"Stay safe, baby girl," my mother warns me. "I did your cards, too."
That makes me pause. It shouldn't bother me, because my mother is a psychic. She has the little shop downtown and everything, and rubs crystals to channel her energies. That's just who Mom is, and ever since I was a kid, she's been reading my cards and giving me advice. I don't believe in it like she does, but maybe it's our conversation, or the timing, but goosebumps prickle up and down my arms. "And? What did you see?"
"The Lovers—a relationship. The Fool. And Death."
I frown, my hand on the handle of the front door. "You sure there isn't something wrong with your deck? Sounds like the same cards keep popping up all the time. Maybe they're too worn out. Or the cards are stuck together."
"My cards are fine!" my mother exclaims, affronted.
I know it's an insult to question her ability, but I can't help but ask. "I'm sorry. It just seems…weird."
"I know. So I tried two other decks and I got the same results for you every time. Just…be careful, okay? I love you. You're all I have."
"I know, Ma. I'll be careful." I think about the cards. Lovers. Fool. Beginning a relationship. Yeah, that's not going to happen. The bar's the only place I go and most of my customers are older, married, or drunks. The last relationship I had, I ran away from the moment it started to get serious. “You don't have to worry. I'm not seeing anyone."
"Just be careful," she warns me again. "I'm sure this means something."
I'm sure it does, in her eyes. To me, I'm not entirely sure that the cards aren't just a little too well-loved. But it's sweet of her to worry. I'm twenty-eight years old and my mom still acts as if I'm fourteen. "I'll text you when I get home tonight. I promise. Love you."
"Love you too. And wear your crystals that I gave you!"
I cringe. I am definitely not doing that. "Will do," I lie, unlocking the front door to let in our first impatient customer. "I really have to go."
I forget all about the conversation with my mother, because work gets crazy busy. There's a game on tonight, so the bar is packed with people by the time it starts until close, and then it's such a mess that cleaning the place takes longer than usual. Charlie balances the till and cleans the machines while I put chairs atop tables and mop the floors. We work in silence. After a long day of being “on” behind the bar and chatting with people to make them comfortable (and bring in tips), a little bit of quiet headspace is more than welcome.
After I clean out the bathrooms, I grab the garbage bags and nod at Charlie, who's splitting out the tips for the night. "Be right back. I'm taking these to the alley."
"Wait, Carly." Charlie frowns over at me. "I'll go with you."
He's never volunteered before. "Uh, why?"
"Because it's late and it's dark."
I stare at him as if he's grown another head. He's being chivalrous after all this time of working together…and he's got a damn boot on his foot? Charlie broke two toes last week and has been limping behind the bar all night, his foot in a black, oversized medical boot. I swear if I have to hear his story about it one more time, I'm going to scream. "It's always late and dark. I'll be fine. I have pepper spray." I pat my pocket.
"You have pepper spray?"
"I'm a woman alone in the city. Of course I have pepper spray." I make a face at him. "Now can we just finish up? I really want to go home. I have some leftover pizza that's calling my name and I'd really like to collapse in bed." I gesture at the garbage bags on the floor in front of me. "The longer we do this, the longer it takes to get home."
Charlie hesitates, then goes back to counting, shaking his head. "If you aren't back in two minutes, I'm coming after you."
"I'll let the murderers know," I tease, grabbing the garbage and heading out the back exit into the alley. Even though it's nice of Charlie to offer, I'm glad he backed down. Charlie tends to work at a slow, deliberate pace, and he's a stickler for cleanliness. That's great and all, but at almost three in the morning when I just want to crawl into bed? I know it'll go faster if I don't take him with me. He'll be slow as molasses in that boot, and I know his foot is hurting him. Besides, the alley is always deserted. Our bar's in a business district and no one's around this time of night. That…and I have pepper spray. I've been taking the garbage out late at night for two years now and it's never been a problem. I'm always careful and aware of my surroundings.
I can take care of myself.
I pull the pepper spray out of my pocket and grip it in one hand, the garbage bag handles tightly gripped in the other hand as I head into the alley. Of course, tonight's the first night that the street light's out. Fucking great. I glare up at the sky, but there's a full moon at least so it's not completely and utterly dark…just mostly. I think for a moment about getting Charlie, but then I think about his foot in that boot. And I scan the alley. It looks clear, the rows of dumpsters on the far side of the street framed by a couple of parked cars down the way. There's some garbage and wet crap puddled in the middle of the alley, and one of the dumpster cats is prowling around, but nothing seems out of the ordinary.
All right, then. No big deal. Get this done and go. I head down the steps, moving with purpose toward the dumpsters.
A low groan echoes in the alley.
I freeze, dropping the garbage bags in a clatter of cans and broken bottles. It makes a terrible racket but I don't care. I flick the lid off my pepper spray and hold it up, turning around. I don't see anyone, but the hairs on the back of my neck are standing up. "Charlie? You got that other bag?" I lie, in case someone's watching me and ready to spring. "Need me to hold the door open for you?"
There's no sound other than that of my harsh breathing, and my tense muscles start to relax. Did I hear a cat in heat, then? Or a skunk—
The groan comes again, but it sounds more pained than threatening.
I swallow hard, tempted to head back inside and grab Charlie. Sure, he's a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet, but someone else nearby would be welcome, and if someone's injured out here…well, I don't know that clean-freak Charlie would be much help after all. "Hello?"
Another low sound, and it sounds like…pain. "Help…me…"
Ah, fuck. Really, universe? Despite my better judgment, I head for the sounds. If someone's dying and I abandon them, I'm going to feel terrible. Of course, if someone murders me, that will also feel terrible, but I feel like I don't have a choice. It's like I'm being compelled to head into the shadows, where the darkest parts of the alley aren't lit up by moonlight. "Who's there?"
Something soft and wispy brushes over my face. I fight back a scream as I realize it's just…cobwebs. Somehow I've managed to find the only spider in the area who's making a web, and I shudder, scrubbing at my face.
"Hello?" I call again.
There's another groan, and my feet hit something hard and solid before I realize I've nearly tripped over the man. I bite back another scream, stumbling as I struggle to keep my balance, and drop my pepper spray—