𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐬' 𝐃𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 (𝐀 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞)

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ: ᴛʜᴀᴛ's ᴡʜᴀᴛ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs ᴀʀᴇ ғᴏʀ

"...and that's when the plot really starts to thicken!" I exclaim, my hands gesticulating wildly as I ring up the teenage boy's purchase. "He's playing a high-stakes game with the villain, but the consequences are literally life and death!"

The kid nods along, his eyes glazing over. Just as I'm about to delve into a detailed analysis of the book's themes, I feel my cell phone buzzing insistently in my back pocket. I fumble with the bag of books, trying to hand them to the kid while simultaneously fishing out my phone.

"Just a second, sorry about that," I mumble, glancing at the screen. The number is unfamiliar, but I wedge the phone between my shoulder and ear, juggling my tasks. "Hello? Who is this?"

"Hey, Prissy."

"Richie?"

He's the only person who's ever called me 'Prissy' and even though his voice sounds a little different over the phone, there's no mistaking it.

I'm vaguely aware of the line of customers growing restless behind the boy, sighing, tapping their feet, and rolling their eyes. "I'm so sorry, folks," I call out. "I'll be right back, I promise!" I start to scurry towards the back room. But before I can make my escape, I hear my manager's voice. "Priscilla! You have a line of customers waiting. You can't just leave in the middle of a transaction!"

I freeze, caught between the irresistible pull of Richie's voice and the immovable object of my manager's disapproval. For a moment, I'm torn. But then I hear Richie's voice again, low and insistent in my ear. "Prissy? You there?"

And just like that, the decision is made. "Uh, just one second! It's an emergency, I swear!"

I clutch the phone tighter and dart into the back room. As the door swings shut behind me, I lean against the wall. "Okay, I'm here," I whisper into the phone. "I didn't recognize this number. I thought you weren't allowed to call this late?"

Richie chuckles, "One of the CO's owed me a favor, snuck in a burner phone for me."

"But...won't you get in trouble?" I ask, biting my lip.

"I'll be fine, sweetheart. Don't worry. I've got it all under control." Richie assures me, and I can practically hear the confident grin in his voice. "Are you busy right now? I was hoping we could chat for a bit."

"Actually, I'm at work," I admit, my voice apologetic. "And my manager's already a little ticked off at me for taking this call. Can I maybe call you back later tonight, on this number?"

"Of course, Prissy," Richie says without missing a beat. "You go take care of business. Don't want you getting fired on my account. Call me later, okay?"

"Okay, talk to you soon!" I say before hanging up and half-running back to the front of the store.

To my complete lack of surprise, Beatrice, my manager, is still parked behind the counter, munching on a bag of chips and watching the tiny TV mounted on the wall. I should've known she wouldn't actually take over for me- getting her out of that chair is always impossible. I'm pretty sure she wouldn't budge even if the store was on fire and the flames were licking at her heels.

"Sorry about that, folks!" I call out to the handful of customers still waiting in line. "Let's get you all rung up and on your way!" I plaster on my biggest, brightest smile and start scanning books and bagging purchases at lightning speed, trying to make up for lost time. Luckily, most of the customers seem more interested in the news report playing on the TV than in scolding me for my impromptu phone break.

As I'm finishing up with the last customer, I overhear what the newscaster is saying. "...the upcoming release of Richard Miller, the man convicted of killing the former mayor of Los Angeles, Dean Edwards, and his wife, Missy Edwards..."