Todd Foley Writes

Written by Todd Foley

Artificial intelligence was not used at any point in the brainstorming, writing, editing or publishing of this story.

A thick morning fog envelopes a strip mall. Four cars sit in front of a bakery, waiting for it to open for the day. 

Looking at the clock on the wall like an opponent in a war he doesn’t want to wage, he unlocks the front door and turns on the Open light. 

A bell rings as the front door opens. A 30-something woman, man and young girl walk in toward the display case. Jared only looks at the parents. 

“Good morning,” he begrudgingly offers.

The girl’s eyes light up as she spots the cinnamon buns on display. She taps the glass three times as she gazes up at her dad. 

“We’ll take three of those,” dad says.

Jared nods and takes out the buns, placing them in a to-go box. Still looking only at the parents.  

He looks up to see a 40-something brunette woman standing in line, dressed in high-waist jeans and a white sweater. Her eyes meet Jared’s as he offers a half-hearted “thanks” to the dad walking out the door with his family.  

The woman moves forward to the counter. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” she says, pointing to the large windows.

Jared turns to look. The sun breaks through the fog, exposing the cars in the parking lot.  

“Sure.”

“They don’t make mornings like this where I’m from,” she says.

She looks at baked goods. “Any recommendations?”

Jared shrugs. “Scones go quick. Local blackberries.”

He points to a basket with six scones. His knuckles crab as he tries to relax his finger. He winces, then shakes his hand, confused. 

“I’ll take one,” she says.

He cracks his knuckles again, then scoops a scone onto a white plate. His hand shakes as he brings it to the counter. The scone spills onto the counter. Puddles of blackberry juice cover the counter. Jared freezes, staring at the juice. 

“Feeling a bit tense?” she asks.

Jared blushes as he puts the scone back on the plate, his finger stained with the blackberry juice. 

“Just a cramp,” he offers. “Happens in the morning sometimes.”

“My mama always said three things cause pain. Laziness, bad food, or a heavy conscience.”

A heavy beat of silence.

“Was she a doctor?” Jared asks.

“No,” the woman says. “But she knew things. Like I do.”

Jared looks at the open display case and moves to close it, but he can’t move his body. 

“Busy morning?” she asks.

Jared tries to play it cool. 

“No more than usual,” he answers. “Just people enjoying breakfast. Think they’re the only ones here this early in the day.”

“Funny how we don’t notice the people around us until we can feel them watching us.”

Jared slowly turns his face toward hers and they hold eye contact. Beads of sweat form on his face.

She smiles.  

“How much for the scone, Jared?”

“Two seventy –”

He stops abruptly. Shock and panic set in. 

“How do –”

She holds up her hand, then places three dollar bills on the counter. 

“I know, Jared.”

The back of Jared’s shirt is soaked through. He tries to lift his hand, but can’t. 

Palms lifting off the counter, but his fingers won’t release. 

His shoulders clench. His breath grows heavier.

The woman points out the window. “See? Fog’s gone.”

Jared can’t break eye contact. 

“Who told?” he manages.

“How we learn a truth doesn’t matter, just the fact that it got out.”

She takes a bite of her scone, holding eye contact. 

“Besides,” she says, “it wasn’t you who did it.”

The bell on the front door chimes as a man and a young brunette girl walk in. Jared’s eyes strain to the girl and follow her to the table, unable to look away. He doesn’t blink, his eyes red and watering.  

The woman turns to look at them as well. “Walking On Sunshine” plays over the speakers. 

“Youth is a wonderful thing,” she says to Jared. “So much adventure. Innocence. Presence in the moment. Feeling invincible, almost.”

Jared opens his mouth, barely. “I didn’t do anything,” he whispers. “It wasn’t me.” 

She turns to him.

“Did you stop it?”

Jared’s teeth press together, forcing the tension into his jaw and down his neck as he unwillingly stares at the girl. 

“We’ve all got names, Jared. What was hers?”

Jared forces his mouth open, just enough to speak. “You must know it,” he manages.

“I do. I’d like to hear you say it.”

Jared watches the young girl walk to the counter to get an extra napkin. His eyes bulge, as if something is pushing them from behind.

“Say her name, Jared.”

***

The afternoon sun shines on elementary school students leaving for the day. A young brunette girl walks away from the school through a trail in the woods. Thick blackberry briars line the 

Path.

Two young boys follow her at a distance. One boy smacks the other in the arm. 

“Let’s do this, Jared,” he says.

The other boy hesitates. “There’s people around. They’ll see you –” 

“Not where we’re going, they won’t.” He moves toward the trail. “The briars will hold some cover. You’ll thank the blackberry bushes, we both will.”

And off he goes.

Checking over his shoulder, the other boy walks into the woods, his face drenched in dread. 

***

“Say her name, Jared,” the woman says again.

Finally, just above a whisper: “Clara.”

The woman smiles and takes a bite of the scone. 

“Yes, sweet Clara. I wonder what she was like when she came out the other side of those woods. Or where she is right now.” She pauses. “Do you ever think about her, Jared?”

Jared’s eyes water, his face covered with sweat.  

“We can continue on our path,” she says, “or we can make it right. If you make it right, just let yourself be led. That’s all you need to do. But whatever you do, don’t turn around.”

She locks eye contact with Jared, her smile with a hint of menace. 

“I should move along,” she says. “I’ve got a full day ahead of me with other visits. Just like this one, actually.”

She takes another bite. 

“This is delicious, by the way. Tastes like my blackberries back home.”

Jared watches as she walks out the entrance into the sunshine and strolls down the sidewalk. 

He looks at the bell by the door. It didn’t chime.  

His eyes are forced down. There is no cash or crumbs on the counter. 

Six blackberry scones sit in the display case. 

“Walking On Sunshine” continues to play, but louder. 

With terror in his eyes, Jared’s mouth twists into a grin as his teeth clench together again. He pushes his tongue between his molars to pry them apart. Blood seeps through his lips.  

Against his will, he stiffly walks to the door.  

Outside, Jared’s arms spread out as he walks into the street. 

Tears roll down his cheeks as he tried to scream. He can’t untwist his smile. 

An 18-wheeler honks, slams its brakes, but a moment too late.