Rogue Alliance

SEVEN



Shyla drove her Range Rover into the Redding city limits with a familiar lead weight in her gut. She drove straight to the apartment she’d already rented. She’d done her homework and knew it was closest to the Redding Police Department and that the names of the owners were not familiar.

As she navigated her way through the streets of her old stomping grounds, she noticed that not a whole lot had changed. The outskirts of town seemed to extend further out into the hills. There were some newer businesses, some new paint. But there were also a few places that looked run-down and forgotten. Generally though, it was the same. She shivered and concentrated on her destination.

When she checked in with the management office, she held her breath as she signed the final paperwork and received her keys. She kept anticipating that the woman would suddenly recognize her, but she didn’t.

“There ya are, honey. Your parking spot is 19. There is visitor parking in each lot but only in the marked areas. Your unit is very clean and functional, as I’m sure you’ll see. Please let us know if there’s anything else we can do for you.”

Shyla snagged her keys. Once inside the furnished apartment she let out a shaky breath.

“Jesus, get it together already,” she scolded herself. She scanned the apartment. Clean and functional was accurate. Otherwise it was fairly plain; no fancy cabinetry or granite countertops, no fireplace or sunken tub, like her apartment back in L.A. It was exactly what someone on a secretary’s wage could afford.

She was tired from the nine hour drive but she’d left early so it was only three in the afternoon. She decided to keep busy and dug into her boxes. She’d had her things mailed as soon as she shored up the deal with the apartment complex.

Two hours later, she had made fairly significant progress with her bedroom. It was the most important area. She wouldn’t be home much. She just needed somewhere to crash out every night.

Her stomach grumbled. She hadn’t eaten since she grabbed a sub sandwich around eleven that morning. As there was nothing in the apartment resembling food, she conceded that she would need to venture out and grab something quick. She didn’t have the energy yet for a shopping trip so she decided to check out the diner she’d passed just a few blocks down the road.

She decided to walk. There were high clouds and it had been a fairly hot day. She inhaled deeply. The fresh mountain air was the only thing she’d missed since moving away. Being late August, she knew they still had at least another month before fall really hit.

As she drew closer to the diner, she took note that it was the dinner hour and the parking lot was full. The lead weight returned to its residence in her gut. She suddenly imagined walking into the diner and all of the customers turning to stare at her. They would start pointing and shouting ‘That’s the girl who stabbed her own father to death! Remember that?’

She feared it wouldn’t be possible to go anywhere and look anyone in the eyes, without knowing they were watching her through eyes which remembered. Those watchful, careful gazes were exactly why she’d left Redding in the first place.

For a moment, she briefly considered turning around and going hungry for the night. The thought shamed her. She was tougher than that. She’s grown beyond those fears, right? Jamming her hands into her jeans pockets she trudged forward, determined to overcome her childhood insecurities.

The bell above the door clanged when she entered. Expecting everyone to turn and stare, like an old movie when a stranger comes to town, her whole body stiffened. She badly wanted a drink.

Only two people looked her way - an elderly gentleman waiting at the front register to pay his bill, and a tired looking waitress who was walking in his direction. They simply acknowledged her existence then turned away to focus on their task.

She was being ridiculous, Shyla told herself. It had been a decade and a half. No one remembered her and no one cared.

Once she was shown to her booth on the far back wall, she settled in and decided to try to enjoy her dinner.

A waitress who looked to be in her late fifties approached. Her leather shoes squeaked.

Shyla looked up and gave a careful smile. She watched as the woman slowly scanned her face. Her blank expression slowly shifted to awareness. Shyla fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat.

“You look just like her. Well, not exactly, but around the eyes and mouth, you’re the spitting image,” she said.

Oh, shit. Here it comes.

“Um, excuse me?”

“Sandra Strauss. Your mom. We were very good friends many years ago. Up until…well until she died. I’m Cheryl.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I don’t remember,” Shyla said, swallowing hard.

“It’s okay, Shyla, I wouldn’t expect you to. You had it rough. You’ve been gone an awfully long time. Not that I can blame you. What are you doing back in these parts?”

“Well…I have new job. Yeah…I got a job working as the administrative assistant for the Chief of Police. You know, answering phones, filing, taking notes, keeping the office organized.”

Cheryl cocked her head.

“Is that right? I wouldn’t have figured you for the secretary type. Then again,” she chuckled, “I wouldn’t have figured myself as the waitress type, neither.

“Well, anyway, good for you. Hal Jorgenson’s good people. You’ll like working for him. Have you had a chance to look at our menu? The special is prime rib on a garlic sesame seed bun served with au jus and fresh cut home fries.”

Shyla thought about asking where the nearest liquor store was.

“That sounds good. I’ll take the special and an iced tea, please.”

Cheryl gave a genuine smile.

“No problem. I’ll be back in a jiffy. Welcome home, Shyla.”

Shyla put her head in her hands after Cheryl sauntered off. For the love of god, she’d been in town for less than three hours and had already been recognized, but, despite her nerves, she had to admit the interaction had been fairly innocuous.

Shyla tried to recall Cheryl and put her into context. Had she known her mom through work? Probably, which meant Shyla wouldn’t have seen her too often. She said they’d been friends until her mom died. Shyla pursed her lips and fought off a brisk wave of sadness. Her mom hadn’t just died, she’d killed herself a month after the incident. The guilt, the shame, the sickness within their home was all put in the spotlight, under a microscope, and it had pushed her over a thin edge.

It was one more tragedy which Shyla took full responsibility for.

Cheryl approached with a plate full of hot food.

“Here ya are. Is there anything else I can get you, honey?”

Suddenly, Shyla was no longer hungry.

“Uh, no,” she said, “would it be possible to get this to go? My first day is tomorrow and I have a lot to do tonight.”

“Of course. That’s no problem at all. I’ll wrap this up for you and let you be on your way.”

“Thanks.”

Shyla walked out of the diner, feeling as if the lead weight in her gut had grown and now weighed down her whole body. She felt heavy. She wanted a stiff drink. Next stop: the liquor store.