Breakout

Ei'gnazh whipped around and with lightning speed slashed with his sword, handily whacking off the head of the gargantuan Ogre looming over him. As the Ogre's massive bulk hit the ground, three Wolves appeared over the crest of the hill. Now four, five, half a dozen! Slavering and snarling, they plunged toward him like grotesquely overgrown chihuahuas, their evil red eyes bulging. Ei'gnazh raised his arms and expertly performed an annihilation spell, dispatching the lot.

He enjoyed no respite however, because no sooner were the Wolves vaporized than a swarm of Bile Ghouls advanced from the opposite side. Sword raised, Ei'gnazh spun to face them. A loud knocking sound distracted him momentarily. He tried to ignore it as he feverishly fought on, but a shrill voice pierced his skull.

"Frank! You're going to be late for work!"

Frank Yates glanced nervously over his shoulder at the bedroom door as if a throng of Zombies were about to erupt through it. He called, "OK, Mom, I'm getting ready now."

"Did you eat, dear?"

Frank's eyes slid over to the plate of half-eaten eggplant casserole on the floor. He kicked it under the bed just as the door opened and his mother's face appeared.

"Yeah, Mom, I had some leftovers, thanks."

His mother smiled at him fondly and withdrew her head. He pulled on a blue striped shirt with an embroidered patch on the front that said Frank Y. and stealthily crept across the stained green carpet in the hall, hoping to ease out the front door undetected. The doorknob was nearly within his grasp when his father ambushed him, his thickset body obstructing the doorway.

"So have you decided about that opening at the docks I told you about? Good steady job, good pay, but I guess a pansy like you'd rather play fairy games on the computer than make a decent living."

Scrutinizing the floor, Frank grunted and turned his slight frame sideways to squeeze past his father's muscular bulk. He heard his mother's whine revving up.

"Now, Jack, why can't you just leave the boy alone?"

Safely gaining the driveway, Frank got into his car and drove off to work the six-to-eleven shift at the mini-mart.

***

Charmaine Talbot got off work late on Friday, cursing her boss for insisting that she finish updating the accounts before she left. She pulled out a mirror and applied lipstick, taking in her reflection with approval. Tonight she had a date with Blake, that hot law intern she'd met at Starbucks, and she had to get home and change before he came to pick her up at seven.

As she walked to the elevator going down to the parking garage, two execs in designer suits eyed her appreciatively. She flashed an enticing smile, which produced the expected reaction. Men were so predictable. Old, probably forty and married, but not bad-looking and clearly had money and status. Definitely worth pursuing. She'd look them up next week.

In the elevator, Charmaine laughed to herself. No question, she had her life fully under control. A few favors granted to certain individuals in influential positions had landed her in a very advantageous spot in this law firm. Now that she had her foot, and the rest of her body, in the door, it was just a matter of time before she hooked Mr. Right, and there was no shortage of potential Mr. Rights around here.

Charmaine got into her car and headed for the freeway. Merging into the left lane, she reached over to put in a CD and noticed that the needle of the gas gauge was pointing to E. The orange warning light was on, which meant she wouldn't make it home without getting gas. She swore under her breath.

At the next off-ramp she exited and pulled into an Arco station. When she opened her purse to get out her ATM card, her mouth dropped open-- her wallet wasn't there! She must have left it on the kitchen table this morning. Well, she had a work-around for that.

Charmaine squinted through the window between the Bud Light posters and checked out who was behind the counter. Skinny, pimples, greasy hair: pathetic. This was going to be easy.

***

Frank looked at the clock. Only twenty-three minutes into his shift and he was already wishing it was time to go home.

The door opened and some kind of goddess walked in, wearing a very short skirt and very high heels. Her silky blonde hair flowed over her shoulders like liquid gold. He could feel her sapphire eyes slithering over his body. A sense of dread seized him. His hands grew clammy and his heart pounded. Oh, God, he thought. It was hard enough trying to deal with normal people, but this one looked like she walked out of a centerfold.

She sauntered across the store and leaned over the counter toward him. His throat tightened up and he was afraid he might black out.

"Hey," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. With a tremendous effort, Frank tore his eyes away from the front of her skin-tight sweater. Swallowing audibly, he fixed his gaze on the tray of Bic lighters next to the cash register.

"I have a little problem," she said in a low, conspiratorial tone. "I left my wallet at home, and I am completely out of gas. Do you think you could just, you know, let me pump a couple gallons? I promise I'll run right home and get my wallet. You can trust me."

