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A Worse Idea 48

Anne called the police, speaking in hushed whispers right outside the door to the fast food joint.

Meanwhile, Prometheus walked towards Randy. His fancy shoes tapped against the tacky, blue-and-white tiles. His face didn’t show emotion, which was just the way he liked things.

Randy was the opposite. Sitting down, he was finishing off the third carton of fries he’d bought. His fingers were coated with grease and salt. He had so much pain in his eyes; he didn’t know anything else.

Prometheus sat on the hardback plastic chair. He slammed his briefcase against the table, a bit harder and louder than he’d meant to.

Silence. Nerves. A trucker just trying to finish off his burger while the lady with three kids made sure her youngest was alright while the cashier just wanted to go home while Randy wondered exactly what it was he was looking for in this world.

“I don’t want to kill you,” Prometheus said, voice soft. “I won’t, unless you’re a threat to someone else’s life. Do you understand?”

This confused Randy, who thought Prometheus loved him. Hadn’t Prometheus loved him since he was a kid?

No. Silly, foolish. Prometheus had loved Katie since she was a kid, not Randy.

“I understand.” Randy wasn’t sure he did, but he said it anyway.

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