Don't go to Otto's
It was almost 1am and my boyfriend, George, was blasting his music (some rock-ish band I never knew how to pronounce called Polyphia) out the four opened windows of his Toyota Camry. I reached forward and adjusted the vent that was maxed out on hot air flow, making sure it was perfectly positioned to merge with the chilly April night wind. You might think it's stupid to have the windows down and heat on (my parents always told me not to), but there was something about the combination which was so refreshing.
Anyway, George and I had just finished seeing the new Mario movie and decided to do a little driving around before he brought me home (much to my parents' dismay). We were both high school seniors, met in chem (cliche, I know), and have been dating for a few months. Things were still new so we could spend all night up talking (and frequently did). I was honestly scared of graduating because I knew we wouldn't be going to the same college (he was going to a tech college in town, I was looking at going cross country for a good med school), so I cherished every moment we had together.
I was internalizing all this for like the fourth time when he caught me staring at his face. "What?" he said with a laugh and bright smile that still made my stomach knot. I smirked back and said "nothing", then leaned on his shoulder.
I saw flashing red lights just ahead in the distance and one of those railroad protection arms swung down. George stopped and we passed the time while a freight train barreled by.
God I loved him.
After the train passed, we idled over the bumpy tracks and toward an intersection. We were further into town now, and lighting up the entire space in camera-flash white was the newly installed gas station, "Otto's".
"What's that?" George asked.
"What? Otto's? You haven't been there yet?"
He frowned and shook his head. "Wasn't that a Casey's like last week?"
"Mmm, maybe like two weeks ago. It was a big thing. Otto's, the automated convenience store. I've went with Alice and them like twice. It's kinda cool. There's an actual robot."
"A robot? Like WALL-E?" He asked, eyes glowing. (He was a big WALL-E fan).
I rolled my eyes playfully and smiled. "No, not like WALL-E. It's, well." I considered trying to explain but just said, "let's just go in, you'll see."
But I didn't have to tell him. He was already making the turn. He lifted his hand up like a visor and squinted. "Why is this place so bright though? It's like they ordered the same lights as a football stadium." He turned into the lot. "Otto's", he read the name off the embedded screen aloud. "Like the Ottoman empire? What does that mean."
"No, not like the Ottoman empire" I facepalmed, still smiling. "Otto—like—it sounds like 'auto', short for 'automation'".
He parked in front of the store and considered this, touching his chin deliberately. "Or short for 'automaton'. But I still like the empire connection better."
I laughed. "I swear, boys and empires. You're such a dork."
He leaned in and kissed me. Then he turned off the ignition and we both got out.
It was colder outside without the warm air and heated seats. I tucked my hands into the armpits of my coat and speed waddled to the front door where George was holding it open. He greeted me with a "ma'am" and a bow, and I returned the favor by reaching out and touching his forehead.
He watched me speed away and asked, "what was that for?"
"You're it!" I declared, already half way down the first aisle.
I heard the door slam shut. Footsteps tracked down the aisle just as I rounded the corner toward the back near the baked goods. He rounded the same corner as I continued down the aisle past the self-pour slushies and soft drinks, then around the island of robotic arms trapped inside a glass prism. I knelt down and ducked into a candy aisle, barcodes flashing their smiles from under each item. I heard the screech of shoes sliding against the pristinely kept tile floors, then nothing. I held my breath for almost twenty seconds, expecting to see my boyfriend peek around the corner. Then I started to get nervous. Another ten seconds. No sound. I stood up and called his name. Nothing. Silence.
"Got you!" He yelled and rushed me from behind, pulling me into his arms and embracing me in a bear hug.
My heart jumped out of my chest. I instinctively swatted back at him, then screamed "fuck!"
"Yeah?" He winked.
"Shut up", I said and pushed him away.
"Hey, it was your game."
I folded my arms and looked away for a few seconds. Then I glanced back at him. My lips curled into a smile. We both broke out into laughter.
As our laughing died down and our breathing evened out, we both heard a squeaky sound approaching from the front of the store. It sounded a bit like someone wearing those puffy squeaking shoes while walking on the whirr of a slow-paced treadmill. I looked at the opening of the aisle in anticipation.
