Ally's Revenge (Part 1 complete, Part 2 in progress)

Chapter 8

*Picture: Google Image search,  Carmines Pie House decor located on King Street in Jacksonville FL*

Chapter 8

Ally

At least my horrible afternoon turned into a decent evening. Damien is very handsome and a seemingly nice guy: no kids, never been married, was a Marine but took an early retirement.

It wasn't until we were sitting across from each other at Carmines that I realized how hot this guy is! Shaggy blonde hair that he is constantly wiping out of his amazing blue eyes, strong shoulders and arms, and I can guarantee he has a six pack under that plain black tee shirt.

There were no awkward silences, and none of that forced small talk. We ordered a medium pizza and split a desert, the waiter even commented that we very an attractive couple which made Damien blush.

"Thank you for this, I had no idea I needed an adult conversation. I'm surrounded by shovenistic men and a 19-year-old intern that, god bless her little heart, she is completely clueless about anything that's not on facebook."

"I understand completely. And thank you for accepting my offer."

'I'll be honest, I have no idea why I did. But I'm glad."

We finish the desert and Damien paid the bill, even though I insisted several times that I would pay for mine. We leave the restaurant to walk to our cars and I can see Damien's mood has changed. He is very alert and nervous.

Oh god, is he going to try to kiss me?

I keep my distance just in case but I get the feeling he's not that kind of guy to just lay a kiss on a woman he doesn't know.

We have reached our cars since the parking lot is extremely small, and I lean against mine, he leans against his. I would not have pictured him driving a plain white 4-door sedan: he looks more like a truck or muscle car kind of guy.

"Thanks again, this was nice."

"You're very welcome, it's the least I can do after the afternoon you've had."

"I'm going to be blunt and just say it..."

"OK...."

"Can I have your number?"

"Um, wow, um, yeah...here's my card."

He hands me a plain black card with his name and number on it.

'Wow, you must give that number out a lot to have cards printed up!"

"NOO! It's not like that at all..."

"I'm joking."

"Oh."

"You don't have to give it to me..."

"Oh no, it's not that...I've not dated since high school. I'm not sure I even remember what your supposed to do or not do."

"Alright, let me give you a hint...when a girl ask for your number, you might want to seem excited about it."

"Im sorry, really..."

"Joking again!"

"Thank you for accompanying me, I hope we can do this again. Maybe next time without a psycho attacking you in broad daylight."

"Yes, that would be nice."

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

After the day I've had, I can't wait to get into my bed. I arrive home a few minutes after leaving from dinner with Damien, and as soon as I pull into my driveway I can feel something's not right. It's too quiet. I hit the automatic garage door opener and slowly pull in. I can see a beam of light from under the door, which must be coming from the kitchen light.

I know I turned that off this morning.

I reach into my glove box for my Beretta Tomcat, and click the safety off. If someone is in the downstairs portion of the house, they had to have heard the garage door open so the element of surprise is already gone. I open my car door and get out, but I don't close it behind me. Slowly walking up to the kitchen door, I can see it is cracked, left open.

There's obviously someone in there.

With the gun in my right, I push the door open with my left. There is an alarm panel on the wall as soon as I walk into the house, so I hit the emergency police call button but nothing happens. Someone must have disabled the alarm.

My kitchen is trashed: drawers emptied and dumped on the floor, cabinets open and emptied. Someone was, or is, looking for something. I don't hear anything at all from the downstairs, but that doesn't mean they're gone. I step over the mess and take the back stairwell up to my room. Upstairs looks like the downstairs: trashed.

Suddenly I hear a loud bang that sounds like its coming from the front door. I run back down the way I came up, go through the kitchen and through the formal livingroom to the front door, which is wide open.

I don't see or hear anything, no cars, no one running, nothing.

Time to call the police.

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