30’s jazz plays softly on the radio while Amelia sits perched on the tall bar stool behind the cash register. Other than Billie Holiday’s timeless music the store is quiet, and like any dedicated reader Amelia is entirely oblivious of her surroundings.
Until the cuckoo clock erupts in a cacophony of whistles and chirps. It’s nine p.m. time to close up. The mood is broken. Amelia smiles as she slips a bookmark in the book before closing it and laying it on the counter. With a feline stretch she glances around the store to see who she’ll have to hurry along so she can close up. But she doesn’t see anyone. Nobody’s here.
She starts the ancient register cashing out and it provides a rhythmic musical score as it spits out the tape. Amelia leaves it to do its thing as she slides off the stool and takes a quick walk around, checking the blind spots.
The place really is empty. Absolutely no one here; that’s a first. Funny, it’s a little disconcerting to realize she’s the only person in the store. The only one. She’s never been able to lock up without having to shoo out late browsers before. She goes to the front and slides the bolt into the floor.
Pulling the cash drawer from the register, she drops the register tape in the bottom, then locks the drawer up in the fire safe in back. Good. Walking the aisles she doesn’t notice anything gapingly amiss. Also good. What on earth was she thinking, reading something for enjoyment. That’s one of the seven deadly sins for an English major. You’re not supposed to have free time to read for enjoyment when you’re an English major.
Christ, it must have been over an hour ago when she started reading. There were half dozen students scattered through the store then. She didn’t notice any of them leave.
Please God don’t let them have swiped half the merchandise. Not on her watch. That would be bad. Very bad indeed; she needs this job. Yes, the money’s important but what other job lets you read on the job? She’ll have to be careful, this can’t happen again. Keep track of customers from here on in.
Nothing is wrong that she can see. Good. Sigh of relief. A bit of shelf straightening. Maybe she can hang onto this job at least ’til exams. She re-shelves a couple of misplaced books.
It’s a little bit eerie to be the only one here. She’s glad to be done. She tosses the paperback book in her backpack, and slips on her jacket. Yup. She needs this job. Student loan money doesn’t stretch to luxuries like winter coats. It’s not even winter yet, but she’s felt half frozen for weeks.
Letting herself out the back door into the service hall she locks the deadbolt with the key and starts walking down the hall toward the back entrance.
Amelia wonders why the store was so quiet tonight. Her heels echo on the tiles as she passes the huge trash compactor, happy the garbage here is just paper and dust. It positively reeks in the cafeteria’s back hall.
Suddenly, it hits her. The store was quiet because of the attack. Shit. She hasn’t seen a lone woman walking anywhere all day. Well. Except herself. Shit. Shit. Shit.
The exit door opens out into the faculty parking lot. The empty faculty lot. She opens the door and stops. Oh. Of course, all the faculty are long gone. Leaving an empty lot. And trees. Shadows. Amelia stares at the shadows. She does not want to step out there. Uh uh.
If this was a movie she’d be yelling ‘Go back you idiot!’ But it isn’t a damn movie. No music warns her Jason hides through that doorway. If it was a movie the music could tell her if it was safe. Scary music, go back. Happy music, take the usual route.
Stay on the Road. Keep clear of the moors. Moors. Wait a minute. This is Ontario, there are no moors.
Oh, right. American Werewolf in London. She smiles to herself. Too many horror movies when she was a kid, Mom said. Was Mom right? Mom told her to listen to her instincts, too. Heart hammering, clammy hands, instinct says don’t go out there. Or is that imagination? Who can tell?
Amelia withdraws her hand and allows the door to swing closed. Leaning her head on the cool door, feeling stupid. What to do? Is this a panic attack or is it just being smart?
The place is deserted. The only way to know if there’s a rapist out there is to go out there. Uh uh, no how, no way. She could live not knowing. But that means spending the night here.
