I'd End My Days, 1/?

The world on its own is a very dangerous place; natural disasters occur every day, killing off another portion of the human race. It can't be stopped, it's invertible. An accident that humans accomplish on their own is caused by fate, or lack of common sense. A worker going about his task upon an unnecessarily high building, who just so happens to slip and fall tragically to his death, for example, can be avoided, but it's not like it was intentional. Now, harm caused purposely to someone by another human being, is undesirable, unjustifiable and an act that could be so easily prevented, if only to cease more unwelcome suffering on the world. Nothing gives you the right to take another life.

It's a bleak topic to start my day off with, but it's one that's been associated closely with our town of Belleville, New Jersey over the passing month. I re-read the article on the front page of today's local newspaper: 'Millie Moore, 18, was found late last night in an alley down New Baker Street, and is thought to be the fifth victim of our own Belleville Serial Killer. Police are yet to release any details on the subject, leaving the families of the victims and the people of Belleville in the dark, clueless to what, or more who, we should now fear." Rolling my eyes at the last statement, I carefully close the feeble sheets of paper. Newspaper reporters have a certain way of trying to strike panic into the gullible and fickle, for whatever reason is only known to them. Maybe it helps sell more papers, or perhaps they just get some kind of kick out of seeing their consumers in a nervous wreck, being suspicious of everyone they pass in the street, mistrustful glances out of the corner of their judgemental eyes. The thing that annoys me about these situations, is that when the culprit is caught, parents will go back to half-heartedly caring about their children being near a stranger that only a week before they were thinking was the unspeakable person to kill them in their sleep.

Dropping my head into my hands, arms currently propped up on the serving counter, I sigh heavily, wondering what the world is coming to. The coffee shop, 'Apollo's Laurel', which I work in with my friends Mikey and Brendon, is unnaturally empty. It may only have been open 20 minutes, but by now the early morning workers and caffeine junkies would be shuffling in half awake, yawning wide-mouthed and unashamed, ordering the first of many hot beverages of the day. Instead of dwelling on the matter, I turn my attention to Mikey Way, as he pointlessly cleans the already spotless green and white tables. It's easy to tell there's something playing on his mind, it's pointless asking him to open up though; he's been so closed off since the murders started, or more so than usual. Mikey's never been a very talkative person, but this was different. Never giving his opinion and changing the subject every time the crimes were brought up, is enough to make anyone worried, but me and Brendon decided to put it down to him being as scared as everyone else was, not wanting to even think of the alternative reason.

The sound of the over head bell quickly being knocked by the entrance door, had my head snapping round towards it from where my gaze had been fixed on Mikey, my chest filling with hope at finally seeing a customer, but instead Brendon appeared a wide grin covering his face, and his hair bouncing happily as he practically skipped over to the counter I was still leaning on. Rain or shine, murder or no murder, nothing could dampen Brendon Urie's sprits. "There's been another murder!" He sing-songed to the room, rather than the people in it. I can't help but raise an eyebrow at him and his cheery mood, despite the depressing subject he chose to start the conversation with. Mikey hardly reacts to him though, instead quickly finishes up the table he appeared to have zoned out cleaning, and comes back round the counter to find another unimportant job.
"I know, Millie Moore. She's the fifth person to be killed, and it hardly looks as if the police are any closer to finding the killer than they were back when the first person had been found. How many more innocent people have to die before this criminal is caught?" I ponder thoughtful, more to myself than anyone else, with Brendon now leaning his hip against the counter and re-opening my discarded newspaper.
"Maybe it's because they're not trying to catch the murderer," a voice quietly comes up behind me and whispers, but just as I realise it was Mikey, he's already shuffled away before I can ask him, 'what the hell are you talking about?' I stare after him silently, before turning my attention back to Brendon as he starts the conversation up again.
"I'm pretty sure I went to school with this girl," he mutters, eyebrows knitted together in concentrated thought, "yeah, I did! Her skin was basically orange by the time we graduated, and she was a total slut. The whole football team apparently," Brendon clearly exaggerates, waving his arms dramatically.  It's funny; because I'm sure I've heard similar stories said about the pervious four victims, and from their pictures, their skin certainly wasn't pale. Clearly the murderer has a type.
"Frank!" Mikey calls, saving me from falling into another ramble of thought, "Mrs Ballato wants to speak to you after work," he tells me as I groan inwardly at the news. Mrs Ballato is our boss and owner of the 'Apollo's Laurel', she's an old, wrinkled, grey haired woman; but despite her age, I am embarrassed to admit she does scare me, if only a little. You never want to get on the wrong side of her, as the saying goes 'you should never judge a book by its cover', and Mrs Ballato can be fierce and extremely intimidating when she's in that kind of mood. As it would appear though, I had in some unknown way made my way onto her bad side; why else would she call me into her office.

