by Amy Rachiele
I’ve been trying really hard to hide it but sometimes when Troy looks at me it’s like he can see right through me. He’s waiting for me to talk about something that I’m not ready to share. I toss aside the few shirts I have with me in disgust.
Troy comes out of the bathroom from his shower.
“Do you think we could take a trip to the mall? I could use a few things.”
“Sure. We can go to University Park. It’s crowded on a Saturday but they have just about any store you can think of,” he declares, rubbing a towel in his hair to get the moisture out. His pale skin glistens with small undried beads of water. I would have loved to have taken a shower with him. With his blond hair and pale skin, he looks yummy. He catches me staring, and I turn away from him, my cheeks burning.
“Give me a few minutes.”
I walk to the bathroom and shut the door, deciding that today I am going to try really hard to go more than five minutes without thinking about stalkers and corpses. I owe it to Troy, who has been nothing short of wonderful since I have been here. Mixed with the haunting thoughts are ones that feel like I have always been here and that this is what life should be like. Being here with Troy feels right.
***
University Park Mall is enormous with boutiques, specialty vendors, and large department stores. I know exactly where I want to go—Nordstrom’s. Troy pulls into the parking garage and I direct him to the store’s elevators. Car exhaust seeps in through the vents and the dark gray concrete steals all of the light, making it depressing and eerie.
“How do you know where to go? You’ve never been here,” Troy asks, impressed by my navigating abilities.
“It’s a mall. You learn the layouts by frequenting them. They all have the same basic philosophy.”
“O-kay,” Troy draws out.
Inside, I scan the store directory and see where I want to go. Women’s clothes. I go to the escalator in the center of the store and Troy follows. How I love the mall—the sights, the sounds, the smell of fresh fabrics and new perfumes. I’m in my element. I miss Megan.
“I like going shopping with Megan. We think the same way.”
“Really. I like hanging with Megan too, but the mall isn’t my first choice.”
“I’ll try to make it painless.” I spin a little sarcasm in my voice and smile at him. “If you’re good, I’ll get you a candy bar at Godiva.”
“Thanks,” he says, and the edges of his lips curl into a smirk as we step off the escalator.
I walk straight ahead and begin to scan the racks. I could use more jeans, a sweater, and a few more pairs of underwear. I sling a couple of hangers over my arm and continue to sift through the rounders and then walk over to the wall of jeans.
“I smell coffee,” Troy comments, sniffing loudly.
“Yeah, there is a coffee place right in the store.” I peer around quickly. I point. “Over there.”
“That is awesome. I’m going to grab a cup. Do you want some?”
“Sure. Small decaf with Splenda.”
“Got it.”
“I’ll be in the fitting room.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back.”
I snatch a couple pairs of pants off the shelf in my size and head over to find a place to try them on. Four deluxe changing rooms are before me. A huge three-sectioned mirror with a platform is laid out in the main area. The carpet and furniture is done up in golds and purples with chandeliers dangling from the ceiling.
The mini doors to the rooms are paneled with elaborate knobs. I pick the first one, shut the door, and slide the lock into place. I take in the small area, hanging up my selections and piling the jeans on the chair. I kick off my heels and immediately become three inches shorter. I look down to unbutton my pants and begin wiggling out of them while reaching for a pair to try on.
Icy slivers of dread slip down my back as motion in the mirror in front of me grabs my attention. Reflected back through the mirror is a pair of black shoes beneath the short door. My eyes widen, breaching their sockets and biting into the tender skin around them. Paralyzing fear seizes me, and I stare at the shoes. My mind shuffles around thinking about what kind of shoes Troy had on. I’m sure it was sneakers, but my terror has made me one of the mannequins that are lined up on display in between the racks, immobile and helpless.
The shoes shift in their stance, hangers rattle, and from above I see a small edge of cloth pass over the top of the changing room door. Lacy fabric falls in slow motion as a scream claws up my neck and I let it go. The screech hurts and the shoes turn, leaving quickly.
