- 'Well, there's a lot of people here tonight! Are you all right, honey?' Jack, a harmless regular who was making his way to the counter, hailed me.

- 'So far, so good,' I replied, a professional smile plastered on my tired face. 'What can I get you?'

I served him mechanically without really listening to his answer and continued to pour drinks at a frenetic pace. I began to tidy up a little, turning my back on the room, when I felt it: that indefinable and universal feeling that guarantees you that someone is watching you.

I froze for a few seconds before turning around naturally, waiting to find myself face to face with an enamored drunk... but nothing. I glanced over the room. There again, nothing out of the ordinary at this time of night. No new faces in at least half an hour, which was hardly surprising given the late hour and the location of the establishment.

We were in one of Detroit's neighbourhoods that had been hit hard by the economic crisis. If this establishment used to be pompously called the Royal English Pub, now it was only Bruce Café, a much less classy name, like its new owner. The latter, deprived of any originality, had left the place as he had found it, old-fashioned and decrepit. Well, according to the general opinion. As far as I was concerned, the dark woodwork, the dimmered lighting and the second-hand furniture gave this place a lot of charm. A seemingly shared opinion, since recently, the clientele had begun to diversify, making the atmosphere warmer and friendlier.

- 'Chris, I don't pay you to daydream... So get back to work!' Bruce, my brain-dead boss, bawled, comfortably seated in his office, his big butt stuck in his chair.

- 'As pleasant as ever,' I grumbled as I took my cloth back, my mind still occupied by this strange feeling. 'And my name is Christina,' I added a little louder.

I didn't appreciate his outbursts of familiarity.

- 'Why are you answering him? You know he does it on purpose,' Cassie told me, putting her tray full of dirty glasses on the bar.

She shook her head before rolling her eyes, a mischievous little smile on her pretty doll face.

Cassie, a charming blonde girl with green eyes, was my colleague, my roommate, but above all my best friend. My only friend, actually. Always perched on high heels and blessed with unshakeable optimism, we could not have been more different, but I loved her.

I owed her everything: my home, my work, and even if it wasn't so great, at least it had the advantage of being fixed, much better than anything I had been able to find so far. Plus, she'd been sheltering me for six months. The happiest six months of my life, because for the first time, I felt like I was part of a family, that I mattered a little bit to someone. In a word, I felt almost normal and that was all new to me.

Indeed, as far back as I can remember, I had always been "different". As a child, I thought it was normal to hear voices. Unfortunately, I brutally discovered that this was not the case. I was quickly excluded, labelled as "weird" and other nicknames by my classmates. Which is hard on you, especially when you're raised in an orphanage.

My popularity did not improve when, having failed to hold my tongue, I found myself for two weeks in a psychiatric hospital for observation. I came back traumatized and it was there, secluded in a corner of my large white room, that I understood that my salvation lay in lying.

- 'Hey Chris, are you with us?' the latter asked me in a soft voice, suddenly taking me out of my thoughts.

- 'I was just thinking about our meeting,' I said, so that she would not insist more than necessary, while at the same time starting to clean the bar.

- 'Oh, that's ancient history, don't think about it anymore. Rrrr... This music gets on my nerves!' she added with an exaggerated wince, as she went back to the room to clear the last tables.

She was right, of course, to dwell on the past was useless, but I was feeling nervous tonight. A nervousness that reminded me of memories I would have preferred to forget.

First, my chaotic and unhappy childhood due to my "particularities", which I had not been able to hide early enough. At the time I was young and naive, a situation that had not lasted long, I thought bitterly as I watched a group of cheerful students leave the room loudly. They represented exactly what I had never known before. That's why I was careful now that no one would discover my little secret, especially not Cassie. If she found out that I could hear voices and heal at an abnormal speed, she wouldn't see me the same way anymore, or worse, she'd run away. But her friendship was far too precious to me to take the risk.

- 'Hey, Christina, you're with us? I've been talking to you for two minutes,' Cassie called me, waving her hand in front of my eyes.

- 'Oh, sorry, sorry. I was just in the clouds, I'm fine...'

- 'You know you'll have to talk to someone about it someday?' she suddenly told me seriously, a hint of anxiety covering her pretty eyes.

- 'About what?' I replied innocently, aware that my little game wouldn't fool her for a second.

- 'About what you think about when you think no one is watching... and that makes you sad.'

I looked at her for a few seconds and, surprised by her frankness, I didn't know what to say to her.

- 'Yes... I guess,' I ended up telling her in a sigh, 'but...'

