Prompt Writing #8

Prompt [veiledinspiration]:

"I walk through the burned remains of my home and, sure enough, just like he said, the box was there amongst the remains, unharmed."

Randomly Chosen Story and Character: Midnight at the Iston Diner, Jenny

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

What was left of the one-story house wasn't the most welcoming structure. Everything that was going to fall down already had, but scorched chunks of wood beams, drywall, and bone still cluttered everywhere. The acrid stench had faded, but it still overwhelmed the smell of grass at quite a distance. The whole spectacle seemed utterly out of place when the air was so cool.

Thankfully, the fire hadn't spread to the neighbors. They didn't need to get caught up in this whether they knew her or not.

Well, hopefully they had been caught up in it enough to believe her death. It was the only way to cover her tracks at this point. And by fire, ironically enough.

It was still worth the risk to come back. She had obscured her features, of course, and it was a bit early for anyone around to be awake. There was still some risk, granted, but who would be staring at the burnt supports by now? 

Compulsively clutching the front of her jacket, Jenny took several quick, light steps up to the rubble. It was supposed to be where her "body" had been. Not far from her bed, in other words.

Ah, if only she could wander around here in as little danger as Charlie had faced. He didn't even have to leave if he didn't want to. Just choose another name, another body, and move on. But he was a good friend to her instead. Even disguised the bones to match hers.

The metal frame of the bed was still recognizable, although soot coated the bronzed surface. It took a bit of feeling around and too much light clattering, but she eventually wrapped her fingers around the box. Its wood nearly rough enough to give her splinters, it was a rectangle about the size of a sixteen-ounce cup. Definitely what she was looking for. Scooping it into her arms, she took another brief look around her old home before hurrying off towards the trees. 

She didn't dare stop until daylight was breaking. Far from her neighborhood, she found a fuel station and stopped in. It wasn't one she frequented, and the handful of people inside would provide a little cover. The box in her front hoodie pocket, she walked calmly around the aisles and went into the bathroom. No surveillance.

She had felt some weight in the box shifting around, but she went ahead and opened it up. The little hinges squeaked as she looked at the contents. A folded note, as well as a large wad of cash. She flipped through the bills to count them—plenty—before putting them deep into her jeans pocket. Tucking the box under her arm, she grasped the note and unfolded it.

Already found a place up north. Small town, but friendly enough. There's an old diner at a good price if you want to try that again. I'll meet you there.

Charlie had signed it with his first name only beneath some scribbles. They were unlabeled, but she could tell from the shape what roads they were supposed to be. A large dot was on a side road a while from the interstate. 

It was a good distance to walk, but, with a few bus stints here and there, it wouldn't be bad. 

Putting the note in her other jeans pocket, she shut the box and left the room. She silently paid for a bottle of cream soda and walked out of the store. The box found its way into a nice patch of grass out back.

And she walked north.

Stepping Into the Diner

Somehow, I found myself starting on my Iston Diner mystery the other day. I know I had decided it would be third-person, but it turned out first-person instead. That's nothing too odd for a mystery, right?

So here, have some of my initial exploration of the story.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I slap a hand on the kitchen sill. “Draw one in the dark, and get me an Eve with a lid on.”

A netted mass of blonde curls pops up on the other side of the wall, dragging a frowning, angular face with it. “The coffeemaker is broken, Jennifer.”

“You kidding me?” I check over my shoulder for any set-down menus or impatient faces before I turn back to Charlie. “It’s starting to get late, you know.”

“What do you expect me to do? I’m a cook, not a mechanic.”

“You coulda called somebody to fix it.” No sooner are the words out of my mouth than I realize the folly. Charlie, talking to somebody he doesn’t absolutely have to. His home television was broken for months because he never tried to get a technician. It’d probably still be broken if I hadn’t visited him.

He gives me a look with the appropriate amount of disbelief before I turn back around. We have all of three booths full and nobody at the bar, so I shouldn’t be missed terribly.

“Les!” I holler.

In the middle of swabbing a table that hasn’t been used recently, the waiter pauses and perks up. The kid of the place, Les is as tall as Charlie but not nearly as stocky. He’s a cute thing, too, but he’s taken.

“I’m gonna take care of something,” I tell him while his huge eyes are on me. “Cover for me.”

He nods quickly. “Yes, ma’am.”

