"You wanna go in or just drive through?" Tom asked.
"We can go in, I don't hafta be home any time soon."
"Cool."
The lobby was deserted, with only a grave, middle aged man eating his greasy burger in solitude. Behind the counter, bucking the stereotype of the scrawny kid with bad acne who asks if you "want fries with that", was a rather handsome, muscular young man, clean cut and shaven, with cool, steely eyes.
He looked around, bored and uninterested, but his deep brown eyes glimmered with life when Julie approached. Julie was used to eliciting this type of response from boys. She tried to be humble, but she was constantly reminded how beautiful she was every time she went out in public. Guys were always thinking with their peckers, the poor bastards.
"How may I help you?" he asked, smiling warmly at Julie.
Tom ordered a double quarter pounder with cheese value meal, and Julie ordered the McChicken, all the while pretending not to notice the attractive cashier's ogling stare. Most girls her age would be drooling all over themselves if this hunk of a guy was eye fucking them, but most girls her age were clueless. Julie wasn't so easily impressed. It took more than a handsome face and rippling muscles to woo her.
After taking her order the guy tried his hand at small talk. "Do you go to Mesa?" he asked her, pretending to be aloof. Julie played along.
"No, I go to Parker."
"Parker? Do you know Erika Calvillo?"
He's good. "Yeah," she said, ignoring the vibes the guy was sending her, encouraging her to elaborate.
"You're on the basketball team, aren't you?"
He's really good. Still refusing to take the bait, again Julie's only reply was "Yup."
Pressing onward in the face of adversity, the cashier continued, "That Erika chick's crazy. You guys hang out?"
"We used to, but not so much anymore." Julie realized she was shutting down all his avenues of conversation, but she didn't care. The discussion wasn't going anywhere that piqued her interests. "Don't you have work to do, or something?"
The hunky guy seemed to get the hint, and she could almost hear his ego deflating as he accepted defeat. "You guys have a good team," he told her lamely, and then moved on to the heat lamps that separated the front counter from the grilling area. It was late, and there were no other customers waiting for service, so to avoid the awkward situation Julie created the cashier struck up a conversation with one of the cooks.
"Ouch, that was harsh," Tom said, stifling a bit of laughter.
Julie smiled at him, "Well, fuck it. I don't know him."
The cashier turned to face them and called to Julie, "It's gonna be like five minutes for your McChicken, 'cause he has to make 'em. Is that okay?"
"Yeah, that's fine," Julie answered.
"They're gonna fuck with your food, you know that right?"
"Shit, they better not. I'll get their fucking asses fired," Julie retorted, hoping her voice was loud enough to carry to the Casanova cashier.
Tom just smiled at her. He had no doubt Julie would make a scene if it came down to it.
The pair sat down at a table near the counter to wait for their food. On the way to his chair Tom grabbed a newspaper from the condiments stand, and on the front page, in large bold letters, was the headline:
SERIAL KILLER STRIKES AGAIN, STILL AT LARGE
Tom browsed through the article, then pointed it out to Julie. "This shit is fucking crazy," he told her. "Motherfucker got another one. Maybe you're next?"
Julie kicked him in the shin. "That's not funny, asshole." Julie had spent more time than she'd like to admit contemplating that very possibility. The psychopath was going around slaughtering attractive young women all across El Paso, and the murders were always bloody, and always brutal. The killer had been evading the police for over a year now, and it seemed everyone had a theory about his identity, but each was just as good as the next. The thought of Julie's name showing up in one of those articles made her shudder.
"You're right, I'm sorry. The good news is, you have better odds of winning the lotto than getting murdered by a serial killer."
"What do you think happens when you die?" Julie asked suddenly.
Tom looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "You're quite the philosophizer tonight."
Julie giggled, but Tom could see she wanted a real response. He sighed before beginning, "I think deep down people know what happens, they just don't want to accept it."
"What do you mean?" Julie asked, curious.
"I mean we've all been dead before. Remember what it was like before you were born?"
"I didn't exist before I was born, how could I remember that?"
"Right, my point exactly. You weren't alive, and you won't be alive after you die, so that's what it'll be like... Except you won't have life to look forward to."
Julie didn't like the thought of that, being erased from existence, it was perhaps even more terrifying than spending an eternity in Hell. "So you don't believe in Heaven and Hell?"
Tom scoffed at her. "There's so many things wrong with that idea, I don't even know where to begin. But let me ask you this. All your thoughts, your memories, your hopes, your dreams, your feelings, your fears and emotions, all of it, is just information stored and processed in your brain. How do you propose to go on thinking and remembering and dreaming once your brain shuts down?"
Julie shrugged. "Maybe we have a soul that lives on, even after our brain dies."
"Even if your life force moves on, it won't really be you. All your memories and knowledge will be gone."
A shiver ran down Julie's spine as she considered what Tom was telling her. "That's pretty terrifying, but I guess maybe you're right. I just... I'd really like to see Chuckie again, you know? I miss him."
Tom reached out and took her hand. "I know. I miss him too."
"Let's never die, Tom. Let's just live forever, okay?"
"It's not how long you live that counts, it's how much fun you have while doing it. Besides, forever? Might get boring." Beeping emitted from amidst the sounds of boiling grease and rising steam in the kitchen, and Tom pointed his harsh blue eyes in that direction. "I think your chicken's ready."
Julie watched the cook pull a basket of breaded chicken patties out of a vat of boiling hot grease. She kept a keen eye on him as he threw some mayo, lettuce, and tomato on a bun, then slapped one of the patties on it and wrapped it up.
"Did he hold the spit?" Tom asked her, amused.
"I think so," Julie answered.
Tom picked up the tray of food from the counter and sat down. There wasn't much chatter between them as they ate.
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