- Fall Like the Leaves, Part One: The Man in Black
- Fall Like the Leaves, Part Two: Dangerous Thrills
By Rebecka Jones, Staff Writer
“You shouldn’t be here,” the man from the coffee shop says, his deep voice rumbly like it was when he ordered drinks. Goodness, I find myself thinking despite the ironic situation. The man can say more than two words.
He wears a frown, dark eyes narrowed, and examines me up and down. That’s when I look down and realize what a mess I am. My light blue uniform is stained dark red with blood and I notice holes in my sleeves from where the other man clawed me.
I look back up at him. He’s one to talk…or, rather, look, I think. His left eye is swollen and purple, and blood leaked from his nose and lips. There are blood and sweat stains on his black suit.
There is no sign of the light in his eyes from days earlier as he glares down at me. My heart sinks at the thought of him being angry with me, of regretting ever smiling at me all those times. What’s even worse, I think I detect a hint of disappointment. I feel like I’ve let him down in some way. That I’ve lost all chances of getting to know him and figuring out why in the world he interests me.
That’s when I notice something like worry flicker in his eyes. “You could have gotten killed,” he said. “That man is dangerous.” He gestures to the dead body, reading the look on my face.
I’m about to speak when shouting erupts from further down the alleyway. Both of our heads spin in that direction as a group of uniformed men are turning the corner and running towards us with angry expressions and guns in hand.
A cry rips from my throat as they raise their guns at us, but suddenly I’m swept off my feet and feel a hard chest pressed against my cheek and large arms wrapped around my back and legs. My breath is knocked out of my lungs at the impact, but I’m more breathless from the fact that the man from the coffee shop is carrying me.
I throw my arms around his neck, terrified I’m going to fall. Thankfully, his hold on me is so firm I feel like I can let go and be safe. I don’t want my arms bouncing around, though, so I keep them wrapped around his neck as he sprints through what I realize is the town’s park.
Red and orange leaves paint the trees above us, and the fallen leaves scuttle underneath the man as he tears across the clearing. People glance our way, some walking dogs that bark at us from the sudden movements. That’s when I notice the man change direction to take a path toward a more secluded area.
Finally, I risk a glance at him. He’s looking straight ahead. His eyes are narrowed again, lips turned down, lines prominent on his forehead – from anger or focus, I cannot decipher. My palms feel slippery on his neck and my heart starts to pound violently as the canopy of trees casts dark shadows on us. Without the presence of the sun, the place he’s taking me feels much darker and colder. The only sounds are of leaves rustling and the man’s steady breaths as he runs.
Suddenly, a rumble comes from the man’s chest and his face shifts to what I recognize as pain. He bares his teeth, his grip on me tightening to the point that it makes me yelp. He slows down at that.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
“Are you hurt?” I find myself asking, recalling the condition I found him in with the other man in the alleyway. He also got slammed against the wall, so maybe he’s harboring a wound.
He grunts in response, coming to a slow walk and eventually a stop. Looking around us and finding no threat, he sets me down. His hand shoots to his side and becomes blood red when he removes it to look at. A hiss escapes him, the wrinkles on his forehead more prominent.
I gasp. “Were you shot? We need to get help!” I scramble to see if anyone is nearby. When I see we are alone, I shove my hands into my pockets to search for my phone. My heart drops when I don’t feel it in my uniform.
“No!” The man yells, grabbing me by the arms and holding them in place. “You won’t be telling anyone, understand?”
I want to insist we call for help, but the deep concern etched on his face makes me purse my lips and nod.
He must be involved in something bad—maybe even illegal—for him to decline help when he’s literally bleeding. For some reason, I can’t help being curious. I wanted to figure this man out since the first day I saw him walking into the coffee shop, and now I might get that chance.
Images of the dead body in the alleyway flash across my mind. This time, instead of my heart plummeting and my throat constricting, I feel a rush. A new type of energy electrifies my body and makes me stand up straight. I never felt something so alive. So freeing. I almost want to hit myself for feeling this excitement when someone just died and left another man bleeding out.
The adrenaline rush sends me running when the uniformed men spot us again, and the man from the coffee shop starts and rushes to my side.
Suddenly, I feel like I’m flying across the sky. Everything is a blur. My surroundings disappear. Wind catches my hair and whips it around behind me. My body shivers from the cold, but it feels exhilarating. I don’t remember I’m running until my body is yanked to the side and I find myself being pushed through a large opening in a dark tunnel.
The only light I can see comes from the opening we just entered through, until the man shuts a large metal door behind me and drowns us in darkness. The sound of the door closing echoes and fades into the unknown distance until it’s silent aside from our shallow breathing, my racing heart, and the faint trickling of water.
