"Smoke and Mirrors"

I should’ve seen the signs.  How could I have known that Troy was too good to be true, that he had something off about him?  His velvety dark hair, hazel eyes, and hypnotizing smile erased all my attempts at reasoning.  My judgment was clouded.  Even his father Randall referred to himself as a chick magnet in his day.  That was the phrase he used when Troy introduced me to him for the first time.  He was an arrogant man, although I was fortunate that Troy had some of his father’s qualities without being conceited.  I was seduced by Troy’s spell, immediately fell victim to his charm when our eyes met a month ago.  That was a big mistake. Now there’s no one around to rescue me from the trap I have fallen into from my own stupidity.
     My cries are unheard—unanswered.  My screams echo within the confines of the long stretches of hallways and the three- tier balcony like an uncontrolled thunder.  Hours ago the Gateway Shopping Mall was swarming with happy-faced, affluent shoppers.  Now, as I scramble the emptiness for a way out of the maze, I don’t see any light at the end of my dark, self-inflicted tunnel.  If I was resourceful I wouldn’t be here fighting for my life.  Why didn’t I listen to my gut telling me to work in that office?  That place where your hands stay clean and the salary is double what I’m earning here.  This was supposed to be a stepping stone to the real deal— not a death trap.
       Instead my life hangs in the balance.  All the doors are chained shut—the security office where I came from is dead-bolted— the only key stuffed into a jacket pocket that was yanked from my body in an elaborate but terrifying dance for my life.  My chances of surviving are next to nil.  I hear the crash of his axe smashing store-front windows.  He hollers obscenities, releasing this glottal, dinosaur-like bark.  He’s somewhere out there, closing in. I hear him wheezing under the stocking on his head.
  
I start second- guessing my past.  Why did I break up with Brent and run into Troy’s arms? Brent was sweet and witty.  He possessed a bright, dimply smile that drew him as shy and humble.  I have to embrace the truth no matter how much it tarnishes my reputation.  Troy had it all and I was swept up into his mystery.  He had a level of confidence Brent lacked.  He said the right thing at the perfect time.  My knees had crumbled with merely a wink of his cocoa eyes.  Even his walk was graceful; it was as if he floated across a room and the world was his and his alone.  It was that regal presence that I found irresistible.  His father carried that same aura but with more of a chip on his shoulder.  He was one who felt women had no place doing a man’s job.  “Look pretty and keep a man happy” was his philosophy.  “You really want to be a cop one day, Alana?  You’re nuts!” he told me.
       I tried to piece together an explanation for giving in to Troy willfully.  I wanted more in life and assumed he was the answer; that he harbored some mystical ability to unlock certain doors with his magic touch.  It never dawned on me—it was all an illusion. Now it’s too late and he’s stalking the halls, drooling for a slaughter.  I evaded his grasp minutes ago in a struggle for my life by the bathroom.  He appeared like a ghost out of nowhere, grabbed me.  I listened to him spew venomously through the sheer mask.  Our eyes never locked.  I never saw his face; but his breath was warm and acrid crawling down my neck.
    “Look me in the baby browns, Alana.  YOU told me they were dreamy, didn’t you!”  The words crippled me.  I nailed him in the nuts and broke away.  I am running through the store screaming for help; weaving my way toward the counter where Valerie worked, hoping to find a phone and call the cops.  As soon as I approach the desk I run behind the counter.
    “No!”  No!”  
     Valerie’s dead body is staring back at me.  She is propped up against the desk.  Her lips and eye lids are stapled shut and a blood-written note is tacked to her forehead.  It says, “Big mouth.”  I try to contain my fear.  My pulse soars. My veins are engorged with blood.  The words BIG MOUTH churn inside of me.  
   