He buffs the rest of the table at record speed before tucking the rag away and hurrying to check on the customers. I don’t have to watch him for long before I decide to give fixing the coffeemaker myself a shot. If Charlie hasn’t fixed it, it’s nothing simple, but I bet I can figure it out. If not, I’ll have to dial up Rick at his house, since he’ll be back from work by now. He wouldn’t mind a quick job after-hours, though, if it comes down to it. 

Whatever way this goes, this thing had better get fixed quick. I’m not keeping Jerry waiting on his coffee for long. If there’s anybody I’m not going to keep waiting, it’s him. Won’t get a lick of a tip otherwise. As frequent a customer as he is, he still hasn’t really come to like any of us. He doesn’t stand for any small talk. On that note, he might secretly be a pal of Charlie’s. I wouldn’t be surprised.

Slipping through the low saloon doors of the bar area, I ram my shoulder into the swinging door of the kitchen and charge in. Charlie doesn’t pay me much mind as I head straight for the white contraption at his right. Sure enough, it’s plugged in but doing nothing. Poor, abused old thing. Although if it would work a little better, we wouldn’t be slapping it so much.

I roll up my sleeves and start taking the machine apart. Nothing seems dented any more than usual, so I might just have to clean the parts.

“Jenny?”

"Crap dang!" I nearly scrape my wrist on some wiring before I look up at the kitchen window. Les is peeking through.

“Somebody calling for me?”

“Sorry.” If he had cat ears, they’d be drooping. “Dessie wants her Dr. Pepper, but—” his voice drops to a whisper—“the ice machine is jammed.”

I pull my hands away from the disarticulated coffeemaker and wipe them on my apron. “I’ll fix it when I’m done here, I guess. Throw me a cup.”

Les slips a tumbler across the sill just as Charlie puts a slice of apple pie up there. The waiter checks over his shoulder before reaching for the plate.

“Ah, ah, ah!” I flick my left hand at him, although I can’t really reach him from here. It’s still enough to make him jump. “You’re not taking that over yet. Jerry’ll throw a fit if he ‘has’ to eat before he gets his joe.”

“Right!”

“Now.” I wrap my right hand around the tumbler and gaze at the inside until ice crystals start to appear. I do my best to get them roughly ice-cube-shaped, but they’re still a little spiky. They’ll be fine once the soda hits, though.

I offer the cup to Les. “Get the kid her M.D.”

He takes it with a nod of thanks and scurries off.

New Fiction Idea #42

Although the character was floating in my head for a while after hearing a waitress say "I'm [name], and I'll be taking care of you today," her first line didn't show up until a while later: "I sign things Jennifer, I go by Jenny, and everyone calls me Dinah. Take your pick."

Working Title: Midnight at the Iston Diner

Genre: Mystery/Fantasy

Protagonist: Jenny, a 27-year-old woman with frizzy red hair she keeps in a loose bun. She smokes—although never during work hours—and is a little haggish in a sweet way, if that makes any sense. She runs and works at the bar of the Iston Diner, and she takes her responsibility to her customers and her staff very seriously. She has some ice-manipulating powers, although she keeps them well-hidden.

Other Main Characters: Charlie, the chef. He's a pretty big guy, both because of fat and muscle, and he's not very sociable. He does stick by his friends, though, and he makes a mean chicken fry. He has the ability to thoroughly disguise one person for about eight hours at a time.
Les, a waiter who will occasionally help with food preparation if there's a lot going on. He's sweet but has a guilt complex and spends a lot of time daydreaming about a certain girl back home. He doesn't really have any "powers," but he isn't quite human and relies on Charlie to keep him undercover.
There are a few more on the staff and some customers to be noted, although they haven't shown themselves yet.

Antagonist: Unknown, but assumed to be one of the customers.

Setting: A particular night at the Iston Diner, a small restaurant in a small town that gets a little business from agritourism but not much else. It's modern day, though, so there's plenty of communication if, say,  someone who doesn't fit in with the humans needs to get a job.

Plot: The late evening/early night patrons of the Iston Diner—residents and passersby alike—have been inside the building for a while when one tourist wanders off to the restroom area. A few minutes later, Les discovers him dead from a stab wound. The local police being somewhat of a joke, Jenny decides to freeze the occupants inside until she and her friends can find the culprit and keep him or her from harming any more customers. But it won't be easy for them to do so without blowing their covers...

Point of View: Third person, limited to Jenny.

I'm still a little unsure—it seems like this won't be long enough for a whole novel—but we'll see what happens when I get to it.

I'm also starting to think a version of M might sneak in, and maybe a character or two from Suture.