Fern sped down the highway. The top on her old red Corvette was let down, and her long brown hair flowed with the warm wind. It was nearing eight o'clock, and she was on her way to the first official party of the summer.
Derek Killian's parties were no joke. Stocked with kegs, college kids, and weed - they were the best. She'd dressed up tonight. She looked down at her tight red maxi dress and black pumps. Derek can't turn this down, she thought confidently.
The highway was just a straight line ahead of her, every now and then a car would pass by. Fern stopped at an intersection. The brakes made a slight squeaking noise. There were no cars around her, so she continued on.
Pressing one of her pumps against the gas pedal, her Corvette jutted forward. It sputtered a little once she reached the top of a large hill. Going up hills was never easy in the old car, it was nothing new to her.
But when she reached the peak of the hill, the car sputtered out completely. "Shit!" She realized she was out of gas. The air was foggy around her and she couldn't see any other cars on the road. So much for asking for help. She sighed.
She put the car in neutral and rolled slowly down the hill. A light appeared through the fog. At first it appeared to be headlights, and Fern felt a sense of relief. But as she rolled closer, she realized it was a sign for a gas station: the Jiffy-Check.
She was even more relieved to see thd gas station. Lucky me, she thought as the car slowed down by the station's entrance. She had gained just enough speed going down the hill to turn her car to the left and pull up beside one of the gas pumps.
Thick gray fog rose around her, making the empty lot look eerie. The gas station was small, and papers and ads lined the windows. She pulled her wallet out of her purse and stepped out of the car. The door shut with a thud, and she walked unsteadily towards the entrance.
The uneven gravel lot wasn't the best place to be walking in her tall heels. She reached the door - thankfully, without falling - and pulled it open. The many papers that were taped to the door flew back with the air. A ding escaped from above her as Fern entered the Jiffy-Check.
Hearing the noise, the cashier snapped his head towards where Fern stood. She took in his appearance: early twenties, disheveled brown hair, a five-o'clock shadow, and bloodshot eyes. She tried not to cringe out of politeness as he smiled at her, "Hi. May I help you?"
She gave him a wavering smile, "Yeah, I need to get ten gallons in pump-," she squinted out of the window to see what pump number her car sat by, "number 4. But I need to use the restroom first." Fern pointed to the restrooms she spotted in the back, and the cashier simply nodded.
The restroom wasn't entirely clean, but it was a public restroom. She glanced in the dirty mirror at her reflection. Her lipstick had faded some and her hair needed to be fixed due to the wind. I can't let Derek see me like this, she sighed. She pulled a tube of lipstick out of her wallet and smoothed it on her lips.
After running her fingers through her hair and primping it a few times, she took one last look in the mirror before exiting the restroom. She walked slowly through the aisle ahead of her, catching a glimpse of a man walking up to the front door.
The man had stopped abruptly in front of the door, looked inside the station, and looked at the door again. Fern's steps became slower as she approached the cashier again. His face was painted with confusion, or annoyance possibly? Then the door opened and the bell above it gave another ding.
What happened next happened so fast that Fern almost couldn't process it. The middle-aged man, who was clad in a leather motorcycle outfit, pulled out a pistol and pointed it right at the cashier. Ferns eyes became big, but she didn't move.
The cashier slowly lifted his arms in the air, the gun merely inches from his face, "I'll give you money, man, just don't shoot.." The man suddenly looked more angry, "Don't tell me what to do. You know I don't want no money." His southern drawl came out heatedly.
Fern's breathing hitched as the gun inched closer to the cashier, "What were you planning to do, huh? What crazy thing did you have in mind?" The man practically yelled at the cashier, who closed his eyes and backed up a little.
"You don't want to do this, sir." The cashier spoke calmly, and his arms slowly drifted downward. The man with the gun looked from the cashier's arms back to his face, "Oh, no. You ain't putting me in danger and you definitely ain't putting that poor girl in danger," the man's hand shook as he held the gun. Fern was puzzled by his words - what did he mean danger? Wasn't he the one with a pistol? The man kept talking with shaky breaths, "Y-you put your hands back up, or I swear I'll shoot you right he-"
The man's words were cut off by a loud bang. Fern's hand flew up to her mouth to shield her screams as she stared at the growing puddle of blood at her feet. She was shaking when she looked up at the cashier, who had a gun in his own hands. He looked shaken as well, and slowly dropped the gun. "I'm sorry you had to see that. He was going to shoot.."
Fern couldn't speak, but she nodded hesitantly. The moment was surreal. She didn't want to look at the body on the floor any longer. She turned around to face the other direction. The cashier spoke again, "I'm going to call the police, ma'am. Everything will be okay here. You need to leave and go somewhere safer, I rang up your order for pump number four.."
She turned and smiled weakly at the cashier's kindness. He looked wearily at her tear-stained face. He had saved her life, she thought. She responded with a small "thanks" and walked towards the door, careful not to look down at the horrid scene.
She wouldn't look back...not if it meant having that nightmare behind her etched in her mind anymore than it already was. The door sounded with a ding as she pulled it open, and a paper flew off of the front of it. It slowly drifted through the humid air and stuck to the ground. She squinted down at it for a moment, realization hitting her like a tractor trailer.
Printed on the paper was a picture of the cashier and under it read "wanted for murder - reward for information". Before she could let out her high-pitched scream, a bloody hand clamped around her mouth, and she was pulled backwards.
She caught a glimpse of duct tape and rope as it hung loosely from the back pocket of khaki pants. And then the other bloody hand shielded her eyes.
