Monster Chapter Four - 8:39:44 a.m.

Before mine eyes in opposition sits
Grim Death, my son and foe —John Milton

Nick flicked at his cigarette, realized he held only the filter and dropped the butt to the parking lot.

He pulled the pack of smokes from his pocket, then jammed it back in. How many had he had? Three? Four? Too many would make him sick to his stomach.

And he wasn’t about to dick around in the Lee’s Grocery parking lot all morning.

Either go in or go home.

He had to make the choice. The same goddam choice he’d been making since Little Cowboy three years ago.

Choose to act and save another human being, or choose to do nothing and let them die. Some people would say that’s an easy choice. Those people didn’t know what the hell they were talking about.

The automatic doors at the front of the store opened. Nobody went in or out. After a moment, they rumbled close.

Nick looked at his reflection in the tinted window of his car. He pushed at a few angry tufts of hair that sprouted haphazardly at odd angles. He straightened his sweatshirt and then became aware of what he was doing.

I’ve decided, then. I’ve made up my mind.

Shit.

He took a few deep breaths and cleared his mind. If he was going to do this, he’d do it right. No mistakes. Another breath, then he locked his car.

He pulled his hoodie up over his head, low on his brow. If he’d been more careful, he wouldn’t have seen the clerk’s timer in the first place. Instead of chasing symbols for the rest of the day, he’d be at home eating burritos and watching TV.

Nick walked to the store, through the doors, and then veered left through the produce section. Walking to the back, he cut across the length of the store and stopped in front of a bank of coolers. Folding his arms in front of his chest, he stared at the eggs and thought about lies.

In three short years, he’d had a lot of practice with lies. Lies to the police. Lies to his mother. She was sharp and not easily fooled. He learned what worked and what didn’t. A lie had to be simple, disarming, and believable.

The best lies, the ones that worked, were mostly true.

He remembered a day in July. Before timers and before the accident. A hot evening on the back patio with warm cement under naked feet. The sound of children chasing summer twilight.

And the syrupy splash of cold root beer over tongue and teeth. Dad’s homemade root beer.

He had his lie.

Nick walked toward the front of the store. He needed information about the girl at the cash register. Anything would help, but most important—where she would be at 1:18 tomorrow morning.

The moment she would die.

He stopped at the end of the aisle and poked through some items on an end cap. He lifted his head until he could just spy the girl under the top of his hoodie. She stood at her till, ringing up a woman.

He found himself smiling. God help him, even after all this time, he still loved the thrill of the hunt.

He’d been doing this for three years, and over time had improved. Because lives were at stake, he always treated each situation with care. He’d learned how to follow people. How to blend into a crowd and not be seen. How to keep his cool in tense situations. How to act confused when people accused him of doing exactly what he was doing—following them. Watching them.

Interfering.

Nick waited for the right moment and then got in line behind the woman, keeping his head down. The fewer people who saw his face, the better. He rubbed his brow, stealing a glance at the tag attached to the front of the girl’s shirt.

Celeste—his first piece of information.

The customer finished paying, returned her credit card to her wallet, and left.

Celeste turned to him, and Nick put on a sheepish face.

“Back already?” Her smile touched the far corners of her face. “You didn’t get enough of me the first time around?”

That caught Nick by surprise; for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. After the briefest of pauses, he pushed forward with his lie. He let his face grow warm with embarrassment. When you felt a lie, deep down, it became truth.

“My mom asked me to grab a few things, and I only got the stuff I needed. If I’d forgotten, I would have heard about it for the rest of the day.”

Simple. Disarming. Believable.

Celeste’s eyes danced over him and took him in all at once. She looked at his sweatshirt, his empty hands, then back to his face. He gave her just a moment to make a comment—ask why he didn’t have anything, but she said nothing. She seemed amused.

He almost forgot the rest of the lie. “Um . . . we’re making root beer—my family is—and I’m supposed to get the root beer extract—that’s the flavoring. I looked for it by the spices but couldn’t see it. I checked the soda section, but it’s not there either.”

She gave him a funny look, and for a moment, he wondered if she knew he was lying. But then she said, “You had it right the first time. It’s by the spices. I can show you.”

“Thank you.” Nick fell in beside Celeste and followed her back through the store. He used the opportunity to add substance to the lie. “My mom wants one more BBQ before it gets too cold. And she insists we can’t have a BBQ without homemade root beer.”

Celeste laughed, even though he’d said nothing funny. It was the same laugh he’d heard earlier this morning. Genuine.

Did she think he was flirting with her? What had she said? Didn’t get enough of me the first time around? His days of flirting were long gone. He spent all of his time trying to blend in. To be overlooked.

They stopped in the middle of the baking goods aisle, and Celeste scanned the shelf. “Here they are,” she pointed to a row of dark brown bottles. Her eyes were teasing. “Imagine that. Right at eye level and in alphabetical order.”

Nick’s face grew warm, this time, involuntarily. “Uh, Thanks. I don’t know how I missed it. And you have dry ice, right?”

“Yes, it’s up front,” Celeste said. “Come to my station, and I’ll get one of the clerks to get what you need.”

“Perfect.” Nick started to follow Celeste then stopped. He wanted to check one more thing. “Sugar. I think I need sugar too. I refuse to come back a third time.”

Celeste smiled, her brown eyes deep and unreadable.

Damn those eyes.

Bright and brilliant, they cut into him as she held his gaze. Standing there in the sterile aisle of the grocery store, listening to an instrumental version of Windy, Nick felt a crushing ache to love and be loved. To connect with another soul. To first brush fingers, then hold a hand, knowing that another being is just as lost in your world as you are in theirs. Content with life, as long as you share the same time and the same place and the same breath.

