Chills, page 9
A more powerful shiver ran up his back, and his eyes widened as he peered into the darkness of the hallway.
If that hadn’t been Osmand, it might be someone from the music store or else someone had broken into the mall and had hidden somewhere until after closing time. Maybe those people looking in from outside the food court entrance had been a diversion, a distraction so some of their compatriots could break in through a different entrance door without being noticed.
Letting his hand drop to the walkie-talkie on his utility belt, Dylan started running up the hallway. His footsteps echoed like distant gunfire as he ran as fast as he could to the corner where the figure had disappeared. Even this short burst of activity winded him, and he bent over, bracing both hands on his knees while he panted heavily. Cocking his head from side to side, he peered in both directions down the long, dark hallway and saw…
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Just the long corridor with all the closed shops lining both sides.
“Com’on, old man… Get a grip here,” he whispered to himself, still panting hard. His breath burned in his lungs from the unaccustomed exertion, and tiny white dots of light drifted like snowflakes across his vision.
There’s no one here…no one there, he consoled himself, trying desperately to believe that the mall was deserted. He and Osmand had made their rounds and locked the doors. They’d checked everything—even above the ceiling tiles in the restrooms. And that couldn’t have been anyone outside. No one was going to be out at night with a storm like this.
Unless they’re thinking this is the perfect time to break into the mall…maybe hit the pharmacy for Oxys and other prescription drugs…
He was thinking it might behoove him to wander down toward the Rite-Aid pharmacy to make sure it was locked up securely, but he decided to check in with Osmand first. Maybe make him go down there, since it was at the most distant end of the mall. For all he knew, the person he’d just seen rounding the corner had been Osmand. He drew his walkie-talkie from his utility belt and snapped it on again. As soon as he pressed the CALL button, a loud blast of static tore from the speaker, making him jump. He quickly thumbed the volume down to a reasonable level and then raised it to his mouth.
“Osmand. You hear me?”
Even at the lowest volume setting, the static coming from the walkie-talkie was too loud for him to hear a response…if there was one.
“Osmand… You read me? Over.”
Still nothing.
They usually didn’t have trouble like this with the walkie-talkies. Maybe the battery was dying, or else maybe the storm was wreaking havoc with the transmissions. He decided to head back to the security office and check to see if Osmand was there. If he wasn’t, Dylan would wait there until he returned. Then, together, they could go and check out the entrance doors and pharmacy to make sure everything was secure.
Before he headed back, though, he cast one last glance at the distant entrance door. His blood froze when he saw the three faces there again. Dark, staring eyes, and faces as pale and white as the snow were staring in at him, their mouths gaping open in silent screams.
With a sudden rush of courage he didn’t know he had, or maybe it was anger at being taunted like this, Dylan let out a wild scream as he started running back toward the entrance door. He kept his gaze fixed on the three faces, wanting…daring them to disappear before he got there. His vision blurred except for the three faces that hovered like white balloons against the darkness outside.
What Dylan didn’t notice was the floor directly in front of him.
A wide, shiny patch of black ice suddenly appeared about ten feet in front of the entrance door. He was moving surprisingly fast for a man of his size, and when he hit the black patch of ice, his feet shot out from under him. He had a brief sensation of falling backward, but he didn’t have time to wonder how this patch of ice had appeared where, moments before, there had been nothing but a clean, dry floor.
He let out a shrill scream that sounded remarkably girlish as his arms pinwheeled for balance, but nothing was going to stop his forward momentum until he hit the glass door head first. Intense pain and a shower of splintering white light shot through him as his head and shoulder were propelled through the glass. But that was as far as he got. He fetched up on a jagged piece of glass on the bottom of the door and got stuck there.
Through waves of burning pain and confusion, he looked up. Snow and an icy-cold wind swirled over and around his face, instantly numbing him. He smelled something—the clean, sharp sting of ozone. His vision was a hazy blue blur, but through that blur, he saw three faces—two men and a woman—leaning over him. Their eyes were blank, and their mouths were hanging open as if they had been caught doing something wrong and didn’t know what to say.
For what seemed like a terribly long time, Dylan lay there looking up at the people leaning over him, waiting for them to say or do something to help him. He felt like a man lying on the chopping block, waiting for the executioner’s blade to fall.
And then it came.
A sudden gust of wind hammered against the glass on the top of the door hard enough to shake it loose. With a sudden, loud grating sound, the piece of broken glass broke off and slid down with the swiftness of a guillotine. The knife-edge shard sliced Dylan’s throat cleanly under the jaw, severing muscle, flesh, arteries, and—finally—his spine.
His head, the eyes now senseless and staring, rolled like a bowling ball a few feet away from the door, leaving a bloody smear on the snow until it finally came to rest in the deepening snowdrift.
~ 19 ~
Tyson and Kimberly had decided to leave a note for the security cops on the front desk and go back to the music store. Maybe by the time they got back to the store, Mrs. B. would be feeling better, and they wouldn’t need an ambulance after all. They were halfway down the corridor, heading back toward the food court when, from far off, they heard a shrill scream. It sounded like a woman in distress. A second or two later, this was followed by the sound of shattering glass, and then everything was eerily silent.
