On a good day I was just glad my socks matched, that any holes in my clothes weren't so revealing I scared a small child or a sweet grandmother. The fact my work outfit was more than four months of rent made me constantly nervous.

I began working at Augustine's three years ago as a busboy. I was the oldest busboy at twenty-five but was hopeful the owner would see something in me and give me more opportunities. That happened almost two years to the date of hire when one of the servers came down with the measles, and there was a huge party coming into the restaurant that evening. Augustine told me I had to serve, he never asked, always demanded. He threw a suit at me that was too big on me, which wasn't shocking, told me to wear it and do a good job.

I had never worked so hard in my life. That night I was on point and when the evening ended, Augustine gave me a card to his tailors, told me to get fitted, and to be back the next night as a server.

Now I owned three suits all paid for by Augustine. Two thousand each. It was my responsibility to make sure they were clean, crisp, and hole free.

Francis, my roommate, always laughed at me when I would come out of my bedroom and walk to the front door because I practically skirted around the room. I couldn't afford replacing even one suit, and it was made clear to me if I ruined one I had to replace it. I was paid very well working at Augustine’s, but so many years of not getting a decent paycheck had forced me to take out loans and credit cards I couldn’t afford.

My busboy paycheck was next to nothing and went to bills, rent, and minimum payments on my cards and the loans. After working as a server, I was just now out of debt and had opened a savings account. Francis and I were destined to move out of our shitty place and into a better one. I figured another two years and we’d be looking back at all this and laughing.

I’d just entered Augustine's for my shift when I was greeted with a very irate sommelier. Gabin was cursing at Augustine in French, swinging his arms around and stamping his foot. My boss leaned against the doorjamb of his office with a bored expression. They’d been together for twenty years and had married three weeks after it became legal to do so in this country. Their fights were legendary and the staff often found them amusing. But Gabin was truly livid this time.

"Trouble in paradise?" I whispered to Elise, one of the other servers.

"Oh yeah. Gabin caught Augustine in bed with Trenton, the new bartender. Apparently, it happened a few nights ago, but Gabin was off, so when he came in today he saw Trenton working the bar and well..." She gestured to the couple in question.

"Wow." I was both intrigued and saddened by this news. I loved Gabin and Augustine together, to hear of something like this broke my heart. I was a sucker for a love story and theirs was one that deserved a happy ending.

"You're in the Crystal section tonight," Elise said as she lightly patted my arm. "They could be at this for hours; we better rock tonight or Auggie will likely fire us in a fit of rage." She wasn't wrong, we’d seen it happen.

Augustine's was always booked. You had to reserve a table at least six months in advance and attire was just on the cusp of formal.

Whenever I walked through the doors it was like stepping onto a stage. I had to put on a performance, play my part, because the real Andy Shay liked to sit on his couch in his mismatched socks, hole covered clothes, and play video games with Francis most nights. I bought food that was on sale and shopped at Goodwill. At Augustine’s I was Andrew Shay poised and proper. No holes, no mismatching, all smiles and sophistication.

"Welcome to Augustine's, my name is Andrew and I will be your server this evening. May I offer you a cocktail, aperitif, or beverage?" This was how I greeted all customers. I had to look up what an aperitif was when I started working here, and I Googled a lot, too. I had no idea if Gabin would be doing his sommelier duties tonight, but I couldn't let that concern me right now. If they wanted wine, I'd have to figure it out.

It turned out being a stressful night. Gabin did work but not until an hour into food service. Trenton was fired and I was sure some sort of lawsuit would come from that. Elise was forced behind the bar leaving me my section and hers to cover. My feet were throbbing, my back ached, and the headache dancing behind my temples was sure to be a doozy by the time I trekked home.

"Need a ride?" Elise asked as we stepped out into the clear night.

"Nah, I can still catch the bus and after tonight, I just want to pop in my ear buds and decompress."

She waved me off with a tired smile. I didn't hate my job, but I didn't love it. It was a job that paid my rent, kept the lights on, got me out of debt finally, and put food in my belly. It paid higher than a fast food joint, and the tips were way better, but unfortunately, I couldn't live in the section of the city I worked. Not yet anyway.

I lived on top of a laundromat with my roommate, Francis. It was four rooms. Two bedrooms, a kitchen, a tiny living room, and then we shared a bathroom. We each paid three hundred toward rent, split the bills, and it was a bonus we liked each other.

It was also a perk that we were roughly the same size. He was far prettier than me and not all elbows and knees, but we were close in measurements. So, we shared clothes and often our closets were a mix of each other's.