Otto emerged a second later. He was an almost human-sized bot. Around 4 and a half feet. He had a pyramid-shaped base with rubber spheres for wheels that he used to roll around the shop. He also had a rectangular torso which dualed as a kiosk, two arms which were folded in front of him so seamlessly it looked like a rolling pin, and a bulky head with a smile painted on that looked like a rotated bracket.
"Hello, may I be of service?" Otto said in a comically robotic voice. Its head even tilted a little when it asked.
"Damn, it's real." George said and walked over to inspect the robot.
"What? You thought I was lying?"
"No, no, of course not. I just mean," then he looked around and took the whole place in for the first time. "No one else works here? This is really all automated?" Then he patted Otto's head.
"Do you need help finding any items?" Otto replied.
"No, that's alright," I responded. "We'll let you know if we need help. Thanks Otto."
Otto hesitated for a few seconds. Then it did the slowest about-face in history and headed back to the front of the store.
"So? WALL-E, or no?"
George turned his gaze from Otto to me. "Oh, nah, I mean it's cool but—"
"You can use him to check out."
"Really?"
"Yeah, let's get something. I'll show you."
"Alright", George said and started back toward the drink section. As we passed the arm display, he tapped on the glass, likely expecting something to move. Instead, the metal pieces stayed perfectly still.
"This place is no fun." He remarked. "I mean, Otto is cool and all, but you think they'd buy into the robot thing a little harder. It's all just decoration."
"Well the coffee machine is run by a robot too if that interests you."
It did, and we walked back to the bakery section, then through a smaller aisle which forked around some bulky vending machines that housed more expensive electronic items, and finally arrived at the BAR BOX. Short for "barista box". True to its namesake, the entire section was enclosed in a glass box. In the center of a bunch of barista equipment was a white arm which looked a little like a crane.
"Want anything?" George asked as he fingered through the digital menu.
"At this hour?"
"They have decaf"
"Nah, I'm okay. I think I'll just get some mints when we go back."
"Alright, then I'll just get—" George started when we heard another voice from behind us. I jumped a little and looked back. It was Otto.
"Is there anything else I can help you find?" It said, each word slow and evenly spaced with that robotic undertone.
George eyed me with a confused look. Then he said, "uhh, no thanks. I was just going to get some coffee . . . "
Otto stared at us for several seconds as if waiting for some further explanation. Then once again he turned back the way he came and scooted away.
A few seconds passed in silence before George said, "is it just me, or was that creepy as fuck?"
It wasn't just him. Otto never re-approached like that when I came here before with my friends. But for some reason I just said, "yeah, I don't know. Maybe they just programmed him to be extra attentive."
George didn't seem to agree, but he shrugged it off and finished punching in the coffee order. At once, the ivory arm went to work grabbing a cup then maneuvering it over to the espresso machine with mechanical precision. The drip was instant, and when it finished, it rushed the cup over to the boiling water faucet and filled it to the top before meticulously placing on a lid and serving it in the pick-up window.
We both watched in silence. Then George grabbed the cup, took a sip, and said "yup, it's coffee. Let's go." We headed back to the front.
"You want your gum?" George asked as we passed by the candy.
"Mints… and yeah" I responded.
"Ah, well they're right here" he said, pointing.
I walked over to him and browsed the section when I heard a slurping noise. Then another. "Could you drink that any louder?" I asked.
He was holding the cup up to his nose, then lowered it and took another large slurp, deliberately making as much noise as possible. "Sorry—ma'am, I—did—not—hear—you". George said with his best Otto impression.
I tried to hold it back, but the laughter came the same as before. I pushed him. "You're such an idiot."
I found the Altoid brand and flavor I liked and we both went to the center of the store to check out. Neither of us wanted to use Otto at that point, so we used the store's main kiosk. George clicked "Display Items" and the decaf coffee and Altoids automatically popped up along with their subsequent totals. However, underneath the two items was another line which read "Unlabeled" for $0.00.
George looked back at me. "Do you have something else?" he asked.
I showed him the mints in one hand and nothing in the other.
"That's weird," he said but tapped his phone on the reader anyway. The Apple pay "beep" chimed and the total cleared. It asked if he wanted a receipt, but we both turned and headed for the exit before answering. We saw Otto idling in the corner by the Slim Jims, facing our direction. George waved at him and then tugged on the door handle.
It didn't budge.
He tried it again, pulling harder, but the door didn't move.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I don't know. I think it's locked."