I’m too busy blinking to get my eyes to adjust when a warm hand grabs my arm. I jump and spin around to see the man pointing a flashlight at me. His face is covered by a shadow cast by the flashlight, but I can see that his lips are turned down into a frown.
“Relax,” he says. He points the flashlight down the tunnel and starts walking ahead. I shiver from the underground chill, rubbing my arms that I realize are infested with goosebumps. I follow behind, observing the silhouette of the broad man before me. Surprisingly, he isn’t tense, but I notice a sag in his shoulders. I assume it’s from the wound and exhaustion from the fight.
I don’t protest when he leads me through a smaller doorway after pressing a code onto a keypad nearby. There should be hundreds of alarm bells ringing in my head, but I can’t bring myself to turn back. After that exhilarating chase, I felt something rush through my veins like lightning and, whatever it was, it kept me from going back to the coffee shop. I don’t even want to go back now. Not when my life was finally starting to get interesting.
My life has felt like a checkbox — I complete the same tasks every day: wake up, go to work, come back home. I end the day by watching one of the only three shows I ever watch while slurping on Ramen as my elderly corgi sleeps in my lap. It doesn’t seem like a bad life, but it is boring. I got so used to it that it’s the only way of life I know.
My obsession with routines started shortly after my parents died five years ago. It happened so suddenly, and I desperately needed some form of stability in my life; I had nowhere to go. College went out the window because there was hardly any money left behind, so I got myself a job and focused only on that so I wouldn’t go homeless. I had no friends because they all moved away for college, and I never got into a relationship because it felt pointless with how boring and hopeless I was. Every wish, every dream, every smile, every hope I had: out the door as soon as my parents died. It’s like everything died with them. Including me.
All that changed the day this man walked through the doors of the coffee shop. I don’t know how to explain it, but he made me feel a way I never felt before. Whatever it is, it makes me feel like I can run around the globe and never tire. Now I feel awake. Alive.
That’s what keeps me moving forward through the tunnel and into a dimly lit room. It’s an empty box, with cracked stone walls on all sides and a weak light hanging above. Straight ahead were elevator doors that were steadily sliding apart. I must have paused for too long because I feel the man’s hand on my lower back, gently ushering me forward and into the opening elevator. His touch makes me shiver.
He presses the only button in the elevator and we stand in silence as we start to descend. To where, I have no idea; I don’t know if the man will even respond if I ask. Mr. Coffee Shop — the new name I’ve bestowed upon him — seems incapable of conversation.
After what felt like a millennium, the elevator screeches to a stop and opens. I follow Mr. Coffee Shop out into what looks to be a huge, amphitheater-shaped office. Computers line each row, going down to a large black pillar in the middle with screens wrapped around it. The office is filled with men and women wearing white or blue dress shirts with black pants. Some are wandering around carrying paperwork, while others are seated in front of the computers. My body freezes as every eye in the room turns in our direction. Specifically, my direction.
And this is how I die. Not from a gun, but from these people’s deadly stares.
“I appreciate the welcome back,” Mr. Coffee Shop mutters after a long moment of awkward silence. It takes me a second to register the fact that he’s taken my hand and is leading me into a hallway. Everyone’s eyes follow us.
My body feels like I’ve entered a furnace, but not because of the stares. The roughness of this man’s skin feels unsettlingly pleasant against my palm. I look down to see his huge hand swallowing mine up; it’s such a step up from when he brushed my hand, giving me the broom, but he did also carry me through a park today. Because we were being chased by potential killers, idiot, I remind myself.
He takes me into an examination room, where a young nurse takes a look at me. She’s very sweet and gentle as she checks for injuries, finding nothing but scratches on my arm and a little bruise on my back before sending me on my way with an ice pack and a change of clothes.
Mr. Coffee Shop is nowhere in sight — probably tending to his own wounds — so I find a bathroom to change in. I slip on a long-sleeved shirt along with leggings while balancing the ice pack on my back. I dispose of my ripped and stained barista uniform after searching the pockets for my phone again to no avail.
I sigh deeply. I’m not sure why Mr. Coffee Shop even brought me here. It doesn’t seem like he’s kidnapping me — I hope — but maybe he’s punishing me for getting involved? Maybe now I’m in danger because this guy is involved in something illegal. Yet your stupid butt couldn’t stay away, I want to yell at myself.
On top of that, I can’t find my phone. I have no clue how I’m supposed to get help if I am being kidnapped. Or, if I’m not, to at least tell my coworkers I mysteriously disappeared because I’m stuck in a freaking underground lair and won’t be back until who knows when.
I step out of the bathroom and collide with a hard chest. I crane my neck to see that this very broad and lovely — I didn’t say that — chest is connected to the very man who brought me here. He’s staring down at me with those dark orbs, eyes narrowed.