Here? It isn’t as though there are any soft surfaces to sleep on. It’s a book store. There is just no way she would be able to even fall asleep. In a bloody deserted building. If some psycho rapist wanted to get in it wouldn’t be too hard. And it’s not like there would be witnesses like in the Res. There may even be rats. Like Ben. Stop it now.
Get real. She can just imagine the scene if she stays. When the boss opens up in the morning and finds her flaked out in a corner it will surely be the end of the job. Not a good plan.
She has to decide. This is silly. She is a grown woman. She’s got her cell phone. If there’s anything out there she can always call for help, right? She can do this. Damn it.
Deep breath, push the door open. Step out. Walk confident. Don’t look like a victim. Cross the parking lot. There’s no one. Actually not so bad. No cars means no hiding places for bad guys. Bonus. Sometimes this imagination shit is more trouble than it’s worth. She can always see twenty different outcomes for any scenario. Especially bad ones. Well, since she has at least as many demons as Stephen King. of course she’ll be a best selling novelist.
That is, if she lives through the walk home tonight.
Okay, thinking about being scared is certainly not helping. Change tacks. Use the brain. Rational thought is good.
Try not to notice you’re walking along the wood chip path.
Or that the lights are almost useless because the heavy foliage hasn’t fallen from trees that have grown as tall or taller than the light standards. What does Christie have all those lawnmower guys for? Who cares how long the grass is, they need to get their asses out here pruning the frigging trees so that the light could get through. It doesn’t feel safe in the dark.
Come on, no being a victim. Be rational. Think about the situation. Reality is much easier to take than any nightmare. Look it in the eye damn it. Who attacked Natasha?
People are saying that it had to be Boris. Up until the attack nobody had a word to say against Bo. But you can’t tell from looking if someone has psychological scars or deviant tendencies. Could be Bo is a monster. She doesn’t think so, but she doesn’t know. You can’t prove a negative. Bo sure seems like a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of guy. Why would Boris attack Natasha?
Amelia can’t see it. Natasha popped him good, and he took it. That had to hurt. If Bo was gonna hit back he would have done it then and there, in hot blood. Boris wouldn’t have stalked her.
Amelia can’t imagine Bo raping Natasha, either, but who really knows anybody else? It could as easily be any other guy in the Res. Now that’s a creepy thought. Maybe a co-ed Res isn’t such a cool idea after all. Surely nobody she knows could … The cops have to catch the guy, that’s all there is to it.
It’s more likely that Natasha was attacked by a serial rapist. A stranger. A predator. The kind of bastard who would lay in wait for unsuspecting victims, in the bushes, under cover of darkness. Like now.
Except the rapist would have no earthly reason to be out right now. There’s nobody out here. All the students are in the library or the pub or the dorm. They sure aren’t hanging around deserted parking lots and paths at night. Natasha was attacked in broad daylight. That’s when a college rapist will be out on the hunt. A serial predator would pick a time and a place where there would be prey available.
That’s it. She’s gotta dump the psych minor. She knows too damn much about this motivation stuff. What an insane minor for someone with an imagination like hers. Stick to writing sci fi and forget about noir. She’s got to change minors.
Maybe she could take shop class.
Do they have shop class in university? Maybe not but just, something else, anything that doesn’t fill her head with information about sociopaths and serial rapists.
Jesus what is she doing out here alone?
Seriously, if the rapist was going to go hunting here, logically, the best selection on campus would be during the day when there is a pool of victims, lots of choices. There’s a reason that’s when Natasha was attacked.
No predator is gonna sit out here freezing his nuts off in the dead of night ob the off chance some girl is gonna wander by. Stop being silly.
Amelia is just starting to breathe easily when it occurs to her: unless it is an organized predator.
One who selects his victims in advance. Does research. A predator like that might know there was one stupid and totally oblivious bimbo that closes the campus book store late at night. By herself. A girl with no social life and so never the slightest variation of routine.
Somehow nine p.m. didn’t seem late before there was a rapist running around loose. Her pattern has been to lock up and walk the exact same route home, every night.
Walk with confidence. Yeah. Right.
