Now in San Francisco - high above the ruins of the city, the day dragged on. Eventually Mavis became bored of using her new powers to destroy large areas of buildings, vaporise people, explode cars and start fires. She was hungry. So she flew north up the coast, to Portland.

  The sun had begun to set. Mavis looked out over the vast ocean. Below her, the city was intact. But the streets were deserted and most places had been boarded up. However, there is one restaurant seemingly still open for business.

  Mavis landed out front and walked towards a girl staff member who stood at the entrance to welcome people in, next to a table displaying the menu and a chalk board which listed today's specials. Upon noticing Mavis's arrival, a look of horror dawned on the girl's face as she screamed and made an attempt to run away down the street, but was vaporised by Mavis. A waiter inside the building witnessed what had happened through the front glass window.

  "Don't run." Mavis stressed each word as she entered the restaurant, gesturing with her hands to stay put, as if the woman could still hear her warning which had come too late. "It's bad service." she sneered as she looked out the window to where the woman had been only moments before.

  There were not many customers there that night compared to usual, since most people had chosen to stay at home for fear of what had happened in other cities nearby. Only two tables were occupied out of the 15 or so inside. They had turned to face her and there was suddenly absolute silence, many quickly looking away, trying to avoid eye contact. The waiter dropped his notebook which bounced off the edge of a table he was about to take orders for, and it fell on the floor, the pen still in his right hand. His name was Mark and he was around 20 years old.

  Mavis looked at him since he was the closest one to the door. "Table for 1" she stated.

  He stepped back from the table and made a robotic gesture for her to move in front of him, making a light bow with his eyes fixed on the floor. She continued further into the restaurant along the isle where he had gestured. He followed her and as he passed by the counter, he retrieved a menu from the shelf where they were kept, returning the pen to his coat. They stopped at a table along the rear wall and he pulled out the chair for her to sit down, which she did. He placed the menu on the table which she opened, but she couldn’t read it. She had never learned to read – they had never taught her. She just looked at the pictures.

  The table had been set for two, so Mark began to remove the extra wine glasses, plates and cutlery from the empty seat. He felt his hands begin to shake with the weight of the plates due to the stress and fear he was under. As he turned around, he faltered, bending over in a failed attempt to regain balance as the plates slid from his grasp, crashing on the floor along with the knife and fork he had been holding. The sound of the ceramics broke the silence.

  Mavis sighed and rolled her eyes, looking up at him with contempt. The man began to sweat profusely, frozen in place, petrified. This was it, he thought. He closed his eyes, wincing as he held his breath, knowing he was going to die in that instant. His life flashed before his eyes but when death didn't come, he opened them and knelt down on the floor bent over in an attempt to clean up the mess he had made in his clumsiness.

  He reached at the small pieces of sharp ceramic with his right hand while still holding the wine glasses in his left, clutched to his chest. His face was red. It was a futile task, he needed the small broom and dustpan.

  Jessica was a young female waitress present that night, who had been attending to the counter. A couple near the door had half risen from their seats, contemplating an escape at the sound of the ceramic plates breaking. She gestured for them to sit back down and they obliged, remembering what had happened to the girl who had tried to flee only moments earlier.

  Jessica looked over to where Mavis was seated, seeing Mark bent down on his knees, terrified. Jessica's friends had always told her she was the bravest person they knew, and their words gave her the courage to go and help him out. She retrieved the small broom and dustpan from underneath the counter, walking towards him. He looked up at her, relieved, as she bent down to sweep it up. He returned to the counter and put the glasses and cutlery away.

  Meanwhile in the kitchen, the chefs were oblivious to what was happening. The head chef and owner, a Mr Louie Comtois, continued to expedite food.

  "Order up!" Chef Comtois shouted from the kitchen to make his voice heard above the noise, ringing a small bell on the kitchen counter while placing the finished dishes there. Mark walked into the kitchen, his face still red.

  "She's here!" Mark whispered towards Chef Comtois, who didn't hear him over the kitchen noise as he continued his work. “Th-th-the girl is here!!” he stuttered.

  Chef Comtois looked up to face him like he was crazy.

  The look on Louie Comtois's face turned from one of disbelief to horror as he realised Mark was being serious. He let go of a wooden spoon he had been using to stir sauce in a pot, turning and walking towards the back exit which led outside as another chef questioned him in French.

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  Comtois stopped, turned around and gave a reply in French with a wide-eyed look on his face. “I’m getting the hell out of here! The girl is here!”

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  The other chefs had now stopped their work to listen in and began to participate in the conversation, all speaking hurriedly in French. When translated, this is what they said:

  “What girl?”

  “The one from the news!” Comtois replied.

  “Where is she?”

  “Here!” Comtois gestured towards the kitchen doors that led out into the restaurant.

  “That girl is here in the restaurant?!?” Another chef interjected.

  “Yes that's what I said!” Comtois replied.

  “How can you be sure?”

  “The waiter says so!”

  “Why is she here? What does she want?”

  “I don't know! What do you think?”

  “I don't know!”

  “We're all going to die!”

  “I'm calling the police.” Comtois resolved.

  “I'm getting out of here!”

  Mark couldn't understand a word of what they were saying. Chef Comtois exited the building using the rear exit, followed by another chef. Mark left the kitchen, forgetting the two dishes he had been called there to serve.

