Chapter 6

Danny blinked. Once. Twice. He took a deep breath, looking over the racks of magazines from his post behind the counter at Fast Stop. The penguin on top of the ICEE machine twirled. A pot on the coffee station released wisps of steam. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here. He rubbed his face, feeling like he’d been roused from a deep sleep.

Crumbled dead leaves covered the front of his jacket. He brushed them off and saw more of the same on his pants. How did those get there?

He checked his watch. The second hand wasn’t moving. A couple taps on the crystal didn’t change things either. He grumbled. The battery must be dead.

He looked over his right shoulder. Puffed out bags of potato chips blazed in dark reds, greens and yellows under a large hanging clock. The phrase, “It’s Snackin’ Time!” glowed from a neon light inside the clock. The second hand, usually sweeping around in a relentless circle, sat motionless. It was the first time Danny ever remembered it not moving.

He scanned the store. It was empty. Not a customer in sight. He put a hand to his forehead, wondering why he felt so hazy, like he’d just woken up. Did he fall asleep?

Two clear plastic containers of mints were on the counter. One white, the other orange. He picked them up and sat on his stool.

Pain shot through his left side, between his ribs. He dropped the mints and grabbed his side. The plastic containers hit the floor and broke open, scattering mints everywhere.

He stood and inhaled sharply catching another stab between the ribs. It felt like someone had hammered a nail in him. He touched his side and felt a spasm of pain. How did he injure himself?

A baseball cap bobbed into view above the aisle on his left, moving toward the beer. He reached down to pick up the broken mint containers, grunting from the pain in his side. He swept spilled mints under the counter with his foot and then walked around to the front of the counter, bending over to pick up a few mints scattered here and there. Something sighed behind him.

He turned.

A tingle went up his back.

No one was there.

Then a motor kicked on, cycling into a loud hum. He exhaled. That sighing noise was from the compressor for the refrigeration units.

“Get a grip,” he said, taking a deep breath to level himself. He looked over the empty store, trying to find the guy in the baseball cap.

A stray mint on the floor caught his attention. He picked it up and tossed it in the trash, then he scanned the store for the man in the baseball cap. No one was in sight. But there had to be someone in here. He saw him.

A loud clatter rose from the front of the store. He jumped and immediately regretted it, wincing from the pain in his side. The lights in the store seemed to dim and brighten with each throb of pain. The pulsing of the lights only lasted a moment, but it raised the hair on the back of his neck. Footsteps toward the front of the store caught his attention.

“Who’s there?” he said, stepping away from the counter. A bottle of aspirin rolled across the floor at the end of the main aisle. Danny managed one step toward it before all the lights in the store blinked off.

Heart pounding, he froze. The lights snapped back on.

He stared. A man stood next to the bottle of aspirin.

The man reached down and picked up the aspirin. He wore a green canvas army jacket, blue jeans, and a Red Sox cap. A brown paper Fast Stop grocery bag was in one hand, the aspirin was in the other. A mint crunched under his shoe as he stepped toward the counter.

“I got the worst headache in history,” the man said, placing the bottle of aspirin on the counter. “Ring this up, will ya?”

The lights over the counter flickered. Danny looked the guy over. He was breathing hard. There was a gap between his front teeth. A chill went through Danny. In the space between the flickers, he saw blood on the side of the man’s face. He put a hand on the counter to steady himself. The light stopped flickering. Under the steady florescent glow of the store’s ceiling lights, the man looked normal. Dirty, tired, and fighting the pain of a headache, but the blood Danny had seen a moment ago was gone.

“What are you looking at?” the man said, putting his bag on the counter next to the aspirin.

“Nothing,” replied Danny. He glanced at the Fast Stop grocery bag. It looked familiar. Yeah, about a hundred of them were stacked under the counter, but there was something about this bag. Something buried just out of reach.

As he lifted his gaze, he saw that the man was staring at him. The man tapped the bottle of aspirin he’d placed on the counter. “Can we move this along? My head is really killing me.”

Danny walked behind the counter. He picked up the aspirin bottle. “Is this all you want?”

The man opened his mouth to say something, then bowed his head, raising a hand to his forehead. “Yeah, ring it up. Faster the better.”

Fingers poised over the register, Danny turned the bottle of aspirin one way, then the other. He turned his back on the man and thumbed through a sheaf of papers thumbtacked under the cigarette racks on the back of the counter, searching for the price of the aspirin.

“C’mon, man. Hurry up,” said the man.

Danny glanced up, catching the reflection of the man in the fish-eye security mirror hanging above him. His gaze trailed over the man’s Red Sox cap, his coat, his hand coming out of his coat pocket. Every muscle in Danny tensed.

