Silver Moon (20 page)

“I’ll go grab the boxes,” I say.

Jana nods. “Yeah, sure.”

The back of the shop is where we store new arrivals. It’s a tight area, but everything’s in a specific place.
Livia
has designated shelving for certain clothes—shoes, shirts, bottoms, new shipments. All I have to do is find the boxes and open them.

Something catches the corner of my eyes, something dark and…shadowy.

He’s here.

The hairs on my neck tickle my skin. I wonder how he got in, but then I realize none of this makes sense. He’s a dream, unreal. Period.

As soon as I turn toward him, he darts out the exit door. My stupid self decides to follow. Who is he? Why does he keep stalking me?

“Hey, wait!” I call behind him. He’s not far ahead, but he moves fluidly, like he doesn’t have feet.

I hobble past dumpsters, and their disgusting odors cinch my nostrils. As he floats through the alleyway, I remember him chasing me in my dreams. Now it’s the other way around.

A man steps out of a back door, taking out the garbage. He stares at me as I race past him, and then calls behind me, telling me to slow down. He doesn’t see what I see. He doesn’t have dreams that haunt him in real life.

The shadowy figure halts, and turns around to observe me. He raises a hand, points a wispy finger at me, and says, “You didn’t listen,” and just…vanishes.

Chapter Twenty-Three

J
ana asks what took so long when I reach
Livia’s
. I have to go through the front door, because the back door is locked.

“I needed some fresh air,” I tell her, which isn’t a complete lie. After seeing my stalker again, confirming my nightmares are real, I’d inhaled crisp autumn air more than once.

“You know there’s a rock sitting just inside the door for a reason, right?” She almost laughs.

“No, I did
not
know that, but I do now,” I say, heading into the back area of
Livia’s
.

Our cash register is as old as the Grand Canyon. Jana checks out another customer up front. I can hear the opening and closing of the drawer in the employee’s area; it emits an annoying
ding
every time the tray is released.

Beads of sweat roll down the back of my head and onto my neck. I scratch, and liquid clings to my fingertips.

“Gross,” I mumble, and walk to the back door. Jana is right—there’s a rock that probably weighs no more than three pounds sitting next to the back exit. I pick it up and jam it between the door and the doorframe to let cool air in.

I’m busy pulling down the boxes from the shelves, newly packaged and unopened, when I realize I hear the
ding
, but don’t hear the drawer close. It’s like the air presses down on my chest. Something’s wrong, and whatever it is, it’s through that door.

Creeping over to the entrance of the employee’s area, I stick my head around the corner. There, standing at the front counter, are Cameron and Ethan. Cameron’s seething about something.

“You know
exactly
where she’s at,” he hisses.
 

Jana shakes her head, and I hear her say, “She’s not working today.”

Oh, God. He’s after me.
I bet this is related to his mom. Is that why Ben left my house early and wasn’t at school? What have they done to him?

I stretch my eardrums to listen as intently as possible.

“You’re lying, my dear,” Cameron states. “Now, tell me where she’s at.” He pounds his fist against the countertop. Jana jumps.

“I-I told you. I don’t know. Maybe she’s at home,” she stammers, her voice is teetering between different octaves.

“Lies! We’ve already been there and sniffed the place out. The only other place she’d be is here,” he presses.

Jana stiffens against the wall, like she gains some courage, and says, “Well, she’s not, so you need to leave.”

“
Dammit
! Since
you
won’t help me, I’ll do it myself,” he rages, stalking toward the employee’s area.

Oh, shit,
I think. I take off as quickly as my injured leg allows me to, hiding behind some boxes stacked up on the floor. Then I realize my leg doesn’t hurt as bad. I frown for a second, until I hear heavy footsteps.

“She’s in here,” says Cameron.

“You’re right, bro,” Ethan says. “I can smell her too.”

I see them through the cracks in the boxes. Their noses sniff the air. What do they plan to do if they do catch me?

A frigid breeze blows through the exit door, which totally screws up their senses. Cameron eyes Ethan for a moment, and Ethan returns the same look. They bolt out the back door, as if I’m out there. Morons.

This is my only chance to keep them away. I run to the exit and roll the rock back inside with my foot.

“Jana! Lock the front doors!” I yell, running to the front of the shop.

She bounds to the front doors, and turns the locks. We each take a window and pull the drapes closed, which is easy, since they’re made like shower curtains. Their metal rings clink against the rod. Next, Jana shuts the blinds on the front door.
 

Banging commences in the back of the shop.

“Oh, God, they’re trying to get in,” I choke. I’m already out of breath. “Will the door hold up?”

Jana shakes her head slowly, in shock. “I have no idea. I think I might call Blake.”

“No! There’s no
way
he could fight both of them,” I say.

She whimpers. “Then what are we going to do, Candra?”

“I have no idea,” is all I tell her, because I really don’t know.

The pounding stops. Jana and I move behind the counter, away from the doors and windows. From where we stand, we can see the back door and the front. Jana’s body shakes, or is it me?

I whisper, “What are they doing?”

“I have no idea,” Jana whispers back.

Seconds crawl by. I don’t hear any sounds. They might’ve stopped whatever it is they’re up to.

But I doubt it.

