Stranger

          It’s amazing how you can see a stranger and not see how their life is crumbling down around them.

          That was what he was thinking. It was a dark, rainy night at the coffee-shop. He was sitting, drinking a latte. The waitress was cleaning the counter. The television was blaring.
          “A Brooklyn teen was found shot, dead, in a basement in Bed-Stuy after a party. Friends say that she was a nice girl; one that would not be found alone in a basement party…”
          The door opened. He looked at the entrant. It was a girl. She was wearing a long trench-coat, soaked with rain. It was weird for someone her age. She looked bold, like she knew where she was going and what she was doing. But she was still just a girl.
          She sat next to him. “Black coffee, please,” she said. The waitress looked at her. She nodded and left.
          He looked at the girl. “Late, isn’t it?”
          “Yeah.”
          “…What’s a teenager doing at a place like this at this time?”
          “Drinking coffee,” was her crude answer. The waitress returned with her mug. The girl pulled out a pink wallet with a yellow flower design on it. The girl pushed the money towards her.           “Nice wallet,” he said.
          “Thanks.” She took a sip of coffee. The shop was silent.
          “…My girlfriend had one just like it.”
          The girl stopped. She jammed the wallet back in her pocket. “Really? What’s her name?”
          “Her name is… was Natalie.”
          She looked at him. His eyes were red. “Sorry,” she whispered. She took a long drink. He could still hear the television. “I don’t know who would’ve done this to my Natalie!” sobbed the mother on the television. “She had no enemies.”
          “I’ve got to go,” the girl said. She stood up. He stood up.
          “It’s late. It’s dangerous. Let me walk you home.”
          “My house is far from here. I’m taking a bus.”
          “I’ll come wait with you. It’s dangerous.”
          She was silent. “Fine,” she relented.
          They stepped out of the coffee-shop. They walked in silence to the bus-stop. The street was empty. Everyone was gone.
          “How did she die?” the girl asked.
          “She got shot.”
          "When?”
          “Yesterday night.”
          “…When did you find out?”
          He swallowed. “This morning.”
          She nodded, quiet once more. “Where are we?” she asked after a while. He said nothing. “The bus stop isn’t this way.”
          “I know.” She stopped walking. He turned to her, standing inches away.
          “Where were you going to take me?” He shrugged. She stared at him. “I’m going home, you creep.”
          He grabbed her wrist. “Wait.”
          She glared, jamming her other hand into her pocket. “What?”
          “I needed closure… You remind me of my girlfriend. A lot.”
          “Kevin, I don’t think she’d like that you said that.”
          It was silent. “How… You know my name?”
          “Of course I do.” She pulled her hand out of her pocket. Kevin froze as she pointed the gun at his head. “Your picture was in her wallet…”

          “Police are currently looking for the murderer of Natalie Banks. Their only clue is Natalie’s missing wallet, and the new one put in its place. Police say the murderer was linked to a chain of other murders. The murderer is known for replac—”
          The waitress shut off the television, not listening. She was closing the shop. She buttoned her coat. The waitress glanced out of the window. “That girl…”
          The girl was walking past the shop, towards the bus stop. “So she realized she went the wrong way. I wonder where that guy went…” the waitress said. The girl was looking at a blue wallet now. The waitress watched as she passed the store.
          That girl’s been coming here every day now, the waitress thought, stacking the last chair. And every time, she comes she has another wallet.
          Then she heard sirens. She glanced back outside to see a police car. The girl was nowhere to be seen.