“How bout I give you five bucks?” the man said. “Just give me the aspirin.”

Danny spun, staring at the customer. He glanced at the security mirror, and then back to the man.

“What’s the problem?” the man said, looking up at the mirror.

Goosebumps spread up Danny’s spine. Just a second ago, the man’s reflection had been different. He could’ve sworn the guy had pulled a gun out of his coat pocket. He’d had a gun. And now he didn’t.

The man glanced around. “What are you looking at?”

Danny’s gaze shifted from the man, down to the brown grocery bag, and then back up to the mirror. Mind churning, he caught a glimpse of the door to the safe underneath the counter. It was open. He nudged it closed with his knee, wondering why it was open. Snatches of conversation floated up from the depths of his memory.

“…you feel like describing who robbed you, you do it after I’m gone.”

Danny looked up from the safe and stared at the man.

“…I know you put cash in there at closing time. Now get it open.”

He looked at the gap in the man’s front teeth and at the man’s goatee.

“…I don’t like the way you’ve been messing with me. Gimme your wallet…”

He looked at the man’s Red Sox cap and his drab, green army jacket. The pieces fell together, fragments interlocking until he had a complete picture.

Linda was waiting at the hospital. Joseph was sick. She needed their insurance card. And this guy—this thief—was the reason Linda was still waiting for him, probably thinking she’d married the biggest jerk on earth—someone who didn’t even care that his son was sick. All because of this thief.

Rage swept over Danny. He threw the bottle of aspirin as hard as he could, bouncing it off the man’s forehead. The man ducked, yelling, “Hey, what the hell? You crazy or something?”

Danny grabbed the ice scraper off the counter. He cocked his arm back.

The man backed into a news rack, scattering newspapers on the floor, holding his hands in front of him. “Take it easy. What’s your problem?”

Danny jumped over the counter. Even with his adrenaline pumping, the pain in his side flared. He hunched over for a moment, then straightened. He pointed the ice scraper at the man. “You robbed me.”

A mixture of fear and confusion filled the man’s eyes.

Danny pointed at the grocery bag on the counter. “You made me empty the safe into this bag.”

Recognition flashed over the man’s face. He reached into his coat. For a second, Danny thought a gun was coming out, but when the man’s hand appeared, it was empty. The man looked at his empty hand, turned and ran for the front door.

Danny threw the ice scraper. It hit the man between the shoulder blades. The man yelled and fell. Danny ran over and kicked him in the side. He grabbed the ice scraper off the floor and shook it in his face. “You stole the money and my wallet, asshole.”

The man crawled away, his eyes wide. He stood and rubbed his back. “Take it easy. I ain’t no thief.”

Danny stepped toward him and swung the ice scraper, barely missing the man’s face. He thrust his face forward, nearly bumping noses with him, his voice a whisper. “Don’t lie to me. You made me open that safe and then you took the money and my wallet. Didn’t you?”

The man lowered his gaze. “It was a mistake, man. I brought it back. There ain’t no need for fighting.”

Danny held out his hand. “Gimme my wallet.”

The man felt around in his pockets, pulled out a wallet and handed it over. Danny checked for his insurance card. It was there. He pocketed his wallet. Good. Now all he had to do was get this degenerate out of here, put the money back in the safe, and then get over to the hospital to help Linda. The idea of calling the cops floated up for a moment but he didn’t have time for that. Linda needed him now, not after an hour of messing around with the police. He pushed past the thief and reached for the front door. “If I ever see you again, I’m calling the cops,” he said, yanking on the door. It didn’t open. His keys jingled as he pulled them out of his pocket. “If I even see you walking down this street, I’m reporting you.” The master key slipped easily into the lock. It turned easily too, but the door stayed closed. He tried other keys. Some fit, some didn’t, some turned the lock, but the door wouldn’t open.

Danny shoved his keys into his pocket. He tugged on the handle a few more times and then stepped back, eyeing the door.

The thief mumbled, “C’mon, let me out. I swear, I won’t ever come back.”

A clutch of leaves blew against the door. Bold red and yellow leaves quivered on the glass before losing their grip and flying into the night. Danny turned toward the man. “Something’s wrong with this lock. Guess you’re leaving through the back alley.” He grabbed the man’s arm. “Let’s go.”

~

Danny hung up the phone and braced his hands on the counter. None of this made sense. The back door wouldn’t open. The front door wouldn’t open. The phone wasn’t working. He looked up, seeing a reflection of himself in the plate glass windows that ran the length of the storefront. The thief paced back in front and forth in front of those windows, then gave out a yell and threw his shoulder into the front door, trying to force it open.