He frowned and mumbled, "Sorry, miss, I can't give away gas for free."

"Oh, come on. Please? Can't you just help out a poor girl who's in a tight spot?" He could just see her dazzling smile in his peripheral vision.

He shook his head and crossed his arms, refusing to lift his eyes. "No exceptions. I'd lose my job."

The goddess raised her hand and moved it toward him. Her long lacquered nail traced the letters of his name on the front of his shirt. Frank felt a jolt pass through him, as if he had stuck a fork in an electrical outlet.

"Frank," she crooned, leaning closer. "If you let me have a gallon of gas, just one, I promise I'll make it worthwhile for you. What time do you get off work?"

He could smell her perfume, rising like heat waves off her body: a heady, musky scent that made him dizzy. He took a step backward and redirected his focus to a point six inches over her head.

"Um, I think you better leave now, or I'll have to call my supervisor."

She jerked upright, her body rigid and her fists clenched.

"You ugly freak," she hissed through gritted teeth. "You'll regret this."

To Frank's intense relief, she swaggered out the door. He wiped his hands on his pants and his breathing returned to normal. An old lady with a mustache came in asking for the bathroom key and he found himself being unusually friendly.

***

Monday at work, Charmaine was still in a vile mood. She had arrived home later than she'd intended Friday evening, after persuading a fat guy in a yellow Hummer to buy her a tank of gas. He seemed more than happy to oblige, and eagerly gave her his name and address so she could send him the money. He wrote it on the back of the receipt, which somehow slipped out the window as she was driving out of the parking lot.

Then the date with Blake had not gone well. Not only did he decline her invitation to come up for a drink, he didn't even kiss her goodnight, just dropped her off at the curb in front of her apartment with a casual, "See you around."

Now Charmaine couldn't seem to get the scenario at the mini-mart out of her mind. She was still seething about that slimy, acne-pocked cashier, replaying their disastrous conversation over and over in her head. She could hear his obnoxious nasal voice saying, "I'll have to call my supervisor." How dare he? She proceeded to obsess about what she should have said, what she could say, what she could do.

That evening on the way home she seemed irresistibly drawn to the Arco station. Turning in, she cruised through the parking lot and peered into the store. There he was, the nauseating little jerk. She wanted to get him. She wanted to make him hurt. How? Maybe damage his car? That would at least provide a modicum of satisfaction.

She scoped out the situation. The gas station was on a frontage road, and the parking lot was deserted except for two cars in the back behind the store, doubtless belonging to the employees: a blue Toyota Corolla and a brown Ford Escort with a white passenger side door and no hub caps, parked next to the dumpster. She pulled into a space next to the Toyota. The car was not new, but spotless and obviously well-maintained. There was a picture of two little kids hanging from the rearview mirror.

Charmaine looked over at the Ford. If that's not his, it should be, she thought. She got out and rummaged around in the trunk of her car until she found the tool kit, never used, that her father had given her for Christmas one year. She pulled out a heavy crescent wrench.

***

Time was dragging. No customers for thirty-seven minutes. Arthur, the supervisor, came out of the office.

"Hey, Frank, how about sweeping the lot, buddy?"

Why not? It was better than staring at the clock. Frank took the broom and dust-pan-on-a-stick, and went out to hunt for trash. As he walked around to the back of the parking lot he thought he saw movement near his car. He slowed and approached cautiously. Yes, someone was there, bending down, seemingly doing something to the headlights. Frank came around the side of the car.

What the--? It was that psycho witch-goddess from the other night!

"Hey," he began.

She stood up and looked at him, her perfect features warped into something stunningly ugly. She was holding a wrench in one hand.

"Hey, what are you doing to my car?" Frank yelped.

The hate in her eyes was ferocious, inhuman. She took a step forward, brandishing the wrench.

Dropping the broom, Frank threw his arms up and instinctively performed an annihilation spell. There was a flash of blue light, and the acrid smell of singed hair wafted through the parking lot. The wrench she had been holding fell to the ground with a dull thud.

Frank looked around. There was no traffic and the parking lot was deserted. He picked up the wrench and chucked it into the dumpster.

***

When he got home, his father was sitting in the living room watching Letterman. Frank came in and sat down next to him on the couch.

"So, Dad," he said. "You know that job at the docks?"