TVD: Beyond the pale moon

I was in my room getting ready for the date, just out of the shower, when his name flashed on my phone. Damon. He hadn't called since the morning, which was unusual.

"Must've had a breakthrough," I muttered to myself, reaching for the phone. "Hello?"

"Where the hell are you? I've been calling you!" Damon's voice boomed, sharp and dramatic as usual.

"I'm home. Been home all day. Do you need something?" I asked, ignoring his tone as I poured myself a whiskey.

"Can't I just check on my little bro?" I could practically see his smug grin through the phone, the kind he wore when he was feeling especially self-important.

"No. What do you want, Damon?" I sat on the edge of my bed and took a slow sip of the drink, letting the whiskey burn my throat.

He sighed, as if my unwillingness to entertain his antics was a personal affront. "I'm at Elena's, and the journal's not here. Turns out it's with some history professor at the school. Stefan went to get it, but we could use your help."

I checked the time, debating. "I would, but I've got something going on right now."

"Yeah, like what?" he scoffed.

Before I could answer, Elena's voice came through. "Tom, don't worry about it. We've got this. Have fun." The line disconnected before I could respond.

I stared at the phone for a moment before tossing it onto the bed. "Well, that's settled," I muttered. No guilt, no second thoughts—I was off the hook for once.

I turned to my closet, flipping through the hangers. My fingers landed on an eggshell turtleneck, clean and simple, which I paired with faded jeans. After tucking in the shirt, I buckled my belt and added a watch—nothing too flashy. Standing in front of the mirror, I adjusted my hair, letting it settle into loose waves.

For a moment, I studied my reflection. The man in the mirror looked put together, but my eyes betrayed something else. Nervous? Maybe. Excited? Definitely.

I grabbed my wallet, keys, and phone before heading downstairs. Vicki was sprawled on the couch, watching TV, barely looking up as I passed.

"I'm off," I called.

"Bring something to eat," she replied without even glancing at me.

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head as I stepped outside. The air was crisp, and the faint scent of pine lingered in the evening breeze. Sliding into my car, I turned the key and let the engine hum to life. The radio blared to life as well, filling the car with Love Song by Sara Bareilles. I'd never heard it before, but it felt light and easy, perfect for the moment.

"This seems nice," I murmured, tapping the steering wheel in rhythm. I shifted into drive, and with the music playing, I headed off to meet Bonnie.

By the time I pulled into the parking lot, the sun had dipped low, casting long shadows across the pavement. As I stepped out of the car, I spotted Bonnie getting out of her own. She looked stunning in a beige sweater layered over a white blouse, her dark curls falling softly over her shoulders.

Her shoes, however, caught my attention. They were bulky and fur-lined.

She noticed my gaze and smirked. "They're called Uggs," she said before I could ask.

I raised an eyebrow. "Is that short for 'ugly'?"

She rolled her eyes, but there was a playful smile on her lips. "They're not ugly."

I grinned. "Aside from the hairy feet situation, you look beautiful."

She laughed, swatting my arm. "Just say that from the beginning next time."

I extended my arm, and she looped hers through it. Together, we walked into the restaurant.

The restaurant was cozy, with dim lighting and soft jazz playing in the background. We were seated in a corner booth, giving us a bit of privacy. The waiter handed us menus, and we both fell into a comfortable silence as we scanned them.

But the silence felt… weighted.

Bonnie was the first to break it, setting her menu down. "Do you feel like we've put too much pressure on this?"

Her question caught me off guard. "Pressure?"

She nodded, her eyes earnest. "I mean, we've hung out before, talked about everything under the sun… but now it feels like we're trying too hard."

I chuckled, and she narrowed her eyes at me. But soon, she smiled too. "I just don't want to mess this up," she admitted softly.

"Neither do I." I reached across the table and took her hand. "How about this—we pretend it's the first time we're meeting. No history, no expectations."

Her face lit up as she nodded. "I like that." She cleared her throat, then extended her hand, mock-formally. "Hi, I'm Bonnie."

I played along, shaking her hand. "Thomas. You can call me Tom."

"So, what do you do, Tom?" she asked with a coy smile.

"I'm sort of a janitor," I replied with mock seriousness. When she laughed, I added, "Hey, it's an honest job."

She chuckled. "Okay, but what do you mean by 'sort of'?"

I smirked. "Not exactly a janitor. I clean up people's messes."

"Ah, a fixer," she said, catching on.

"What about you?" I asked.

"I'm a chef," she said confidently.

"Where do you work?"

She tilted her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "What makes you think I work?"

I grinned. "Fair enough."

The rest of the night passed in easy conversation. We didn't talk about our friends or the complicated lives we lived. Instead, we talked about little things—the movies we loved, the ridiculous trends we hated, and our most impulsive decisions.

At one point, she showed me a photo of herself holding a Prada mini bag. "They said it'd go up in value. Isn't it cute?"

I chuckled. "The girl in the picture? Absolutely. The bag? Not so much."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, Mr. Critic. What's your best purchase?"

"Not my car, I promise," I said, hands raised in surrender. "It's probably my villa in the Caribbean."

She stared at me, stunned. "You have a villa in the Caribbean?"

I shrugged. "The best part is the private beach."

Her jaw dropped. "How rich are you?"

I took a sip of wine, pretending to think. "I stopped caring about money after the sixties."

She laughed, shaking her head. "You're impossible."

It felt freeing, being able to talk like this. No pretenses, no obligations. Just us.

But then things shifted. Bonnie excused herself to the restroom, and I used the moment to check my phone. A call came through from someone I'd been avoiding.

I sighed and answered reluctantly.

"Where have you been?" her voice demanded. "You haven't called in weeks."

"I'm sorry," I said evenly. "Things are getting a bit… heated here."

"Do you want us to come?" Her voice softened.

"No. I've got it handled."

"When will you be back? We miss you."

"I'll come back soon," I promised, keeping my voice calm.

She hesitated before asking, "It's another girl, isn't it?"

I paused, then answered, "Yes. She's… nice."

She let out a frustrated sigh. "Just don't get too attached. We don't need another New York."

I chuckled. "I'll be careful. Take care of everyone for me, okay?"

"Love you," she said before hanging up.

I slipped my phone into my pocket and glanced toward the restroom. Bonnie still hadn't returned. I poured myself another glass of wine, trying not to overthink it. But after ten minutes, concern crept in.

I flagged down a waitress. "Excuse me, could you check if the woman in the beige sweater is okay? She's been in the restroom for a while."

The waitress returned a few moments later, shaking her head. "Sorry, honey. Looks like she bailed."

I frowned. "She wouldn't just leave. Her purse is still here."

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. Her keys were in that purse.

I stood abruptly, scanning the room. My pulse quickened as dread settled in my chest. "She's been taken," I muttered under my breath.

The chatter of the restaurant faded into the background as my mind raced. This wasn't just a date gone wrong. Something far darker was at play.