Devyn part 11

The job application didn't take me very long. Devyn helped me fill it out. Jacob wasn't kidding when he said they weren't picky about there workers. Basically, the application asked me if I knew how to cook and if I knew how to run a cash register and if I got along well with other people. I filled all of these in positively and hoped for the best, feeling that I had a large chance of getting the job. And not because I was pretty, contrary to Devyn's belief.

I skipped down Devyn's upstairs hallway a couple days later, giddy with excitement. "I got the job!" Devyn peaked around the corner of his office door. "Well, don't you look pretty today," he said with a smirk. I stuck out my tongue at him, "For your information, Jacob said that I have a friendly demeanor that will make customers feel welcome."

"Aka, 'gosh, you're pretty, wanna stand in a close confined space with me for a long time everyday?'" I frowned at Devyn, "This is where you say, 'Golly gee, I'm proud of you!'"

"Golly gee, you've got lucky genes!" Devyn smiled widely at me and turned back to his computer, continuing to work. "What book are you working on?" I asked as I leaned on the back of his chair. "Jet Planes and Steam Ships," he replied. "What's that one about?"

"Jet planes... and steam ships."

"Well, thanks, now I get it."

"No problem." Sighing, I looked over Devyn's shoulder at the words on the screen and read a bit. "A thick fog had rolled over the bay like a blanket over a child. The only thing I could see clearly was the top of the lighthouse as it cast it's rays over the ocean. I tightened my grip on the wrist of the man and pulled him forward, hoping that, despite my current lack of vision, I would be able to bring him to the Corpse and prove to them that I was as innocent as the child who had started this all." I pulled up another chair and sat behind Devyn, reading more, "'It's chilly, bloke, won't you give me the kindness of a jacket?'

'If I should withdraw my grip on your wrist, I have not the slightest doubt in my mind that you should attempt another escape.'

'Have a little faith in a man, won't ya?'

'You tried it once before, you will try it again.'

'Not when I know what you'll do to me if I'm caught.'

'That's just the thing, bloke,' I responded calmly, looking out at the land in front of me as I saw Kenneth emerging from the fog, an oil lantern in his left hand, 'we all believe we'll escape, every time we try, not matter how many times we fail. The only time a bloke doesn't believe he'll escape is when he's not tryin'.'" I leaned away from the computer and looked at Devyn, "This is really good," I told him. He chuckled, "Well, thanks, I guess. I should hope so, considering I'm a published author."

"A best seller!" Annie called from her room next door. Devyn chuckled and continued to type.

"Why have I never read anything you've written?" I asked abruptly. He turned, raising an eyebrow at me, "I don't know. Why haven't you?" For some reason I blushed, and he turned back to his screen and continued to type.

"Bubba, have you ever read something Devyn's written?"

"What? Of course! Every book, some more than once! And I get the behind-the-scenes sneak peeks at the unfinished books too!" Bubba said with a wide smile as he made a drink for a short red-head woman in a trench coat and large wire-rim glasses. Bubba's club might be a downer, but it was always a great place for people-watching. I frowned, "So why have I never read anything of his?"

"What?!" Bubba screeched, turning quickly to face me. I jumped back, "What?"

"You've never read Ginger Kiss?" I frowned, "That sounds like a romance."

"It's not. It's a murder mystery."

"Oh."

"What about Penny Lane Knees?" I frowned deeper, "That's a book?"

"That's Devyn's book. You've really never read anything of his? Good Evenings? How To Make a Victim?" My eyebrows shot up, "These titles are diverse."

"What about High School? That one is my favorite." I whistled, "Wow, I'm behind."

"Well, yea! He's only been an author his whole life! There's even one dedicated to you." He put his hand over his heart, "It is the most romantically depressing book in the history of romantically depressing books." I rose an eyebrow, "A romance?" He put up a finger, "A romantic tragedy. Like Shakespeare." I laughed, "What's it called?"

"Friday Nights. I have all his books, you can borrow it if you want." I shook my head, glancing at my watch to see how much time I had left until my evening shift started, "I prefer to own books I read." I waved bye to him as I stood up to leave, "I'll see you later, Bubba. Looks like I've got a little book shopping to do." Bubba smiled widely and waved.

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