Just then a female's voice cracked over an intercom I didn't know existed. Both George and I stumbled back a step and looked at the ceiling. I only now became aware of the many black-dome security cameras spotted across the top of the walls.
"Attention customers. Please remember to pay for all items before leaving the store."
It took a second to register what she was saying. Both George and I shared another glance, then looked back up at the ceiling and said "we did pay".
There was no response. Just silence except for the idle whirring of Otto in the corner, still watching us.
George tsk-ed and stomped back over to the kiosk. I hesitated but followed quickly when I remembered Otto was behind me.
I saw him click the "Display Items" tab again, and sure enough, there was one item listed:
Unlabeled. $0.00.
"What the f—" George muttered under his breath, then turned back to the ceiling. "What is this? What are you charging me for?"
No response.
"Fucking hell", he muttered and pulled out his Apple pay again. Another beep. Then he grabbed my hand and we hurried even quicker to the exit. This time the woman spoke just as George's hand slapped the handle.
"Please pay for all items. Theft will not be tolerated."
The door was locked.
"Nah, fuck this," George said and pulled his phone out. "Look, if you don't let us out right now, I'm calling the cops." He threatened.
The voice responded to the threat by warning, "if you continue to take items without paying, we will have to retrieve them." Otto whirred into action with a slight jolt.
"Where are you?" I called to the lady. "Are you in the store? You can see we haven't taken anything. Here, I'll even return the mints." I said and started toward the aisle when George grabbed my hand with a little too much force.
"Don't," he told me. "You didn't do anything wrong."
"Let go," I said, wriggling free. "You're hurting me."
My words caught him off guard and he snapped out of his angry trance, releasing my arm. "Sorry," he said genuinely. "I just—"
"I know," I said. "Look, I don't care about the mints. Let's just return our stuff and hopefully it'll let us go."
I could still see the indignance in his expression, but he acquiesced. "How am I supposed to return the coffee though? I already started drinking it."
"Just put it down on the counter next to the kiosk."
He did, and after I returned the mints we both walked back to the door. However, this time, Otto was standing in front.
"Final warning. Return the items or we will retrieve them." Said the woman, whose voice was now rough and crackly like a radio in spotty reception.
George, trying to keep calm for my sake, raised his hands and said "fine, go ahead and 'retrieve them'".
"George, what?" I looked at him quizzically.
"What? It's not like we have anything. Plus, whatever it does, we'll at least know what it wants."
I'll admit, this wasn't like him. It wasn't something he'd say. It was something that I'd think of, and I knew George was only talking like this because of what happened earlier. "Maybe we should just call the cops." I offered. "I mean, they can clear this up."
"It'll be fine, Rachel. Don't worry." Then he turned toward Otto and raised his hands like he was being detained by the police.
Otto, now activated, moved forward and approached George at torso-height. His barrel-like arm separated into two and then swerved on a motor until they were straight forward, outstretched like a zombie. When it got close, George said "see? I don't have—"
But something was off. It wasn't stopping. It was continuing forward with that same lazy pace as always, comfortably lulling us into a false sense of security. Which is why we didn't notice until too late when Otto's arms split along a hidden seam, and two thin rods slid out about ten inches each, tapering to a dull edge. They clicked out like razor blades and entered George's stomach just as fast.
Neither of us moved for what felt like a long time. Otto had already reversed his motion and retreated a half-step before George looked down, then back at me, then down again at the two small tears in the fabric of his shirt, which were already going dark and wet. Then his knees buckled slightly, and that's what broke me out of it.
I rushed to George and grabbed him as he stumbled back. Otto went for a second plunge, but I lifted my foot and kicked it in the face. There was a disagreeable motor-like sound and its movement stuttered, but it didn't stop.
"Vandalism will not be tolerated." Spoke the intercom.
George was moving now and murmured my name. I felt his arm slide around me, and then together we backed away from the robot that pursued us at the same pace. He was clutching his stomach which was now dripping blood onto the floor.
The intercom sprang into action once again. "Clean up at main entrance."
I heard a latch open somewhere and then another whirring sound. My heart sank as I considered there might be even more Ottos in the store. But instead, as we made it to the back near the drinks, I saw a Roomba-like robot pass over the blood, mopping it up.
"Rach," George started, "I,"
"Just hang on", I said, unsure if I was trying to comfort him or myself. He coughed and a smattering of blood sprayed out on his chin, shirt, and the floor in front of us.