        I have to think fast on my feet; try and piece the puzzle together in my mind.  It is the terror coursing through me with free reign that forces me to connect the dots.  I remember now.  It was that afternoon.  I was here patrolling when I spotted a man staring at me from across the hall.  He leaned against the railing.  It was unsettling.  His eyes bore down on me. He followed every step I took.  Shortly thereafter, Valerie visited me on her break, caught the man’s foreboding glance.  She shook her head and laughed, signaled discreetly with a twitch of the head and I followed her to a nearby bathroom.  She had concern seeping from her eyes.  I knew she was on the verge of unloading something pivotal.  Valerie walked up to the sink.  She turned on the faucet to drown out our conversation from curious ears.  She put her hand on my shoulder and looked around and under the stalls.
    “That’s Mr. Grainer watching you, Alana.  He’s been to this mall a few times this week.  He walks these halls aimlessly, watching the girls pass by.  I heard him introduce himself to a co-worker with that name.  I mean, you went for this Troy guy without a seconds’ thought.  That’s not you at all.  Watch your back, okay?”
     I gazed into Valerie’s eyes; puzzled, speechless.  I stared down and watched the water streaming into the sink.
     “Look Alana, all I’m saying is to be careful, maybe he’s a sick pervert or something.  There are a lot of creeps out there.”  Valerie glanced at her wristwatch.  “I… I have to go, breaks over, we’ll talk later.”
     I stood in silence for a moment wondering if police work was my calling.  I failed to pick- up on that man roaming the halls.  His stalking was obvious yet I never saw him in action. Being a cop meant dissecting evidence before it festered, solving cases just like this.  I exited the restroom.  If it is this Grainer guy, why was he staring at me?  What did he want? 
      I think of Valerie again.  Her death won’t register. I refuse to accept it.  She was too young.  She was a good friend who was always there for me.  Even when everybody said I couldn’t cut it in this job— she believed in me.  Valerie convinced me that when it counted I would rise to the occasion, but look at me now.  I’m not sure I believe in myself anymore.  The first real threat of my life has me cowering like everybody scripted.
      Another window is smashed at the end of the corridor.  The sound of exploding glass is louder.  I run to the stock room for a weapon and a place to hide.  I enter the back room and navigate the aisles up and down on a scavenger hunt for a box cutter, pipe— something that’ll do damage.  In the far corner of the room a flat shovel and push broom are leaning against the wall.  I grab the shovel and find a dark spot to conceal myself.  I sink in a corner. Through the walls I hear clothes racks dropping, one after another.  The noise has me terrified.  I pray that he’ll give up on me.  My body is weak.  My stomach is tumbling.  I lean against the wall and inhale deeply a few times to fight the nausea that’s wrenching in my stomach.
      My white security shirt is saturated with sweat and the badge dangles from the loop above my pocket. The door swings open.  The groan of springs twisting alerts me to his presence.  Troy is a determined man.  I suck in air— hold my breath—cover my mouth with my hands.  I do everything in my power to avoid detection.  Fortunately, he starts prowling the front of the room.  His squeaky boots are indications of his steps.  His breathing is strained.  My pulse is rising faster now.  I keep my focus on his movements.  He tiptoes to the back of the warehouse scraping his axe along the cement floor.  The sound is irritating, disturbing like nails on a chalkboard.  It’s a scare tactic that I try to ignore.  I need to stand strong, alert, and ready to make a move.  I crawl from the corner toward the swinging doors.  I sneak past the first row of the stockroom.  Each side is lined with shelving.  Boxes stand ten feet high.  
       The coast is clear.  I continue.
     I inch toward the second aisle— one more to go.  My legs are cramping.  A spasm shoots up my calf, then into my thigh.  I pinch my lips to prevent wailing in pain.  My eyes scan the aisle— the ceiling—the unseen dark places; everywhere, trying to track him.
     I push on.
     I take two more painful steps and hear a noise.  He smashes a locker door with the axe.  The slam of metal being sledged forces me to cower again.  Bang-Bang-Bang.  The broken metal door snaps back and forth. Troy grows more hostile each minute.
 Suddenly he speaks.
     “Alaaaaana” His voice is soft, eerie.  He doesn’t scream or shout.  He’s a lunatic— a smart one too.  He knows I’m in here and this is a game of cat and mouse we play to the death.  I have to get into the security office and call the police by smashing the windows, forcing my way in with whatever it takes because I’ve lost my keys.  Behind the information desk is a steel flashlight.  I recall seeing one there yesterday on duty.
