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“Get them!” she wails, throwing herself to her feet just as Mr. McTavish comes charging down the fish aisle. “Help! Help!”
“No.” I panic, tightening my hold on Robert as one of the little beasts comes skittering toward us. “No, Robert. Stay!”
He doesn’t listen, too enthralled by the insanity. He hisses loudly and scrambles from my arms too quickly for me to react. The sound sets Oli off again, and she runs toward us, desperation in her pretty blue eyes.
She trips over the mass of rodents and collides with what I can only assume is Bunny’s tank. The lid falls to the side with a metallic screech which inadvertently sets the birds off.
“No!” Mr. McTavish screams. “Bunny, don’t do it!”
“What?” Oli cries, still chasing after both Robert and the hoard of demon balls. “Oh my God. No babies, don’t do it!” We watch in horror as the mice scramble up every surface, most of them to their deaths unknowingly. I watch as a few of them shove their way into the various bird cages, but quickly look away when shit gets bloody.
“Oli,” I breathe, knowing this is killing her.
“Call nine-one-one!” she screams. “I can’t save them all!” She turns to a shell-shocked Mr. McTavish and shakes his shoulders. “Get it together, man! These are our children! They’re dying! It’s carnage!”
His mouth opens and closes, but he’s unable to speak, breaking my heart all over. Oli scoffs and turns back to the bloodbath. She dives into the melee and finally gets a hold of Robert.
“Don’t look, baby,” she soothes, covering his eyes. “This will scar you for life.”
The bell over the door dings and I cringe all over again, wishing with everything I have that I’d stayed in tonight.
“What in the Hell is going on in here?” a heavily accented voice shouts. “Looks like the second comin’ of Christ.” Oli spins toward the newcomer.
“Oh, Deputy Dumbass! Thank God you’re here.” Paul's eyes widen as he grips his belt.
“Olive,” he sighs, shaking his head. “How many times do I have to say it? My name is not—”
“We don’t have time for this! There are bodies everywhere,” she shouts, tucking Robert back into his carrier. “We need help! Send for SWAT. Or the National Guard! Tell them we need help, STAT!”
Paul looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. A sentiment I fully understand.
“I don’t think backup will help, Olive,” he murmurs, swallowing thickly as he examines her. “I think we might need an exterminator.”
“No,” Mr. McTavish and Oli bark in unison.
The deputy scans the floor where mice are still loitering like the Hell goblins they are. His eyes finally meet mine and I see the disappointment there. But also, the regret.
“You know I’m gonna have to tell him, don’t you?” he mutters.
Groaning, I fall to my back on top of the counter.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Deputy Dumbass,” Olive snaps. “Why are you just standing there? I said we need help. Use that megaphone thingy and call for backup.” She waggles her finger at him as he shakes his head, running his fingers through his curly hair.
“Oli—”
“Was Jesus drunk the day he made you?” she cries. “Holy shit, man! I said call an ambulance. The FBI. The mafia, if you have to! It’s carnage in here!” She’s wailing now, completely losing the plot.
Covering my face, I breathe through the nausea making my insides roll and force myself to accept my fate.
There’s no turning back now.
In two days, I’m dead.
I take a long sip of the ice-cold water before me, my shaky fingers white around the glass. Heavy velvet drapes cover the windows, sunlight peeking in through the gaps, and the lighting overhead turned way down. Marble flooring, crystal service ware, deep red walls. It’s a comfortable space, dark without feeling claustrophobic. Luxury at its finest.
I’ve always thought it odd that these things are held in such a place. Seems counterproductive. Regardless, I enjoy these trips. Probably more than I should.
