Jeraline's Alley

by Becca C. Smith

  I shook my head, panicked.

  “Yes, you are. Now get up and hand that application in with your drawings.” Emma pointed to the receptionist with an air of command.

  Taking another deep breath, I nodded, standing.

  My legs ripped from the leather couch in a loud tearing sound.

  Yup.

  Flushed from embarrassment, I handed the receptionist my application that I attached to my portfolio. “Sorry,” I said, though I had no grounds to be, but making a noise that sounded like a loud fart seemed like a good reason for an apology.

  Before either woman responded, I hurried out of the office.

  Once outside, it truly hit me.

  I did it.

  I entered the contest.

  I was both elated and terrified. Now all I had to do was finish the dress for the pop-up fashion show on Thursday.

  Which I hadn’t even cut out the fabric for.

  Which was a huge gown that would take hours of work.

  Well, I said I needed a distraction. This would definitely fit the bill.

  As I left the building, I noticed an art supply store next to the campus. I still had some time to spare before I’d be late for work, so I rushed over there and picked up some supplies for Hank. Not having a lot of money, I ended up buying an acrylic paint bundle, a couple different brushes (the cheaper ones; I had no idea paintbrushes cost so much!), and a small twelve-inch by twelve-inch canvas.

  After purchasing the items, I stuffed them in my bag, raced to the bus station, and managed to catch the bus as it pulled up. Only a short time later I arrived at the bookstore, putting my bag in the locker, the meals in the fridge and arrived at the front counter with a wave to Josh.

  Waving back, Josh opened his mouth as if he was about to say something when Rachel walked up, holding a framed picture in her hand. “Got your new Employee of the Month photo, Josh,” Rachel beamed.

  As Rachel placed the new picture on the wall, she glanced over her shoulder and threw me a knowing gaze.

  Edmond appeared next to Rachel and the photo. “Your intuition is right. She definitely knows.”

  Rachel finished straightening the picture and turned toward me. “Much better, don’t you think?”

  Shyly, I smiled in agreement.

  Edmond’s gaze went from the new picture of Josh and back to Rachel. “You should steal this one too. Slowly make her go mad.” He grinned.

  Edmond disappeared as Rachel angled her head to the side in a satisfied way. Taking one last look at the picture, she smiled, then walked away.

  The picture of Josh flashed into my attacker’s Wanted poster. Turning abruptly away, I grabbed a piece of scratch paper and sketched the beginning of a design to occupy my thoughts elsewhere.

  “Hey,” Josh said.

  I turned to Josh to see him smiling at me.

  And there went my cheeks, burning with embarrassment, but I was relieved when his picture was no longer my attacker and was back to Josh’s adorable face.

  Josh didn’t seem to notice as he glanced at the new picture of himself and groaned. “I was hoping she wouldn’t replace that.”

  I knew she would, which was why I stole the first one. “She’s really proud of you.”

  Shrugging, Josh answered, “I don’t know why. I’ve literally only been here three months, and I don’t do anything more than you. Considering we’re her only two employees, it’s kind of weird.”

  It was totally weird, but very Rachel. After seeing the picture of Kent though, I did have an inkling as to why she treated Josh the way she did, so I shared. “I found a picture under the stacks of her and her kid, and he looks just like you. Maybe she doesn’t talk to him anymore?”

  “Great, so I’m some kind of surrogate?” Josh shifted uncomfortably.

  “It’s better than an unwanted stepchild.”

  Josh laughed, then turned thoughtful. “I don’t think she leaves this building at all.”

  I glanced at the back of the store where Rachel had walked to and jumped with a start when my attacker stepped out of the stacks, staring straight at me.

  “You okay?” Josh asked with concern.

  The man was gone, never there to begin with. This plan to shove down what happened wasn’t working out well for me.

  “Fine. I thought I saw something.” Ugh. Changing the subject back to Rachel, I said, “I wondered that about Rachel. I don’t think I’ve seen her leave this building the entire time I’ve worked here.”

