BIKE CURIOUS
This couldn’t be happening, no, no, no. This was something that happened in movies and on TV and in the news, but not to people like me. I was a nobody. I pressed a hand over my mouth, trying to suppress my heavy breathing and tears, as I moved myself further back into the closet. One minute I was nicely shopping for something for Dad’s birthday, and the next, I was cowering in this supply closet, trying not to make a sound.
I whimpered, as a pair of shoes passed by the door and stopped. A hand rested on the doorknob, it started to turn; but, someone called, and the man released the door and went away. I let out a shuddering breath and dug into my purse for my pepper spray, ready to douse whoever opened the door.
When one of the robbers walked away, the door opened a crack, and I could see a little of what was going in the store. Glass display cases were cracked, three safes hung open, and the owner of the store was being held at gunpoint, giving up the code for the fourth and final safe. Other goons were stuffing bags with the sparkling gems from the safes and display cases.
Then, a pair of blue eyes was staring back at me. I stayed as still as possible, hoping he couldn’t see me lurking in the shadows of the closet, but a tiny sliver of light was streaming right on to my face and across one eye. The owner of the blue eyes winked at me, as the corner of his mouth crooked upwards. I covered my mouth again and moved out of the line of the light. I wondered what this stranger would do, now that he knew where I was hiding.
I didn’t want to become another rape statistic or some sort of pawn used in an awful game of ransom and blackmail, a constant threat as a rich politician’s daughter. I would be fine. I had to be fine. Things didn’t happen to me, not things like this. Normal things, sane things, happened sometimes – like concerts or shopping sprees or charity events – but, not things like this, never like this. I could feel my make-up streaking down my face and caking between my chin and neck, the salty wetness drying on my face.
My tears were flowing down my face in tracks, but I kept my hand pressed to my mouth, trying not to make a sound or draw any attention to myself. I would be fine. I would be fine. I would get out of this mess somehow, somehow, somehow… Suddenly, the door creaked open a little and the blue-eyed man was standing there, a hand outstretched toward me. I cowered away, unsure of what to do.
“Look, if you want to get out of here, you need to come with me. Right now.”
I took his hand, as he roughly hauled me to my feet and dragged me toward the back of the store. “Where is your car?” he demanded, opening a door at the back. “Can you get away from here?”
I nodded and tried to wipe away some of the tears on my face, as he pulled me outside into the oppressive heat of the summer day. I was unable to find words to put together any type of coherent sentence. I pressed the button on my key fob, and my car beeped at me. He pushed me toward my car and hustled me inside, continually glancing back toward the store, as if uncertain what would happen next.
“Is, is there anything I can to do re-re-repay you?” I managed to stammer.
“Not yet, but one day Miss Malone.” He winked at me and then dashed away. I called 911 and reported the robbery, then sobbed in my car, an image of my blue-eyed savior dancing before my eyes.
***
I spent the next four days dealing with police and detectives and therapists and concerned friends and, most annoying of all, my father. At first, he showed a little concern for the safety of his daughter; but, almost immediately, he started trying to use my experience for his political schemings.
As I had through my entire life, I abandoned any thought of using him for moral or emotional comfort and turned instead to the tried-and-true method of retail therapy. But even that
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