It was fortunate that I was still holding the toilet paper because at the sound of the firearm discharging in such a small space, and with the glass and plastic that made up the lights and the fixtures falling around me, I had no choice but to bite down on something to stop a scream coming out of me.
Calm as anything, the guy pointed it back at her. “Do it.”
I had three options. I could stay where I was and hope he didn’t see me, or I could run at him and try to get the gun out of his hands, or I could find somewhere to hide and call the police. Option one smelled too strongly of chicken shit, option two smelled too strongly of death, so I was thinking option three was the only way forward.
Glancing around, I looked for somewhere to hide. Behind me was a door with Staff Only written on the sign stuck to it, but there wasn’t a keypad to gain access, so I tried it, and the door opened with nary a squeak.
Hoping he was focused on the job at hand and not on what was happening behind him, I crawled inside, only just holding back a whimper when I realized it was a small closet with cleaning stuff inside it. Shit.
“Now’s not the time to have a panic attack, Naomi. Focus on what you’re doing,” I whispered as my shaking hands fumbled with my phone. How had something that was like an extension of my own body usually become so complex to use and slippery to hold?
My first attempt at calling the emergency services ended with me dialing 991 because my hands were shaking so badly. It was becoming hard to breathe, so I cleared the screen, held the pack of toilet paper even tighter to my chest, and tried again.
I got it right. I whispered as quietly as I could what the problem was to the operator, then texted Carter while she asked questions because she couldn’t hear me properly.
Figuring it was probably easier just to make sure she heard the address and problem, I put my mouth next to the speaker.
“Robbery. McGill’s gas station. Send help.”
The text I sent to Carter was a bit more detailed.
Me: There’s a man with a shotgun wanting money at McGill’s. Am stuck in closet with toilet paper. Would you mind picking up Shanti and Nemi? X
His reply came through quickly.
Carter: We’re on our way. Stay in the damned closet. Xx
It was just as well I’d texted him because, at that moment, the dispatch lady snapped, “Is this a prank call?”
I didn’t have to reply because Mr. Gun-toting Robber Guy shot at something again. God, please don’t let it be the checkout chick!
“I’ll get units to you right away, Ma’am. Stay on the line for me.”
Where did she think I was going to go? It’s not like I could call Jacinda and continue discussing vibrators or which was better— cinnamon rolls or donuts.
The little bell over the door that sounded when it was opened tinkled, making me squeeze down tighter on the toilet paper in case the guy had an accomplice. Didn’t they usually have a getaway driver? Moments after it, someone walked over something crunchy outside the door, and it opened to show the pale face of the chick behind the desk.
“He’s gone.”
That’s when what I’d done hit me—I’d left her out there on her own with a shotgun pointed at her face. Sure, I’d called the police, but I’d still left her on her own.
It took every ounce of strength I had to get to my feet, but I managed it.
“Are you okay? I’m so sorry for leaving you. I called the police and texted my boyfriend, who’s an officer, but do you need a Band-Aid? Something to drink? Some DayQuil?”
I dug around in my purse for the bottle I’d brought with me, seeing as how I was due my next dose while I was out, and there was no way I was missing it.
“I think I have some Shrek bandages in here, too. My niece loves the donkey ones, though, so I can’t promise I’ve got any of them.”
“Uh, Ma’am, I think you need the bandages.”
“No, no, I’ll buy more of them. She probably wants different ones now, anyway, like maybe Trolls.” I pushed the shit in my purse violently to the side as I searched for them. “That’s what’s on the bandage my boyfriend got to put around the cast on her arm, you know. Where—”
The package of toilet paper was tugged out of my grasp. She ripped into it, pulled out a whole roll, and pressed it against my head, making it feel like someone was stabbing my brain.
“Ow, what did you do that for?”
The girl pulled it away and held it in front of my face, showing me where the white paper was now stained red. “You’re bleeding.”