  Another waiter, Frank, had heard the commotion coming from the kitchen. "What's going on back there?" he whispered to Mark. Mark took a quick glance in the direction of Mavis and decided to say nothing, knowing full well she may be able to hear him. After a brief pause waiting for Mark to stop staring blankly at him and give a reply, Frank gave up and burst into the kitchen himself.

  Meanwhile, Mavis is ready to order. Jessica looked at Mark who retreated back into the kitchen, making himself busy with service. She was going to have to do this herself.

  The kitchen was deserted. Frank started to panic. “If we can’t serve her anything for dinner, she’ll surely kill us all!”

  “Maybe we should leave too…” Mark replied.

  Frank had also considered fleeing like the chefs had done, but shook his head. “Pull yourself together. We can’t do that. She would hunt us down. We’ll only be able to get so far before we’re caught…” Frank paused for a moment to contemplate what their best course of action was. “Let's just be honest with her. Maybe, then she won't blame us for this and spare our lives.”

  “You can't be serious.” Mark stated in disbelief.

  “I know. I must be crazy.” Frank took a moment to gather his courage before he re-entered the dining area and began to walk towards Mavis’s table.

  Jessica was already at Mavis's table taking her order, a minor comfort for Frank that he wouldn't have to stand there alone to deliver the sour news.

  "Err, uhhhh, sorry to interrupt..." Frank began, "but the chefs have left the kitchen, out through the back exit, so -"

  He was cut off at the sound of Mavis’s chair screeching on the wooden floor as she rose to her feet, clenching her fists on the table in anger. She looked behind, through the walls to see beyond into the kitchen, verifying his words. However it seemed as though only two of the chefs had fled outside down the alley, with the remaining two trying to hide themselves in the pantry.

  "Please don't blame us. Mr Comtois - the head chef - he's the owner, we don't cook the food, only serve it," Frank continued but he hadn't finished before Mavis had already sped into the kitchen and out the back exit.

  Mavis faced Chef Comtois and his sous-chef. They had been running down the alley away from the restaurant but had suddenly stopped in their tracks, petrified. Just as they were about to fall to their knees, Mavis grabbed them by the neck, one in each hand, lifting them both off the ground. Chef Comtois's mobile phone he had been using to communicate with the police fell out of his hand and onto the ground.

  "Give me ONE reason why I shouldn't snap both your necks right now." Mavis was hovering slightly above the ground.

  "no... speak... english..." the sous-chef choked.

  Mavis flew them over to the kitchen's back entrance and tossed them on the ground outside. She kicked Chef Comtois as he was lying there, sending him rolling towards the dumpster. The sous-chef, not wanting to meet the same fate quickly got up and made towards the door.

  Mavis pointed towards the kitchen. "Let me be clear that the ONLY reason why I'm showing you mercy and you're not both dead right now is because I'm expecting some wonderful food from you tonight. And by golly, it better be good because now my expectations are really high. Don't disappoint."

  Chef Comtois tried to stand but his leg caved in. When he was finally on his feet he began to hobble towards the door, blood on his face from where it had scraped the ground. Mavis scoffed at him with her arms crossed, watching him pathetically holding on to the dumpster for support. In order to hurry him up, she grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him down onto the kitchen floor. She grabbed hold of the large dumpster outside and moved it in front of the door, blocking it so that it would open only enough for her hand to pass back through. She stepped over Chef Comtois who was still on the floor in front of her, glancing at the sous-chef who was crouched in the corner with his back to a stove. She went to the pantry and knocked on the heavy steel door, creating dents in the metal. The two chefs inside felt a shiver up their spine as they quivered, cowering near shelves of ingredients, frightened they had been found. They were completely trapped in that small room. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to run. Mavis opened the door and shouted: "Back to work!"

  The doors of the kitchen burst open as Mavis stood in the doorway, grinning maliciously. Mark was behind the counter and turned around to see who had just come through. His eyes widened as he stared at her. He was in the way of the route back to her seat. She gave him what felt to her like a light shove, sending him falling to the ground a few metres away.

  "Oh, get up." she snarled at him as he began to have his second near-death experience of the night. She walked up to him and put her boot on his chest. "You're pathetic," she said.

  "Leave him alone!" Jessica screamed at her. Frank was behind Jessica, holding her arm to try and rein her in. Mark felt a weight lift off him, taking a breath as Mavis turned around to face Jessica.

  "Well, well, well..." she began. Jessica felt her courage leave her as she realised how truly powerless she was. And yet, she had just saved Mark's life, at least for now. That was something she could be proud of even if it was the last thing she ever did.

  Frank took a step forward so he was next to Jessica, realising that in his previous position if Jessica had been targeted, he may have ended up as collateral damage. "Please," Frank begged Mavis. "I'm on your side."

  Mavis's temper toned down as she reminded herself that without Frank's assistance the chefs may have got away. She turned and went back to her seat at the table, as Frank realised he had just inadvertently saved Jessica’s life.

  “I’ll have that one.” Mavis pointed at an item on the menu, showing it to Frank.

  “Excellent choice.” He then tried to take the menu from her, but she didn’t let go of it, glaring at him.

  “And do you recommend anything else?” Mavis asked.

  “Maybe some dessert after?” was all Frank could think of in reply.