"Oh, God," I panicked, tears stinging my eyes. "George, please hang on." I felt his strength wilting as he leaned harder and harder on my shoulder. We were passing through the end of a chip aisle when the smell of the hot dog roller and self-serve popcorn wafted at us from nearby. I had to hold back the urge to puke.
I glanced back and saw Otto's bracket smile, now slightly smudged, his arms still outstretched as if asking for a hug. I knew George wouldn't hold out much longer. I needed to get him something to control the bleeding then call 9-1-1. But I also knew we couldn't just plop down in one of the aisles because Otto would catch up to us. We needed somewhere to go that Otto couldn't follow.
As if on cue, I scouted a big sign labeled "Drink Den". There was a little carved out path and then a door. I used all my remaining might to drag George to the back end of the store and then pulled the handle, begging that it wasn't locked like the front door.
It gave. I helped George inside, then we both collapsed onto the floor. The door shut behind us, leaving nothing but the dim blue luminescence, cool air, low hum of the refrigerators, and the slightly sour, freezer-burnt smell.
I stared at the fridge door for a long while: waiting for the handle to jiggle, then turn, releasing the latch and revealing a sliver of light where Otto's twisted smile would peek at me from the doorway, his metal body casting a shadow over me and George.
George, I remembered. I turned over and knelt over his body. He was clutching his stomach; his breaths were slow, deep, and raspy.
I rolled up his shirt and saw the incisions for the first time. They were like giant fang marks, but thinner and more precise. I think they had hit an organ or artery or something because he was losing blood fast. I slipped out of my coat and then took off my shirt, ripped it into two pieces, and then pressed them onto his wounds. George shouted in pain. "Hang on baby, please," I pleaded through tears. "Just hold this while I call an ambulance." I guided his hands to the pieces of shirt and pressed my hands atop his. "Just for a second, I promise."
Then I detached myself and reached into my pocket when suddenly the little light that was in the space went out with a click. The change startled me, and I accidentally threw my phone clear across the Den. I heard it skid across the floor, then stop abruptly.
"Shit," I muttered and got down on my knees. I was shaking, my teeth chattering. I scanned ahead with my outstretched arms, using them as antennae, scanning for my phone, when suddenly they hit something solid. I was expecting a shelf or a row of drinks, but this was… different. The texture was soft, almost like fabric. I traced the object until I reached a softer portion. It was wet, as if something had spilled on it. My hands pressed into the liquid and I brought it to my nose. It smelled heavy, metallic. That's when I realized what it was.
I recoiled . My eyes were starting to adjust to the dark and I could make out a body's silhouette. I dropped back onto my hands and scurried backward until my shoulder hit one of the shelves and several plastic drink bottles tumbled onto the floor around me. Then I heard a low-rolling rumble from somewhere to my left. A vent had kicked on. I couldn't make anything out in the dark, but I started to see faces in the black. Robotic faces. Arms. The low humming was actually Otto's whirring.
Then George's voice. "Ray—Rachel?" He coughed. "You okay?"
I used his voice as a beacon and felt my way back to his body. "Hey", I said, smiling. I touched his face. It was cold, and for a moment I thought I was mistaken. This wasn't George. This was the other dead person. I started to hyperventilate. Then I felt George reach up and grab my arm. He squeezed it lightly, then let go.
"Baby", I said, holding back tears. "Baby, I need your phone to call the police. Where's it at?"
"Pocket," he managed. "—hurts"
"I know babe, I know, it'll be okay," I said as I felt along his jeans and found a rectangular device. I reached inside his pocket and extracted his I-phone. I turned it on and tried to open it but it asked for a facial scan. I clicked past to the pin. "Babe, what's your pin"
No response.
I shook him. He groaned. "Babe, your pin. I need it to get into your phone."
It took a moment, but he forced out the word "met".
"Met", I repeated and looked at the numbers. It was too short to correspond to a 4-digit pin. I tried to think of what he meant but couldn't figure it out. "Babe, what does 'met' mean? 'Met' what?"
More silence. Then, soft as a sigh, he whispered "we—met".
Then it hit me. We met. The date we met: January 10th. I tried "0110" and it worked. I didn't have any time to celebrate though. I hurried to the phone app and typed 9-1-1. It staggered for a moment, then a loud screech preceded an automated response: "call cannot be completed." I checked the service: no bars. No fucking bars.
