Chapter Eight

Glen wakes up, hungry

 

Glen began to wake slowly, unwilling to leave sleep behind.  He faded in and out of dream until the waking moments overcame the rest and he became painfully aware of his back.  He stretched up, groaning, arched his aching back and rubbed his eyes.  He wondered how many times it would take before he learned that the bed was for sleeping.  Chairs were for sitting. 

 

He got up and glanced at the small digital clock on the desk.  The time explained the rumbling in his stomach.  It was the middle of the night.  He was starving.  Glen thought back and tried to remember the last time he ate.  It didn’t matter.  Whenever that was, it was too long ago.  He stumbled into the bathroom to throw some water on his face, still red from the impression that his hand had made.  He must have been leaning on it the entire time he slept.  He brushed his teeth and pondered his options for food.  The Chinese place would be long closed by now, and he certainly kept no edible food here, save for some condiments, so he brushed his hands across his rumpled clothes, smoothing out some of the wrinkles, and headed for the diner on Third Street.

 

Glen decided to walk the four blocks, hoping the cold air would revitalize him a little.  He turned up his collar, stuffed his hands in his pockets and made for the diner.  The cold worked like magic.  His mind was racing through the happenings of the past 36 hours and he struggled to get his head around Jessica’s death.  Although fairly sure that the police did not suspect him of anything, he wanted to minimize his contact with them.  Still, he needed to find out if they were making progress.  He would never be able to handle their case remaining unsolved; Jessica stuffed into a file and slammed in a drawer, all but forgotten.

 

The little bell rang as Glen opened the door, signaling his arrival.  The dining room was empty.  A waitress appeared from the back as soon as he took his seat at the counter.  She was pretty, in a very ordinary way, and smiled at him.  “Can I get you a coffee?” she asked.

 

“That would be fabulous.”  Glen realized that as she poured, she was still smiling.  She giggled nervously when she saw that he’d noticed.

 

“Just holler for me when you’re ready to order, OK sweetheart?”

“No problem.  It shouldn’t be too long.”  He glanced quickly at the menu, then back over the counter at her.  When their eyes met, she sauntered back over, swaying her hips a little too vigorously.

“What can I get for you?”

“Let me have two eggs, over medium, home fries and some wheat toast.”

“You got it.  It’ll be up in just a minute.”  She leaned over as she stuck the order slip into the spinner and yelled back to the cook, “Order up!”

 

Glen realized he was staring.  The waitress wasn’t beautiful by any means, but there was something about her.  He couldn’t take his eyes off her hips as she made her way through the swinging double doors, into the back.  From where he sat, he could see clearly through the counter window and into the kitchen.  He watched intently as she helped the cook, bringing the eggs from the cooler and loading the toaster.  As she came back through the doors, he noticed the subtle sway of her breasts beneath her blouse.  She caught him staring and they both looked down and laughed, their faces reddening almost simultaneously. 

 

When Glen looked up, he noticed the diner looked smaller.  Everything was narrowing to slits.  He swayed on the stool before the back of his head screamed out in pain and he dropped to the floor.

 

The next thing Glen saw as he looked up, eyes refocusing to the light, was the waitress kneeling beside him, her hand on his shoulder.  “Hey, mister, are you OK?” 

 

He turned his head when he felt a tug beneath his arms.  The cook picked him up, walked him over to a booth, and helped him slide in.  The cook and the waitress both looked frightened, faces pale, hands shaking.  “I’m OK, I’m OK.” Glen slumped down in the booth, elbows on the table, and held his aching head. 

 

“What happened?” the waitress asked.  Her tone was almost motherly.

Glen coughed into his hand and spat out a forced giggle, trying to ease her concern.  “It’s all right now; sometimes I just pass out when I’m too tired.  I guess I should have headed straight home tonight, instead of stopping for breakfast.”

“I’ll bring your food right over, if you’re up for it.  Getting something in your stomach should help you feel better.  Is that OK?”

“That would be perfect.  Thank you.”

She took the plate from the counter and slid it in front of him.  “What’s your name, honey?”

“Glen”

“Listen, Glen, I’m gonna write down the number here for you.  My name’s Rachel.  Stay here as long as you want, but when you leave, I want you to call here so I know you made it home all right, OK?”

“I’ll do that.  Thank you so much.”

 

The bell rang as a drunken couple stumbled in from the street, laughing loudly, and took a booth near the door.  As Rachel walked over to help them, Glen reached into his pocket for the film.  He couldn’t risk viewing it here, but it made him feel better knowing it was there. 

 

After finishing his meal, Glen said goodbye to Rachel, thanked the cook for his help, and headed home.  The air on the walk home felt different than it had before.  It was colder, but somehow thicker, heavier than when he left his apartment.  He shivered, and knowing that a hot shower was the only way to get this kind of cold out of his bones, hurried home.

 

He crossed the threshold into his apartment and pulled out the phone number for the diner.  As promised, he called and let Rachel know that he had made it home.  They chatted for a bit longer when she asked if he would like to see her again.  He agreed to meet her for a late lunch the next afternoon.  He pulled the film from his pocket while they were talking, held it to the kitchen light and gasped.  “Rachel, I have to go.  I’ll see you tomorrow but right now I have to go.”  He disconnected the line and, receiver still in hand, dialed the number tacked to his bulletin board.

 

“Detective Ripley, please.”

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[J.K. (Not Rowling)]

"Bed is for sleeping. Chairs are for sitting"... been there, done that, and you are absolutely correct.

I love the back and forth banter between Glen and the waitress. She reminds me of the waitress in Harry Chapin's song "A Better Place to be." I like the instant chemistry between these two... he was in a puppy love fantasy with Jessica, but this could be something good. I like the very realistic concern of Rachel, and that Glen calls when he gets home.

But WHAT is on that film?!! Could it be something that links the other story to this? The suspense!

[Alexander W. Quinn]

Ohhhhh.....cliffhanger! What was on the film!
Thus far, the whole story has been wonderful. The only thing you might want to keep in mind is not to be too stingy on the details. Especailly in this chapter, if Rachel is going to be an important character, then give her some more description. Eyes, hair, sound of her voice, etc. Otherwise, I'm loving everything.

[AlleyCat34]

Ooooo What was on that film that he has to call the police about? Very nice job leaving us hanging here again! Poor guy I feel really bad for him passing out everywhere like that! He seems to me like a normal guy but with an odd ability! OUESTION: Does he have a job? How does he get money?