CUTC-030
Barista: Jericho Myerscough
Date: Dec-18-2019
Receipt: CUTC-030
Subject: Corpses
We’ve been going round in circles. Jackie, Julia, and me. Arguing. Whispering. Shouting. All about her.
Katherine.
Julia’s all heart—bleeding, beating, stubborn as hell. Keeps saying the Cafe’s meant to help people like Katherine. Lost souls. Strays. Reminds us that when she stumbled into the Third Cafe, she wasn’t exactly in a good place either. And she’s not wrong. But, d’you reckon she’s forgetting how many people died ‘cause she came to the Third Cafe?
…That’s not fair.
Weren’t her fault.
But—I can’t just ignore eight dead bodies, can I? Third Cafe took Julia in, no questions asked. Swore to protect her till the end. I just don’t know if the Cafe’s still in that kinda business anymore.
Jackie’s stuck in the middle. She gets it. Wants to help—still. But every time we argue, I see it in her eyes—that fear. The weight of every name we’ve carved into that bloody memorial wall. She don’t want to add another. None of us do. And this Katherine mess? It’s not on us. Feels heartless, but maybe Solomon and Magogo are right. Are we really willing to risk everything for their mistake?
And me? I’m the one holding the 8-Ball. Meant to give answers, but all it’s given me is a sick feeling in my gut—and a string of bad omens to watch for. Whispers of the dead? Tick. A sign pointing to a body that won’t stay dead? Tick. All we’re missing now is the howl of a black hound and a crow crowned king. Then what?
Not Fate’s plan, I reckon. That’s not how the 8-Ball works. But omens—they’re warnings, ain’t they? Warnings of something coming. Something big. Something inevitable.
…Already knackered from being the new “owner.” Thank the Devil I don’t have to do it alone—but I’m trying to keep this place together. Trying to keep us breathing. And now we’ve got a Zulu experiment sleeping under our roof. What happens when she loses control? When Zulu comes knocking again? No room for “ifs,” choice? Only when.