  After a moment of thought, Josh nodded. “Yeah, I haven’t either. I tried to test the theory last night out of curiosity, to get her to come outside for a second, but she wouldn’t budge, practically slammed the door in my face.”

  I paused, thinking. “That explains a lot.” My heart squeezed with . . . sympathy? “Wanting to hide” was my middle name.

  “What are you drawing?” Josh examined my sketch with interest.

  Self-consciously, I covered the sketch with my hand.

  “Sorry, none of my business.” Josh lowered his head.

  I was so mean.

  “No. I’m sorry. I’m not used to showing anyone.” I uncovered the page and shifted it in his direction for a better view. “It’s one of my designs. I just entered a contest to try to get a scholarship to the Cassiopeia Design School. But I saw another girl’s entry. I’m way out of my league.”

  Viewing the drawing more carefully, Josh said, “Don’t be so hard on yourself. This is beautiful. Did you make this dress already?”

  The sketch was another view of the dress I planned to make. “I started it, the pattern anyway. I have to wear it to the pop-up runway on Thursday. All the entries have to show one of their designs.”

  “Can I come?” he asked brightly.

  What?

  “If that’s okay?” Josh took a step back, unsure.

  Say something!

  “Um, yeah, that sounds nice.” I said that! I really said that.

  Rachel walked up. “Jeraline, could you put the books in the cart back on the stacks?”

  Weirdly, perfect timing. I wouldn’t have to fumble my words after agreeing to let Josh come to the fashion show. “Yeah,” I acknowledged.

  I smiled at Josh as I pushed the cart away from the counter.

  Well, that was a nice turn of events.

  Honestly, as weird as it sounded, placing books back in their proper spot was one of my absolute favorite tasks working at the bookstore. There was something so calming about escaping into the stacks surrounded by millions of characters and worlds that were more real to me than my own reality. And setting them where they were meant to be, where they were meant to be found by the perfect reader, made me feel like I was a part of something greater. It made me feel like I had a purpose.

  It was magical.

  As I pushed the cart around to the front to travel down another row of shelves, I caught Josh glancing at me from the counter, and in a moment of spontaneity and joy at what I was doing, I smiled at him.

  The smile was returned, and a rush of giddiness flowed through me.

  My head was full of dreamy thoughts until they screeched to a halt when I saw who was at the end of the aisle.

  A police officer.

  And he was coming my way.

  I spun on my feet and dove behind a stray bookshelf that walled off a cozy reading nook. Poking my head out to see what the officer would do, luckily he hadn’t noticed my leap.

  What was I doing?

  Had I really jumped behind a bookshelf to avoid an officer of the law? I couldn’t help it though. Terror had replaced my blood at this point, because it was the only thing that pumped through my veins.

  From the cover of my spying spot, I watched the cop pull out some kind of paper or picture from his wallet and show it to Rachel, who arrived at his side.

  I didn’t like the gleam in Rachel’s eyes as she called out, “Jeraline?”

  I shrunk back and squeezed my hands in panic. Dropping to the floor, I crawled dow
n the opposite aisle until I found another good spot to hide. The mystery section, more specifically, three rows of Agatha Christie books. If Hercule Poirot couldn’t save me, I didn’t know who could.

  But should I be saved?

  I murdered a man, and this officer was simply doing his job. Why was I hiding? Why was I avoiding my punishment?

  Speaking of the man, Hercule Poirot himself appeared next to me, standing over me like a pillar of judgment. He was older, from the ’20s era, three-piece suit.

  The only difference being that he stared down at me with disappointment, shaking his head. “Really, Jeraline, this is very unbecoming of you. If this officer is a good detective, you will be caught and brought in for an accounting of your actions right away. Hiding in these . . . stacks . . . won’t help you.”

  Guilt replaced fear, but then flipped right back to terror as I tried to ignore him and his stupid truthful words.

  Rachel walked by without seeing me. “Where is that girl?”

  That was too close.

  Crawling down another row of stacks, Poirot followed me with more glares of disappointment. “This only makes you look guilty.”