After the rush this afternoon of office workers, mothers and fathers, students and the frequently occurring caffeine accidents, the three of us were just relieved that the busier half of the day was over and it was now reasonably quiet. Now that it's gone, I kind of miss the eerie atmosphere of this morning. A table of five teenage girls sits around a table situated in the back corner of the shop, chatting amongst themselves. My mind wonders to the thought that anyone of them could so easily be the killers next prey, that this could be the last time they're in each others company, maybe next time they come in here only four will remain. Death can grab you at any moment, and with the recent events to be taken into account, the chances of it coming soon are higher. My eyes then turn towards the large window, looking out into the pitch black. Or more it would have been, if not for the passing cars and street lamps. The sky was perfect, too perfect; the moon hanging full and proud in the clear darkness; it was as if the clouds were too afraid to come out. They fear the night, just like so many others in the town since the chain of murders began. Mothers bringing their children in earlier than before, and even themselves no longer daring to 'venture the streets once the sun goes to bed, letting the moon dance above us, setting fear into their hearts. I don't blame them; if I could I'd be hiding in the safety of my apartment until the sun rose again scaring the moon away.

The door knocking once again against the overhead bell disturbed me from my tranquil state. I put on the best smile I could, and awaited the new customer to approach the counter. A shiver suddenly vibrated through my body, causing me to frown in discomfort. Once I finally regained my stature, the new arrival was standing patiently in front of me, no visible expression on his face. The man was of very pale complexion, contrasting greatly with his black items of clothing and messy, almost shoulder length raven hair. The way his washed-out hazel eyes stared down at me, and the way I was now very aware of the short distance between us sent a wave of unexplainable fear through my body. If I could, I'd laughed at how stupid I must have appeared. Forcing the smile back on my face, I mustered up enough courage to politely ask the stranger, "How may I help you?"
"I'm here to see Mikey Way, I believe he works here." He states in reply, voice cold and toneless. It took a moment for me to comprehend what he had said before I was nodding dumbly. Pointing behind me without a word, as a way of communicated that I'd go get him, not able to actually form the word vocally. Luckily he nodded in understanding. As soon I turned around I let out a breath I didn't even realise I'd be holding.

I didn't go back out into the serving area after I'd gotten Mikey; the new arrival had sent chills up my spine, filling me with a sense of uncertainty as soon as my eyes were set upon him. I shared my worries with Brendon, but he just brushed it off, stated that I was just being paranoid, and continued with his cleaning tasks. We were just getting ready to shut the shop, and Mikey's friend still hadn't left yet; it's not like I can stay hidden in the back room forever, I'd have to face him at some point. The thought of going back out there sent my stomach racing. So no thank you. I much prefer to hide, and if need be sleep here if I have to. "Frank!" A shrilled voice boomed through the shop, and it was lucky we didn't have any customers currently in, otherwise they would have been too scared to return. I cringed as I finally realised who the voice must have come from.
"Great," I muttered quietly to myself. Another murder, another night of frightening darkness to eventually walk home in, a guy that makes me want to hide under my bed, just to never come back out again, and just to make my day complete, I had to face a furious Mrs Ballato.