|The Heart's Amulet
Author: KML92 PM
Gracie meets a group of oddballs while being stalked by a group of homicidal wizards and the answers may only lie with her dead mother.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance - Chapters: 31 - Words: 37,038 - Reviews: 19 - Favs: 4 - Follows: 1 - Updated: 08-18-11 - Published: 07-15-11 - Status: Complete - id: 2933159
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
So I decided to rewrite this story because I loved the idea and characters, but there were certain things about it that I hated and wanted to change. I hope this time around it's better!
1. Tough Day at Work
The mid afternoon sun shines through the windows of the restaurant I work in. Not much is happening and I'm counting down the hours until my shift is over and I can go home. I currently work as a waitress in my town's local diner. It's not my favorite job in the world, but of course, it pays the bills. I don't really have much of an option, but to work here in this dump with my jackass of a boss.
When I was seventeen, my mom died of heart failure. It was very sudden and unexpected. It's not like my dad was even there to help me pick up the pieces of my life. He walked out on me and my mom several years ago never to be heard from again.
Unfortunately, I look like my dead beat of a dad. I inherited a lot of unruly black curls that were often unmanageable and almond shaped eyes the color of emeralds. I inherited a locket from my mom. She gave it to me on her death bed and told me to keep it safe. She said it was very special to her. I honestly don't know why.
Sure it's pretty with its silver chain and diamond bird of some sort embedded in the front, but I can't get the damn thing open. I just don't understand how the locket that won't open could possibly be so special to her. I sigh. If it meant that much to her, I would wear it. And I do. I never take it off. It's the only piece of her I have left.
After she died, I was forced into foster care being that I was still a minor technically. I quickly got a job after that, proving to the courts that I could in fact, take care of myself. I was promptly emancipated after that. Ever since then, I've been living in a one bedroom one bathroom apartment. It's certainly not the nicest place, but it's home and I honestly love it there.
The rent's cheap and I don't have to worry about homicidal maniacs coming for me. The inhabitants of my building consist of mostly senior citizens who never know what day it is and young couples who are just starting out. I don't really know anyone in my building and I prefer it that way. After my mom died, I became sort of anti-social.
I wipe down a few tables, refilling the salt shakers, replacing the silverware and napkins. What a fabulous job right? I get to take people's orders all day and clean tables. Woo hoo. I take a few orders and hand them over to the chef to fill. I look up and see them again. I've seen them every day for the last few days sitting at the same table. Seven people I don't know and have never seen around town, which is weird since Port Charles isn't that large of a city. I sigh and ignore them. It's not my table anyway.
"Gracie!" my boss shouts furiously. He's such a dick. I don't know why I tolerate working for him. I'd probably be better off quitting my job and becoming a stripper. At least the tips would be better.
"What Mr. Wilson?" I ask, irritated. I pop a hip and cross my arms over my chest. A sign that I'm not in the mood to screw around.
That table hasn't been washed yet! Do you think I pay you for my health?" he snaps. I sigh again.
"I'll get the damn table Mr. Wilson. Is there anything else I can do for you?" I ask with strained sweetness. I would really rather be strangling him until he turns purple.
"Yeah. Lose the damn attitude before I fire you." He snaps and walks away. I roll my eyes behind his back and turn to the table I didn't clean. This table had just been abandoned by a couple recently, so it's not like I'm neglecting my waitress duties or whatever. Regardless, I saunter over to it and wipe it down, checking the salt shakers and replacing the silverware and napkins. I yawn inadvertently. I need a new job. This one is seriously lacking in the excitement department.
I walk by the table with the seven people at it, looking straight forward, just doing my job. "Excuse me, waitress?" one of them asks. I turn my emerald eyes on the one that spoke, not really looking at him.
"Yeah?" I ask. Technically, I don't have to speak to them because they aren't seated at one of my tables.
"Could we get a few extra napkins?" he asks, gesturing to the puddle of iced tea in front of them. I nod and turn away.
"Sure. Be right back." I say on a sigh, rethinking my profession for the thousandth time today. I grab the napkins and take them to the table with the group wondering where the hell Sally is. She's the normal waitress for this section of tables, but I hardly ever see her. She's always too busy filing her nails or doing the nasty with Mr. Wilson, making up for the fact that she's a crap ass waitress.
"Here ya go." I say, handing one of the girls the napkins requested.
"Thank you." They all say in unison. I nod vaguely in their direction and wander away, taking out my little note pad and doodling on it absentmindedly. The lunch time rush is over, so there aren't many people in the diner, which is good for me because I really just want to go home, take a hot shower, and laze around my couch like a vegetable for the rest of the night.
"Gracie!" Mr. Wilson shouts again. I grind my teeth together and mutter unintelligibly. I turn to him once more and plant a fake smile on my face. He's really getting on my nerves and I think it would be really fun to shove my pen up his nose and pole him in the brain.
"What can I do for you Mr. Wilson?" I ask pleasantly.
"Look at these people not being served! And look at you just standing around!" he shouts going all red faced with anger. I bite my tongue to keep from saying something stupid. "You never do anything right! I hired you as a charity case because I felt sorry for you when your mom died and your dad wanted nothing to do with you! This is how you repay me? By letting the customers starve to death?" he asks in outrage. That did it.
"You know what? You didn't hire me as a charity case. You hired me to try and get some because you're a sick pervert! You're an inconsiderate prick and I hate you. I didn't ask for your 'charity' and I sure as hell don't need it! If you look at all my tables, they're all clean! The tables with people at them are Sally's tables! You wouldn't know that though because you're too busy doing the horizontal hokey pokey with her in the back!" I shot in outrage, completely throwing away any cares about losing my job.
"And another thing! You walk around here yelling at me for everything, but I'll tell you something. My customers freaking love me and I've had to pick up Sally's slack way too long. Well guess what? I'm done. I quit!" I shout, anger exploding out of me. A voice in my head warned me I might be taking things a little too far, but I don't care. Before I can lose my nerve and my dignity, I stalk out the front door, dropping my apron and name tag on the floor as I do so.
I stand outside pacing for a minute, trying to wrap my head around what I just did. I can't believe I just quit my job like that. What the hell am I going to do now? I don't know the answer to that question. I'm sure something will turn up. I have enough work experience to make it in any restaurant. I am pretty sure I can get something in retail, or something along those lines. There is always that stripper theory too.
"Excuse me, Gracie?" a voice asks from behind me. I whip around at the sound of my name. The group of seven people are standing behind me. The one that spoke to me earlier is at the front of the group, holding my name tag. Which is how he knows my name I guess.
"What?" I snap, not in the mood to talk.
"Your ex manager told us to give this back to you. It has your name on it, so it belongs to you." He says.
"Sorry about your job. If it helps, you were totally right. He shouldn't have said those things to you." He continues. I nod and turn away. He doesn't say anything more to me, so I keep going until I get to my 2000 black Durango. It's got some rust on it, but it runs great and it works for me. I get in, gun the engine all the way to my apartment where I'll sit on my couch like a vegetable for the rest of the night.