Friends With Shadows – Chapter 5 (moving along)

Writer’s Note: The continuation of Chapter 5 is a special chapter since it introduces a new character, “Cherie”, which is the name of the winner of the sharing/tagging challenge from last week. Is she good? Is she bad? Let’s find out! Congratulations Cherie! Enjoy your name immortalized as a character in this book!

I’ll be doing more challenges in the future, so don’t worry if you didn’t believe me that I’d put someone’s name in the book. There will be more chances in the future! Now, let’s see what happens! Find yourself a nice cup of coffee, find a corner in your break room, snuggle up on your couch (preferably if it’s raining), and get ready for the last part of Chapter 5!

Chapter 5 (continued)

A bead of sweat runs down his face as he turns around from the front seat. He fakes a smile and asks how I’m feeling. I’m unable to deliver a snarky remark when he interrupts me and asks to who I’ve been talking.
I assure him that I’ve talked to no one besides the doctor, the attorney, and him – I then ask him what topic he’s referring. He licks his dry lips and swallows.
His fuse has been lit by someone and has caused his patience to be lacking, “THE MAIL, SNITCH!”

I can see him trying to calm his breathing and then slow his words using his most friendly and sincere voice in his repertoire of interrogation techniques, “Sorry. I’m sorry. I need to know who you’ve been talking to about the mail you’ve been delivering.”

He can see an amount of fear and confusion in my eyes and moves his hand up and down in a calm-down motion. I tell him that I tell no one about the transactions out of fear of being in rehab for the next decade or two.

“What’s that?” Dean points with his finger to his chest with his chin up, referring to the stitches that appear just over the top of the shirt I’m wearing. “Is that from the accident you had? Anyway, I need you to make sure you aren’t talking to anyone. An-y-one. If I find out you’re talking, you’re going to be begging for rehab.”

I nodded affirmation. One of the guys in the car opens the door to the car and lets me out. I stand there, stunned – the rain begins to fall. Great, now I’m in a cheesy independent foreign film with subtitles.

From the wet darkness of the alley a soft voice follows a path to my ears. Disarming. I look over, all I can see is the soft silhouette of a tall woman. I focus in on what she’s saying as she holds out her hand with an opal colored ring that covered the entire bottom segment of her middle finger, “Hi, it’s time for us to talk and for you to meet someone. I’m Cherie.”

With no hesitation, rehearsed, she reaches for the inside of her fitted blazer quickly and pulls out a shadowed object.

Great, I’m going to die in a cheesy French college student independent film alley.

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