Troy is calling my name.
“Alessandra!” I hear him outside my door. I fumble for the lock, slip it back. I open the door a crack. Troy pushes it open and I do a double step back as he forces himself in. “What’s wrong?” Troy grabs my arms and I am like a limp rag doll. “What happened?!” he urges. I reach up and wrap myself around his neck, sobbing into his shirt, scared shitless.
I pull away. “Did you see anyone?”
“No. Who was it?” Troy’s face is haunted and he is scanning around us, probably in reaction to my own horror. Did I overreact?
“I don’t know.”
“What happened?” he asks again, and I search around in my mind for an answer.
I gesture to the mirror and see Troy and me in it. He’s taller than I am, especially without my shoes on. Our complexions and hair are complete opposites. My hair is dark, almost black, while his is light, almost a sandy blond. Troy’s lips are a hard line, worried and perplexed; mine are parted in dread and misery.
He reaches down and picks up a lace nightgown.
“Someone threw that over the door,” I mutter, completely shaken up.
A small crowd has gathered outside the fitting room, and I notice that I don’t have any pants on. My hands are trembling.
“Let me get dressed,” I tell Troy, embarrassed.
“Okay.” Troy is hesitant, takes a deep look at me, but steps out. “I’ll be right here.” He is adamant, pointing his finger toward the floor.
Unsteady, I stumble, trying to put my jeans back on. I slip on my heels and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Who am I? My eyes are sunken; purplish crescents have made a home beneath them. My face is washed out with fear. I open the dressing room door and Troy is right there guarding it. The small group of onlookers has dispersed.
“Ready?” he probes, concerned.
“Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”
He slides his arm around my shoulders and holds me as we walk back through Nordstrom’s to the parking garage where it is quiet. A couple of cars start up and maneuver toward the exit.
Troy’s arm slips off my shoulder and a warm hand envelops mine. It is a comfort. Actually, it is the most ease that I have experienced in a very long time. The whole dressing room episode slides away, but it has left me really tired, and my body wants to check out. The temperature change from the mall to the garage sends a small tremor through me.
“Are you tired?” Troy’s voice is soft and tender and his hand squeezes mine.
I smile and lean into him. Going back to the time when I first met Troy, I must have fantasized about a relationship with him about a million times. I think he represented an escape for me. He is someone different from anyone I have ever met. He’s not like the guys I grew up with. He didn’t even grow up in my neighborhood. I found him fascinating. The fact that I haven’t truly been able to enjoy my time with him because of all the shit that is going on pisses me off.
“Hey.” Troy stops walking and turns me to face him. “What’s up? Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Just thinking.” Right now feels very intimate between us—a stolen moment. He taps the tip of my nose with his index finger and for a second I think he is going to lean in and kiss me. I brace for it. I want it. I angle my body, letting him know as we stand here face to face that it’s what I want. The sloppy kisses the other night in my alcohol-induced haze are sitting on the back burner never
discussed like they didn’t happen. I appreciate that. It makes me appreciate Troy even more.
Sluicing the air, the ping of a bullet whizzes by our heads in the cold, concrete parking garage; I go rigid with the familiar sound of a gun with a silencer.
With our fingers linked, I yank Troy behind a beige SUV. I am so freaked I don’t know what’s real or imaginary anymore. The small bit of calm disintegrates and my body goes in full fear mode.
“Shit!” Troy and I cry out in unison.
“Silencer!” I rasp to Troy before intense shaking racks my body. My mind is jumbled and it’s hard for me to think as I sink to the ground.
Troy
I think I’ve said the word “shit” more in these past two weeks than in my whole life! Zing and another bullet pelts the car we’re hiding behind.
“Stay down,” I instruct her. I keep my hands on her shoulders as she is slumped against the chassis. “You’ve got this, Alessandra!” I coax.
I hope the person who owns this Escalade has good insurance because bullets are slicing through the metal, turning it into Swiss cheese.
