The message was written in coral lipstick. It reminded her of childhood summers spent by the pool, with her parents, at package deal resorts. Coral, the colour smudged on plastic wine glasses middle-aged women used too sip West Coast Wine Cooler.
There was no time for reminiscing now though. This message was for her and it meant finding her best friend before the police got any whiff of it. Yes, Rachel was in the hands of a violent killer but she was also a wanted woman herself.
Amanda moved closer to the mirror, Revlon number 143 she suspected. Curved, sloped writing spelled out what would happen if Amanda did not follow the instructions scrawled in front of her.
"Shit,,"Amanda said out loud to herself. A series of clues would lead her to Rachel. Amanda's heart began beating loudly and her palms became clammy. The cramped toilet cubicle felt even smaller as she tried to turn around and open the door. It wouldn't budge. Amanda screamed, these were precious seconds being wasted. She slammed her hip and shoulder into the wood and it burst open onto a dark and silent room.
There was another message on the window, this time it was written in glowing, neon pen . 'Put that on' it said. Amanda walked slowly over to a mannequin and lifted the red curly wig of its head and placed it on her own. Amanda always wanted to be a red head but not like this.
She reached up to adjust the wig and felt a small note fall out of the long strands. Amanda picked it up: go to the cafe on the corner of Main and High Street. Now.
It was dark outside and the streetlights were out, they had been for two years but tonight it seemed so much more obvious. Eventually the cafe lights glowed in the distance and it looked warm and welcoming but as she got closer anxiety gripped her throat, what would she find there? Who would she find there and what would they think of this hideous red wig?
Amanda reached the front door and slowly opened it. The smell of coffee hit her full in the face, burning her nostrils. As she walked in, she scanned the small room. It looked the same as it always did; old wooden chairs, silver espresso machine on the counter with ceramic cups on top. The cake fridge was full, the background music played and the fragrant candles burned brightly. Everything was normal, wasn't it?
One corner of the room was dark and in the chair sat the only other person in the cafe. It looked like a man, but she couldn't be sure. Slowly she took a step toward them. They looked up, it was a man. He had a scar running diagonally across his face from chin to temple. Their eyes met, he smiled and closed the book he was reading. Amanda took a step back, he took one forward. Blood pounded through her ears, he began to talk but she couldn't hear. "Shit," she thought again, what if he's telling me where she is?
The man reached out his hand, it was smooth and cold looking. "Amanda," he said. "Come with me, I'll show you where she is."
"No. Who are you?" she asked.
"You know who I am," he replied calmly, his head dropping to one side. "Come on whippet, you know who I am."
"Whippet? How did you know I was called...?"
"Come on, you know."
"But the only person who called me that....oh my god, what is this? Who are you?"
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