Holding My Breath [Wattys 2016]

1 1 ~ A n n a

Flashback ~ December 29, 2010

Inside the store, it's dark. All of that light from outside has shifted into artificial lighting of the store and the musty smell of cigarette butts.

The man with the gun doesn't see me, but I see him as he steps slowly past the aisles. Before he has a chance to look my way, I duck into the rows of shelves, crouching down with careful movements.

I expect him to go up to the store clerk and demand for his money or start shooting up the place, but he doesn't. He simply browses the collection of magazines in the front, tucking the pistol into the pocket of his jacket. I can see much more from behind the racks of candy.

I lose sight of the hoodie as he moves towards the counter.

For a split second, I wonder if he is just here for magazines, that this isn't a robbery or anything. If he is just stopping in before he goes to murder someone somewhere else. If I just read him wrong. But no, he was just scoping out the place.

I crawl towards the other end of the aisle, my boots squeaking ever so slightly beneath me. When I get to a section where I might get a better view, I clear away the chips to create a small peephole in the shelf. I flinch at every crackle of the bags.

As far as I can tell, I'm the only other person in the store beside the armed man walking up to the counter and the old clerk with a kind smile that is fading by the second.

The robber stops at the counter, whipping out the pistol and letting his hood fall back. Letting the store clerk and the cameras see his face. With a smirk that says he's above it all. He looks at the clerk straight on and slams the weapon on the counter.

The man's face goes white and I shiver. This guy is bold. The clerk murmurs something, reaching behind the counter with a panicked expression that even a mind reader couldn't understand.

"No, no," the hoodie's voice is a ghost of his face: scary calm and cold. It's deep and powerful, and he doesn't even have to raise his voice to get chills to run down my body. The whisper was intimidating enough. A threat that is on the edge of snapping. "Just the money."

The clerk opens the cash register and draws out a wad of cash, his hands shaking as he drops it on the counter next to the gun.

I freeze. This is really happening.

Holy shit.

This is real.

"Is that all?" The store clerk asks in a shaky voice, letting the register drawer slide shut with an unnerving click.

That's when I realized what an idiot I am. How stupid of an idea this is. There is no way I can help when I was two steps behind the robber the whole time. In that moment of panic, I desperately look to find a way out. I could go through the front entrance and call for help--maybe the cops could get here in time.

But the hoodie would see me and the bell on the door would ring on my way out. There's no way I could make it without getting noticed.

My feet don't seem to work as soon as I hear his cold voice again.

"No, actually I was wondering if you've seen this man," he whispers politely, but his nine millimeter is still pointing at the clerk. Hoodie holds up a square photograph. "A little birdie told me you were friends back in the day."

"I-I don't underst-stand," the store clerk squints at the picture, stuttering. "That's your-"

"Yeah, yeah. That's what they all say." The robber grumbles, tossing the photo on the counter. He glances behind him at the door for a moment, and I duck down. The blood running through my veins freezes for the two seconds before he speaks again. "I think I'll just take a look in the back unless you'd like to call the cops," he laughs at his own joke.

I hear footsteps, and that's what gets me moving. He could walk around and see me at any second.

God, I always hate these kinds of games, hiding from someone. I was horrible at laser tag when I went to my best friend's eight-year-old birthday party. I hated it like someone was watching and I just didn't know where they were going to come from.

And just for the record, I never really understood the rules of laser tag anyway.

I'm almost to the door when I realize that they are gone. The robber probably moved the show into the back room, I guess. I take a deep breath and come out in the open, my senses on red alert.

That's when I see the money. It was left on the counter, just feet away from me. It's all I can do not to just stop and stare at the crumpled bills for a few seconds before I'm drawn to it like gravity. I'm still vaguely aware of the hushed tones from the next room.

I think about it. This money would mean everything. It's not much, but it's plenty enough for us.

A new coat for Toby.

Maybe some more food to stock in the fridge.

It could be enough that we could turn the heater back on instead of bundling up indoors as well as out.

It's stupid, like everything else that I've done today, but I reach for the cash. I know it's wrong. I really do. I know but I find myself doing it anyway...

The gunshot rings off as soon as my fingers touch the faded green paper. At first, everything goes in slow motion as my head whips to look where it came from, but then I snap back into motion.

I run.

I bolt for the door and I know he can see me. It isn't me that gets shot, or at least I don't think so. I throw a look over my shoulder just in time to see his glare. To see how his eyes don't just see me, but pierce through me like a knife. The smirk on his face as he watches me run.

Not just a smirk... a smile.

The bell rings on my way out and I blast through the wall of cold air that meets me.

The snow is back, a full-out war cry against the earth. Thanks, nature, for obstructing my vision with dandruff from above when I'm running from a guy with a gun.

I release the breath I didn't know I was holding and continue to run. For my life.

Literally.

And I had seen his face. At that last moment before I ran, when I saw a glimpse of someone in the back room, I had seen him. I don't know who he is, but now I'm not going to forget.

I think I hear footsteps behind me, the wet sound of smashing snow into the ground.

It's only when I'm a few yards away from the highway that I realize what I've been holding onto as I run. What my grip has been hanging on to.

The man's money.