The thought no sooner crosses my mind than a loud crash makes us drop to our knees and cover our heads. Glass had shattered, because one of them stomps and cracks the leftover pieces underneath their shoes.

I shudder.

Cameron begins humming a familiar children’s tune, then finishes by singing, “Oh, where oh where has that little bitch gone? Oh, where oh where can she be?” Laughter spews from his mouth, followed by Ethan’s.

Heat rises in my throat, threatening to gush out. Jana cringes, looking like she’s about to cry, and shakes her head at me. She doesn’t want me to do anything irrational.

“Oh, there you are,” Cameron says, peering over the counter. “I could smell you a mile away.” He reaches over and grabs the back of my shirt, dragging me with him.

I scream, but he’s quick to cover my mouth.

“Now, now. We can’t have you causing a scene, can we?” he taunts. Ethan leaps across the counter and grabs Jana, pulling her out into the open. She wails and tries to get away from him.

My fingers are immediately around Cameron’s, tugging at each one, trying to unclench them. I manage to get his hand away from my mouth.

“Let her go!” I yell at Ethan. He laughs at my weak plea, jerking Jana’s shirt harder.

“I heard you paid a visit to our dearest mother last night. She’s not too fond of people who cross her path in the wrong way. We’re not either. Oh, and Ben will be taken care of,” says Cameron.

“Don’t hurt him! He was only trying to protect me,” I cry out.

Cameron replies, “That’s
exactly
why he’ll be taken care of. Family first, darling. We’ll make sure it never happens again.”

“Let go of me,” I say, wrestling in his grasp.

“As you wish.” He shrugs, and then tosses me clear across the room. I slam into the far wall, against the shelves and clothing. My back cracks, and I fall on my shoulder with a loud
crunch
.

“Candra, no!” Jana sobs.

For several seconds, I lay in agonizing pain. A burning sensation ignites in my arm. I
want
to cry, but no tears will form. I can’t cry in front of them, anyway. Crying is a sign of weakness, and I refuse to be weak.

 
“Oh, you’re next,” Ethan tells Jana, and then slings her across the room. She lands nearby, screaming in pain.

Cameron casually walks in my direction. He kneels down next to me and says, “This is just a warning. Next time we won’t be so lenient. So, stay away.”

I roll onto my back, carefully, not wanting to injure myself further. I’m hoping it’s only a strain, but I’m doubtful.

They leave. Out the door and into the day, like nothing happened.

“Jana,” I whisper, “you okay?”

She sniffles. “I don’t think so. Candra, my arm hurts. I think it might be broken.”

I roll over and crawl toward her. “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault. I’m going to get us out of this mess. I promise.”

Sirens wail outside. I’m sure the silent alarm sent them running. Boots hit pavement and barge inside the shop—two policemen, and a handful of firemen. The police rush over to us.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” one of them asks me. The other tends to Jana.

“My shoulder and back hurt, but I think I’ll be all right,” I tell him.

Jana complains about her arm to the police officer, and he tells her the paramedics have been called and will arrive any minute now. They ask what happened. Jana and I exchange furtive glances. We haven’t come up with a story yet.

I speak first. “Some crazy guy leapt through the window, shouting stuff.”

The police officer pulls out a pen and paper, and begins scribbling notes. “What did he say? Do you remember what he looked like?”

I glance away, not sure where my story is going. “I don’t remember. It happened so fast,” I reply.

“If you can recall anything, let us know. We’ll need you to come down to the station, when you’re discharged from the hospital, and make a statement,” he says.

I nod, gulping as soon as he steps away.

The paramedics carefully slide us onto stretchers. As they roll me out the doors, I happen to notice that the pink clock on the wall behind the counter. It stopped working fifteen minutes ago. It reminds me of the clock on the wall at school…and my watch after the incident with Ben’s home. Why do all of the clocks stop working when I’m around?

My vision fades out.

We’re transported to the hospital—I know that much. Paramedics unload us from the ambulances and rush us into the ER. The fluorescent lights burn my eyes, like I’m staring directly into the sun.

“You’re doing great,
hon
,” a nurse looming over me says.

The corner of my mouth twitches.

“Where’s Jana?” I mumble.

“What, dear?”

“Jana…” But my sight is fading fast. What the hell did they put in my IV?

The nurse pats my hand. “Oh, your friend is fine. Don’t worry about her.”

When I wake, I’m surrounded by machines that beep every couple seconds, and wires and tubes dangle from my arms. The room is like an ice chamber, and there’s a hint of a fresh, metallic aroma. The ugly mauve-brown curtain encircles my tiny area.

A nurse rustles the drape and finally tugs, until she finds an opening.

“There we go,” she says. Bright and cheery as ever. Her round face reminds me of a marshmallow—squishy and plump. “Are you feeling any better?” she asks.

“I’m okay, I think.” I try pulling myself into a sitting position. She rushes over and helps.

“Lucky for you we were able to put your shoulder back in its socket,” she says, giggling. My eyes cross, and my stomach sends acid into my throat. I swallow it back down.

“Di-Dislocated?”

“Hmm?” she questions, but then realizes what I’m asking, because she says, “Oh, yes. We had to give you medicine to knock you out. We couldn’t have you reliving that now, could we?” Her voice squeaks like a mouse.