“I know he was here!” a male voice—has to be the shooter—yells, and I have no idea what he is talking about.
Alessandra’s purse is hanging off her arm. I grab it and dump it out on the floor of the dirty parking garage. The gun thumps down and I scramble to pick it up.
“I know he came to see you!” The guy is shouting stuff that makes no sense to me.
I peek around the front bumper. I see the shadow of a guy behind a concrete pillar from the direction the bullets came. I fire back. My gun is ten times louder and the sound ricochets off the metal joists of the garage, making my ears ring. Across the way, I see another guy blocked by a thick pillar, hiding. I can only make out a sliver of his face and dark hair.
“Where is he!?”
My attention goes back to the shooter.
A woman screams and a frenzy of people are shouting. I am sure as fuck that I’m going to jail, but with any luck, I can take one of these guys down with me. I squeeze off two rounds, and I sink back down to the cover of safety, my breaths heaving.
Alessandra surprises the shit out of me when she snatches the gun from me and uses it to smash the window of the SUV. Glass rains down. The car’s alarm goes off, echoing in the enclosed space. She huddles down while she sticks her hand inside and unlocks the door.
“Stay down!” She’s ordering me now. I pick up her shit off the ground and shove it back in the bag, wanting no evidence left behind, and crawl into the SUV behind her. The alarm is fucking with my concentration as I watch Alessandra play with wires beneath the dash. She stays low and after a few seconds the SUV roars to life.
“You know how to hotwire a car?”
“I’ve seen Louie do it a few times,” she declares as she gases it, hurtling us forward. A bullet blows out the back window, and I drop down in the seat, covering my head. Shit!
We skid around in the tight space and sirens whirl outside. Someone called the cops. I don’t blame them, I would too if I wasn’t part of this whole nightmare. A couple of people walking in the garage are frantic to get out of the way. We speed down the ramps and bottom out at the entrance, fortunately not blowing a tire.
“The Mafia apples don’t fall far from the tree, do they...” I observe, holding on to the handle above my door as Alessandra drives us away from the fray.
“Who do you think built the dorm you’re living in?” Alessandra comments cryptically, steering us down a side street. I shake it off and turn, looking around for anyone following us.
The blaring sirens of the police seem farther away as she pulls the SUV over. Alessandra sticks her hand in the backseat, picking up a sweater that the owner left behind.
“Get out.”
I do as she says, carrying her purse with me. I watch through the broken window as she wipes down the inside of the car: the steering wheel, dashboard, door handles. Alessandra comes around and does the same on the passenger side. Her face is a mask I’ve seen before. Through the opening in the door, she tosses the sweater back in. “Let’s go.”
I blink; this take-charge attitude of hers is hot. Alessandra takes her purse from me and begins to walk down the street away from the stolen vehicle. Her long hair swings behind her. My feet are rooted to the spot I’m standing in. How can she break down in the dressing room but be calm in a fucking shootout? I shake my head at the absurdity and notice that my fingers have started to tremble with fear or adrenaline. I’m not sure.
“Are you coming?” Alessandra turns to me, questioning why I’m not moving.
“Uh, yeah.” My hand runs through my hair and I yank my cell phone from my pocket. With light jogging steps, I catch up to her. We are walking fast; I press send on my phone. We move further away from the stolen vehicle, which is now a crime scene that I am a part of.
Holy fucking shit!
“What?” Vito barks instead of hello and startles me from my mini-panic.
“We’ve got a problem.” My words are calm, and I pat myself on the back for not screaming into the phone that we were just shot at and I’m freaking out. I don’t share with Vito that my mind is playing over and over images of a bullet lodged in my head and my blood sprayed all over the parking garage. But the worst vision is the one of a limp Alessandra covered in red, eyes vacant. My eyes squeeze shut and I shudder.
“What? You there?” Vito growls on the other end.
“Umm, yeah. I’m here.” A wash of reality douses my ability to talk. My words are mumbled. I gaze at Alessandra and her dark hair is shimmering in the sun, glittering. I move closer and examine her long locks. They are covered in tiny shards of broken glass.
