Count Matthew
After scanning a few lines he looked up at Nick with a lopsided grin. “So this is what you call ‘secret?’ You write poetry?”
Nick grabbed the laptop from Matthew’s hands and immediately shut the window down. He gave an angry look at Matthew and then a sheepish one to Jake who just smiled in amusement. He downed what was left of his coffee and stood up.
“Let’s go.”
Matthew shrugged and got up to follow; Jake grinned and looked at Nick.
“Sure thing Maya Angelou.”
A few hours later, the three were at an out of the way restaurant on what was mostly a residential street. The restaurant had better days, having looked that it once had been a gas station with a convenience store. The interior had a dark look to it.
Matthew shuddered when he sat down, wondering how many visits Nick had made to this place for those that had eaten there.
“Relax,” Nick said seeming to read Matthew’s thoughts, “not my territory here. And from what I read, there hasn’t been any food-related collections here.”
Matthew still looked queasy, wondering if maybe a moist napkin or a dozen were available to clean his chair. He wondered if even that would work. He looked over at Nick and Jake, ‘Sorry, just a bit of a clean freak at times.”
The two just shrugged and looked over at the young waitress that was walking over to their table.
“What can I get you?”
Nick took a quick scan of the menu and looked up. “Coffee.”
Jake nodded, “The same.”
Matthew looked a little uneasy. The waitress looked at him, “and you sugar?”
Matthew gulped for a second, the image of whatever brewing in the coffee pot along with the coffee, but managed to creak out, “Coffee, please.”
The waitress grabbed their menus, “let me know if you boys need anything else.” She gave a wink and sauntered off to grab their coffees.
The three remained silent, lost in their respective thoughts until the waitress returned with a tray and handed out their coffee. Nick grabbed his cup and took a drink. Jake did the same. Matthew wondered exactly how sure the other two were that he could not die until he had chosen a new life.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.