The old diner had been falling apart before its renovations. Tables with wobbly legs were replaced with fiber glass, one-legged stands; the torn plastic-leather booth seats were replaced duly with a more withstanding material; and even the owner had changed from a booze addict to a fine looking matradee. All in all, the Westin Diner was no longer the teen hangout that it had started to become.
Bread was starting to become the diner’s new claim to fame, replacing the greasiest french fries you would ever lay your hands on. Rumor of a secret ingredient grew during the first week of the diner’s re-opening, and as the word spread, more and more people came to the small eat-in. Only three weeks after the renovation did the Westin Diner coin the phrase “Best fresh-baked bread this side of France”. Of course, a bit of an exaggeration on the diner’s part, but nobody was ever hurt by it.
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Jon pulled himself out of the rain, allowing the self-shutting doors to close behind him. He stood for a moment in the lobby of the Westin and shook himself off, doing his best to keep everything from getting drenched.
“Only one, sir?” A waitress approached Jon, one menu in her hand; her black dress and white apron outfit seemed all too much like the stereo-typical French maid uniform.
“Oh, no. I already have a table, I just had to go make a quick phone call.” Jon looked passed the waitress into the back of the diner. Indeed, sitting at the furthest booth they could find was the rest of his party.
“Okay then. Enjoy your meal.”
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“So what did the school say?” David shifted himself in the booth and sat against the heater, giving Jon his aisle seat back.
“Well, they found three bodies,” Jon paused, shaking his head slighty, “but none of them were Mark’s.”
A hopeful smile crossed over Andria’s face. “So he could be alive?”
“I don’t see how, though. That sword went through his stomach.” David leaned over the table, keeping his words a whisper.
“As long as the mind is connected, he won’t die.” Denis spoke softly and almost unsure of his own words.
Jon’s eyes shifted to Denis. “What do you mean?”
“As long as his head is attached to him, any type of wound will stay exactly that… a wound.”
“So he could have retaliated?” Andria’s eyes began to widen slightly.
“Only if he has made contact with his final form.” Denis became puzzled at his own words.
“What final form?” David inquired, leaning against the radiator.
“Wings… magic… the whole nine yards.”
“Why is it when we saw you this morning… you were almost clueless about what was going on?” Jon’s eyebrow quirked up slightly.
“It almost feels as if someone is… using me to talk to you. I don’t know how I know all the crap I just told you, but I am positive it is all correct even though I didn’t know it five minutes ago.” Shaking his head, Denis placed his forehead against his palm.
“So how do you reach the final form?” Andria changed the topic, although still wondering if she were the only person that understood what Denis was saying.
“You’d have to make contact with the blood of your creator… or that’s what I’m being told atleast.” Denis sighed, confused beyond all extents.
“That makes sense. Mark was standing right beside Lucifer when he was killed.” Jon added in, nodding slightly.
“Lucifer? Ah Christ to hell, maybe I wasn’t dreaming anything. Maybe I was just… watching out of someone else’s eyes.”
“If Mark is still alive… then we have to get you to him, Denis.” Andria spoke softly.
“We also have to find the others… I think he said there were five to begin with.” David added.
“There are more like Mark and I?”
Jon nodded and sighed gently. “And the countdown to the apocalypse has begun…”
“We better get moving.” Denis pushed himself out of the booth, lending his hand to Andria.
“Where do we start, though?”
“Knowing Mark, he’s all ready on the trail of the others… so I say we stay in Rocky Point and wait for him to return.” Jon smiled to himself, for it seemed he had become the group leader.
