Ed glanced up at the flickering lightbulb, finding the filament sparking from time to time. Back before he landed behind bars, he changed his fair share of lights. He hated it. Worst part of working maintenance was he often realized how often someone wasted his time with a menial task anyone could’ve completed long before he arrived. No one thought about that when they called. All they cared about was if he finished the job fast enough. How many employees could’ve changed this lightbulb before he sat down underneath its fading light? “Short in the bulb,” he muttered.

“What was that?” Hettie asked, taking a sip from her knockoff Coke. Ed couldn’t remember the brand name. The old part of the island was poor as Job’s turkey, as his grandfather used to say but he pronounced it job. Every building was half a century old. Most of the original owners died years ago and their children gave up on their inherited businesses. Peaking through the front doors, one could find an old record store with its newest songs dating back to ‘67, an empty gym, two other cafes drowning in cobwebs, and a feces-filled deli that no one entered since the McWilliams scenario. Ed and Hettie sat in one of the few establishments still running, even if its quality left something to be desired.

Glancing around the diner, he found streaked tinted windows, busted tables, and not enough chairs for twenty customers. The pair were alone, excluding the waitress, an unseen cook swearing at the stove, and an old man. This last man, the only other customer, was a sailor by the look of him. Sitting at the bar, he stared into his morning cup of joe. His thick brows creased in anxious concentration. Slapping his tanned hand on the table, he strode over to the payphone to place a call. It was enough to make Ed laugh aloud. No one used payphones anymore.

“Nothing,” Ed answered at last.

Hettie’s lips curled in a smirk. “You haven’t changed. Still daydreaming.”

What do you expect? he wondered, eyes darting around the woman’s body. Being in her presence kept his mind wandering back to a crazy scheme. It was a simple yet lofty objective. What would it take to get her to come back to his place? His mother would’ve called him a pig and slapped him over the head with a wooden spoon. If only that druggie hadn’t knifed his pops fifteen years ago. The old man would’ve understood. Prison wasn’t crawling with women. For the better part of five years, Ed was off the dating market. Nowadays, it was difficult to integrate back into that world. Women felt too silly and self-centered to him. He couldn’t even sit through a single conversation since rejoining society. Forget kindling a sweet romance back at his dingy apartment. Hettie was the first woman he could stand being near. He had to make the most of it.

“I’ve cut back over the years,” he replied, mirroring her grin. “Tuesdays and Thursdays are daydream free.”

“Breaking the habit one day at a time,” she said with a wink. The old man’s echoing grunt pierced Ed’s ears, diverting the prospective lover boy’s attention, as he slammed the phone’s receiver. Huffing, he stormed back to his seat at the bar. “Looks like someone’s in a bad mood,” Hettie observed with a giggle. Ed nodded. The pair allowed their gaze to stray toward the sailor.

“Got a problem, Joshie?” the old waitress asked across the counter. She looked like she stepped right out of Happy Days. Long poodle skirt with a faded embroidering on the hem. Graying hair pulled back in a messy bun. A stack of trays and cups sat on the counter. Lifting each glass with her meaty hand, she inspected for cracks. Pausing her task, she gave the sailor a sympathetic glance.

“I’d give my left toe to get Tod on the phone,” the old sailor answered, shoulders sagging. “And lay off the Joshie, Sal. Everybody stopped calling me that when we were seven.”

“Tod?” Her dark forehead furrowed. “I forget. Is that your old poker buddy or the former real estate agent?”

“Neither, Sally,” he answered, taking a sip from his mug. Glue held the cracked handle in place. “Hails from the mainland. Grew up a sailor. Good kid. Got a wife with a little one on the way. Supposed to bring in a big shipment today, but he’s running late.”

“Sea is rough this time of year,” Sally replied, setting aside a split glass. “I’m surprised they can find the island at all.”

“Being late isn’t the problem. He hasn’t called and I can’t reach him.” He sucked in a deep breath. “Something bad is going on. Mark my words.”

“Scary,” Hettie muttered to Ed. Her eyes sparkled with sarcastic humor. She never viewed anything with a serious eye. There was a joke in everything to her. Once, Ed could’ve partaken in her mirth, but no woman’s beauty would dull his current good sense that much.

“Could be a bad omen.”