“What the hell was that?” Kimberly asked, looking wide-eyed at Tyson.
“No fuckin’ clue,” Tyson said, but he increased his pace until he was all but running down the office corridor. When he reached the end and was rounding the corner into the mall, he collided with someone. They hit so hard the man was knocked back and fell, sprawling, onto the floor. Tyson staggered back from the impact but kept his balance.
“Jesus!” Tyson shouted when he saw that the person was wearing a blue security officer’s uniform. “What the fuck?”
The young black man scrambled quickly to his feet, and then turned to face them.
“What da fuck you doing, man?” he said, his eyes wide with surprise.
“Sorry, brother,” Tyson said, extending his hand out so they could shake. The security guard looked at him skeptically as he took his hand and shook.
“You wid da music store?” the security guard asked.
Tyson nodded and then said, “Yeah. We have a medical emergency. The owner of the store had some kind of seizure, and we need to get an ambulance here.”
“Ambulance?” the security guard said, looking confused. “I have a problem of my own.”
The man’s accent was difficult to penetrate, and Tyson was confused for a moment. Then it dawned on him. This could have something to do with the scream and the sound of breaking glass they’d just heard.
“My partner call on da radio,” the security guard said, casting a quick glance over his shoulder down the mall corridor. “I tink he say someone break into mall. I need ta check him be okay first.”
Both Kimberly and Tyson were having a bit of a problem understanding him because of his accent, but Tyson nodded and said, “Could you come down to the Mystery Train store as soon as you can, then? The phone lines are down, and none of us can get a cell phone signal.”
The security guard looked at him quizzically as though he didn’t fully understand, but then he nodded and said, “You go back ’dere now ’n I’ll be along soon.”
Tyson nodded and then, glancing at Kimberly, started walking back toward the store. He wondered if the guard even knew what they had been talking about, but he decided to take him at his word. He’d give him five or ten minutes, fifteen tops, and then he was going to come back and find him, and make him take them to the office and show him how to work the radio.
~ 20 ~
Bessie was still in a half-sleep/half-awake state with Ashley, Meg, and Jared sitting around when the office door opened, and Tyson and Kimberly entered. They all had rather grim expressions on their faces.
“What took you so long?” Jared asked. “You talk to security?”
“No. We did a bit of shopping,” Tyson said sarcastically. “Of course we talked to them. They’ll be down as soon as they can.”
“Be right down?” Meg said. “What good’s that gonna do? We have to get an ambulance here, now.”
“What else can we do?” Jared asked with a shrug. “Look, Ashley and I can stay here with her until the security guy or an ambulance shows up. The rest of you should get back to work.”
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” Tyson asked, wide-eyed.
“No, I’m not kidding.” Jared’s frown deepened. “Whatever else happens, we have to get the damned inventory done.”
Tyson took a menacing step toward Jared. Meg noticed that his fists were clenched. She wasn’t impressed with how either one of them was responding to this emergency…if it was an emergency. Ashley seemed to think everything was fine, but still…Meg wanted them to stop their bickering, but she didn’t dare try to assert herself.
“What exactly makes you think you’re in charge?” Tyson said as he leaned forward, balancing on the balls of his feet. He looked like a bull, preparing to charge.
“I’m senior salesclerk, so that means I’m in charge as long as Mrs. B.’s not feeling up to it.”
With that, he looked at Bessie, lying on the couch. Without warning, the music, which had been playing softly on the speakers, suddenly rose in volume. The song was Blue Oyster Cult’s “Don’t Fear the Reaper.”
Tyson glared at the recessed speaker on the ceiling and said, “Well the first fucking thing I’m gonna do is taking that shit off!”
With that, he turned and stormed out of the office, slamming the door shut behind him.
“What up his ass?” Kimberly said, smiling good-naturedly as she looked at Jared. For the first time that night, something in Kimberly’s expression gave Meg the distinct impression that there was something more than simply being co-workers between her and Jared.
Are they seeing each other?
That simple thought made her feel a dull pang of jealousy and disappointment.
“He’s got control issues,” Jared said simply. Then he turned to Ashley and said, “If I go back to work, are you gonna be okay back here alone?”
Ashley nodded, indicating that she’d be fine, but Meg could see in her eyes that she was still more scared than she was letting on.
“I’ll stay with you if you want,” she offered.
Ashley considered, but only for a second before shaking her head.
“Naw…I’ll be fine,” she said. “And Jared’s right. We gotta get the rest of the inventory done so we can all get out of here.”
Something in her voice drew Meg up short. She could understand that Ashley was shaken up by what had happened to her mother, but there seemed to be something more behind what she said. As if she, too, had sensed…
What? Meg wondered.
Okay, so she thought she had seen some people outside in the snow, and when she tried to call for help on her cell, she heard some strange voices on the other end of the line, but that didn’t mean anything. It was…it had to be all in her imagination.
But it sure looked like Ashley was spooked, too, and not just about her mother. Meg wanted to say something to her about it, but she didn’t know where to start without coming across as acting dumb or weird.
