Petals of fear blossomed in the sickening oily pond of Adam's anxiety. Fear, an emotion that he hadn't felt since the turning of events about a moon's revolution away.
The name on the key was both the cue and the clue.
Standing here, he realized that he was being deceived. No, not a simple form of deception; this was beyond the average limits of lying and gaslighting psychological techniques. This was the most convoluted and esoteric case to have ever landed in Adam Jucas' hands.
And now, he gladly accepted.
'Something's not right with that waitress. And I'm not in a mood to investigate further. First things first, I need to get away from this forsaken town.'
He flicked the gloves off and rinsed his hands one more time. Next, he did the same for the key, making sure to wrap it around another spare glove to prevent contaminants and possible pathogens escaping.
Pretending to continue being an amnesiac, he exited the washroom with the minimal noise he could produce.
"Ah, there you are, sir," the waitress walked up the aisle corresponding to the washrooms with a shot glass full of a black liquid, slushing around slightly in synchrony with her stylish footsteps, perched atop the lap of a metal tray. "You coffee is ready. You're gonna love the bittersweet combination of our special recipe."
"Oh, thanks, thanks," Adam's dipped his tongue with the sauce of verbal etiquette. "Please leave it at a table. Yes, this one's fine. Perfect. Thank you for your service, ma'am."
"Ah, no sweat at all, sir!" her fingers delicately lifted the glass and landed it onto the glamorous surface of the nearest table, right next to a miniature bonsai plantation serving as decoration. "Enjoy!"
Jucas sat down suspiciously on a chair and scrutinized the espresso in front of him.
'Hmm, how very strange,' he thought. 'Could this coffee be the next clue? What's so special about that recipe? A mind-numbing potion? Nay, such idiosyncrasies scarcely peek at modern solutions. If someone wanted to inflict malicious effects on me, poison would be the jackpot reagent.'
He drummed his right hand's fingers on the wooden surface.
'Well, either ways, I don't see a specific reason why I am able to recall my memories so quickly. Maybe it's not just the drink. There must be something else.'
His eyes spotted her reflection on the episurface of the caffeinated drink, walking towards him. Out of sheer reflex, his gaze sprung up to face the waitress in the real world.
'What the -'
His eyes couldn't believe the obscure oddity.
Sophia was actually walking away from him.
He lowered his gaze to check the liquid reflection again, to be bewildered yet again. The reflection was attuned to the real-time incidents now.
'Yep, something's definitely not right. Even if I had a bet on proving it otherwise.'
Adam stood up, compiling a list of excuses to apply for casually cancelling his decisions. He knew that there wouldn't be an easy way out of this right now. That coffee was cursed, even if a divine messenger of God would convince him that it's not.
Throughout the lifespan that Adam Jucas clearly remembered, this was the first time he was dealing with the supernatural.
Furthermore, the first time that he was, in fact, afraid.
"Sir, your drink-"
"Keep the change," the detective sprinted as if a pitbull was chasing him. With the lack of time and concentration needed to count the money, he simply threw his wallet onto the cashier's desk.
He didn't even turn around. Not even once.
Not even when the waitress called out his real name despite never revealing it to a certain Sophia.
He ran.
He remembered his Bentley, sitting out under the afternoon sun like a royal carriage from a children's fairytale.
Thinking irrationally, he climbed in.
"In the name of God, the most merciful," his lips autonomously chanted while his hands gripped the steering wheel and injected the key into the ignition chamber hole. For a fraction of time unspeakable, he prayed.
And it worked.
A miracle!
The twin-turbocharged V8 internal combustion engine roared like a dinosaur being resurrected back to life.
"Adam! Please wai-"
No time for females. No time for sympathy.
Adam knew better.
A racecar spelt backwards is still racecar, but a girlfriend spelt backwards is dneirflirg, which makes no sense.
His strong legs caressed the accelerator pedal, whipping the reins of more than a five hundred imaginary horses.
The speedy vehicle finally rotated its wheels, the forces being transmitted directly from the discs, pistons and the blood of ancient creatures.
Within moments, the car had a net displacement of half a dozen hundred meters.
But something that was supposed to be amiss wasn't.
"Adam, please just sto-"
He could hear the voice of that uncanny, but gorgeous, waitress woman despite being so far away. He had good ears, but certainly not this good enough to be able to pick up sound waves from nearly a kilometer away.
Just to catch a quick peek, he looked behind him via the rear-view mirror.
Adam was stunned.
Curiosity didn't kill the Cat.