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Night Shift

by Oroborusfox



Summary: What's it like to be a nobody in Sunnydale?


She hates the night shift. That's when they show up. Pale skin, dark clothes, dangerous eyes. Sometimes alone, sometimes in packs. The same ones sometimes come back night after night. They're out of place in this diner, but that's never seemed to worry them. It mainly caters to lonely truck drivers, prostitutes taking a break between tricks and ever so slightly crazy drifters. People who won't be missed for a while.

In the mornings, there's usually one truck minus a driver left in the car park, or a hooker looking for her friend who left with the pale guy the night before. Nope, sorry. Don't know where they went Miss. Yes, it is odd that he left the truck. Called you from here you say? Can't say I recall, we get a lot of people through here. I'm so very, very sorry.

The worst is when some of those missing people show up again. Now with pale skin, dark clothes and dangerous eyes. They smile at her, but she thinks she sees something accusing in their faces, as if asking why she didn't warn them. She knew what was going to happen when they left with the mysterious strangers the night before.

She wonders if watching the sweet young girl who just needed to get away from her parents for a while coming back the next night, and leading away a middle aged truck driver with the promise of sex is her punishment for staying silent. Or is her punishment seeing the girl return alone with blood red lips. She thinks she deserves worse.

They've never hurt her and after a few days they don't look so accusing any more. They must have gotten used to their new lifestyle, if you can call it that. They've ever threatened her physically or with words. They're polite, smiling with red stained teeth and asking how her day's been. They've been fine; they laugh and explain that they work at night, and that they really need a tan.

Sometimes they order food. A burger with fries, oh, and a soda. They always pay. Never try to intimidate her into letting them out of it. She ignores the smears of blood on the money, matching the ones on their clothes. She ignores the girls and family men and nut jobs that are led to their deaths.

Because it's crazy, and she needs the job, and what the hell can she do anyway? They're nice to her, and they tip well, and really it's their own fault for leaving with strangers anyway.

And she ignores the part of her that wants to join them in the night.



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