“Hey!” Danny yelled. “Cut it out. You’re gonna break it.”

The thief shouldered the door again.

Danny glared and picked the phone up, thinking he might as well try it one more time. He lifted the receiver and immediately heard static, the same sound he heard when he picked it up before. It was a rhythmic sound—almost like breathing—going loud then soft in a never-ending loop. No calls were going out tonight. The phone lines must be down. He hung up and leaned on the counter, rubbing his face.

Okay, the doors won’t open. The phone’s out. And, on top of it all, I can’t remember how I got here.

An image of the thief running out of the store ran through his mind. Then his memory went fuzzy. He massaged his temples, trying to get a grip.

Did I call the police? No—they’d be here if I had. Did I run out of the store after this thief? Did I get hit in the head?

A dreamy image of running through a dark forest started to form. He focused, catching more of the scene.

Trees flew by as he ran through the woods, holding something in his hand… something heavy.

His mind started to click over, just beginning to bring it all back to him.

I chased him through the woods. I was holding something in my hand. It was heavy. It was a…a…

A gun.

He opened his eyes, staring at the counter. If he had a gun, where was it now? A loud thud interrupted his thoughts. He looked up. The thief backed away from the front door, preparing to run his shoulder into it again.

Danny put his hands on the counter and leaned forward. “Hey!”

Another loud thud reverberated through the store as the thief ran into the door. Danny stretched to his full height and put his hands on his hips, yelling, “Cut it out!”

The thief turned. He took off his baseball cap, wiped his forehead, and then walked toward Danny. His hair was short, dark, and receded high on his forehead. It puffed out a bit above his ears from wearing the baseball cap. He grinned as he got closer, showing the gap between his front teeth. “I’m not trying to cause trouble,” he said, stopping in front of the counter. “I’m just trying to get outta here, like you asked.”

“Yeah, right,” Danny said, shaking his head. “You’re not causing trouble. Just pointing guns and robbing people.”

The man bit his lip and mumbled.

“What’s that?” said Danny, cupping a hand around his ear. “Can’t hear you.”

“I don’t do that.”

Danny feigned a look of great interest. “Oh really? That wasn’t you pointing a gun at me and stealing money?”

“I’m, I’m…, Never mind.”

“No. Go on,” said Danny, crossing his arms. “I want to hear this.”

The man took a deep breath. “I gamble too much.”

Danny lifted his eyebrows and kept staring.

“I got into debt,” the man explained.

Danny waved a hand, telling him to continue.

“With your boss, Vincent.” He pointed toward the front of the store. “I got into debt with your boss in that casino he runs on Water Street.”

Danny unfolded his arms and put his hands on his hips. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m trying to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

The man looked around. He lowered his voice and tapped a finger against his chest. “I didn’t rob you. Your boss, Vincent—he robbed you.”

Danny smiled. “No. It was you.”

Words gushed out of the man. “He didn’t rob you, like face-to-face rob you. Like I said, I got behind on a gambling debt. Next thing I know, Vincent says he wants me to rob his store. He says either I do it or get my teeth knocked out. I didn’t want to, but I had to, or, you know…” He showed his teeth and tapped them with his finger.

Danny rolled his eyes. “That makes no sense. Why would Mr. Vincent, or anyone else, want their store robbed?”

“Because I’m giving him his money back. Then he’s gonna put in an insurance claim. He gets paid double. Do you understand what I’m saying? Your boss—”

Danny held up his hand. “Okay. Enough.”

The man stared at Danny. “So, we’re good, right?”

Danny lifted the phone to his ear, listened to the static, and then put the phone back in its cradle. “No. We’re far from good. My wife’s waiting for me at the hospital. My boy’s sick.” He waved at the phone. “But we’re locked in and the phone’s out. You explaining why you’re a thief doesn’t help. I just need to get out of here.”

The man reached into his army coat. He held out a cell phone. “Like I told you, I’m not a thief, I’m a bad gambler. Maybe the worst of all time. Ask anybody. My name’s Clay. Clay Freeman. You ask them and they’ll tell you—I’m no thief. Here, take my phone to call your wife.”

Danny looked at the phone. He lifted his gaze to Clay. “Thanks.”

He dialed Linda’s number. The same static he’d heard on the landline filled his ear. “There’s some kind of interference,” he said, handing Clay his cell.

Clay listened. He furrowed his brow, and then pocketed his phone. “I guess we’re gonna have to wait until Vincent shows up.”

“Vincent isn’t coming,” said Danny. “I’m on schedule until morning. And then the day clerk is coming in.”

