The cashier stood behind the counter, trying his best to draw no attention to himself. His black shirt was embroidered with his name, Tim. It stood in stark contrast to the shiny array of cigarettes and tins of chew on display behind him. He had worked the night shift for years and had entertained the notion through many a long hour that sooner or later he would encounter “trouble.”

When it came, it was fast, it was brutal, and it was not the way he had imagined it would be.

A man had entered the convenience store.  He was the type you immediately takeook notice of; he came alone, without the usual headlights.  The man was disheveled.  His tattered, stained jeans, dirty pea coat, and stocking cap appeared slept in.  The faint scent of death followed him into the store. The stranger stood in the entrance, looking to see how many others may have been lurking in the aisles before turning to consider the suddenly frightened cashier.

Tim felt a sudden urge to urinate when their eyes locked.  Unconsciously, his hand hovered near the panic button just under the counter, but he could not justify pushing it.

“Hi, how can I help you today, sir?”  His voice cracked.  Sweat appeared under his short, cropped, sandy blond hair.

Without a word, the stranger approached.  His pace slow, the stalking approach of a hunter.  Tim swallowed hard and involuntarily stepped back from the counter.

Another man burst through the doors.  Duane, whom Tim had known for years, was short, bald, and stocky. He had soft eyes and an easy smile. Tonight, there was no smile on his face and no softness to his eyes.  Tim’s sense of relief turned to panic as the bat Duane was carrying smashed violently on the stranger’ss’ skull. 

Tim felt warmth spread in his pants. Something soft, wet, and sticky splashed across his face and neck.  Even as the stranger collapsed, Duane swung the bat a second time.  There was an unmistakable sound of bone crunching, and the hat seemed to fold in an odd way around the shaft of the bat while somehow remaining on the man’s head.

Duane looked up apologetically at Tim.  “I’m really sorry to have to do this here.  I’ll make it quick, I promise.”

Tim, throat dry, merely nodded.

“Hand me that chair, will you?”  Duane pointed with the bat at a step stool behind the counter.  Tim stared at the stool without responding.

“Tim.,”  Duane said emphatically, drawing his attention back to him.  “I need that chair back there.”

Without thinking or speaking, he handed the stool to Duane.  It was easy to mistake for a chair.  It had three short steps and a high railing a personyou could either use as a backrest or to brace your knees against when stocking the high shelves.

Tim met Duane’s eyes briefly.  Green eyes were red -rimmed and had bags under them as if the man hadn’t slept in days.  There was a hardness in them he had never seen in the years he had known the man.  A shiver crept up his spine and raised the hair on the back of the cashier’shis neck. 

Duane took the stool and set it next to a display cooler not more than a dozen feet from the counter.  He shoved it violently aside, revealing the plug and drain beneath it.  Water puddled where the pipes separated.  He lay the bloody bat haphazardly amongst the green apples.

The stool was slammed in the puddle as the stocky man turned his attention to the long power cord.  He pulled the entire length out from beneath the cooler and unplugged it.  With quick, deliberate motions, he pulled a knife from his pocket and stripped the insulation, revealing the gleaming copper beneath.

Duane turned and considered Tim with an unsmiling gaze.  “I’m sure we don’t have much time.”

 Another shock of terror shot through the cashiers’’s lanky body as Duane started to walk in his direction.

“When he wakes up I’m sure he’s going to be pissed.” He considered the stranger he had just murdered.

Tim looked at the corpse surrounded by a pool of dark blood.  The stocky man dragged the body toward the stool, and with surprising strength, hoisted it to a seated position.  Quickly, he pulled zip strips from his pocket and secured the arms and legs to the stool.

A modicum of calm returned to the store clerk. Everything he had just witnessed was insane.  Tim reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.  Enough was enough;, it was time to call the police.

The corpse, one eye bulging from a fractured orbital socket, drew in a deep, gargling breath before letting out a scream of rage.  Tim dropped his phone.  The stool hopped up and down as the stranger railed against the zip ties binding him to the chair.