     “Alaaaaana. I smeeeeel you.  C’mon.  One more date… pretty please?”
     I bust through the door and sprint as fast as my legs will wheel.  My hair whips madly on my head, thrashes my face.  I ignore the throbbing pain in my legs and keep on running.  Fear pushes me to the brink, to a place I never knew had existed.  My survival instinct is deteriorating under the sprawl of empty space and dark corridors.  I see the desk ahead.  I leap over a flight of three stairs, stumble and turn my head sharply. Troy runs with the axe clenched in his hands swinging it crazily, allowing me a preview of how he’ll chop me to pieces.
       Finally… it’s the information desk.
    I jump over the counter and tear apart the shelves tossing papers, boxes, and supplies aside.  I slide my hand along the shelves, down in the cracks, everywhere.  “Where the hell is this th…?” I see the top of a flashlight protruding beneath the bottom rack.  I reach and pull it out.  There’s a phone on wall. I pick it up and dial 911.  I look back and see Troy gaining on me.  He’s too close to waste more time.  I leave the phone dangling from the cradle and run for my life. My body is blazing down the hall full-tilt toward the security office.  Troy is fifty feet behind me.  I hear him making noises through the stocking as he stampedes toward me.  He’s a murderer salivating at an easy kill.
    “You’re going to die just like your BIG MOUTH FRIEND!” he shouts.  That confirms he killed Valerie although I already knew the brutal truth.  When he jumped me earlier all I saw was that black leather jacket he always wore and the choker wrapped around his neck with the peace charm. The same man wants to kill me now.  It’s too painful to fathom.  But it’s true.
     The security office is twenty feet away.
     Troy tackles me and the flashlight is jarred loose out of reach.  The axe tumbles to the far wall. We wrestle.  I feel his dominance over me, all of the power and brute strength.  He pulls my hair and yanks my head in all directions.  The pain is excruciating.  He slaps me with an open palm square in the jaw and my head snaps back to the hard floor.  For a moment my world goes pitch black and the room does cartwheels.  I can’t lose consciousness; if I do the morning shift will be sweeping up my blood and appendages.  Troy rises and goes for his weapon again.   I am given a break from the beating.  It won’t last long and I realize it’s now or never. As he grabs his axe I slide the badge from my shirt and disguise it in my palm.  With my thumb I finesse the pin so the point is extended all the way.  He is recuperating.  He starts lumbering toward me again. He is limping.  The axe is loose in his grip and his guard is down.  I focus— find my fulcrum— and take a deep breath.
     He drops to the floor and sits on my waist.  I am weakened but I have to fight back or I’ll die right here on the floor of the empty mall at the hands of a brutal killer. My wrist shakes with anticipation.  My fingers lock around the metal badge and without hesitation I drive the needle through my fingers and plunge it deep into his eye.  He shrieks in pain, leaps off of me.  I watch him writhing on the floor.  I hustle over to the axe and pick it up, ready for the next wave of his attack.  “C’mon, I’m begging you, give me a reason!”  I taunt him, persuade him; but with blood spraying from his eye I realize I’m safe at last.
    Sirens roar outside.  The cops are in pursuit.  I calm myself down and feel lucky to be alive. Now that I stand over him I think of an excuse to chop his damn head off.  “Please jump at me so I can end you,” I urge in silence.  I’d love to swing this blade right through his throat and watch the son of a bitch’s head roll down the hall. Now I understand why there was uncertainty inside about my survival instinct.  Could I persevere through an event of this magnitude, one mired with dangerous circumstances?  That question plagued me for years.  I’m stronger than I thought— smarter than I imagined— and alive because of it.
   

     The men in blue pull up.  Their flashing lights fill me with relief.  Ear piercing sirens sing. The patrol lights flicker like strobes through the thick pane of glass.  It must be a great feeling to be in that car and be a crutch to mankind. One day I want to live like that, experience the rush; be a hero to someone who clings in desperation.   I want to fulfill my quest to empower women in ways they never dreamed of.
    The Police arrive and take Troy into custody.  They pull the stocking from his head.
    My body freezes in shock.  Troy was not my assailant. What the hell is this?
    The man standing in front of me in handcuffs is Troy’s father… Randall!
    How is this possible?  It… it can’t be?  But it is.

                                                                  The End

©2008 David Boyle