[Previously FEATURED] Retail workers have the least chance of being haunted, hurt, or killed. At least, that's what three cashiers assume. When Temple, Marilyn, and Martine meet little Sienna, they find out how wrong they are about job security.
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"I don't hear anything." Martine ran a hand up her arm. "It's funny, 'cause I was about to ask you where that draft was coming from."
"I don't feel a draft," Marilyn said.
The little girl erupted with erratic moans, stalling the conversation. Her gaze never dropped.
"Honey?" Her mother bent to check. "Honey?" She shook her daughter. "What is it? Are you okay?"
With white eyes and a foaming mouth, the little girl most definitely had left the land of 'okay'. She dropped to the floor in convulsions, and her mother screamed.
"Help us!" She grabbed her daughter's head, or tried to in between the wild jerks of her limbs.
Marilyn froze. Though she was the manager on duty, she couldn't think of a single thing worth doing. Temple followed the same routine, a statue. It was Martine who unfroze to dial 911.
She described the situation to the dispatcher, not easy because of the hysterical screams in the background. Martine wanted to do some screaming herself at the mother, like, "Get a fucking hold of yourself, idiot!"
Somehow, she held back. Slamming down the phone worked out some of her misplaced aggression.
"Help her!" Martine pushed Marilyn, pointing at the distressed child.
Marilyn emerged from her coma to ask, "By doing what?"
Martine sighed. She and Marilyn were good friends (and there had been a drunken night when they had shared a bed), but sometimes the friendship seemed more like a burden. Marilyn possessed so much unused potential, but in her world, weed and abusive men deserved top tier. Therefore, Martine took charge for her, starting by removing her gray hoodie to pillow it underneath the child's head.
The convulsions had tapered down to tremors. Despite all that had happened, the girl's eyes strayed inexorably towards the ceiling, following something.
Martine's curiosity forced her to check the ceiling again. Between two tiles, she discerned an outline, like the tricky 3-D pictures, the ones that could only be viewed cross-eyed. The outline of the actual picture came into focus eventually, and that's what Martine saw. Throughout the various tiles, a shape shifted into focus.