I sprang up, wondering if the lack of service was because we were in this fridge. I stepped over to the door and nearly opened it when I suddenly remembered why we had come here in the first place. The realization pulsed like a shock up the spine. I felt the hairs on my arms raise as my hands shook above the handle. I leaned in, pressing my head against the door. It was no use, I couldn't hear anything.
George's moan brought me back to reality. I had to go now. I took a deep breath and held it, then with all my courage, I pulled the handle.
It opened easily. Much too easily. When I pulled, someone else pushed, and in that moment a tall, dark figure with glassy round eyes emerged in the open doorway. I screamed, thinking I was looking at an even larger, more humanoid robot. It wasn't until I heard him speak that I realized it was a person.
"Aww, hell," he said with a southern accent. "You okay? What's going on in here?"
It took me a second to register that this was a person. I tried to say something, but it came out a jumbled mess. Then I leaned around him and looked out into the store. It was dim now, lit only by several red and yellow L.E.D. displays. "Where is it?" I muttered, more to myself than the man.
"Where is... what?"
"Otto," I said, now to the man. "The robot that whirs around the store."
The man considered, then said, "naw, I ain't seen nothing like that. Never even heard of such a thing. I was just coming down the 90 and stopped in for some gas and a bite to eat. Just about walked in when the lights went out."
I waited for some time. Listening. Watching. Expecting to see the deadly customer service bot rear its ugly head. But nothing approached. What happened? Did it give up?
"Sorry to ask you this, but, um, your shirt—"
I looked down and remembered I had used it to plug George's wound. George. He groaned again and I cut past the man and went to him as he coughed up what sounded like more blood.
"Hey, is that guy—"
"Look, I can't explain everything." I said while slipping back into my coat and zipping it up."There's a robot out there that attacked my boyfriend. He needs an ambulance. Do you have cell service?"
The man stepped out of the fridge and looked at his phone. "Yeah, I got some bars."
My ears perked up at that. "Please, can you call 9-1-1?"
"Um, sure, but what do I tell em'?"
I clenched my teeth. "Just tell them someone was stabbed." I could feel the heat in my own voice. I knew this guy hadn't done anything wrong, but George was dying.
"Alright, alright, I'm on it" said the man. Then I heard the sound of him pressing the numbers and a dial tone. Someone picked up. "Hello? Yes, this is Judson. I'm at the gas station off interstate 90 and need an ambulance."
"And police," I added.
"Oh, and police, too."
He talked with the dispatcher for a couple minutes, stopping to ask questions which I didn't have time to answer. He got the hint and hurried to tell them where we were and what we needed. Then he hung up.
He turned to me and said, "we better get him outta here."
I eyed him suspiciously. "Why's that?"
"Well, just cause he's probably cold. If he's bleeding and goes into shock, you wanna keep him warm. At least I think I heard that somewhere before."
I turned back to my boyfriend. Using the flashlight on his phone, I inspected him. His eyes were struggling to stay open, his typical tawny complexion was bone white, and he was shaking. The shirt had already been bled through. I held back tears again. "Okay," I said in a mopey voice. "Can you help me move him please?"
"Sure thing, sister. My name's Judson by the way. You can call me Jud."
"Thanks Jud. I'm Rachel, and this is George."
"Mighty fine to meet ya," he replied as we worked together to hoist George's body up and out of the Drink Den.
While we made our way to the front, I told Judson the cliff-notes version of what happened, starting with the unlabeled item, then the locked door and intercom, and finally Otto's attack. I couldn't read if my words were landing. It was dark, after all. But I think any doubt about what I was saying faded when we got to the exit and he tried the handle.
"Damn, it really is locking us in." He remarked. "And you're telling me this place is doing this all on its own?"
"Yeah, that's what I'm saying."
He seemed to consider for a moment, then said. "Well, I have an idea. What if I just went and paid for those "unlabeled" items and at the same time you tried opening the door?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, if it thinks we're thieving, then surely when we pay the bill, the doors open. If I go over there" he pointed "and pay while you stay here, maybe you'll be able to open the door. Whatcha think, worth a shot?"