“When did you become the superstitious type?” she asked, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

Back in school, it was well known that Edmund had no belief in the divine nor things that went bump in the night. His nonbelief made going to church with his mother a dreadful experience. The pastor’s gaze fell on him constantly and his sermons seemed targeted at his unbelieving soul. It would take more than that to make a sheep out of him, no matter how virtuous his mother found it. That was before the wild night at Jordan's Gas and Grill. Everything changed after that. “I’ve learned firsthand that God gives us signs. A fool ignores them at his own peril.”

“Is that how you landed in the slammer?” she asked, leaning in closer. Her eyes sparkled with playful interest. “Did you ignore the signs? Slipped past the point of no return?”

His face turned to stone. Two men knew why Edmund spent time in the mainland prison, and only one lived to tell the tale. Being an ex-convict was bad enough. Asking for a job was akin to declaring he had the plague. Working for Hankins was the best he could do. Last thing he needed was for his criminal record being common knowledge. Cold shoulders were better than blatant hostility.

“Sorry,” she giggled. “Didn’t mean to strike a nerve. Chill and stop being so serious.”

Ed couldn’t help it. Prison wasn’t a five-star hotel he longed to visit again. To avoid returning, he changed for the better. Ed was fortunate. His crime was small. The punishment was fair. He escaped the prison machine that turned small-time crooks into felons. Still, something about those barred rooms twisted a few wires in a man’s brain. The vibrant colors of life became marred and muted into darker hues. Still, he knew that he had to enjoy the faint glimmers of a brighter life when he could. Stone crumbling from his face, he flashed a small grin. “Where are you working? I could come visit you sometime.”

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

Sighing, Hettie clicked her teeth. “Is that your idea of entertaining chitchat?” Shaking her head, her swaying hair created a mesmerizing pendulum. “You use high school memories to stir the wanton desires in a woman’s heart.” Her disappointed eyes rolled. “I’m not impressed, but I guess I can play along. Are we gonna play truth or dare, or do you have something hotter in mind?”

Ed could feel himself slipping around in her invisible grasp. She had a gaze that made any man uncomfortable with hidden desire. With age, her skill was far more powerful. He found it hard to contain himself, finding himself standing on a tightrope of indecision. Was she playing hard to get? Did she have any interest in him at all? Ed recalled when she tricked an underclassman into confessing his feelings in at a school rally in front of every student. Poor boy faced her rejection in front of an audience. He refused to turn out like that.

“Hey, forget it,” he said, raising his hands in defeat. “If your life is embarrassing, don’t talk about it.” To survive in the can, Ed learned how to become invisible, a skill he used with excellence. The last thing he wanted was to end up with a sharpened spoon shoved between his ribs. He could sit in the middle of a group and no one would notice when he arrived or left. Being invisible had other perks. Inmates spoke freely around him. He learned quite a few things sitting in on surrounding conversations. Despite having no contact with women, he had a pocketful of knowledge he was ready to test out, courtesy of his former inmates.

Trial One: if a woman doesn’t want to do something, call her bluff. In this day and age, women hated to be seen as weak. “Don’t play games with me, tough guy,” Hettie answered, drumming her fingers on the table. Ed hid his smile, realizing the test had worked. “My life is an open book." If she was the same Hettie, he had no doubt.

"Okay, why did you drop out?" That was the million dollar question where the fiery woman was concerned. Though she was far from valedictorian, she passed her classes with ease. Rumor had it she had methods of receiving graciously satisfactory scores from her teachers. Why would any young lady vanish her senior year when she'd nab her diploma with little difficulty? Some thought the local police were giving her trouble. Officer Oswald's dwindling patience with Hettie was infamous.

Stupid man probably blames her for that mess two years before Hettie's disappearance. Despite her history regarding lawmen, her run-ins with the boys in blue were few and far between. This led to the rumor that her mother kidnapped her. Everyone knew her parents split when the poor child was six. No one knew where her mother went, not that it mattered for this rumor. Stories of parents showing up and whisking their estranged kids away was commonly reported in the mainland news. Others believed she was pregnant, married, or eloping. Until today, no one other than Hettie knew the truth.

"Ran off with some cool cats, as my dad would say," she explained, a faint smile on her lips. Ed felt his jaw drop a little. "A traveling rock group blew onto the island during the fall. Remember them? The Falling Spacemen."

