Chapter Two: Eviction Notice
1295 Words
Amara didn't sleep that night.
The eviction letter lay on her desk, its bright red letters shouting at her in the darkness. She stared at the ceiling till the gray light of dawn washed over her chamber. Her chest felt hollow, her thoughts were jumbled and piercing.
By five a.m., she had given up. She went downstairs, tied her apron, and began kneading the bread. The motion of her palms against the soft flour should have soothed her, but it did not. Her thoughts raced with questions she couldn't answer.
Her mother joined her around an hour later. Margaret's face appeared exhausted, and her eyes were dimmed by the news. "You never slept," she stated softly.
"No," Amara responded.
Lucas lurched in, his drone tucked beneath his arm. His hair was unkempt, and his face exuded the eagerness that only a youngster could muster at such an early hour. However, as he noticed Amara's look, his smile disappeared.
"They can't actually kick us out, can they?" he inquired thoughtfully.
Amara didn't respond.
The bell over the door rang at seven o'clock. Customers walked in, their banter and laughing filling the room. Amara mustered a grin as she distributed pastries and poured coffee. But she felt as if she was performing in a play, with the stage's walls already falling.
At age nine, her mother touched her elbow. "We should go to the Property Office," she said quietly. "Maybe this is a mistake."
Amara wanted to believe it. She needed to believe it.
"Yes," she answered. "I'll go now."
"I'm coming with you," Margaret said swiftly.
"No," Amara replied firmly. "Stay here with Lucas." "If this is true, we need someone to keep the café open."
Lucas frowned. "Text me." Be careful, Amara. Please."
The City Property Office was not like the comfortable café. It was cold, glassy, and unusually quiet. People waited on plastic seats, waiting for their numbers to be called. A big clock ticked on the wall, each second pushing against Amara's chest.
She waited an hour before her number appeared on the screen.
"Window 12."
The woman behind the desk sported gorgeous hair and tired eyes. Her nametag read Ms. Powell. She did not look up when she inquired about Amara's name and property number.
"I'm Amara Blake. Amara held her breath as she said, "Parcel 9B. Blake's Bakery Café."
Ms. Powell's fingers quickly moved across the keyboard. Her face was initially expressionless, but her eyes narrowed. She slowed. Her lips form a tiny line.
"What is it?" Amara inquired.
Ms. Powell paused. Then, lowering her voice, she stated, "Your file is sealed."
Amara blinked. "Sealed? What does this mean?"
"It means restricted," Ms. Powell clarified carefully. "Only certain people can access it."
"That's not possible," Amara replied, her anxiety mounting. "My dad signed the lease." We still have two years remaining. How can it be sealed?
Ms. Powell did not respond quickly. She glanced at the clock and leaned forward slightly, her eyes softening. "If you have a copy of your lease, store it safely." Keep all of your paperwork protected. "Do you understand?"
Amara's heart pounded. "Yes."
Ms. Powell straightened, and her professional mask fell back into place. She handed a little flier over to the desk. "The public information desk is located on the first floor." They can assist you in submitting a complaint."
Her voice was now louder and more professional, as if nothing untoward had occurred.
Amara hastily tucked the flyer into her bag and walked away. She felt as if the walls were closing in around her.
Outside, the air smelled like the sea. She took out her phone and called Sophie.
"Tell me you're okay," Sophie said.
"I'm not," Amara muttered. "The file is sealed."
There was silence on the other end. Sophie swore under her breath. "That is bad. Amara, it signifies that someone powerful has touched it. Someone wants to bury your case before it even starts.
"What should I do?""
"Don't panic just yet. Come to campus this afternoon. "I will look into public records."
Amara closed her eyes, fighting the sting of tears. "Thank you."
"Stay strong," Sophie stated firmly. "Don't cry where they can see you."
Amara laughed shakily. "Too late."
She took a different route home, going along the port wall, where the scent of salt was strong in the air. Boats bobbed on the lake, while gulls shrieked overhead. She tried to breathe deeply, but the anxiety lingered on her skin.
At the penultimate bend before the café, footsteps echoed hers.
"Was it a rough morning?"
Her stomach sank. She did not need to look. She recognized the voice.
The stranger.
He strolled beside her now, tall and serene, with his hands in his coat pockets. His blue eyes scrutinized her as if he knew exactly what she had seen.
"What do you want?" she inquired, her tone rougher than she intended.
"Protection," he replied simply.
"I didn't ask for it."
"I know."
Her chest constricted. "Why do you continue to follow me?""
He did not respond right away. He gazed at the sea, then back at her. "Because you're already on the list. And you don't yet know what that implies.
She stopped walking. "What does it mean?""
He faced her squarely now. "That means they will not stop until you break. "Unless somebody stops them first."
Her throat was dry. "And that someone is you?""
His lips twitched—half smile, half grimace. "Maybe."
Amara shakes her head. "You are insane." Why should I trust you?"
His eyes softened just slightly. "Because I've seen what they do to people who stand alone."
Before she could ask any further questions, he stepped aside, disappearing into the crowd. In a blink, he was gone.
When she returned to the café, her mother was waiting at the door. "What happened?""Margaret inquired.
Amara told her everything. The sealed file. Ms Powell's warning. The stranger spoke.
Her mother's hands trembled as she gathered Amara in a hug. "We'll fight this," she said, her voice shaking.
That night, the family sat at the kitchen table. The eviction letter rested between them like a curse. They fought, planned, and eventually went silent. But when the house finally fell silent, Amara awoke and stared at the ceiling.
Then she heard it.
Click.
Scrape.
The faint sound of metal striking stone.
Her pulse quickened. She crept out of bed, padded to the window, and gazed down at the street.
Two figures squatted near the bakery's wall. Their hands glowed with flashlights as they sprayed brilliant orange paint across the cobblestones. One hammered thin metal pegs into the ground, each strike resonating through her bones.
Survey markers.
They were taking over the café in the dead of night.
Amara's heart pounded. She grabbed her phone and texted Lucas, "Are you awake?"
Always, came the response. What is wrong?
Outside. Two dudes. Marking the cafe.
The dots flashed. Then, I'll grab the drone.
No! She typed swiftly. It's too loud. We need proof silently.
Her gaze darted to her desk. The rolling pin rested there, weighty and familiar. She grabbed it up with trembling hands.
The sound outside became louder—tap, tap, tap. A harsh and low laugh ensued.
Then one of the voices shouted sharply and mockingly.
Tomorrow, this is ours. Blake will not stop us.
Amara's blood became chilly.
She took a deep breath, gripped the rolling pin tighter, and crept down the steps.
At the bottom, she paused at the door, her heart pounding against her ribs. The shower hissed again outside.
Another laugh. Another tap.
And then—her name was spoken from the darkness.
"Amara."
Her breath caught.
She unlocked the door with shaky fingers and stepped out into the night.
- Writer
