyes close and he turns his head downward, as if he is remembering a sad memory.
    We sit there in silence. I look out the window, at the almost empty parking lot.
    “D-do you c-c-come here often?”
    “Is that a pickup line?” I joke.
    His cheeks grow red. “N-n-no. I w-w-w-was j-j-just asking.” He turns away.
    “Relax. I’m only kidding, but not really,” I respond. “I used to come here more often, when I had trouble sleeping.” BM. Before Medication.
    “Why, why did you s-s-stop?”
    “I—”
    I stop midsentence, not wanting to tell him the truth. Probably the best way to a guy’s heart is to not tell him about your seven-month stay in a mental hospital. Now that’s a real keeper, right there.
    “It’s complicated,” I finally answer.
    Adam doesn’t pressure me any further, and I’m beyond thankful. Too many people force me to talk, so it’s nice to find someone who allows me to talk at my own pace. The waitress comes back with my tea and Adam’s coffee. I sip in silence, letting the hot liquid soothe my insides. I keep my eyes focused on the inside of the teacup, almost afraid to look up. What must Adam be thinking of me? He’s probably thinking how pathetic I am to be walking alone at night crying.
    “I’ve never seen you in Wilshire before,” I mention, trying to get the subject away from me. “It’s a pretty small town, so I feel I would’ve seen you before.”
    “I m-m-moved here a c-c-couple months a-a-a-a-ago.”
    So he moved here when I was still in the hospital. I wonder if anyone told him about me? Gossip seems to travel fast in Wilshire.
    “Oh, do you live with your parents?” I ask, trying to escape the embarrassing thoughts of him finding out the truth. “No one ever really moves to Wilshire. Most people just try to get away.”
    “N-no. I live on, on m-m-my own.”
    “Really? I would love to live on my own.” Now would anyone trust me on my own? Probably not. My friends and family would be worrying too much that I’d off myself. When I started college, I stayed in Wilshire. I didn’t