Bentley Little - The Store

He dashed as quickly as he could toward the side of the building. If he could make it around back, there was a deep ditch abutting the trees that wasn't visible in the dark. He could jump it before the rest of them rounded the building and they wouldn't notice it and would fall in and break their fucking necks. If he was lucky.

He was already panting, almost out of breath.

Who the hell were these guys and what the hell did they want from him?

Doane reached the corner of the building just as the figures reached him.

He rounded the curve and was promptly shoved into the wall, the abrasive brick scraping open the skin of his face. A knife sliced into his right side, and he screamed as he fell onto the dirt.

He was still screaming as he looked up into the circle of blurred white faces and dull silver blades that surrounded him.

The figures crouched down, their knives beginning their work, and as the blood began to spurt, he suddenly realized why they were wearing raincoats.

They were going to get wet.

NINETEEN

1

There was an employee meeting a half hour before The Store opened, and Shannon barely made it. She was the last downstairs, the last to arrive, and she saw the look of disapproval Mr. Lamb gave her as, huffing and puffing, she took her place in line.

Still, she felt good. She'd lost three pounds the past five days and had not even aroused her mom's suspicions. She'd decided to take Mr. Lamb's advice, pull the scarf-and-barf routine instead of skipping meals, and it was working like a charm.

If things continued at this pace, she'd reach her desired weight by the end of the month.

All of the employees on duty this morning stood straight, hands clasped behind them, feet spread shoulder-width apart in the official Store stance, as Mr. Lamb informed them that a new outlet was opening in Hawk's Ridge, Wyoming, today. This placed the number of Stores in the United States at three hundred and five. And three hundred and five, he said, was a very powerful and spiritually significant number.

Here in the Juniper store, he told them, there was going to be a one-day sale on baked goods in the Grocery department as well as a weeklong promotion on coolant and antifreeze in the Automotive department.

He finished his talk and then came the part Shannon hated.

The chanting.

Mr. Lamb stood before them, looking from one to the next, all the way down the line, then pointed to May Brown, in the middle. The line parted at that point, May and everyone to the left of her stepping to the opposite side of the concrete room, Mr. Lamb remaining in the center between them.

"Okay," he said. "Repeat after me: My loyalty is to The Store."

"My loyalty is to The Store!"

"Before my family, before my friends, comes The Store."

"Before my family, before my friends, comes The Store!"

Shannon could see her sister standing across from her, on the other side of the room, three people down. Sam was chanting for all she was worth, caught up in the moment like a Holy Roller at a revival meeting, and the sight of her sister getting so caught up in all this made her a little uneasy. Shannon herself did not enjoy chanting, had her parents' disdain for any type of groupthink, and the fact that Sam so obviously responded to this coerced excitement, this forced camaraderie, made her uncomfortable.

They ended with the traditional "Long live The Store!" and then they ascended to the floor in groups of five to prepare for this morning's opening.

It happened just before noon.

They caught her.

In a way, it was a relief. She'd spent every hour that she'd worked on the floor worrying about whether her mom or dad would walk in and see her. It hadn't been so bad when she was in the stockroom or one of the non-public areas, but ever since her first day of work she'd been living with a dread born of certainty that her parents would find out that she'd gotten a job at The Store rather than George's.

Luckily, Sam was with her when it happened. Her sister had walked over to borrow a quarter for the Coke machine in the break room, and Shannon was just starting to dig through her purse for coins when she looked up and saw her parents striding purposefully up the aisle toward her.

All traces of saliva instantly evaporated from her mouth.

Her parents stopped in front of her register. Her dad's lips were flattened into a grim straight line. "You lied to us, Shannon."

She didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do. Her parents had never hit her, had seldom even punished her, but she stood in fear of them now, afraid to face them. Why had she done such a stupid thing? What could have possibly possessed her? She stared down at her hands, which were not shaking only because they were pressed flat against the register counter.

"Didn't we talk about this?" her dad said.

She looked up, nodded meekly, dumbly.

He met her eyes, held her gaze. "I want you to quit." He glanced over at her mom, who nodded. "We both want you to quit."

"She doesn't have to," Sam said.

"I say she does."

"Why don't you ask her what _she_ says?"

Shannon stared again at her hands. She didn't want to stop working, but she didn't want to hurt her parents, either, and she could not reconcile the two. It was impossible. This was what it meant to grow up, she supposed, breaking away from your parents.

_Before my family, before my friends, comes The Store_.

"I like working here," she ventured.

This time her mom spoke up. "I don't like it," she said. "It's not a healthy place to work."

"It's evil," her dad said simply.

Shannon glanced around in embarrassment, making sure no one else had caught this exchange. "Jeez, Dad," she whispered. "Tone it down. You sound like a loony."

"Evil?" Sam laughed. "This is a discount store, not the First Church of Satan."

"You shouldn't be working here, either."

"Give me a break."

Shannon glanced uneasily from her father to her sister, not sure what to make of this exchange. It was Sam's militancy that was so surprising. She seemed to be taking all of this personally, and while Shannon was grateful for the support, she wanted to tell her sister to calm down, not take it so seriously.

It was only a part-time job. If she had to, she'd find another one.

The behavior seemed out of character for Sam, Shannon thought, but now that she considered it, Sam had been acting a little odd ever since she'd started working for The Store. She'd always been such a goody-goody, never getting in trouble, never doing anything wrong, and now it seemed as though she was bound and determined to break that image.

The trouble was, she didn't seem happy about it. It didn't seem like something she wanted to do. It seemed like something she was _compelled_ to do.

Now she was starting to think like her parents.

_Before my family, before my friends, comes The Store_.

"Look," she said, "I'm scheduled to work until five, and I'm working until five. Ground me, spank me, punish me, whatever. But I'm not going home until my shift's over. After that, we can talk about all this." She faced her father.

"Okay?"

To her surprise, her parents agreed -- although it was more her mom's doing than her dad's. He still seemed like he wanted to argue, wanted her to take off her uniform and follow him out of the store then and there, but he agreed to wait until tonight to discuss the situation, and he allowed himself to be led out of the building.

Shannon turned toward her sister. "Thanks," she said. "You really saved me."

"Yeah," Sam said. "Now how about my quarter?"

2

They confronted Shannon again that night.

She called shortly before five, explaining that the girl who was supposed to work the five-to-nine shift in her department had called in sick and that she had to sub for her. Bill was playing online chess with Street when she and Samantha arrived home, and by the time he signed off, got out of his chair, and made his way down the hallway to the living room, both girls were safely ensconced in the two bathrooms, bathing.