Chapter 11
As I make my way through the streets from our room, the sun starts to peek through the clouds, and I feel its warmth cutting through my layers, just enough to make the walk bearable.
Outside the convenience store, the motion-sensor doors part like the Red Sea, inviting me in with a soft whoosh.
We've already grabbed most of the essentials at the grocery store, but I take a small red basket to make my presence seem less suspicious.
No one's behind the counter to greet me as I step in, so I wander through the cramped aisles, picking up the most affordable items that won't go to waste.
A few overpriced energy drinks find their way in, along with a couple of candy bars.
The store feels almost too small to function as a one-stop shop, its aisles narrow and cluttered, as if they're trying to squeeze everything in—tall shelves crammed with products that barely fit.
There's a tiny deli tucked away, a modest produce section, a small alcohol display, and name-brand goods scattered among cleaning supplies and toilet paper.
As I reach for an item, I freeze when the whispers on the other side of the aisle grow clearer.
"She looks so familiar, but I can't place it," one older woman's voice says in a hushed tone.
"I know, but she also looks like trouble. Why are they here over the holidays? Don't they have a family? It can't be good," another elderly female responds, low but matter of fact.
"You knew the looky-loos would show up eventually. But I can't figure out that one girl… Is she famous?"
The voices are drawing nearer, and I hurry away, eager to keep listening.
I keep my back to them as I move toward the front of the store, hoping they won't recognize me and will just carry on with their conversation.
They seem oblivious to anyone else, and the first woman continues. "Did you see Albert leave his dungeon? He went into the Red Barn. I wonder if Agnes kicked him out."
Albert? That's got to be the creep we ran into. There's no way this town has two Old Man Marley's like in Home Alone. One weirdo is enough, and I'm betting Albert is our guy.
"He scurried off—who knows where he went?" The other woman muses, the clink of items being thrown into a steel cart echoing in the otherwise quiet store. "He needs to be put out of his misery already."
"He's gotten worse…"
"Dementia's a hell of a disease. Anyway, want me to ring you up?"
Oh, shit—one of them works here, and the other's just shopping for groceries and catching up on gossip.
"If you're all done, honey," she adds, and I realize she's talking to me now. "I can ring you up, too. Did you need help finding anything?"
She's speaking to the back of my head, so I force out a polite response. "I just realized I forgot my wallet. Sorry about that. I'll be back soon."
I leave the handheld basket at my feet and practically run out of the store.