  “I am guilty,” I shot back.

  I really, really was.

  Poirot nodded, acknowledging my confession. “True, but there is a certain civilization in at least carrying yourself with some dignity. Turn yourself in. Now’s your chance.”

  He was right. Now was the perfect opportunity to hand myself over to the authorities without anyone getting hurt. I almost stood up. I almost decided to do it.

  But like the coward I was, I panicked and crawled down the aisle at full speed toward the front exit.

  Poirot shook his head once more, then disappeared.

  Arriving at the end of the aisle, I was about to make a mad dash for the door when a pair of legs stepped in my way.

  Slowly, I cranked my neck up to see Rachel, glowering at me.

  I managed a half laugh that sounded both creepy and absurd. “I . . .”

  My fear and guilt turned to confusion as the officer finished paying for a book and left the bookstore.

  I carefully stood up, embarrassed and befuddled.

  Rachel stared at me as if I were an escapee from an insane asylum. “That nice officer needed your help, and you’re here crawling on the floor? Did you hear me calling you?”

  “No, I . . . didn’t,” I lied.

  Eyeing me up and down, Rachel sighed, exasperated. “See that it doesn’t happen again.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Rachel left toward the back of the store, and I ran a hand through my hair trying to calm my frazzled nerves.

  As the officer walked by the window, he turned toward me, staring into my soul, recognition in his eyes.

  He pounded on the window in slow motion, his voice distorted. “Murderer!”

  I jumped back, and the officer was as he was before, normal speed, walking past the window and out of view.

  Rooted to the ground, I tried to move, to function, to do anything.

  Edmond materialized in front of me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “You defended yourself. You are not a murderer.”

  My mouth was dry, and my throat felt as if it were closing. Edmond’s words weren’t registering.

  “Jeraline?” Edmond shook my shoulders not so gently. “Snap out of it. You have a life to live.”

  I found my voice. “How can I? When I ended someone else’s?”

  “By taking one step at a time, physically and mentally. You may have ended that criminal’s life, but it wasn’t intentional. It was survival. As you survived that moment, you will survive this moment.” Edmond kept his eyes trained on mine.

  I pushed down my overwhelming feelings of dread and guilt and forced myself to walk toward the counter. Edmond disappeared with an expression of concern on his face.

  Not even seeing Josh could force the ache in my stomach to go away as I approached him. Before I made a fool of myself, I nodded toward the stacks and my abandoned cart. “I better finish.”

  Innocent and kind eyes sparkled in greeting, and Josh offered, “You need any help?”

  “No, I’m good. Thanks, though.”

  I left for the stacks.

  Shockingly, the rest of the day proceeded without mishap. I began to feel almost normal again as we locked up for the night.

  Entering the night air, with garbage in one hand, my backpack full of art supplies and dinner for Hank in the other, my fears had subsided a bit for calmness. I decided to enjoy the moment.

  Tossing the garbage in the dumpster, I searched for Hank. “Hank?”

  Stepping up next to the dumpster wasn’t Hank, it was my attacker.

  Backing up in fear, all the terror rushed back to me.

  “Jeraline?” My attacker morphed into Hank, his expression concerned. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Mortified at what Hank must have thought, I shook my head, stepping forward. “No, Hank, I’m sorry. I’m a bit jumpy lately. Here.”

  Pulling out the plastic bag full of art supplies and Hank’s dinner from my backpack, I handed them to him.

  Hank stared at the art supplies in the bag, his voice quiet as he said, “I didn’t think you’d do it.”

  “What do you mean? You promised me a painting.” I pretended not to understand his doubts, but my body tightened at the thought that he’d questioned my sincerity.

  Breathing deep, Hank beamed. “I will start tonight.”

  That was when I noticed how clean Hank was and that his clothes appeared fresh and new. “Hey, you got new clothes.” I didn’t want to make a big deal of it, not sure how insecure he might be.

