She stands there in the corner…tears silently rolling down wan cheeks. It’s hard to approach someone like that, but—steeling my nerve—I try.
The closer I get, the more I am regretting the decision. Her hair is a tangled mess, and there is a bruise darkening one cheek. Dried blood has caked upon her split bottom lip.
I want to turn and run. Avoid confrontation. But this is my bar, I am responsible for thinking of all my customers, not just this one.
I close the distance.
“Are you all right, miss?”
She stares at me with those big eyes—hard to see their color in the dark, but I think they might be green. One of them is beginning to swell shut.
She doesn’t say a word.
“Can I call somebody for you? Maybe the cops?”
I don’t much care if she takes that as comfort or threat. I want her out of my bar.
She doesn’t say a word.
“Look, miss…I can see that you are in a lot of pain, but if you don’t plan on ordering anything, and you won’t tell me who to call…well, there’s a shelter across the road. Perhaps you’d be better off there than here.”
The tears almost glow on her cheeks, but I know that’s a trick of the neon bar sign she stands beneath. Tears don’t do that in real life. Still, it’s really disconcerting.
I reach out to put my arm around her shoulders and escort her out. She cringes, and I quickly drop it. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Here, let me help you across the street.”
I open the front door, stepping through and holding it open for her. Get out, get out, get out! I am screaming in my head.
She looks at me, the picture of sorrow, and—head hanging—steps out into the glow of the arc light illuminating the parking lot. It casts a sickly purplish glare on everything.
Under the unforgiving light, I can see her clothes are smudged and torn. One of the knees is out of her jeans, and the denim underneath the tear is dark with blood.
“What happened to you?” I ask her, aghast that she could be in this sort of shape and still walk into a bar, of all places, and not a hospital.
Again, she doesn’t say a word.
I am not proud to say I was starting to be a bit angry. Who was this woman, and why was she bringing her troubles to me?
“Look—” I don’t know how I would have finished that sentence. The car careened around the corner, tires squealing, bumped over the curb, and slammed into me at speed.
I never had a chance.
As I rose up out of the crumpled mass in the loose gravel of the parking lot, a beatific smile lit her face, and she took me by the hand.
Now I knew what she couldn’t say.
Death led me home.
And there were no words.
This story first appeared in the anthology Victim, 2017.
Edited by Marie Ginga
Rie Sheridan Rose's prose appears in numerous anthologies, including Killing It Softly, Vols. 1 & 2; Hides the Dark Tower; Dark Divinations; and Startling Stories. In addition, she has authored twelve novels, seven poetry chapbooks, and lyrics for dozens of songs. Find out more at Rie Sheridan Rose, on Amazon, and on Substack.