Clio's grandma had always told her to trust her instincts. So many times in her life she hadn't listened to that advice, like the time she got in a car with Miranda Kelly on a Thursday night after line dancing and drinking too much. They got lucky, just hydroplaning and ending up in the ditch, but it could have been much worse. And dating Amos was probably the biggest intuition-ignorant moment in her life. She thought she loved him, sure, but there were plenty of times she saw a flicker of someone that scared her. She told herself it was just his drive to succeed, the stress, whatever...but really, her instincts were warning her. Like a mother feels when she realizes her child isn't within sight, or that instant you bump something breakable and know it's going to fall...
She felt the hair stand up on her neck and her stomach flip and her muscles tighten because her gut was telling her that someone was here. She was supposed to be alone in the bookstore - she told her boss it was no big deal - but this was more than just her imagination giving her the creeps. This was an honest to goodness what-the-hell-is-that moment.
She knew without turning around that it was one of them. Rooted in place, she slowly reached for her front pocket and her phone. Shit. She'd left the stupid thing charging on the cash wrap, across the room, out of reach. She gingerly relaxed her arm and made herself continue doing her work, hoping it looked like she hadn't noticed them, but then she fumbled a couple of books and froze again. She was considering running the several steps to her left and out the door, but she wasn't sure how far away the stranger was. She couldn't make her legs move anyway. Her heart was beating so hard she could hear the blood rushing in her ears. No way could she bolt for the door and make it in time.
Clio knew the convenience store was just three blocks up the street. If she sprinted in that direction there would be lights, someone to help, a phone. If she could just get outside.
Despite her rigid panic, she kept moving. She started picking up books, trying to look like she was sorting or organizing, and as she did she would shuffle half a step to the left. Switch two or three books, then make a new stack a little further to the left. Pick up two more books, start a new stack even further to the left. Slowly, agonizingly, she was working her way closer to the front door. If someone was really behind her, watching her, waiting for their moment...maybe they wouldn't realize she was making a break for it until she was already out the door.
The clock quietly snicked away the seconds over the door. The only other sound was the thump of books as she made a new stack, then another.
Her lips were clamped over a scream that desperately wanted out. Her eyes were blurring with tears. Stay calm, keep scooting. She knew she was breathing rapidly through her nose but couldn't stop. Just a couple more stacks. The white-hot burn of panic in her chest spread, but she forced herself to move slowly, in inches. One more stack.
Her muscles ached with tension and her hands were shaking badly, but she was finally far enough to the left that she needed to make a break for it or she was going to have to start stacking books in front of the door. She pretended to study the spine of the book in her hand, then moved to place it on top of her last stack, laying her hand on the door lock when she bent over to put the book down.
As her muscles coiled for flight, time slowed to a crawl. She could see dust motes floating over the stack of books, one book with dog-eared and yellowing pages...saw a tiny nail sticking out of the wood trim around the door...and heard a word whispered, light as air. No, heard was wrong. She didn't hear it with her ears; it had drifted like smoke through her head. Alatisdi.
She knows that word. It's a Cherokee word. It means Run.
Her bladder let go. She yanked on the bolt lock with one hand and jerked the door handle with the other. Screamed when she heard a breathy chuckle just a few feet behind her. For a millisecond the lock wouldn't give and she sobbed, but a vicious yank on the door and she was stumbling down the front steps before turning and sprinting with all of her might toward the other end of the block. Her eyes were streaming. Her muscles burned. She didn't look back.