Ed recalled them all too well. To this day, he hadn't heard a worse group in his life. Dubbing themselves rock or band was an affront to the Young Brothers. Their drummer was offbeat more times than he was on. The guitarist and bassist had no chemistry, always playing as if they were at war with one another. Worst of all was the singer who couldn't carry a tune if someone sang the notes for him. He saw them once for free and still felt ripped off. Yet somehow they held this strange fascination from Hettie.

"Never dreamed you'd be a groupie," he said, voice cracking thanks to the incredulous revelation.

"I wasn't a groupie," she barked. "They took me on as their manager." Ed's jaw dropped to the floor. An image of Hettie’s hair pulled back in a tight bun, glasses pushed down the end of her nose, and her beautiful body hidden by a politician’s pantsuit came to his mind. His stunned silence brought a high-pitched laugh wheezing through the young lady’s nose. "Never thought I could run a business, did you?"

Ed wanted to find a better way to say it, but the best he could come up with was, “Yeah.”

Her piercing eyes rolled with a hiss of her teeth. “Thought you saw more than a pretty face and rocking figure.” Ed gulped. He could feel her slipping through his fingers. His chances of extending their informal reunion to a more intimate setting was dwindling with each bungled word. He rattled his brain to say something in return. There had to be a choice word, off-the-cuff phrase, or passing nugget-of-wisdom. This lackluster wordsmith found his tongue dry and sluggish.

Hettie’s eyes blinked away a flash of some secret emotion too fast for Ed to discover what lay hidden within that heart’s window. “Can’t blame you for doubting. No one believed me. Can’t believe it myself most times.” She shrugged. “Still, when you pick a story, gotta stick with it. Few girls wanna admit they ran off with a singer just to get ditched for a younger floozy.”

Ed felt his heart sink deep inside his chest, falling somewhere betwixt his small and large intestine. There were three kinds of men. Those who loved being right, others that hated it, and more that had no interest one way or the other. Ed fell in the second. No one suggested Hettie ran off with the lead singer of that horrible band. It was the only option that made sense; Ed loathed the idea of being right. He wore a torn up greaser jacket and fluffed his dyed hair like the red-headed cousin of the Ramones and Sex Pistols. Called himself Joey Vicious. A fake rocker if Ed ever saw one. You’d think by copying great trailblazers he’d absorb a little talent. He even bit the head off a fake bat, desperate to gain a little occult reputation. Someone shoulda told him few on the island had any interest in that scene.

In spite of this, his act nabbed him the woman of Ed’s dreams, a fact he hoped to forget. Clearing his throat, he asked, “So, what brings you back in town?”

The faintest flush rose to her cheeks. Ed found himself taken aback. He had often wondered if anything embarrassed this woman. Eyes downcast, she admitted in the faintest whisper, “Joey called.”

It was here that Ed understood where he stood in relation to his former classmate. In this classic stage play, she rested on the castle’s balcony, looking for the mischievous prince who jilted her fragile heart. Ed was the poor stable boy gazing on her from the bushes below, fearful she would catch him staring. No tree could reach her balcony and armored knights clogged the way to her chambers. To remain hidden meant resigning into the deepest pits of despair. To reach the side of his beloved spelled his doom. Left with no satisfactory choice, he released his weakening grip on the woman’s fickle desire.

“Really?” he asked. “What was the occasion?”

Her eyes broke from their staring contest with the table. Unashamed fear exploded through the window’s frame. A sudden chill crawled over his skin. “I don’t know. He raved about stupid folk tales and some occult garbage. Joey always had a flair for the dramatic. He loved anything weird and hated by society. But his newest obsession leaves this unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach.” She broke off, blinking back a tear. “I have to find him. Whatever he’s doing here, it can’t be good.”

Ed said nothing for a long time, finding himself on the precipice of walking away from Hettie forever. Still, he couldn’t resist the intoxicating aroma of her perfume, the glamor she cast when her hair flipped the right way, and how her lips curled in cat-like interest without notice. Even as he assured her that everything would be fine, a bad feeling stirred in his gut. It was as if a mysterious shadow loomed behind him, ready to slip a rusty knife into his spine. Something terrible is about to happen. He prayed he was wrong but who could be sure of anything as the fog rolled in.