"So sorry, miss," she said, grabbing up the shoes Ariana had gathered. "Size?"
"Six," Ariana replied. "And please, don't worry about it. It's crazy here today."
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"Tell me about it!" the woman said, taking a breath. "Thanks for understanding."
Ariana smirked as the woman scurried away. As long as you understand when I deprive your department of a few hundred dollars' worth of shoes.
As she waited, Ariana watched a tall woman across from her try on several pairs of expensive sandals without even bothering to put peds over her gnarled, callus-ridden toes. She wrinkled her nose in distaste and looked away.
"Here you go!"
The saleswoman returned and dumped ten shoe boxes at Ariana's feet. Instantly, three more shoe-wielding shoppers descended upon her, demanding sizes. She made a few notes and rushed off again without a second glance back at Ariana.
Perfect. Slowly, deliberately, Ariana opened each of the boxes. She didn't even need to try the shoes on. She had owned several pairs of shoes from these designers in her former life and knew that she was a perfect size six on their size charts. Quickly checking to make sure that none of the other shoppers were looking, Ariana slipped a pair of Coach flats into her bag. She followed them with a pair of leather Michael Kors sandals, black sling-backs, and some cute Kenneth Cole sneakers. Then she paused. The bag was full to bursting. If she tried to get anything else in there, it was either going to tear, or someone was going to notice the shape of a heel sticking into the vinyl and she'd get snagged.
Decisions, decisions.
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Ariana eyed the rest of the shoes with longing. Finally, she decided on a pair of sensible black D&G sandals, which would go with almost anything. She pushed her feet into them and sighed. Not one of her painful blisters was aggravated by the straps. They were like heaven for her toes.
Quickly, Ariana placed her hiking boots inside the sneaker box, closed it up, and put it on the bottom of the stack. She then closed all the other boxes and looked around. Her saleswoman was helping a middle-aged woman with leathery skin strap on a pair of four-inch heels. Taking a deep breath, Ariana shouldered her now quite heavy backpack and strolled away from the shoe department.
On the way back through the women's clothing department, one of the saleswomen gave her an admiring smile--the sort of smile Ariana had been used to before her stay at the Brenda T. Ariana felt a flutter of pride. She was back. Really and truly back.
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A SCARE
Ariana strolled the mall in her new sandals, heading for the exit at a deliberate pace. She knew that sooner or later that saleswoman was going to find all those empty boxes along with her crappy boots, and sound the alarm. Hopefully she wouldn't be able to pinpoint the nice girl with the auburn hair as the culprit, but one never knew. Her stomach growled as she passed by an upscale bar and grill. What she wouldn't give for some real food...."Ariana Osgood."
Ariana stopped in her tracks. Her heart fluttered so rapidly it made her cough. Who the hell did she know in Dallas? How had they recognized her? What was she going to do? Her fingers curled into fists as her vision prickled over. She was not going back. Never going back. Instantly, her mind started to concoct scenarios. There was an exit to her left--a small one, kind of dark and unused. A maintenance cart was parked off to the side. If she could lure whoever it was down
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there, she might have a shot at getting rid of them. There had to be something on that cart she could use. A plastic bag for suffocation, a stepladder as a club.... There were always ways. Ever so slowly, Ariana turned around, ready to do whatever it took to maintain her freedom.
But there was no one there. The voice was not coming from a person. It was coming from the TV behind the bar.
Her own smiling face stared back at her from the screen, a photo taken back at Easton during a schoolwide charity event. Ariana started to tremble
as her empty stomach clenched. She hadn't eaten anything other than pretzels and water for the past two days--all she could afford on her meager stash--and suddenly she felt weak. Stepping forward, she leaned her hand on the back of one of the tall bar stools for support.
"... body of Atlanta socialite Ariana Osgood has yet to be found, but we have now learned that the convicted murderer attempted suicide just days before her disappearance. When a new suicide note was found by her cellmate on the night of July fourth, a full-scale search of the facility was conducted. That was when prison officials found a hole beneath the fence surrounding the facility, which seems to have been dug out by a dog owned by one of the employees."
The camera focused in on the ditch. It looked so small in the light of day. Ariana's heart constricted as the memories of that night assaulted her, and she started to sweat.
I'm okay.... I'm okay.... It's over. I'm not going back. Never going back...75
Her grip on the bar stool tightened and she forced herself to breathe.
In... one... two... three...
Out... one... two... three...
She glanced around, expecting to see a crowd forming around the television. Dozens of people rapt with interest. But the shoppers in the mall just kept right on about their business, window shopping, chatting on their cells, maneuvering their strollers onto the escalator. No one here cared. No one had noticed her.