“What’s going on!?” Vito yells, bringing me back again.
“Someone shot at us at the mall.”
“Is Alessandra okay!? Is she hurt?”
“No. She’s fine.”
“Who fuckin’ shot at you!?” Vito’s pitch is deadly.
“I don’t know.”
“What the fuck happened?”
“It’s kinda a blur…” I trail off. Alessandra stops walking and takes the phone right out of my hand.
“The gun was a nine millimeter with a silencer. They knew we were coming out of the mall. The guy said, ‘I know he was here.’”
Alessandra hands the phone back to me.
“Get her back to the dorm. I’m coming!” He bellows in that familiar growl then the line goes silent. I peer at my phone screen. It blinks the word End. I reset the screen.
“Who are you calling now?” Alessandra wonders.
“A ride.”
***
“When do you think it is safe to go get your car?” Jake is frustrated. He’s upset that I’m not really giving him details about what happened today. I turn around and peek into the backseat. Alessandra is leaning against the car door, staring out the window. Her eyes shift to mine, telling me not to tell Jake what happened. No matter how much I want to.
“I’m not sure. I just can’t go get it right now.” A silent strain ripples through the air. “Thanks for coming to get us.” My voice is a rumble as I think of all the shit that went down this afternoon. How do Vito and Antonio deal? My heart wants to bug out of my chest and my brain wants me to go to sleep for about six months. I scrub my face and do the same thing Alessandra’s doing. I rest my head against my door and stare out the window as the buildings and people go by; I’m not really seeing anything. The world is clouding into one big blob of mixed browns and greens. I am spent, my energy is drained.
“So what do you want me to do? Drive around for an hour?”
I check the time on my phone. It’s been about thirty minutes since I called Vito. I am going against his orders by waiting around to go get my car. My adrenaline is kicking up again as I think about what Vito would do to me if he found out. But on the other hand who cares. It’s my fucking car! My leg bounces with anxiety and the scenery outside the car window begins to clear. B
usinesses, houses, and pedestrians are vibrant, distinct, and well-defined like I’ve never seen the world before.
“Thirty minutes should do it,” I convey to Jake, remembering I needed to answer his question. We were parked pretty far away from the SUV. I hope I can slip in grab the car and go.
“Do you want to get a coffee?” Jake’s demeanor has softened. He’s peered into his rearview mirror a bunch of times, probably checking on Alessandra. She hasn’t said a word.
“Sure,” I agree; we should do something.
Jake spins the car into a space that he must have had second thoughts about fitting into—an obvious sign of distraction. We jolt forward and Jake turns off the car. The three of us continue to sit, not moving. Getting out of the car seems entirely too much trouble. Jake reaches for his door handle, the tendons in his hand prominent under his skin. He’s strong and fast, and his athletic training mixed with his body type is way better for taking care of Alessandra. I’m just a fuck-up with a life plan that shit the toilet.
“You coming?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I look behind me. Alessandra is in the exact same position that she has been in for thirty minutes. I’m worried. How much is she capable of taking? What is her breaking point?
“They dug up my mother.” Tears roll down her eyes and they refuse to meet mine. Jake turns too.
“What?” I ask softly, confused.
“It’s why I had to leave.” She uses her index finger to stop two salty droplets from splashing onto her shirt. “I came home and my mother’s body was propped up at my kitchen table.”
“What the fuck?” Jake curses.
“I was out shopping with Megan and Ronnie.” She takes in a gulp of air. “We came through the door… and into the kitchen… and there she was.” Her big brown eyes are brightened and glossy from the tears but behind them is the deepest sadness I have ever seen.
“I’m so sorry, Alessandra.” What crazy person would do something like that? And why?
I reach out to the backseat and put my hand on her knee. A lump is crowding my throat at the image and the hurt it must have caused her seeing her deceased mother’s decomposing body. My first reaction is sympathy but it slowly morphs into rage.