Invasions and Accusations

Craggy the cashier yawned.  Nearly midnight. It was his own fault, really.  Thought he could still take working overtime as a business owner despite in his fading age, and gather some more money by staying open twenty-four hours a day.  Yet all he had done was attract oddballs (or how he referred to them to his wife) to walk into his store.

 Craggy watched as a rather gracious young lady trying to enter paused and held open the door for a rude and suspicious character.  She’d acted out of pure courtesy, but her smile weltered like a dead flower as the man stormed inside.  This odd individual had a gaunt-like face, torn jeans, a graying coat, and filthy, worn-out shoes that, from the looks of them, almost deserved pity.  Craggy peered at the man, slightly curious to say the least, and, now knowing who had entered his shop, resumed his work.  He cleaned the counter while watching the security cameras on the television screen he had perched to the right on his check-out desk.  The usual motley lot, thought Craggy dully.  He discreetly watched the screen showing the cranky man grabbing four six pack beer holders from the drink aisle and making his way to the check-out desk.  Craggy, realizing this tore his gaze away from the television screen to find the man staring at him. 

“So you’re Craggy?”  The customer was picking his nose and pointing at the name tag staked into the table.

“What’s that? Oh, erm, yes, that’s what my friends call me…” muttered a flustered Craggy.

“Funny things, aren’t they,” the man jabbed a finger toward the screen, “Those TVs see everything.”

“Quite… well… going to a party, I see?”

“Not really. More a pick-me-up is how I consider it, but either way I get it free.”  Before Craggy could have interpreted the words, the man had drawn a Glock pistol, flicked off the safety, and fired. The three-round burst hit Craggy squarely in the chest, brutalizing him.  As he smashed into the wall, flying backwards, blood spewing and dribbling out of his chest, death was imminent.

Zoie, Corner Store, 11th Avenue West, Main Street

erk, thought Zoie angrily.  Any stupid fool knows that you at least thank an extremely hot girl for holding a door open for him!  In fact, I don’t know why I even bothered to hold it for him!  Should’ve slammed it in his face; that would’ve done him justice.  Honestly, any truly masculine male should always hold the door open for a female, so she can safely enter AND exit the building! 

Still fuming, Zoie stalked into the store, slamming the door behind her.  Neither the cashier nor the rude man seemed to have noticed.

“…Going to a party I see?”  Someone asked, presumably the cashier.

“Not really. More a pick-me-up is how I consider it, but either way I get it free.”

There was an abbreviated silence as Zoie (and most likely the cashier) attempted to comprehend the statement.  Within a minute while she was by the freezer, a weird, metallic noise came from the front of the store.  Light flashed as a noise reverberated throughout the room, causing Zoie to crouch and cover her ears.  A body crashed to the ground, and a pair of shoes turned.  He was coming for her.  He was coming to kill her.  He was going to kill her! 

Zoie began to sweat, and felt the end of the line coming, and it would come, just around that corner and she’d be all his.  If only he wouldn’t, if only he’d give her a second chance; she’d never talk to the police about it; if only he’d let her go…

 The shoes moved closer to her location, one after the other.  She was crying now, praying to God that he wouldn’t hear her, praying that he’d just leave, praying that he wouldn’t turn around that aisle—

The person came around the corner, and Zoie screamed as blazing light filled her space, followed by blackness, and Zoie slumped to the ground, not knowing that no one would hear her scream.

Hospital, Dr. Zeilke’s Clinic, Third Story up, 8:36 A.M

“Is she awake?”  whispered someone.

“Terrible, fatal incident…” muttered another, male voice.

“I just hope… that Zoie…will…will pull through,” the first person burst into tears and was sobbing quite noisily.

“Please, do not worry, Mrs. Profit.  Your daughter’s vital signs are steadily improving.”  This third voice was reassuring and probably a doctor’s.

“Yes, I suppose so… thank you ever so much Doctor Zeilke… you mean the world to me for taking so much time out of your busy schedule…”

“Not to worry; you know I help my patients with the best of care,” he said with a light laugh.

“Ah, well, I think it’s best if I get some fresh air… and it’s such a nice day… Zoie and I used to take walks all the time in the park when she was young… used to love to chase butterflies…”  Mrs. Profit gave out a loud wail.

“Really,” the second voice spoke, “my wife…try not being hysterical for once.  She is not dead yet.  We will be long gone by the time she is in her adulthood.”

“Arthur, and I thought you might be at least the slightest bit sympathetic for Zoie”—

“I served in Vietnam!  Don’t forget – I’ve seen plenty of shot-up people!  Was anybody sympathetic for me when I returned?  I don’t think so!  Whenever I think about the culprit it makes me want to rip off his little tes”—

“Arthur!  She’s a girl; she can hear us”—

“She’s a teenager, for Pete’s sake, Molly; she’s heard worse.  And what were you thinking, letting her wander about at midnight”—

“Enough!”  the doctor’s face had turned to a shady tomato color.  “Perhaps a walk—all three of us—would calm us all down?”

There was a pause in which both parents looked furiously at each other.

“Very well, doctor.  I suppose you know best.  Lead on.”

“In the minute.  First—Miss Zane! Would you ever so please tend to Zoie in my absence? I have the most endearing little habit about knowing what exactly is going on in my clinic all the time.”

“Yes sir, absolutely, sir,” replied Zane, walking into the room.

“Presently, I suppose we should be off in a jiffy to avoid those nuisances that call themselves reporters.  Let’s take the stairs, not the elevator if you don’t mind.”

“Fair enough doctor; let’s leave Zoie to stir in peace.  After you, Molly.”

Molly glared angrily at Arthur for a moment, then proceeded to follow Dr. Zeilke, who was exiting the room.