Chapter 36 Grease, quiet and the dark
Hannah
I woke to the gentle tap of a knuckle against the window and a careful voice saying my name.
“Hannah… ma’am. We’re here.”
I blinked, my vision swimming as the world slowly stitched itself back together. The car was idling, streetlights streaking past the glass, and my head felt pleasantly heavy like it was full of cotton and champagne bubbles.
“Here?” I echoed dumbly.
“The burger place you asked for,” the guard said, amusement barely contained.
“Oh,” I breathed, then smiled. “Right. The very important burger place.”
He opened the door for me, and cool night air hit my face, sobering me just enough to step out without embarrassing myself completely. The familiar neon sign glowed ahead, slightly crooked, buzzing faintly. I’d been here a handful of times with Sienna; on late evenings after long shelter days, greasy fingers and shared fries, laughing about nothing and everything.
The place was nearly empty now. Chairs were flipped upside down on a few tables, and the lights were dimmer than usual.
I stumbled in, the bell above the door chiming softly.
The owner, Rachel, a short, round older woman with slightly graying hair pulled back in a loose bun, looked up from behind the counter.
“Hannah dear?” she said in surprise, then smiled wide. “Well, I want expecting you here so late”
“I know,” I said, grinning sheepishly as I leaned an elbow on the counter to steady myself. “I’m sorry. I know you’re closing.”
She clicked her tongue. “I was just about to. But if it’s you, I’ll make it quick. The usual?”
“Yes, please,” I said, relieved. “Burger, extra pickles. Fries. However many you feel like giving me.”
She laughed. “Sit. Don’t fall.”
“I make no promises,” I said solemnly.
I slid into one of the booths, the vinyl seat squeaking beneath me. A glass of water appeared moments later, and I wrapped both hands around it, sipping slowly. The room felt hazy, like I was watching everything through a soft-focus lens. My thoughts drifted in and out: Sienna’s laughter, the way the art had glowed under the lights, the faint echo of music still ringing in my ears.
Timothy flickered across my mind, uninvited.
I pushed the thought away and focused on the smell of frying oil and salt instead.
Time stretched oddly. Minutes felt long and short all at once. I sipped my water, staring at the condensation sliding down the glass, tracing patterns with my eyes. Somewhere behind the counter, the owner hummed to herself.
When my food finally arrived, it felt like a small miracle.
The burger was wrapped in wax paper, warm and heavy in my hands. The fries spilled out of the basket, golden and glistening. I took a bite and closed my eyes.
“Oh,” I moaned as flavour exploded across my taste buds. “Yes.”
I chewed slowly, savoring it, feeling some tight knot inside my chest loosen just a fraction. Grease dripped onto the paper. Salt stuck to my fingers. It was wonderfully, unapologetically indulgent.
I was halfway through my fries when something moved at the edge of my vision.
I paused mid-chew, frowning.
Out the back, past the small side window that looked onto the alley, I thought I saw a shadow dart past. I squinted, leaning closer to the glass.
There it was again.
Smaller this time. Slower.
I narrowed my eyes, trying to focus. The shape limped into the dim light spilling from the back door—a tiny form, ribs sharp beneath patchy fur.
My heart lurched.
“Oh no,” I whispered.
It was a puppy. Small. Too small to be out here alone. One of its back legs dragged slightly as it moved, hesitant and uneven.
I glanced toward the entrance where the guards stood several steps away, speaking quietly among themselves, backs half-turned. They hadn’t noticed.
I looked back at the counter. The owner was busy wiping down surfaces, humming, unaware.
My pulse picked up.
I slid out of the booth slowly, my burger still clutched in my hand like an afterthought. I hesitated for just a second, my brain trying to inject logic.
You’re tipsy. You’re supposed to stay with the guards. You can tell someone.
But the puppy took another halting step, then sat down abruptly like it had run out of strength. It got up a few seconds later on wobbly legs.
That was it.
“I’ll be right back,” I murmured to no one in particular.
I tucked the burger into its paper, set it carefully on the table, and slipped toward the door, keeping my movements casual. My heart hammered as I stepped outside, the bell chiming softly behind me.
The night air was colder back here, sharper. The alley smelled faintly of trash and rain and old oil. Somewhere, a car passed in the distance.
“There you are, sweetie,” I whispered gently, crouching slightly as I took a step forward.
The puppy lifted its head at the sound of my voice, dark eyes wide and wary. It whimpered once, soft and broken.
“It’s okay,” I said, holding my hands out slowly. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”
I glanced back toward the diner. The guards were still inside, distracted.
Quick, I told myself. Just grab the pup. Then back inside. Less than five minutes.
And so I took another careful step into the night, heart in my throat, eyes fixed on the small injured shape ahead of me.