“Sugar’s on aisle six,” Celeste said. “I’ll see you back up front.”

She turned and was gone.

He stared at the spices until his breathing had slowed, then he dropped the bottle of root beer extract into his pocket.

Keeping his head down and his hoodie low, he walked toward the back of the store. The aisles were mostly empty; the pre-work rush was over. He passed one other person, but he kept his head down and saw only legs and feet.

At the back of the store, he found a door marked “Employees Only.” He picked through some day-old bakery items in a nearby cart to make sure he was alone, then pushed open the door. A short hall opened into the back of the store. He found what he was looking for around the corner. A break room.

The small area held cheap plastic tables and chairs, a small fridge, and a microwave.  The odor of burnt popcorn and processed food filled the space.

He was alone.

Scanning the room, he spied a white piece of paper taped to a cupboard door. Rows and columns and dates and handwriting. He crossed to the cupboard and scanned the sheet. He found the Friday column.

Celeste – 7:00–1:00.

Another piece of information.

“Can I help you?”

Nick turned and saw black loafers, black pants, and a green apron covering a rotund middle. He lifted his head just enough to see a man in his thirties standing at the entrance of the break room. He had a black mustache and wore his hair slicked back.

“I said, can I help you?”

The tone was neither polite nor helpful. Nick guessed the man used every chance he could to remind those who worked for him who was in charge.

Nick kept his face blank, then pointed at the counter. “Can I use this microwave in here? I mean, if I buy something in the store, can I—”

The man almost sputtered, “No, you can’t use the microwave in here. You’re not even supposed to be back here. This is for employees only.”

“Oh.” Nick looked at the microwave and then the man, keeping his face blank. He tried to look high. “Employees only. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

The man was probably six feet tall, but Nick was taller. He took a few measured steps across the room, and the man in the green apron watched.

Nick stopped a foot in front of the man—just inside his personal space. Nick saw a flicker of fear replace the man’s contempt. The two of them were still alone. The air coming out of the man’s nose made the slightest of whistles.

“I’ll find a microwave somewhere else,” Nick left the man standing in the break room.

Nick went to aisle six. He picked up a bag of sugar and put it back. His rent was due in another week. He pulled the root beer extract out of his pocket. He hadn’t noticed the price, but if he kept the receipt, he could return it for a refund tomorrow after he’d saved the girl.

He found Celeste straightening magazines at her check stand.

She smiled when she saw him. “Don’t tell me you need help finding the sugar.” Her smile was as genuine as her laughter.

Nick allowed himself to smile. “No, I texted my mom. Plenty of sugar at home. I just need the dry ice.” There would be no returning the dry ice. He should have thought of a less expensive lie.

“How much do you need?”

“Two pounds. Actually, one is probably enough.”

Celeste picked up a phone and asked over the intercom for a clerk to bring ice, then she scanned the root beer extract.

Celeste dropped the bottle in a bag. Nick let the silence stretch until it was just awkward so his question wouldn’t seem suspicious. “Got any big plans for the day?” He kept his voice casual.

“Just work until this afternoon. Some friends are dragging me to the Utah State game tonight, so I guess I’ll do that.”

Nick didn’t follow sports. He didn’t follow anything unless it had a timer. But it was fall, and that meant football. “Home game, right?”

He heard the clerk approaching from behind. Nick didn’t make eye contact. One less person to recognize him if something went wrong.

“Yep, a home game.” Celeste weighed and rang up the dry ice while she talked. “They’re starting it late because it’s on ESPN. Kickoff’s at ten. Your total is eleven forty-eight.”

Too many numbers swirled in his head. Did he even have twelve dollars left over from earlier? And ten o’clock. She’d said ten o’clock. A football game was what, three or four hours? His face flushing, he fumbled with his wallet. He pulled out his bills and found he only had eleven dollars. Ten o’clock plus three, maybe four. That put her either in the stadium at 1:18, or on her way home. He shoved his hand deep into his pocket and felt some heavy coins. That was a good sign. Pulling out the change, he picked out two quarters and passed them over.

Nick knew he looked ragged. Right then, he felt it, too.

When the idea came to him, he spoke without thinking. “The game sounds like fun. Maybe I’ll get a ticket myself.” God, what was he saying? He couldn’t pretend to flirt. “So, my name is Nick. Nick Carson. Your friends . . . uh . . . do you think they’d mind another . . . do you think they’d care if I tagged along?”

His face burned. He was going about this all wrong; he could feel it. But if she invited him to the game, he could avoid stalking her altogether. It’d be easier to step in and save her if he was with her and not following her.

Only now, he’d just made his job harder. Now that he’d made a fool of himself, she’d remember him. If he saw him even once, then—

“I tell you what.” Celeste handed him the receipt. “We’ll be in the student section. If you get a ticket, come and find us. If my friends like you, then sure, you can hang around.”

He couldn’t read her face. She didn’t seem flattered he’d flirted with her, but she also seemed open to him coming.

Wrong. Something about this was all wrong.

“Okay. Sure. Maybe I’ll see you tonight.”

He pulled his hoodie down and carried his groceries out to his car. He dropped the dry ice onto the pavement and kicked it under the Toyota. He threw the extract into the back seat.

Getting in his car, he looked at his watch, then rubbed the stubble on his jaw. Nine-twelve. He had a lot to do before the game. He couldn’t help but feel he was playing this sloppy. Celeste had disrupted his normal discipline.

Her eyes.

An elderly gentleman got out of his car, locked his door, and entered the store. He could just make out the rift above his head but couldn’t see his timer. Nick glanced at his watch again.

He started his car and drove out of the parking lot.