Spooked

After the third pound of his clenched fist I am sure of it.

It is closing time at the Speedy Mart and she is alone behind the counter. She always works the late shift. The glass doors are already, deadbolted. But there is no other choice... afterall, a sale is a sale.

The man is nearly wilted by the falling rain. He stands soaked to the bone, clothes dripping water onto his tattered sneakers. Like a wet rat, he stands there beyond the glass, his black eyes widening as he stares back at her.

She fiddles with the deadbolt.

"I need a pack of cigarettes."

Hot breath fogged the glass pane.

"No problem. Come on in."

The deadbolt clicks and the doors swings open. He follows her to the counter. His eyes sway with the motion of her hips as she glides across the tiled floor.

He lungesor her as she stepsbehind the counter. With his left hand he gripps her upper arm, with the other he presses the barrel of a 9mm into the small of her back.

"Don't scream! Just do what I say and this will all be over soon."

His breath is foul. He reeks of stale cigarettes, coffee and cheap thrift store cologne.

I can see it all unfolding.

A flash of white light blinds my vision. I now see through someone else's eyes.

They are his.

I knew I recognized his voice.

Not too long ago he stood staring across that same counter, staring at me.

It was night shift at the Speedy Mart gas station and I was alone, just like her. I vividly remember him asking for a pack of Marlboro Reds in a box. He paid with change. His fingernails were filthy and in need of a serious trimming.

I don't like seeing through his eyes or the way he glances at her nipples poking through the thin tank top that clings to the layer of perspiration on her A-cup breasts. The air conditioner has been broken for at least three days. Mistakenly, she wore white.

He presses the 9mm hard into the soft skin just above her tailbone. It slides sideways just a few millimeters along the trail of perspiration that runs down her spine.

"Just give me the money. All of it!"

Her fingertips find their way to the underside of the cash drawer, triggering the silent alarm as she slides it open.

I stand there, watching the young girl behind the counter as she fumbles with the money and subsequently drops it onto the floor.

She bends over to pick up the spilled money.

And that's when he sees me, the ghastly image of the girl he shot over a year ago in this same speedy mart.

His gun explodes a second time, splattering her insides all over the counter.

That poor girl.

I think I might have spooked him.