Chapter 1
Lucia’s POV
I remember the day I first saw him, as it was yesterday.
It started like any other day of the week. I had woken up to the loud, shrill voice of the matron screaming at the top of her voice, as usual, that we should get to work immediately or risk being doused with cold water, her favorite threat.
At Theresa’s Home for the Homeless was a tall, depilating building, just outside the French Quarter of New Orleans, and it was where I found myself every night after working at a diner just across the street.
I groaned, pulling the threadbare blanket over myself as I tried to ignore her loud voice, which was quite high pitched for such a heavy-set woman. Around me, a lot of the inmates of the home did the same, praying silently she would move on to another room and forget about us for now, enabling us to catch some more precious sleep.
Well, if God was paying attention that morning, He definitely was not in a good mood because my prayers were answered with a healthy dowsing with a bucket of icy cold water, soaking me to my underwear.
“WHAT THE Hell!” I yelled, sitting up immediately, my head hitting the bunk above me as the chill went right down to my bones through my flimsy clothing and underwear.
The matron stared at me, sneering as though she smelt something disgusting. She probably did. I didn’t have time to get a good shower the previous night.
“I never repeat myself,” She snapped, eyeing me from head to toe.
“You couldn’t just tap me gently?” I fired back, regretting it almost immediately, as the painful sting of a resounding slap hit my face, making me see stars.
“Don’t you dare talk back at me you shameless whore.” She spat “I will throw you right back to the streets where your kind belongs.” She paused as though, waiting to hear if I would disobey her.
I didn’t, just kept silent, biting my tongue in repressed anger.
Satisfied that I had been put in my place, she turned to face the rest of the room who had put on their panic to watch out for an exchange. “What are you foolish bitches looking at? You want to join her? I have plenty more from where that came from.”
The reaction was immediate. They sprang out of their bunk beds, scrambling to get to work before they became unfortunate enough to get her attention.
She walked through the room, speaking over the noise. “The rules here are simple.” She yelled, “I give you shelter for the night, and the next morning you’d better be out there working your sorry asses to pay for your feeding and shelter. Nobody remains in this establishment past SEVEN O’CLOCK! Or I will personally KILL THEM!”
She spun around, her eyes zeroing in on me again, “And nobody, I mean NOBODY, gets to talk back at the matron, is that clear?”
A general murmur of assent passed through the crowd.
“I SAID IT IS CLEAR!”
“YES MATRON BERTHA!” The room chanted.
Satisfied she had made her point, she made her way to me, slightly limping on her bad leg. “You have a problem with me, miss?”
Resisting the urge to tell her how much I hated her garlic breath, I shook my head. “No matron Bertha.”
“Good,” she leaned in closer, so close I could count the hairs on the wart next to her oversized nose. “I meant you dull head, next time you talk back at me, I am throwing you back in the streets where I picked you up, now get your sorry ass outta here.”
Without another word, she left the room, leaving the heavy stench of garlic and musty clothing in the air.
My job at the diner was fairly complicated, to say the least.
My mornings usually start with a flurry of preparations. I make sure the tables are clean and set, ensuring that each one is equipped with the necessary utensils and condiments. I check the inventory, restock supplies as needed, and ensure that the coffee is brewing and ready to be served. It’s a routine that has become second nature to me over time.
It doesn't mean I like it, I don’t even enjoy it, but it was the only way to keep food in my belly and pay for my lodgings. And I was willing to do whatever it took to, at the very least, remain alive.
The day my life changed forever haunted me. After years of trying to repress the memories, I had almost completely forgotten. But sometimes, when I let my mind wander too much, the visions come back.
Flashes.
My father, lying on the floor, in a pool of his own blood.
My mother, her neck twisted in a horrible angle, staring lifeless at the ceiling.
An older brother whose name I couldn’t even remember, his body so mutilated, the police couldn’t even recognize him…
“Hello, hello!”
I snapped out of my reverie, my mind returning to the present.
“I don’t pay you so much to stand here doing nothing, ya know?” The man grunted, adjusting his yellow tie. “Get to work, and those dishes better be sparkling clean before I get back to you.”
I snorted, “Of course Mr Jones.”
Shaking his head at me and rolling his eyes, he moved on to the next girl on the line, stroking his beard.
“Okay, somebody must have it out for you today.” My partner, Elizabeth whispered, “First fat Bertha, now Jones? Are you cursed or something?” I shrugged, going back to scrubbing the grease off the pan.
“Yeah well, some days are like that.”
Elizabeth chuckled, taking the pan from me and rinsing it, “You know, I do plan to get out of here one day.” She muttered, placing the plan gently on the dry dish.
“Huh?”
“Surely you don’t plan on working here for the rest of your life scrubbing dishes for peanuts, no?”
I shrugged again, “Some people do it.”
“Yeah, people with no ambitions.” She shook her head, “Not me, mark my words Lucia, someday, I will be getting out of here, making a good living for myself.”
I looked at her, raising an eyebrow, “Oh really, how?”
She winked at me, a mischievous smile on her face, “Oh you just wait and see.”
I opened my mouth to reply when I heard a commotion outside.
Elizabeth looked up, confusion in her eyes,”What the hell is going on?”
The answer came immediately as the door to the kitchen burst open. One of the waitresses ran in.
“You won’t guess who just walked in,” she gasped, out of breath.
“Who? Abraham Lincoln?”
She rolled her eyes at Elizabeth, “Very funny, Lizzy.”
“Who then?!” Elizabeth pressed, urgency in her voice.
“It’s Damien Nox” the waitress replied,
“It’s Damien Nox.”