Clay adjusted his baseball cap, clearly irritated. “You’re not listening. Vincent is coming in. He has to if he’s going to put in an insurance claim on the robbery. He has to take pictures, call the cops and all that kinda stuff.” His eyebrows lifted. “But you don’t want to hear about it, right? I’m nothing but a low life thief. Hell, way things look, I’d probably think the same thing. I’m a mad dog killer, ain’t that right?” He held out his hand, pointed the index finger and made the sound of a gunshot.

Before Danny could reply, the lights in the store flickered. Pain shot through his side. He clutched his ribs. At the same moment, Clay braced one hand on the counter and grabbed his forehead. Danny’s mind tilted. Between the flickers of light, he saw blood on the side of Clay’s face, dripping down his fingers as he pressed them against his temple.

Despite the pain in his side, Danny pointed at Clay. “You’re bleeding.”

The lights stopped flickering.

“Where?” Clay asked, urgency in his voice as he looked at the front of his coat. He touched his head and checked his fingers for traces of blood.

A cold chill blew through Danny. The blood on Clay was gone. A second ago he saw it and now, nothing.

Clay patted his chest. “I’m not bleeding. And don’t do that with the lights no more. It hurts my head.”

Taking slow, deep breaths, Danny touched his side. The pain receded to a dull ache. He eyed Clay. “Must be something wrong with the electrical system. Maybe that’s why the phones are out.” He walked from behind the counter and stepped past Clay, heading toward the front door.

“Where you going?” Clay asked.

The bloody-faced image of Clay resurfaced in Danny’s mind. He pushed it away, focusing on Linda and Joseph. They needed him. He had to get out of here.

“Hey, that front door ain’t opening,” Clay said. “You hear me? Nearly broke my shoulder on it.”

Halfway down the main aisle, Danny saw a stainless-steel trashcan next to the coffee station. There wasn’t a lot of weight to it, but it felt solid as he dragged it over the tile floor. He heard Clay snort, “Man, that dinky trashcan ain’t gonna do nothing.”

Danny stopped five feet from the door. “You better get behind something,” he said, hefting the can over his head. “This is going through the window.”

Danny saw himself in the reflection of the plate glass window, holding the trashcan over his head. His thoughts focused to a pinpoint. Linda was waiting at the hospital with Joseph. All the other crap didn’t matter, like whether Vincent was tied to the robbery, who this Clay character was, why he kept seeing blood on Clay’s face, the throbbing pain in his side. Nothing mattered but getting to the hospital to help Linda.

He reared back, aiming for the window. He lunged forward, heaving it with all his strength.

A flash of movement caught his attention. On the other side of the window, two hands and a face pressed against the glass. His side clenched in agony as he tried to stop his throw. His forward momentum together with the weight of the trashcan was too much. He slipped and fell as the trashcan flew from his hands. It spun through the air in a silvery arc.

Trash scattered everywhere as the can banged harmlessly off the glass and crashed to the floor. The can bounced once and rolled next to him, leaving a trail of wet coffee grounds, cardboard cups, broken lids and used sugar packets.

Clay touched his shoulder. The pain in Danny’s side tightened into a fist.

“Why’d you hold back?” said Clay. “I thought you was trying to break the window?”

As Clay leaned in, Danny smelled him. The stench of dirt and sweat was strong, but the smell that stood out was hot, thick and coppery. It was the smell of blood. He turned away and pointed at the window. “Didn’t you see her? She was right there, pressing her face against the glass.”

“Who? I didn’t see nobody.”

Danny swallowed hard, trying not to gag from the smell of blood. His voice came out in a breathless rush. “It was my cousin Gloria.”

“What are you talking about?” Clay said.

Danny stood. He staggered toward the window and cupped his hands against it, looking out into the night. There was nothing but empty street. A white plastic grocery bag skipped down the sidewalk in the cold wind. But Gloria had been there, pressing against the window. Her long brown hair framing her heart-shaped face. And those big, brown eyes. All beautiful and perfect, except for…

Pulling away from the window, he looked at Clay. “It couldn’t have been her.”

Clay stared back at him. “Like I said, I didn’t see nobody.”

Danny rubbed the stubble on his chin. He looked out the window, watching the trees across the street bend in the wind. The person he saw in the window looked like his cousin, Gloria. But it couldn’t have been her. Nobody with a face that messed up—all tattered flesh and crushed and splintered cheekbone—could’ve looked in this window or any other window. Not now. Not ever.

He lowered his hand from his jaw, talking in a whisper so low he wasn’t sure if Clay could hear. “I saw her. I know I did. But it couldn’t have been Gloria.”

He put his hand on the glass, looking out at the empty street. “She died in a car accident last year.”