Into the Unknown

Nancy - October 11, 2019

In front of me, the computer screen has the payment information for my mom's café opened up. According to the balance for the café, we're at a deficit of over a thousand dollars. How that happened, I'm clueless. My forehead is sweaty, the blood pumping through my heart and the beats of my heart more noticeable. Even my eyes start pulsing as things move slightly as my heart rushes.

I pull up the balance sheet again and throw the numbers I have for September's payment onto an Excel spreadsheet. Still, according to the number at the bottom, I'm short way more than I should be.

This is just great.

Since the investigation of Shelby has gotten more people in town involved, things haven't been going so smoothly with the business. With any business, for that matter. Everyone stays at home, hidden away from everyone else. After Matthew came in one day and scared me half to death, I've been convinced that the murderer could be after me next. After all, Shelby and I were close in age and we had relatively similar traits. My body shudders violently for a second.

No, I can't think of that. Pull it together, Nancy.

Nobody else is in the café – it's empty except for myself. Everything looks still and undisrupted, dusty even. But I had just dusted thoroughly throughout the café half an hour ago. Wherever all the irritating minute particles come from, I don't want to find out. The chairs are all neatly tucked in under the tables, bar stools are aligned along the bar, and menus are stacked by category for breakfast, lunch and dinner behind the counter where I'm calculating these unexpected expenses.

"I need a shot," I say in the echo of emptiness but no shot of any alcohol appears miraculously. My heartbeat is loud in my brain, the only noise that I'm able to listen to even though I don't want to hear it. The dread of thinking that the café might be closing soon is a nightmare I never thought would happen, at least during my time of inheriting and managing the business. My mother will be devastated when I have to inform her. Where else would people go to socialize and visit? The park? But there's no coffeecakes and espressos and sandwich bites in a park. Also, that's where Shelby was found. That place feels haunted every time I drive by. Only a creep would want to go there.

To keep the café going without any disruption or extra attention, I have to find a way to get money. Maybe making more desserts? Upping my prices? Requiring a tip? No, that wouldn't work. It would just cause people to have a tantrum of commotion and I want anything but that to happen.

I pull through the drawers on my side of the bar counter, searching for any loose change that could contribute. Instead, there's a stack of papers in the bottom drawer, while all the previous ones were empty except for pens and order sheets. I lift the paper out of the drawer. A black, shiny object has been hidden under the stack – my 9mm Glock that I forgot about until this moment. There's a box of extra ammo tucked away at the very back of the drawer, out of any other person's sight except mine, because I'm the one who put the container there. I pull out the box and the bullets make a clinking sound as they touch one another. Placing the Glock on the counter, out of view from the windows, I fill the Glock's magazine with bullets.

Once it's ready, I turn on the safety so I don't hurt myself. I stuff the gun against my back, tucked hidden under my shirt, away from exposure. I slip a jacket on over myself and walk out the front door of the café, locking it shut behind me as I exit. I know Where I have to go.

. . . . . .

Outside the building, I stand there hesitantly for quite some time. None of the officers should be in today – from what I heard yesterday from a couple policemen who dropped by at Esme's to get doughnuts, they said something about a "poliday" or a police-holiday. It's a Princelan tradition, I guess. It just so happens that it is today. Perfect. And I know the two people that would be dedicated to protecting Princelan even on a holiday. At least one of them should in the building. Just from observation, their car is parked out front in their designated spot. Again, perfect.

I sneak inside, quietly opening a gap in the door just big enough to slip my thin body through. Holding my breath, I lightly pat my back, making sure the Glock is still there. It is.

From far away, somewhere in the station, I hear the faint clicking of someone typing on a keyboard. As I tip-toe my way closer to the noise, my heart begins racing. The Glock is a last resort; I won't use it unless I definitely have to.

"Oh hey Nancy!" I hear from their desk, still feet away.

Nervously, I say 'hey' back. How the hell did they know I was here?

The person comes walking from around the corner, spooking me. I jump and my first is reaction is to whip out the Glock (bad mistake).

"Whoa, whoa there Nancy . . ." Liam says with his hands out in front of him. "You don't need to do this."

Yes, I do. It's the only way for this to happen. I've messed up once; I'm not doing it again.

"Nancy, put the gun down," he commands me.

My hands are shaking with the Glock still clutched in my hands, aimed at Liam, and ready to be fired. "Let me have the money."

"What money?"

He walks a little closer; I step back in response, shouting, "Stop moving. Or the bullet's going through your heart." Gesturing with the gun, I tell him to get on the floor. Obediently, he does so. He most likely knows his life is at risk. "You know the money I want. You and Liz's money – for your wedding. I know how much you guys have saved up over the years. It isn't that hard to figure out, since you two have never once stressed about expenses."

"Nance, there are other ways we can fix this. Just put the gun down, and I can help you," he says to me calmly, staring at me with this eyes of his. Dang, those eyes.

Thoughts flicker through my brain. Should I obey? But what will happen with me? With the café? Will it close down . . .? Will I ever get the money I need?

Before I'm able to answer my own questions, I speak in my best military-woman voice, telling Liam to go sit down at his desk. Making sure he doesn't have any weaponry hiding in his office, I sift through all his drawers and cupboards before I force him to sit in his office chair, just in case he thinks about making a move on me when I'm not looking.

In the bottom drawer of his desk (why is it always the bottom drawer?) I find a roll of duct tape and pull him over to his chair, where I place him. I wrap his hands to the armrests of the chair, and I also wrap his torso to the back of the chair so that he has nowhere to go and no way to let himself free. Digging through his pockets, I find his cell phone, place it on his desk out of arms reach, even though his arms are completely useless now, and try to think of a way for his chair to stay in place without him being able to roll it around . . . He needs to stay far away enough from everything surrounding him, but Liam also has to stay stable where he can't maneuver.

One of the Interrogation Rooms. Perfecto.

While I wheel his chair, with Liam strapped in, I say, "Please keep all hands and arms attached to the vehicle at all times. No flash photography is permitted and any attempts of escape will end with a bullet being the last thing you see."

Once in front of Interrogation Room 2, I roll him inside (He's heavier than he looks. It's that lean muscle, I swear) and place him in the corner while I clear out the room of anything that he could escape with. Essentially, I clear the room of everything except him and his new best friend, Mr. Desk Chair.

I wheel him into the center of the room without anything to do, and no way of communication, and lock him inside.

"Thank you Officer Robinson. You've been a huge help," I say, swinging his keychain in my hand as I close the locked door, leaving him inside.

Liam yells a couple times, but he knows it's useless. Nobody is here; nobody can hear his cries except me. How pathetic.

As if nothing ever happened, I clutch my Glock and put it back in its spot, tucked beneath my shirt, and go outside Princelan Station. Few people are walking around outside and if Liam's yelling anymore, I can't hear him, which means most other people probably can't either.

Even though I wasn't able to get my money, I still have other ways of claiming what I need.

"I feel like going for a nice drive," I tell myself as I walk towards Esme's. "I definitely deserve it."

In my car, I pull out onto the highway and start driving south towards London, where I will be able to hide away within a few hours.