  But he had an air of assurance that I’d only ever seen when he talked of the past. “I found a nice shelter a few blocks from here near the hospital. They gave me clothes and a shower. I can’t go every day, but at least I have a nice bed to look forward to a couple times a week.”

  Warmth spread through my limbs at the thought of Hank having a place to rest his head. Even if it wasn’t every night like he deserved, at least it was something. “That’s great, Hank.” And it meant he was safer, because he wouldn’t be in the shadows where men like my attacker lay in wait. I shook the thought from my head. “Extra cookies again.” I pointed toward the paper bag of food.

  Hank seemed calmer, happier. He tipped his imaginary hat as he liked to do. “Thank you, Jeraline.”

  “Of course. Friday’s my next shift. See you then?”

  Hank nodded, happy. “See you Friday. I might have your painting ready for you by then.”

  That perked me up. “Don’t rush, but that makes me so excited! I can’t wait to see it!”

  Waving as he left, Hank walked a little prouder than normal.

  Standing by the dumpster, holding my backpack, I didn’t need to go back inside. I could leave. It was for the best since I had left things as good as to be expected with Josh, and with all my insanity I didn’t want him to think less of me.

  Because killing someone could definitely change one’s opinion.

  Yeah.

  Walking toward home, I had almost passed the bookstore when . . .

  “Jeraline?” Josh’s voice called out to me.

  Was this a fantasy? Was I making this up in my head? I couldn’t tell anymore.

  Turning around, I saw Josh hurry to catch up to me. No declaration of love, no tuxedo or dance floor. It was real, which meant messing it up was still an option.

  “Let me walk you home,” he offered with a grin.

  Panic.

  Observing my obviously conflicted expression, he added, “I’d feel better if you’d let me.”

  Where was he last night?

  But I decided to go with it. “Okay.”

  Josh reared his head back slightly, as if he had been ready for a counterargument. “Oh . . . great. I had expected more of a fight.”

  “Am I that horrible?” I asked in disgust at myself.

  “Not
horrible at all. Stubborn, you’re more stubborn I’d say.” He laughed.

  We began our walk toward my apartment, and lo and behold . . .

  No talking.

  So uncomfortable.

  I needed to do something. Small talk. Anything.

  The silence was reaching sweaty palm levels.

  Intervention needed to happen.

  I should fall, trip, be clumsy, anything to break the tension.

  But Josh decided to be blunt. “Do you not like me?”

  Knots tied themselves over and over in my stomach. “No!” That was it. That was all I had to say about that apparently.

  “No you don’t, or no you do?” Josh clarified like a normal human.

  Which I wasn’t.

  “I do like you.” Smooth.

  “Because one minute we’re having awesome conversations, and the next you look at me like I’m a leper.” Josh said this lightheartedly, but I could tell it was laced with insecurity.

  Because I was a horrible person.

  “I . . . I didn’t mean . . . I just have trouble . . . talking . . . and there are other things . . .” Nobel laureate here.

  Awkward silence.

  Shocker.

  The presence of the alley made itself known with a growling in the darkness as we arrived in front of it.

  Shivering, Josh noticed the alley with trepidation. “You walk by here every night?”

  The shadow of my attacker materialized in the blackness of the alley, and I jumped back, but he quickly disappeared. There was no way the alley would take this walk with Josh away from me. I wouldn’t let it.

  “Are you okay? That’s the second time today you’ve jumped for no reason.” Josh looked at me with concern.

  Trying to hide my terror and nerves, I explained in a lie. “Just nervous for . . .” Think of something. Think of something. “. . . the runway show.” Yes. Good one. “And I’m a bit odd around people I don’t know. I never quite fit in right.” I went for honesty.

  And to my surprise, Josh answered, “Me too.”

  “But you’re perfect,” I responded, appalled.

  Oh God.

  Kill me now.

  “I mean, I don’t see that.”

  “I’m far from perfect. I dropped out of college, live with my brother, and work retail all while trying to write a book that I’m pretty sure I’ll never finish because apparently I have zero self-discipline. Living the dream.” Josh sighed in frustration.