Chapter Two

Chapter Two

T

he room was foggy. No, not the room. The road. What road? A cobblestone road. The path was rugged underneath Charity’s feet. Voices were echoing off the corners of walls she couldn’t see. People were screaming. Red lights were flashing. White, glowing orbs floated in and out of her vision. Charity stumbled, and a pair of arms caught her. Long, wispy arms that seemed to float out of nowhere and be attached to no one.

“Careful. People can get lost down here.”

Charity winced at the voice as she stumbled back. Her eyes whipped up, and she looked at the old man in front of her. His white, wispy hair poked out from under a bowler cap, and he was cut in a tailored black suit. The grin on his face curled his thin, fishy lips. There was a scythe tossed over his shoulder.

Charity shrieked as she turned on her heels and took off.

“It’s not good to run,” the voice said.

Then the old man appeared right in front of her.

She ran smack dab into him, falling to her ass before scrambling back to her feet again. She took off in the opposite direction. She ran through the heavy fog. Heat trickled down her neck with every breath she took. On one side of her was fire and on the other, warmth. One side radiated heat that could sear a man and cook him from the inside out. The other side radiated a calm glow that bathed her face and welcomed her into its arms. She turned and ran for the light.

But the light was ripped away, and she ran right into the old man again.

Charity began to shake. “Who are you?”

The wispy old man chuckled. “The question is, who you are.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

“No. I meant that’s the question

you

should be asking.”

Shadows lunged from the heat on either side of her and wrapped its tendrils around her. Charity screamed and cried out. She yelled for Debra and struggled against the darkness. It tore her to shreds and threatened to rip her limb from limb. The old man swung his scythe, ripping through the darkness as invisible flesh tore against his sharp metal weapon. Charity fell to the cobblestone. She scraped up her knees as tears fell from her face. She backed away quickly, scrambling up onto her feet and turning to head in the other direction.

Then she stepped right off a ledge and fell.

“No!’

Charity bolted upright in her bed as her lungs heaved for air. She looked around her bedroom, her eyes darting around to try and get her bearings. She blinked a few times as tears tracked down her cheeks. The smell of fog still hung in her nostrils. It had been a long time since she’d had a nightmare, especially one that made her sweat and fear for her life. She wiped at the perspiration on her forehead before she slid out from underneath the covers, then padded to her bathroom to clean up.

The first few steps she took felt as if she was walking on cobblestone.

Charity stripped herself of her clothes and headed straight for the shower. A dream that distorted her reality that way called for a nice, hot shower instead of only a splash of water in her face. Sweat slid down her back as she fiddled with the knobs. The water spurted out of the showerhead and slammed against her skin. She yelped at how cold it was before it quickly turned hot. Stepping away from the stream, she allowed it time to meld into the nice, refreshing warmth she desired to pull her awake on her day off.

Her Sunday.

“What a strange dream,” Charity whispered.

After allowing the stream of water to level out, she stepped into it. It washed over her face and down her skin, dragging with it the sweat and the smell of fog that still lingered around her. She shook her head as she snaked her fingers through her hair. She proceeded to clean herself up, knowing this Sunday wouldn't be a day off like she was used to. She was too stressed. That had to be the source of the tension regarding her dream. She was too stressed about leaving the two employees at the shop without her there.

“Right. Just stress. Stress brings about nightmares,” Charity said.

Like she was trying to convince herself the dream hadn’t been real.

She giggled to herself. Of course, the dream wasn’t real. That was why it was a dream. A figment of her imagination, something her unconscious mind conjured to deal with the volatile situation she had been thrust into. She began to shampoo and condition her hair, taking her time and allowing herself the luxury of running out the hot water in her apartment. Usually, she was pressed for time. She never got up when she needed to because she enjoyed her snooze button a little too much. But this morning, she’d let herself have a long shower.

Especially after the tainted wine she’d had the night before.

Charity snickered. She’d have to let Debra know the wine had been bad. Maybe that was part of what contributed to the dream. Stress and moldy wine. Could wine get moldy? Charity rolled her eyes. Not much was possible in this world, but with Debra, it seemed as if everything was possible.

After washing herself down, Charity turned her back to the hot stream and stood there. She hung her head and stretched her muscles, taking her body one part at a time. First her neck. Then, her shoulders. She hung her arms low and rolled every vertebra of her spine out. She stretched the backs of her legs. She stood on her tiptoes and allowed the hot water to aid in her relaxation. Joint by joint—muscle by muscle—she rolled herself back upright, and the water spilled over her shoulders again.

“Today’s gonna be rough,” she groaned.

