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My mouth parts as I struggle to gulp down air, and I move past the door into the kitchen. Crouching down, I look at the floor, seeing elongated shadows stretching toward me.
Two shadows.
Closing my eyes, I creep around the corner.
“What is this?” Sal says softly, his voice holding a strained note to it. From here, I can just make out his form kneeling on the floor, tears spilling down his face.
However, it’s the man behind him that sends a bolt of adrenaline through me, demanding that I run the other way, demanding that I call the cops. Only this time, I freeze.
I can’t move. I can’t breathe.
A man stands in the shadows behind Sal, wearing all black. I can’t make out the details completely, but I see the gun the man holds against the side of Sal’s head.
“I have been loyal to the family for years,” Sal says, and his voice sounds as though he’s trying to convince the man of something. “Years. Not once was I disloyal.”
The man presses the gun tighter against his head, digging the barrel into his temple.
“I swear,” Sal blubbers, tears spilling down his face. “Please, I have a family. A wife. Kids. You can’t. I swear that I’m loyal.”
Hearing this man break down shreds something inside me, causing me to move without thought. Later, much later, I may look back on this moment and curse myself for not running the other way.
How could I when the one man who helped me kneels in his own kitchen, begging for his life?
“Charlotte, no!” Sal screams as I reveal myself. “Run, Charlotte.”
In a matter of seconds, the man behind Sal now holds two guns—one aimed at him, the other at me. From here, I finally get a good look at him. I struggle to memorize every little detail.
Black boots, black pants, black gloves, and a black wool coat become seared into my brain. Even if I wanted to forget him, I’m not sure I could. He wears a shawl that turns into a hood, and I can just make out his face. He does not reveal an ounce of skin to me. Round, black, steampunk glasses peer at me. Beneath them is a black bandana that sits over his nose and mouth.
He’s a specter, a wraith who has materialized from the shadows, and my ill-fated decision to step into the light has cast a glaring spotlight on me.
“Sal,” I murmur, his name almost catching in my throat, unsure of how to navigate this surreal encounter. His presence stirs a storm of emotions within me—confusion, disbelief, and a deep-rooted fear that’s gnawing at the edges of my composure.
The weight of his anguish is palpable. Thick tears trail down his cheeks and mingle with his words as he chokes out, “Oh, Charlotte. You were never supposed to—”
The man standing behind him disrupts Sal’s words, the gun he wields pressing mercilessly into the back of Sal’s skull, extinguishing his sentence midbreath.
I swallow the lump in my throat, determined to find my voice, despite the tremor that threatens to steal its steadiness. “The office.” My words tremble, but I push through. “There’s cash. Take whatever you want. Just…go. Take it all.” My gaze, resolute and unyielding, remains locked on those inky glasses that conceal the man’s eyes.
The man tilts his head, his gaze piercing me with a peculiar intensity. Immobile as a statue, he focuses on me as if unraveling the depths of my very soul. A strange calm washes over me, a paradoxical sensation as if icy water was simultaneously drenching and numbing my senses, descending from my head down to my spine, my back, and my trembling thighs.
“Run!” Sal screams, knocking the gun from the man behind him. It skitters across the floor to slam against a stainless steel cabinet.
I should bolt, no question about it—I’d vow this on my parents’ resting places—but the thought never translates into action. Not when his laughter reverberates in the air, a mixture of dark chocolate infused with gritty coffee beans. It rolls over me, the sensation simultaneously unsettling and captivating, leaving me paralyzed in its wake. It’s a response I can’t control, a forbidden reaction, something I wish I could snatch back, along with the gasp that unwittingly escapes my lips.
Sal’s futile attempt at escape only underscores the direness of the situation. His struggle is pitiful, rendered worthless as the intruder’s grip tightens around his neck, manipulating him as though he’s a mere rag doll. Laughter bubbles forth from the intruder, chilling the room. It freezes Sal in place, his eyes darting to me, laden with an unspoken plea.
Those dark brown irises implore me to act, to intervene somehow. But how? What could I possibly do in this surreal tableau? I never could have imagined that opening the office door would reveal such a scene. Perhaps a burglar, but not this. This isn’t about money, it’s about Sal.
A tremble starts in my toes, a quiver that spreads relentlessly upward, stripping away the veneer of calm that briefly enveloped me. My gaze remains locked with Sal’s, a silent exchange laden with words we can’t articulate. Behind him, the intruder adjusts his stance, forcing Sal back to his knees with a forceful nudge.
“Look away,” Sal says, his voice no longer holding a tremble but acceptance of his death.
One breath.
Two.
I don’t look away. I can’t. Fear freezes me in place.