Duane without show or pause wrapped the exposed wire around the man’s neck and plugged it into the power socket.  The rage suddenly turned into a wail of pain and despair.  The stranger’ss’ body went rigid, and the hopping of the stool turned into a rapid staccato.  Lights dimmed, threatening to go entirely before the short man unplugged the power cord.

The stranger slumped back in the stool, tiny curls of smoke wispinged from his mouth. Duane leaned down and looked the man in his one good eye.

“I’m going to make this quick.”  His voice was flat, deadly in its intensity.  “I’m looking for my daughter.”

The little smile that crossed the stranger’s lips turned into another scream as Duane plugged him in again.  He watched without expression as the man jumped and twitched, only pulling the plug when the power threatened to short out the entire store.  

The stranger slumped in the chair, barely conscious, and the room was dead silent.  In the background, a coffee machine beeped twice in alarm as it kicked back on.

“I’ve got all the time in the world,” Duane said emphatically.  “What do you have, five, maybe six hours?”

“You have far less time than you…. AIEEEEEE!”

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

The stranger said nothing.  The smile was gone.  He considered his tormentor with hate filled eyes.

Duane pulled a paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and held it in front of his captive’ss’ one good eye.  “This is my daughter.  You were one of the last…”  He hitched his breath.  “You were one of the last “’people’” seen with her.”  He uttered the word “people” with derision.

The man considered the photo briefly before staring blankly back at Duane.  “Never heard of her.  Looks like she has issues.”  The smirk crawled across bloody lips.  He spit blood at the image.

Jaw set, body trembling, Duane slammed the photograph into the man’s face and punched him several times.  “Look again!”

The stranger snarled and bit empty air, trying to clamp down on Duane’s hand.  “I never saw that bitch!”

Duane stepped back and turned away.  Tim could see the sheen of sweat beading on his head.  The stout man looked tired and smaller.  He folded the photograph up and put it back in his coat pocket.  Calming elevator music played quietly overhead, in direct contrast to the murderous tension played out before the store clerk.

“You see, Jerry,.”  Duane turned and looked the stranger in the eye.  “TThat is your name.  I know you are lying.”

“Really?  How might that be?”  The voice was cold, taunting.

“One of your friends told me.”

Jerry was silent.

“I can be very persuasive.” Duane smiled but there was no warmth in it.

“You are the liar!  I have no friends,.”  Jerry snarled, barely suppressing rage.

“Well,” Duane amended, “Nnot anymore.”

The stranger violently struggled against his bonds.  Without emotion, Duane picked up the bat and swung it full force into Jerry’s chest.  Bones audibly snapped.  The screaming and thrashing stopped.

“No no no no!”  The store clerk cried out.  “This has to stop!  Right now!”  

Tim picked up his cell phone.  It was shattered.  Without pausing, he picked up the store phone and dialed 9-1-1.  Duane stared, making no move to stop Tim.  After a brief pause, the clerk hung up and tried again.  “It’s dead!”

Duane nodded.  “He cut the line just before he came in here.”

“What!?”   The clerk lowered the phone.

“Arranged a little accident down the road too, blocked off traffic.  Right, Jerry?”

The stranger gasped and coughed blood into his lap.

“Why would he do that?”  Tim asked, incredulous.

Duane stared at him.  “You weren’t supposed to make it out of here alive tonight.”

Jerry leaned back and drew in a deep, ragged breath.  Both men stared in mute silence.  After taking a moment to collect himself, he sat upright and glared hard at Duane.  “When I get out of here, I’m going to…”

“Shut up or I’ll plug you back in and watch you dance,.”  Duane cut him off.  The stranger glowered but remained quiet.  “Where is my daughter?”

Jerry turned his gaze to the parking lot.   A set of lights turned in and slowly rolled up to the store front.  “Your time is up.”  He tried to laugh but coughed instead.