Let it be, she told herself. Just get back to work.
And with nothing else to say, she left the office with Jared to go back out onto the floor and get to work.
~ 21 ~
Tyson was down on one knee in front of the CD player. He’d already turned the volume way down—to the loud protest of Phil at the back of the store. He ignored him as he ejected the disc tray, took all six discs out of the carousel, and tossed them carelessly onto the counter. Why even bother putting them back into their cases when, starting tomorrow, they were all going to be out of here and out of work? He jumped when Kimberly came up behind him and spoke.
“I’m all done here,” she said.
He turned and looked at her with wide eyes
“Kinda jumpy there, aren’t yah?” she said, smiling at his surprised reaction.
Tyson blinked and then shook his head.
“Then, uhh, maybe start counting posters up back. Phil and I’ll start over in Classical.”
Kimberly nodded her agreement, but she didn’t walk away. She stood there staring at him, trying to work up the courage to say what she’d been wanting to say ever since they got back to the store. Finally, she took a breath and said it.
“Shouldn’t that security guy have been here by now?”
Tyson narrowed his eyes as he looked past the gate to the darkened mall corridor.
“He said he had something else to deal with, first. He’ll get here when he gets here.”
Kimberly nodded, but she still wasn’t convinced.
Tyson took out a Dave Brubeck CD—Who could complain about Brubeck?—dropped it into the CD player, and pressed PLAY. He waited until the soft strains of “Take Five” came over the speakers before standing up and heading back to work. As he pushed past Kimberly, who still stood there looking nervous and worried, he muttered, “Get back to work, Kimmy. Mrs. B.’s gonna be just fine.”
Kimberly sneered and said, “Who died and made you Jared?”
Jared, who was working nearby with Meg, overheard the remark but acted as though he hadn’t. He waited until Tyson was striding toward the back of the store, then he dropped his clipboard on top of the CDs he was counting and, huffing his breath, turned to Meg.
“He can be a real prick sometimes,” he said.
“Who? Tyson? He means well, I’m sure.”
Jared frowned as he tracked Tyson walking to the back of the store.
“Well, I, for one, am sick and tired of him playing the race card.”
That comment caught Meg by surprise, and she looked at him, unable to mask her reaction.
“What do you mean, the race card?”
Jared leaned closer to her and, lowering his voice, said, “You know… Being so bossy and playing it off, like, if you’re critical of him, you’re being racist.”
“I don’t get that from him,” Meg said. She was perplexed by the comment and started edging away from Jared, wondering if the problem might be with him, not Tyson.
“He’s just doing what he thinks my aunt wants. I don’t think he means anything by it.”
Jared snorted and gave her a knowing look that made her feel as uncomfortable as she had a while ago, when she was convinced she had caught glimpses of someone outside the store, looking in at her. Once again, that creepy, cold slithery feeling shifted up the back of her neck, and she wished for the hundredth time that she had never offered to help Aunt Bessie with this inventory. It felt like the night was never going to end.
“I’m just…I’m still worried about how she’s doing,” she said, wanting to shift the subject away from Tyson.
“We’re almost done in this section. Why don’t you go out back and check on her,” Jared offered, coming across once again as the kind, sympathetic guy she had assumed he was…that is, until that “race card” comment. “You should take a break.”
Even as he said that, Meg realized how badly her eyes were burning from the strain of staring at price tags and marking the price down on the inventory lists. She didn’t consider even for a moment. Placing her clipboard down on the rows of CDs, she walked away without another word. She wasn’t sure if it was Jared or someone else doing inventory or the people she thought she had seen outside, but something was giving her such an intense feeling of being watched that she had to restrain herself from breaking into a run just to get off the sales floor.
When she was less than three steps away from the backroom door, her cell phone chirped in her pocket. The blood drained from her face, and her hands went ice cold as she reached into her pocket and took out the phone. The Caller ID display read: UNKNOWN CALLER.
Usually, she ignored such calls, but thinking it might have something to do with the ambulance, she flipped her phone open and put it to her ear.
“Hello?”
After a short silence, a voice sounding far away, almost lost in the distance, said, “Hello, Meg.”
It was faint and had a weird Doppler effect, like there was a bad connection, no doubt from the storm, but the voice sounded vaguely familiar. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t place it.
“Who’s this?” she asked. The icy rushes in her chest were getting stronger. The backs of her knees felt loose, like she’d suddenly lost muscle tone.
“You should know,” the voice said over the phone. There was a teasing note in it, but Meg wasn’t the slightest bit amused.
“Stop screwing around,” Meg said. “Tell me who you are.”
“Oh, I suspect you already know… But we’re coming by to pick you up soon.”
It was infuriating how teasing familiar the voice sounded, but Meg still had no idea who it was. First of all, why would anyone come out in the storm to pick her up? And second, she had never spoken to anyone, other than Aunt Bessie and her folks, about what she was doing tonight. Even her folks, down in St. Kitts, didn’t know what she was doing tonight.
“Take a look outside,” the voice said. Now, the chills racing up her back were as sharp as needles. “Keep an eye out for us, ’kay?”