The bus stop was a few blocks from the restaurant, so the walk wasn’t that bad. I took a relieved breath when I got on the bus and saw it was mostly empty. No chance of a crazy lady wanting to talk about her cats or a man asking if I could help him find his teeth.

With music in my ears, I leaned my head against the cool glass and watched as the scenery turned from posh to poor.

The bus stopped across from my place, and I dragged my weary body to the door and wasn't shocked when it stuck. With what little energy I had, I pulled it open and winced at the smell of mold. This place should probably be shut down, but then where would I be? Sure we could get a better place right now, but we didn’t want to settle. We wanted to be able to live not worrying that if we lost a job we’d be forced right back here.

There was no elevator, but fortunately it was only a flight of stairs to climb. The music made the dreariness of the building a little more bearable, and when I reached the apartment door, I almost cried with joy.

Joy turned to confusion when I went to push the key in the lock, and it opened without me turning it. Immediately, I pulled the buds from my ears.

"Francis?" Probably not a great idea shouting his name, but for all I knew he had someone over and was fucking on the couch. We usually hung a sock on the door if we had company, and the lack of a sock sent a jolt of fear through me.

"Francis?" I yelled again as I so very slowly pushed the door open.

The apartment looked normal. No signs of distress, and when I peered around the corner to the kitchen, the light above the stove cast a welcoming glow. Francis often left it on for me when I worked late so I wouldn't bang into things. My clumsiness wasn't something either of us enjoyed.

I figured Francis either forgot to lock the door or there was something wrong with the lock. I turned to return to the front door to shut it when a crashing noise came from Francis' bedroom.

"You ok?" I yelled. There was no response, just a thud.

Shit. He probably fell. Drank too much and was fucking around and fell. I quickly shut the front door and rushed to Francis' room.

"I'm coming in so get as decent as you can in your drunken state, asshole."

I opened the door with a flourish, ready to tease the shit out of him when I stopped dead in my tracks. It was like my limbs seized up and fear owned my entire body. Francis lay on the ground naked in a pool of blood. His eyes, gone, something was carved into his chest, and... oh god... his penis. I wanted to shout, scream, run to him. I couldn't—I was locked in place.

I heard hangers clang in his closet and everything inside urged me to run. Whoever did this was still here. I had to call 911. I knew Francis was dead, but I had to call for help.

It wasn't until Francis' closet door burst open that I was able to feel my legs. The killer. I couldn't see their face, only their eyes. They were covered head to toe in black, and there was a medical bag hanging from one hand. It was the vicious looking knife in the other that had me backing out of the room.

Run, Andy, fucking run. My brain was screaming and finally the rest of me caught up, and I made for the door as fast as I could. I heard the springs on Francis' bed, so I knew he jumped on the bed and I was being pursued. I hadn’t locked the front door, so as soon as I opened it I began shouting for help.

Footsteps behind me had my heart racing and in my clumsiness, I tumbled down the stairs. My back slammed against the wall at the lower level, and when I raised my eyes, the killer was at the top of the stairs. Staring at me. Fuck.

"Help!" I frantically rose and pulled on the door. Stuck. Goddammit! "Someone call 911." It was a piece of shit neighborhood and no one wanted the cops around, but maybe someone would come out of their building.

The killer began rushing down the stairs just when I got the door open. I pulled out my cellphone as I ran down the street still calling out for help.

"911 what's your emergency," the dispatcher asked.

"My roommate, he's dead, killed, I'm being chased down Chopsey Avenue toward Don's Café. Please help me."

"Calm down, sir, get to the café it's twenty-four hours. I will dispatch a car there, and what's your address where you live? I will have cars and an ambulance sent there."

I was quickly running out of breath, but I could see the lights of Don's ahead. When I looked over my shoulder, I saw the killer was still chasing me.

"I live above Tumble Dry Cleaners, apartment one."

"Police are en route, are you at the café yet?"

I’d just entered the café when she asked. There were a few patrons who all turned to look at me when I entered.

"Just got here."

"Are you still being pursued?"

I sat at the furthest booth and searched the night through the window. Nothing. No one was there.

"No, they're gone."

"Okay, sit tight, police will be there in two minutes. Please stay on the line...."

It was all I could hear. Everything was catching up with me. Francis was dead, mutilated. Fear and despair battled in my chest. With my head in my hands, I began to sob. No one paid me any mind. Why would they? I don’t know how long I sat there crying, but I knew there was one question I needed to figure out. What the hell was I going to do?