The Shop
The young woman sits at a small table for two amidst many other similar tables, each one occupied by different groups of people. The robust aromas and cacophony of voices fill the room, yet are occasionally drowned out by the shrill whirl of blenders behind an oak counter. Her leg bounces and her finger arrhythmically taps the wooden table. The hardwood of her chair makes it seemingly impossible to be comfortable and she must readjust herself constantly. She looks outside the windows and sees that it is a deep, pitch black outside, the only light in this world coming from the fixtures inside the shop. She needs to use the bathroom but the thought of having to rise from her seat and look for it fills her with anxiety and dread. She forgets why she came so early, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. The lack of familiarity with this place as well causes a slight, yet steady, unease to sit deeper in her. Hopefully, they’ll not want to stay here long when they arrive.
In front of her, on the table, sits a steaming mug of black coffee. It’s probably still too hot to drink, she thinks. She should have ordered it kids temp, but she didn’t want to be too bothersome. She sees that they’re very busy. Also, they were rather curt when she was giving the baristas her order, so it was probably for the best. She looks across the walls and spots a clock. It turns out to be five minutes after the agreed-upon meeting time. The young woman lets out a sharp exhale and readjusts herself in the chair. She glances at the people sitting around her. One patron catches her immediate attention, a man wearing a large trench coat sitting on the wall opposite the door. His posture is stiff and upright, his hands clasped on the table he is sitting at, alone, and a leg is folded atop the other. The coat spills to his sides, exposing his black business suit underneath. A bright red bowler hat is perched atop his head. His eyes are fixed staring immediately ahead of him, seemingly at nothing in particular. These are all the details she could discern at a glance.
The chime of a bell resounds through the shop, cutting through the low buzz of conversation. The young woman quickly darts her eyes to the large set of double doors that serve as the sole admittance to the shop. A man is holding the door for his partner as she steps into the void outside. She smiles at him as she passes, and he smiles back, staring at her as she walks across the threshold of darkness. Once she is no longer visible, he follows her, being swallowed up himself.
The young woman sinks into herself, her excitement extinguishing like a match in a gust of wind. To console herself, she picks up her mug to take a sip. She wretches as the scalding liquid burned the inside of her mouth, causing some to fall out. It lands on her yellow sundress and bleeds across the fabric, spreading wider with each passing moment. Once recovered from the shock of her mouth being singed, she regains her composure and looks about her in embarrassment. She was relieved to see that her outburst had not garnered any attention. That is until she saw that one patron, in particular, was staring in her direction. For a moment, the eyes of the man with the bowler hat and the young woman had met, nearly drawing a gasp from her. She turned away almost immediately and hid her face with her hand. She stays like this for a moment and then, once regathering her composure, she slowly and discreetly turns her eyes in his general direction. She sees through her peripherals that he is still staring at her, she thinks. She cannot find it in herself to look his way and find out for sure. Her breathing became shallow and weak. She felt sweat begin to bead on her forehead.
Another chime. Her heart becomes weightless for a moment as butterflies begin to flutter deep inside her stomach. She straightens herself up and shifts her gaze to the double doors once more. A man enters the shop, the gentle, dim lights not allowing the young woman to ascertain exactly who he is. She watches as he approaches, her eyes completely fixed on him. Yet the closer he gets, the more perplexing his features become, and the more impossible it becomes to recognize this man. He passes each table, greeting some groups in words that are inaudible to the young woman, and ignoring others entirely. Her eyes follow him as he stops near the table at which she is seated, grabs the chair opposite her, and sits down.
His face is inscrutable, devoid of any notable detail the young woman could grasp onto, to anchor herself. It had a twisted yet blurred quality about it. Yet, while she felt repulsed by this, she also felt an engrossing compulsion to understand or make sense of this visage before her. He reached his hand out to hers. She drew it back almost out of instinct. He tried to speak to her, but his voice had a similarly incomprehensible quality about it. She felt as if it were blending in with the hum of the conversations around her, all of the voices and words jumbling together in a mess of guttural abstract sounds.
She slid her chair back and tried to stand to her feet, but the man in front of her grabbed her wrist before she could go anywhere. She attempted to pull away, but his grip only became stronger, getting to the point of causing her pain. She looked around, in search of anyone who could help her. To her dismay, every single patron of the shop had the same vacant, featureless visage, all of which were completely ignoring her struggle.
All expect one. She looked to the far corner and saw that the man with the bowler hat had not ceased his glaring at her. The moment she met his gaze, she could discern every minute detail of his face. His jowls made him look like a bulldog, his squared jawline, the wide stubby nose, the subtle red permeating over the entirety of his face, as if she were holding in his breath, and his piercing green eyes staring straight into her being.
“Help me!” she tried to shout at him, yet her voice failed her. Or more so, it was drowned out by the cacophony of voices that filled the room, which began to grow louder. The young woman’s heart began to pound in her chest. She pulled one more time, but to no avail. She could no longer move the fingers on her hand, the vice on it was so tight. She looked to the man with the bowler hat once more.
“Please, do something!”
Yet once more the voices muddled her words, to the point where even she wasn’t able to hear what she was saying. If it were to become any louder, she felt as though her very existence would be swallowed up. Her breaths became shortened. Her jaw trembled. Her body shook. She tried to scream.
