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My scalp is on fire, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of watching me call out in pain. I don’t even wince. I stand there remaining as stone-faced as a statue.
“You are a naughty girl, aren’t you?” He says, licking his lips greedily. “You like it rough?” He tugs the lock of my hair again and my knee flies up in response hitting him hard right between the legs.
“You bitch,” he wheezes collapsing inward as the gun clatters to the floor and fires off a round into the wall with a deafening crack.
The sound of my rushing blood fills my ears and I kick him again as hard as I possibly can, calling on the strength of every woman who’s ever been in this situation.
Falling to the ground he looks up at me with fire in his eyes, but his voice is whiny and boyish when he speaks, “You’re going to regret that, you silly little girl. There’s no use in trying to play hero, I promise you I will make you pay.”
Scrambling over to the gun I get to it before he has the chance and point the silver barrel directly at his chest. I don’t hesitate, I’ve seen enough movies to know you don’t often get a second chance, I pull the trigger and the kickback of the gun catches me off guard.
A fine mist of blood fills the air, and the young man’s eyes widen in shock and horror. His hand shoots to his shoulder where blood is now spreading out underneath the crisp white sleeve of his shirt staining it crimson.
It’s been nearly a decade since I’ve shot a gun with Grandad, but Mom wouldn’t let me leave without the old antique handgun.Thank the stars it still works.
“Ow! You shot me, you shot me, you crazy bitch.” He moves like he is going to get up and come after me and without another thought, I shoot him again. This time hitting him in the abdomen, blood sprays from between his teeth. At that exact moment, my shop’s door splinters off its hinges.
There standing in the doorway is a massive grizzly bear letting out a roar that splits my ears as it reverberates off the walls of my small shop.Isaiah.My hands tremble covered in little bits of the strange man’s blood.
Isaiah wastes no time and within a fraction of a second, he has the half-limp man in his massive paws snapping the man’s spine in half. I scramble backward toward the counter. “Isaiah go upstairs and change back. I need to call the police. There’s no way those shots went off without alerting half the town.”
His massive bear head sniffs and then he nods and lumbers back barely able to crouch his way through the small doorframeleading to the stairs. My hands tremble as I dial 911 with the shop phone, leaving red smudges on the numbers.
“Hello, 911, what’s your emergency?” The voice sounds distant as the operator answers my call.
“There has been a break-in at my shop. L’s Apothecary on Main, a man tried to attack me. I shot him. He’s not moving anymore.” I left out the part about how a giant bear-shifter came in and snapped his spine afterward, not sure that would go over well with the local authorities.
The rest of the conversation goes by in a blur as I frantically search through the drawers for a potion my great-grandmother had given me long ago. One that diverts suspicion from whoever has taken the potion and makes their story believable to the listener. I’ve never had a cause to use it until now.
Finally, I grasp the small glass bottle filled with a thick golden liquid in the back of a drawer. With shaky hands, I manage to pop the wax-sealed top off and drink down the liquid with a grimace.
It might look like bottled sunshine, but it has a sick metallic taste to it. Shivering, I shove the stopper back onto the bottle and put it back in the drawer.
“Are you okay?” Isaiah’s voice from behind me causes me to jump slamming my knee into one of the lower shelves of my front counter.
“Not really,” I whisper holding the phone away from my mouth. I’m supposed to stay on the line with the operator until the police arrive. Sirens come from a distance and are getting closer and closer with each passing second. “The police are here,” I speak into the receiver of the old-school corded phone, “Thank you.” I say to the operator and then hang up the phone.
Isaiah wraps me in his arms a moment later, the tightness of his body against mine helps with the trembling and I take in a few deep breaths trying to steady myself further. I watch the nowopened doorway as squad cars park haphazardly and officers begin to pile out of the vehicles with their guns drawn.
The blue and red lights flash against the walls of my shop.The apothecary looks like a rave now. That strange thought runs through my mind as I push Isaiah off me.
One of the officers trains his gun on the crumpled man while another bends down to take his pulse. “He’s still alive, radio the ambulance.” He calls to an officer standing outside.
Another officer approaches cautiously tucking his gun into his waistband, “Are you the shop owner?” he asks, his eyes sweeping over my bloodstained clothes.
“I am,” I say with a shaky voice.
“Would you mind showing me where the gun is that you used to shoot the intruder?”
Stepping back, Isaiah follows my lead, “It’s here on the shelf.”
“Okay wonderful, would you step outside with me to discuss what happened while my men secure the scene?” he asks, eyeing the gun.
I nod and walk cautiously around the counter and outside hugging the walls of my shop trying to keep as much distance between me and the maniac bleeding out on the shop floor as possible. Isaiah follows with his hand guiding my lower back.
“Sir, were you at the scene of the crime as well?”
“Not until afterward,” Isaiah answers.