Lights beaming into the store, all three watched as the car door swung open.  A figure, silhouetted in the light, stretched and slowly walked to the door.  

Jerry laughed in mirthless glee. “It’s a cop!  You are screwed.” 

Lowering the bat, unmoving, he Duane watched as the officer opened the door and paused at the mayhem in the store.  He looked at Jerry hopping madly in the stool, Duane holding a baseball bat, and finally at Tim frozen in shock behind the counter.

“Help me! He’s going to kill me!”  Jerry cried out.

The cop turned his gaze on the stranger, and continued into the store.  Tall and thin with salt and pepper hair, he didn’t take his eyes off Jerry until wehe was well past him.  His steely eyes considered the man with the bat.

“Duane.”  He nodded.

Returning the nod, heDuane replied.,  “Jim.”

Jerry, taken aback, ceased his struggle and gawked at the officer.  He stared as the cop calmly opened a cooler and took his time to select an iced tea.

“Wait?  What?  Aren’t you going to shoot him or something?”

Jim ignored the stranger and walked up to the clerk.  He set the tea on the counter and stared expectantly at Tim.  The young man was still staring blankly at Duane and the stranger who had come to kill him.   The deputy tapped his finger on the tea.  Tim looked at the cop, his mind still swimming.

“How much, son?”

“What? Oh…”  Tim wiped the sweat from his brow and attempted to ring up the drink.  “That’ll be two-eleven.”  His eyes drifted back to the bloody scene.  He did not move until he felt the money pressed into his hand.  When he snapped back to the task at hand, the officer was staring intently into his eyes.

Jim looked back at the carnage behind him before turning his gaze to the young clerk again.

“Looks to me like you’ve got a bloodsucker problem around here.”

The young man looked back at Jerry.  “What?”

The deputy raised an eyebrow and maintained his gaze until the clerk looked back at him.  When Tim finally did look at him, he nodded at the security monitor.  Slowly turning, heTim gazed at the screen and jerked back around to stare at the stranger.  TimHe did this several times.  In the monitor the stool was empty.  Every time he turned to look, Jerry was still occupying it.

Without another word, the store clerk dropped his keys on the counter, grabbed his jacket, and walked out the door.  The deputy watched him walk away before turning to look at Duane.

“I’m heading out to do my rounds.  Going to take me and hour or two.  Make sure you clean up your mess by then.”

Duane nodded but said nothing.  Jerry, looking as if he were going to cry, also said nothing.  They both watched as the deputy strolled out of the store, got in his squad car, and drove slowly away.

Suddenly filled with apprehension, the stranger tried to bargain.  “Now, look…”

“Where’s my daughter?  Where is Melissa?”

For the first time, Jerry really considered the small man.  He was tired and pale.  His eyes were rimmed with red from lack of sleep and grief.  But they were hard set, barely containing the rage burning in this father’s heart.  Hell burned in his eyes, and it gave the stranger a chill.

“Why?  Why should I tell you?  You are just going to kill me anyway.”

With a sigh, Duane put the bat back in with the apples, blood smearing across pristine green skins.  “No.  I’m going to let you live.”

“Huh?”  Jerry grunted.

“If you don’t tell me how to get to my daughter, I’m going to let you live.  Only, you’re going to wish you hadn’t.”

The stranger opened his mouth, but closed it again.

Duane turned to look at the slowly lightening portion of the sky.  “Every day she is missing is another day I will keep you alive.”  He untwined the exposed copper wire from Jerry’s neck and wrapped it carefully.

Turning, he stooped down to look into Jerry’s good eye.  “All of this?  I was in a hurry.  Rushed it a bit.  It’s okay, though.”  His eyes were dead, flat, and resolute.  “Once I get you out of here, though, we’ll have plenty of time together.  We’ll do this the right way.”

Duane continued to stare at Jerry.

Jerry, understanding finally, opened his mouth to speak.