I thought about it. I never really considered there was any logic behind all this. The intercom's warnings, Otto's actions. It just seemed like some kind of nonsensical malfunction. "Sure, I don't see any harm in trying." I said and knelt down beside George. I rocked him, but he didn't move. Then I whispered his name. Still nothing. Finally, I checked if he was breathing. It was there, but light. His pulse was slow. "Oh, God," I said.
Jud had already made his way over to the check-out kiosk. "I see it!" he exclaimed. "You ready?"
I was still tending to George. "I think he needs CPR," I shouted. "How long until the ambulance gets here?"
"Not sure, but I got a first aid kit in my truck. Come on, help me out."
I stood up and grabbed the door handle. The intercom rang out as it usually did, then I heard the beep.
"Go, now!"
I tried the handle, and to my surprise, it gave. The door opened up and I was hit with a rush of cold air. I breathed it in deep, and for a moment some of the tension in my shoulders released. Thinking back, I don't know what it was in that moment that made me notice. Perhaps it was how dark and quiet it was relative to when we came in, or maybe how Judson had just mentioned it. But my eyes combed over the entire lot and didn't see a single vehicle beside the Camry, let alone a truck.
My hand turned to stone on the handle. I felt like I was at the top of a roller coaster, on the precipice of wind up and release. Weightless, but every organ in my body weighing me down. I felt blood pump through my heart, neck, even stomach. And my senses pressed out from my body, sharpening with keen awareness. Not a thought, but a sound. Footsteps. Fast, very fast.
I spun around and slammed the door shut in Jud's face. We stood there, only an inch of glass between us. He was different now. His expression, it didn't feel right. Not like someone who had just failed. There was no anger, only stolid calculation. His head tilted slightly to the side in a way all too familiar. Then he walked over to George.
"Don't you fucking touch him!" I screamed.
But he didn't. Instead, he awkwardly hinged down and picked up George's phone. Then, with it in hand, he walked backward, straight backward, until he was out of sight.
I could have left right then. For a moment, I thought I was going to. I loved George, but he was almost certainly dead, and I doubted help was on the way. It would have made sense to leave him. But something inside me just… couldn't. I thought back on just that night. His smile. His quirkiness. I didn't want to give him up. I shouldn't have because of some fucking robot.
I marched over to George's car and ripped off one of the windshield wipers. Then I teased open the store entrance and carefully stuck the wiper in between so it wouldn't shut. I went over to George and pretended to be checking his pulse while I snuck the keys out from his pocket.
I heard the sound of glass shattering somewhere in the back. My head shot up, and what I saw chilled me. The hands from the glass case. They were animated and clawing their way toward me like inchworms. Then from the other side. It was Otto again, actual Otto, whirring over at two miles-per-hour. I turned back to George and whispered in his ear, "babe, if you can hear me, move away from the door", then pushed his shoulder lightly to the left before retreating to the exit. When I did, Jud emerged from beside the central Kiosk, along with the Roomba at his feet. He was no longer hiding any pretense of being human. His head was gone and replaced with a flat speaker, with a black, fabric grill and several dongles hanging down the sides like giant earrings.
"What's wrong? Don't you want to stay with us? We'd love to help you find what you need." Otto's voice radiated from the speaker system. Then it toggled to the lady's from over the intercom: "But remember, theft is not allowed at Otto's. And vandalism will not be tolerated." And finally, Judson's own southern drawl. "So what do you say, sweet thing? How about I fix us all up a cup of coffee and we can talk—about—it." The last words were low and mechanical. The being raised its arm in demonstration and used his other hand to rip it off. Black ooze and little spindle-like cables writhed like worms from either broken end. Then he dropped the arm onto the floor and it joined the other pack of spider-like crawlers, lined up like the front line of a brigade.
I clenched the keys in my fist and curled my lips, now thoroughly disgusted. "Sure thing," I started, now back on the outside of the door. "But I forgot something out here. You all stay put. I'll be right back." Then I pushed the windshield wiper inside the store and the door latched shut. I ran back over to the Camry and unlocked it, then hopped in and hit the ignition. There was a familiar scent in the car. The mahogany air freshener, the residue of the burning heater smell, and a faint piece of George, himself. I backed up as far as the lot would let me and centered myself with the door. They were all there. The hands, the cleaner, Otto, Jud, and the heart of it all. I closed my eyes and said a little prayer, then floored the gas. The wheels sputtered against the newly laid concrete, effusing a high-pitched squeal into the dead silent night. Then the vehicle lurched forward, closer and closer to the store until I felt this first impact with the glass front doors but I kept going, bumping over the arm-spiders, then swiping Jud, and finally slamming directly into the kiosk. The airbags popped and everything went black.
