Henry Merlo’s alarm bleats its hideous wake-up alert, and unlike the last few weeks, he finds his bed and the last remains of a restful sleep too comfortable to leave. Five more minutes shouldn’t hurt.

“Henry? Can I have Sharkberry Crunch for breakfast? I won’t make a mess!” calls his little brother Avery from the other side of the door. 

The image of blue shark-shaped puffs soaking in the remnants of another Great Merlo Milk Flood roused him from his blue plaid quilt into the bear paw slippers Avery had given him last Yule stationed next to his bed. “Gimme a minute, buddy; I’ll make some toast too.”

“Cinnamon toast?”

“Sure.”

“Shaped like triangles, not rectangles?”

“Of course,” he says, opening the door and looking down at the six-year-old in his striped sea life pajamas. “Only the finest in shapes for the Merlo crew, First Mate Avery.”

“Aye!” grins his matey, taking off down the stairs. 

Henry’s faux paws shuffle into the bathroom, where he notes that both toothbrushes are dry, as is the handtowel. Poking his head out of the door, he shouts down the stairs, “Yo Ave, stop whatever you are doing and wash your hands, man!”

“Don’t worry, I haven’t had to pee yet!” returns the boy’s voice.

Henry shakes his head, not understanding how a bladder so small isn’t full on waking. But Avery has made it to six without a fibbing habit, so he didn’t doubt him. He shrugs and brushes his teeth wondering if sweetness now meant he was in for a harsher teenage rebellion later. “Dad? Am I doomed? What was your plan if I’d been a little shit?” He spits and rinses and washes his face but leaves his bedhead for his post-Sharkberry Crunch and triangle toast shower.

Downstairs in the kitchen Avery is waiting at the table, the cereal box, an empty bowl, and a spoon in front of him. Henry handles the toast, the milk-pouring, as well as the coffee-making before sitting down. “Well, what was last night’s dream kiddo?”

“More pirates, of course!” he grins, between bites of proper cinnamon toast.

“Of course. Speaking of–do you need anything else for your Halloween costume?”

“Nope! I’m all set. But if you wanna give me some treasure to make it more authentic, I won’t stop ya.”

“We could make it authentic if you spent the day swabbin’ the floors here, and peeling potatoes. Some method acting. Really immerse yourself into the role.”

“What if I plundered a town instead?”

“I’m not driving you to Ottersted to commit crimes, kid. Go on and get ready for school,” Henry says, scooping up their bowls and putting them in the sink for later. “I need the shower so hurry up and brush those teeth and wash them hands! I don’t care if you didn’t pee yet. Actually, try to pee! I believe in you!”

“Aye, aye!” calls the blur of stripes up the stairs.

When it is his turn in the bathroom, he pulls his long-sleeved t-shirt off and turns to the side to see what horrible new shades the splotches of bruises across his ribs and around his back are today. Still various dark purples and greens. Is that good or bad? He stands under the hot water and groans. How long has it been? Did I do all the shower things? He still has a soap-covered poof in his hand, so he goes through the motions again for good measure. Another slow spin to rinse, letting the heat pummel his shoulders because it feels sort of good. Does it feel good or just feel different? He leans into it anyway.

“Henry, I can walk by myself if you’re not ready? I know the way!” Avery’s voice carries through the door. 

The older Merlo turns the water off, “I will be right out! We’ve got plenty of time.” He scrambles for his towel and barely uses it, throwing his jeans and a black button-down on, and heads downstairs, hair still dripping to the little table in the entry way for his wallet, keys, phone, shoes routine. “You got your lunch money?” he asks Avery who is sitting on the step, waiting with his backpack. 

“Yes, do you?”

Henry pats his pockets one more time, “Wallet, keys, phone, yes.”

“Your boot is not tied.”

He leans down and makes two bunny ears with the laces and ties them in a knot and then one more. 

“At school, they said that’s not the right way,” Avery tells him.

“It’s okay to rebel a little, man,” Henry says, knowing this will come back and bite him in a few years. He drops Avery off and heads to work.

The first customer of the day is a stranger. He’s been here for years, and almost every customer is a regular. The tall, pale woman with long blond curls, almost like tubes, is wearing oversized dark sunglasses. Hangover shades? She gestures for him to hold on a moment with her long pink polished nail pointing upward while she pulls a notebook out of her purse and a pen. After she finishes writing something, she turns the book around and slides it across the counter.

She’s written, “Jasmine tea, please. For here.”

He smiles up at her, “Sure thing. Can I interest you in a pastry?”

She pulls the book back and writes some more, “I will consider it. Perhaps to go when I leave. Thank you for asking.”

“Go ahead and have a seat. You can pay on your way out in case you want to add anything. I’ll bring your tea out in a moment.”

She underlines the “Thank you” in her previous line and nods to him, takes a seat with a clear view of the counter, and sits facing him.

When he brought her tea, she smiled and nodded at him. For the remainder of the shift, he occasionally would look out across the tables and startle seeing a tall blonde dressed to the nines in pastel pink with an empty cup of tea that he’d forgotten had come in. He’d offer her a refill, bring it to her, and he felt like this had repeated several times, but he wasn’t sure.

“Hey,” he asked his coworker, “Can you remind me in a few to check on the lady in pink?”

“Which lady?” she’d asked, looking out into the cafe.

“The tall blonde in the shades and pink dress?” he asks, turning to look as well.

“Oh, I don’t know how I missed her.”

A half-hour later he was ready to clock out, and a tall blonde woman in dark sunglasses stood at the counter holding a twenty-dollar bill and a notebook.

“What can I get you, Miss?”

She slid the book across the counter and pointed to the bottom of the page, where it said, “Thank you for the tea. Keep the change.”

Above this was a one-sided conversation that he started to remember. She closed the book and tucked it into her purse, and turned to leave.

“Miss! Miss, please wait!”

Turning to him, she smiles and waits.

“Can we talk? I just need to clock out.”

His coworker nudged him. “Hen, just go, I will clock you out. Don’t leave a babe waiting,” she whispered.

The woman’s smile grew, and she nodded towards the door. She seemed to flicker like static for a moment, and he blinked a few times as he rounded the corner to join her. Maybe she could explain what had been going on. Or perhaps he was walking into danger. But she didn’t seem at all like what he’d seen a few weeks ago. She couldn’t be one of those monsters.