Rogue...no, Marie, or Casey, as she called herself now, hummed softly with the radio as she wiped down the plastic covered table tops at the burgers and fries chain she slaved for nowadays. Her fluffy fifties style skirt and bobby socks were spattered with mayo and mustard, her patent leather Mary Janes scuffed and worn. She made a mental note to take some rubbing alcohol to the scuffs, she couldn’t afford a new pair of shoes at the moment.
“Casey,” Julio, her boss, called from the kitchen where he and his wife Lisa busily scrubbed and cleaned the grill and emptied the fry vats. “These dishes won’t do themselves, you know.”
“Coming!” she called, picking up her broom and dustpan on the way in and dumping its contents into the trash she would take out once the dishes were done. She shuffled into the kitchen, pulling her OSHA certified yellow rubber gloves on over her arms. Three, pale identical scars that decorated her left arm and chipped, red nails tipped both disappeared into the smelly coverings. She frowned slightly at the scars, one gloved thumb rubbing her skin through poly-plastic.
Shaking her head, she dashed away painful memories and turned to the more comforting, tangible job of washing dishes. Reaching for the steel wool brillo pad box, she grabbed the first one and set to scrubbing the red plastic baskets, a chili pot, and then, leaving the most loathsome for last, cleaning out a slaw vat. Finished, she sat the dishes to dry on their respective racks, baskets down low, pots up top, silverware in the special bucket with slots for each individual item.
Seeing Julio and Lisa counting money at the register, she automatically groaned. She could never clock out when the boss-man stuck around late after work. Silently cursing her more lenient manager Carl for skivving off to go to an Aerosmith concert, she reached for a box of kids meal foldables and set about restocking the under-the-bar storage, then piling them on the shelf above the ice cream container.
“Casey?” Lisa’s soft voice rang melodiously as she reached for the garbage bag.
“Rah...right here,” she replied, southern twang barely slipping through her rehearsed midwestern, neutral accent.
“Julio and I are heading out, lock up and lights out will you?” Lisa commanded, smiling.
“Sure thing.” Leaving her yellow gloves on and grabbing the trash, Marie propped the back door to the store open with a wooden wedge, then high tailed it towards the dipsy dumpster. Chunking the smelly load inside, she slammed it shut, barely feeling Erik’s mental twitch at the close proximity to such a large hunk of metal.
Something, probably the Wolverine inside, tweaked her senses as she approached the store again. She sniffed instinctively, but the feral inside had faded over the past five years to the point that his enhanced senses were non-existent. Marie crept to the open door and slipped inside, quietly. Despite the fact that her skin was useless now, after the cure, she pulled her gloves off and dropped them in the bucket of bleach.
A soft cry of pain and fear reached her ears as she peered around the door. A streak of platinum blond hair fell into her face from her hair-sprayed ponytail. Julio lay unconscious on the white and black tiled floor, blood pouring from a stab wound to the left part of his chest. A masked thug rifled through the money bag on the counter, his partner had pushed Lisa into the nearest booth and had pulled her poodle-skirt up around her hips. Silent tears streamed down Lisa’s face as his gloved hand reached towards her panties.
Noting that the thugs were apparently only armed with knives, Marie swept into action. With her broom pole in hand, she vaulted the countertops and smacked the metal handle into the back of the thug’s head who was holding Lisa. Her bare hand closed around his jacket lapel, and she jerked him out of the booth and body-slammed him backwards onto the linoleum. Grimly, her Mary-Jane heel slammed into his nose, and she purred in sick satisfaction when blood gurgled up, out of his mouth and onto her freshly mopped floors.
A flash of movement in her peripheral vision made her turn, quickly. Marie reached, clumsily due to lack of practice, down to the broken thug on the floor, grabbed his knife, and with the precision of a super soldier flung it across the restaurant towards the moving thug. It slammed right into his throat. He turned, staggered, and she was startled as the sharp report of a gun shot echoed in the diner. Agonizing pain spread through her abdomen as the gun she had not known the thug held dropped to the ground with him. Blood spread quickly across her work polo shirt.
“Shit...oh Christ.” she moaned, trying to continue moving. Her cover was blown now anyways. Lisa wept silently over her husband’s body as Marie grasped the nearest dishrag and pressed it into the wound on her stomach. She wordlessly pulled the phone off the hook and dialed 9-1-1, Lisa’s screaming would be enough to get the local authorities coming, and fast.
Marie hobbled from the diner and into her battered, early nineties, seen its better days Buick. Blood soaked her hands as she cranked the car and gripped the steering wheel. She pulled in to the nearest mini-mart and grabbed a bottle of liquor off the shelf. Unstoppering it, she poured it on the wound in the store, a startled attendant babbling incoherently into the phone. Her next item of business was to acquire hair dye and bottled water.
With both in tow she floored the car another three or four miles, pulled off the road, and dyed her hair velvet black. The ten minute hair color wasted precious time, but saved her from unnecessary questions later. She ripped the plates off of her car, swapping them for plates from two states over, the magnets easily clipping onto the back. A rock smashed her taillights and cracked her windshield to alter the appearance of the car.
Climbing in again, Marie continued driving down the country road, occasionally switching lanes as her vision blurred in and out of focus. Her hands shook and her vision was poor. Throbbing pain shot from her stomach to her head, making it difficult to stay focused on driving. Suddenly, everything faded into black, and the only noise Marie could make out was the sound of her car’s engine revving, then a crash.
More pain came then.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
A/N: This story is based on the song, "Need you Now" by Lady Antebellum. Each chapter goes with a verse/chorus.
"Picture perfect memories, scattered all around the floor
Reaching for the phone, cuz I can’t fight it anymore
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind? For me it happens all the time."
"Picture perfect memories, scattered all around the floor
Reaching for the phone, cuz I can’t fight it anymore
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind? For me it happens all the time."
Chapter End Notes:
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