Charity would have to go back to juggling everything until she could get this issue resolved. She couldn’t trust her employees with things like counting the till at the end of the day and making the bank runs until she could investigate further. The water began to turn cold, and Charity turned off the water. She reached for her towel and went through her routine, drying herself off the same way she always did. A swipe down the torso, a lift of the breasts. Between her legs before going down the front and then sliding the towel up the back. She rubbed it up her spine and then locked it around her chest. Tucking the edge into the top of the towel, she nested it right between her breasts.

Then she reached for another towel and wrapped her hair up.

She launched herself into her painstaking morning regimen. No matter what time she got up, she always made time to do things the way she needed them done. She went over to her closet and rifled through her clothes. She picked out the outfit she wanted, then brought out the ironing board and the iron. She couldn't stand wrinkles. Curls. Imperfections of any kind. She heated the ironing board before going into her bathroom and plugging in her straightener. She set out her makeup and jewelry for the day, all in a straight line on the counter to be used in the same order.

Then she ironed her clothes.

She flipped them over and over and over until not a wrinkle was in sight. Then she slid into the bathroom and started straightening her hair. She clipped it up into three distinct sections and ran the flattening iron through her hair until everything was straight. Clip by clip, her damp hair fell. And strand by strand, it was straightened. Charity dabbed at the light sheen of sweat on her forehead before getting to work on her makeup.

Each swipe was perfectly crafted. Not an ounce of eyeshadow was out of place. She slid gloss over her lips before slipping on her jewelry. Then she went and slipped into some underwear. She picked out a bra and panty set that was perfectly rolled up into one another, already matched and ready to go for whenever she needed it. She slid into her clothes, running her hands over the material one last time to check for any signs of rolling or wrinkling.

Then she topped the entire outfit off with some heels.

Dabria heels, of course.

Charity unplugged everything and put it all back up, then she went into her kitchen. A muffin in one hand, a banana in the other, and some aloe water waiting for her in her office minifridge. It was the perfect breakfast to help her wake up, and it was what she started every single day with.

Charity made her way to the subway, then stepped onto it and headed to work. She had to pick her car up from Debra’s at some point, but it wasn’t urgent. If it became an issue, Debra would have one of her drivers return it, park it in front of her building, and leave it there for her to use. After Deb had served her tainted wine, Charity figured it was the least her friend could do.

Though the tainted wine would explain why Debra had been so out of whack the other night as well. Charity giggled at the thought.

“Punishment enough,” she murmured.

After getting off the subway, the walk to the boutique was only a couple of minutes. She had to cross over one intersection and walk up three blocks, and then she was there. The shop was already unlocked, which made her nervous. It meant the girls had arrived before she got there. She slid her purse up onto her shoulder and gripped her banana and muffin in her hand before inching through the front door.

“Welcome to Cheerful Charity, if we can—Miss Brennon?”

Charity smiled. “Surprise.”

“But isn’t today Sunday?”

“Figured I’d drop in today and get some last-minute things done I couldn't finish up yesterday.”

Pauline nodded. “Of course. Anything I can help you with?”

“Nope. I’ll be in my office for most of the day, though. Don’t mind me.”

As Charity smiled at her employee, an uneasy feeling rolled in the pit of her gut. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Even though Pauline’s smile was kind, the edge in her voice made Charity nervous.

Pauline smiled. “Well, if you need anything, let me know. Kathy should be coming in around lunchtime to relieve me for lunch, and then the two of us are working until close today.”

Charity walked back to her office. “Sounds good. Let me know if you need anything!”

She walked over to her office door and sighed. The shop had always been where she sought solace, where she went whenever she was stressed. The blond shiplap floors and the pale-yellow walls always made her smile. The turquoise shelves that lined the walls to hold up her beauty products always brought her joy. The dark brown driftwood shelves that she had built to display her fragrances and soaps and cruelty-free makeup line she’d started selling wrapped her up in a peace she couldn't explain.

And now, her shop was the source of her stress.

She looked at Pauline one last time and saw her employee waving at her with kindness in her eyes and an ease to her smile that made Charity’s heart ache. She hoped it wasn’t Pauline stealing from her. She liked her. She’d worked with Charity for almost five years. Charity wanted to think they were friends—good friends. But good friends didn’t steal from their other friends. She pushed into her office, which was a small workshop in the back of her main store. It was where she created, experimented with, and perfected all her formulas.

And her desk and minifridge in the corner served as her formal office.

She set her things down and sat on the edge of her office chair. She peeled her banana carefully and broke it off into four sections. She unraveled her bran muffin from its wrapper and broke it into fourths as well. Then, she reached down and opened her fridge so she could pull out her aloe water.

Breakfast first and footage second.