- 'Not now... I know,' she ended in an understanding and somewhat disappointed tone. 'Well, I still have two more tables to clean and I'm out of here. You better hurry up a little!'

She walked away giving me a little wink. The lucky girl was on duty in the room today and was therefore finishing first. We alternated shifts every other day, because according to our "boss", it was more productive. It was therefore my responsibility to close the pub. She'd go home on the last bus while I would enjoy the car. She finished clearing the last wobbly tables with her usual grace, before heading for the changing rooms, her apron in hand.

- 'All right, I'll see you later, sweetheart.'

She sent me a kiss and walked through the door with a big smile on her face. By closing time, only two completely drunk and half slumped barflies remained on the counter. My boss, instead of taking care of it himself, chose to hand me the chore while he remained, as usual, glued to his chair. I may not have been fat, and some said I was rather skinny, but I was tall and muscular enough so that throwing them out didn't cause me any particular problems. Except for the foul smell of the two drunks!

When my work was done, I rushed out before Bruce found anything else essential to get done. I stopped briefly under the perforated canopy to get my car keys out. In this neighborhood and at this time of night, you never knew what could happen. So I preferred to err on the side of caution.

As soon as I stepped under the damp, sharp drizzle, the feeling of being observed came back and instantly overwhelmed me with a sticky, icy sweat. With a great effort on my part, I did not turn around and continued to walk with a quick pace, my keys convulsively clutched in my hand, one of them sticking out from between my fingers.

The journey, usually rather short, seemed to me to take hours, when I finally arrived at the car, nervous and out of breath. I looked carefully at the surroundings while I was struggling to unlock the recalcitrant lock, but nothing unusual caught my eye. So I locked the doors, relieved, and called myself paranoid internally, while praying for our old garbage can to start.

After the third attempt, my calm and patience disappeared for good. So much that I felt ready to go back to the bar and ask Bruce to take me home: that's how desperate I was! I was reluctantly preparing to get out of the vehicle when an indistinct shadow suddenly crossed my sight. I jumped violently, my heart starting to beat in my chest.

- 'Who's there?' I asked stupidly in a trembling voice. 'Bruce, is that you?'

Of course, no one answered. On the verge of panic, I turned the key one last time in the starter and almost cried with relief when the old engine coughed and finally started. I didn't waste a second and left in a hurry, even leaving a piece of the exhaust pipe on the pavement.

My journey proceeded under the most complete stress but without any major mechanical incident. I parked in front of the old building, almost happy to contemplate its decrepit facade. Well, building, a very big word to define this half blind concrete rectangle, covered with graffiti and supposedly intended for demolition. The advantage was that the whole block shared the same state of advanced decay, which saved us from being too annoyed by neighbours and gangs fighting over the more populated and therefore more juicy neighbourhoods for business. Although tonight, this isolation was more of a disadvantage than an advantage.

I rushed into the lobby, still convinced that I was being watched, but without absolute certainty. I painfully climbed the four floors barefoot - obviously there was no elevator, my heels in hand, so I could run more easily if necessary. I gently pushed the door of the stairs to prevent it from creaking, entered the gloomy darkness of the deserted hallway and headed for our apartment.

Once inside, trembling and short of breath, I hurried to lock all the bolts, reassured to finally feel safe. Slowly, I let the fear and panic fade away and contemplated the familiar environment with relief. Contrary to what its external appearance suggested, it was very pleasant. Cassie had repainted it entirely in white and decorated it with second-hand furniture salvaged from the dump site, which she had been able to give a new life to. Thanks to fabrics and cushions arranged with taste and taking advantage of the small size of the room, she had made it cosy and warm.

At last, a little calmer, I put my things in bulk on the couch and prepared to take a well-deserved shower when I realized the unusual silence. Usually, when Cassie was there, there was always music. Not to mention that the first one to arrive always prepared a small meal that we shared. Our little ritual, basically. Again worried, I went to the kitchenette and saw the fluorescent orange note sticking to the fridge.

"Sorry, Duane called. Need my help, don't wait for me. Cassie."

Typical of her dumb brother, always getting into trouble and calling his sister to get him out! Cassie was really too patient and kind with this charity case. But hey, I assumed that when you had a family, even a bad one, you cared about it.

However, the tone of the message bothered me. Such a laconic style was unlike Cassie. Duane's troubles must have been more important than usual. I was just hoping that she wouldn't have to suffer the consequences. Nevertheless, still worried and shaken by my strange evening, I checked if I didn't have a text message and tried to reach her in turn, without success. I decided to try again later and finally headed for the bathroom.