Before I can ask how long he was standing there for, he starts walking and says, “Follow me.” So, like the little lost puppy I am, I follow without question.
I notice the man is all cleaned up, no signs of dirt or blood on him. Even his cuts are cleaned up, and he has abandoned his dark suit for a gray t-shirt and jeans. I almost want to smile at the fact that he’s finally wearing something with color.
He takes me into yet another room, this one housing a singular table in the middle with two chairs pushed in on both sides, a counter in the corner with wooden cabinets, and a fridge. These rooms have no windows since we’re underground, so the only light comes from a small flickering light bulb hanging from the ceiling.
Mr. Coffee Shop gestures for me to take a seat — I do — then hands me a cold water bottle. I don’t realize how thirsty I am until I’ve downed more than half of it. I set the bottle down to see the man now seated across from me, staring with a deadpanned face. I’m surprised when he finally speaks.
“Did you have any major injuries?”
My stomach flutters at his concern. Stop it. “No. Only some scratches and a bruise.”
“Good. I apologize for bringing you down here. I had to make sure you weren’t terribly harmed, and I can’t have you seen up there at the moment.”
“What? Am I a criminal now after I tried defending you?”
“Quite the opposite, actually,” Mr. Coffee Shop says with a sigh, which does nothing to settle my pounding heart. “I told you that you shouldn’t have gotten involved. Now that those men saw your face, you’re in danger.”
He must sense the question on my face because he continues, “I’m going to be honest and quick with you, Miss Faith.” How did he know my name? Oh, the name tag from my uniform, duh. “I’m a part of an agency that protects small towns like these from threats. You happened to stumble across a man who is involved in a criminal organization. He was about to make an illegal weapon deal with another organization, which is why you saw us in the condition we were in. I had to kill him because he kept resisting, and he was about to kill you. The men who chased us were his… buddies, let’s just say. They saw me with you, so they’re probably thinking you are a part of our agency. I had to bring you down here to keep you safe.”
I had to give my brain a second to compute. “Uhm, okay. That makes sense, but what kind of danger am I in? When can I leave?”
“You are now a target for them. They could stalk you and kidnap you to get information. They could even kill you.” Wow, he wasn’t kidding when he said he would be honest. Even now, I don’t find myself feeling scared. Obviously, I would appreciate it if these guys let me live, but some part of me feels thrilled to know I’ve got action in my life now. This boring town isn’t as boring as I thought it was.
“Does that mean I can’t leave?”
“You’ll be allowed to leave,” he assures me, his calm but serious tone unchanging. “You’re going to have someone from our team nearby at all times until we get this situation taken care of, though. When you work, when you’re at home, etcetera. Understand?”
“Yes, I understand I’m going to be stalked regardless of my decision,” I reply sarcastically. “How can I trust you?”
“You’re just going to have to,” the man shrugs. “You can at least trust us not to hurt you. I think we would’ve by now if we wanted to.”
“Fair,” I say. The question that has been nagging me these last few weeks abruptly comes to mind. “I have to ask you something, Mr…?”
“Asher.”
Mr. Coffee Shop has a name? A lovely one, too. “Asher. Why did you keep coming into my work? You never said a word to me, but you always showed up and smiled at me.”
I think I caught him off guard. Those narrowed eyes are suddenly wide. His lips part slightly, and he tilts his head away from me, staring at the ground. I swear, I catch a hint of pink on his cheeks. Is he…embarrassed?
I hear a deep sigh from him before he responds. “I wasn’t supposed to do that, so I apologize for that as well.”
“Uhm, okay. Can you explain to me why you did it?” When he doesn’t respond, I say, “You said you were going to be honest.”
“This isn’t relevant to the conversation,” he snaps, his eyes back on me and face serious again. I want to object and tell him it is very much relevant because we’re discussing the danger I’m in, which could’ve been caused by him coming in every day. He continues, calmer, “I’ll let you go now. We’ve already contacted your work to say you were sent to the hospital because you got very sick. You ruined your uniform and will need a new one. You’re free to go home for the rest of the day.”
“How did you contact…?” I start, but when Asher raises a brow at me, I abandon the question. “Nevermind.” He’s an agent, I got that.
I stand up when he does. I head over to the door, but pause when he speaks behind me. “Make sure not to disclose this information to anyone. Oh, and one more thing, Miss Faith,” I turn around to look at him, standing there with his hands in his jeans pockets. His face is calm, collected. “Remember how I mentioned we’re going to have someone near you at all times to keep you safe?”
It’s my turn to raise my brow at him. “Uhm, yes?”
His face remains collected as he says, “I hope you’re ready to see your favorite daily customer back at the coffee shop.”