***
There was a beeping sound playing at a regular interval. The air was warm, and I felt a blanket pulled taut around my feet. Then I opened my eyes, white light flooding in. I saw my mom sleeping on one of the bedside armchairs. "M—mom", I whispered. Then I fell back to sleep.
When I woke up later, the doctor was speaking with my mom and dad. He had a chart in hand. He saw my eyes open and greeted me. My mom practically screamed my name and ran to my side. They talked to me for several minutes. Apparently I had broken two ribs, my arm, and sustained other minor injuries, but I would be okay. Although, I didn't care about any of that. I managed another sentence. "George, is he okay? Where is he?"
They all took turns looking at one another in a way that I didn't like. Tears started streaming before I even realized what was happening. "Dead?" I asked.
"No honey. No, but—s"
Then the doctor chimed in. He explained that, when he was found, he was barely breathing. His pulse was almost non-existent. The blood loss was tremendous. They started infusions right away, but by the time they could close up the wounds, George had become unresponsive for several minutes. He's been in a stable but unconscious state for several days. In other words, he was in a coma.
After learning this, I asked when I could go see him. They said they could take me over when I was feeling up to it. I told them I did now, and they didn't try to push back. My bed was moved out of my room, down the hall where others were scattered against the walls, I.V.'s hooked up to other patients. Then we entered a new hallway. They pushed me down to the end-room. It was dark, but I could make out the side of my boyfriend's face immediately. They positioned me so the unbroken arm could reach out and touch him. Then they gave me some time. However, before they left, they said a couple officers would be in to get a statement from me if that was okay. I agreed.
I spent ten minutes or so alone with George. He looked so peaceful. His skin had regained its color and it was warm, unlike how I remembered him in the store. But to see him hooked up to all these machines, each reading out different numbers I didn't understand. A part of me believed he would open his eyes. That it was all some kind of elaborate joke. But I wasn't naive enough to really believe it.
The officers arrived as I had been informed. Two, both men, middle aged. They introduced themselves and apologized for mine and George's condition. Then they dropped the pleasantries and got down to brass tacks. They wanted to hear my story, unadulterated. So I told them. This time, unlike with Jud, I didn't skip any details. I started at the beginning, when we arrived, went inside, walked the aisles. When George ordered the coffee and how Otto was behaving oddly. The "unlabeled" item and locked exit. The intercom. The attack. As I got deeper into the story, it became harder to tell. I tried to swallow the emotions, to just focus on the facts, but with George next to me and that Goddamn beeping.
Finally, I finished. I saw as the two cops glanced at each other. One of them had a pocketbook and pretended to be taking notes, but I didn't see him flip the page once.
"Look, I know this sounds insane but it's the truth. You have video, don't you?"
They shared another glance. Then the taller one with glasses replied, saying, "yeah, we do, actually. We already reviewed it."
"And?" I quipped.
"The tape shows the whole night. You and George were the only ones to enter the store that night. We saw the whole thing with the checkout error. We had someone review it and it was flagging something as a product that wasn't."
My eyes widened. "What was it?"
"It was…" he trailed off.
"It was air," his partner finished. "The store was registering your breathing as theft. That's why it locked down, and that's why the clerk pursued you."
My ears turned to hot irons when I realized 'who' they were talking about. "Excuse me? The 'clerk'? That thing tried to kill me!"
"Well, we didn't see that." The second cop continued. "Didn't find any bodies either. Just a messed up display case with those hands you mentioned. Not moving, by the way. That and all the other destroyed property."
"What are you saying?"
"We're saying, we know you got frustrated with that malfunction, but you both went too far. Your boyfriend nearly got you killed, too."
"My boyfriend… what?"
"Well, we found him in the driver's seat. A couple cables pierced his midsection. You were lucky. Anyway, we squared all this with the owners. They agreed not to press civil charges considering the misunderstanding. He wanted you to know that if that ever happens next time, you can dial for support through the kiosk. On the criminal side… we've decided to let this one slide. But don't go damaging anymore property."
My mouth was wide open. I couldn't believe this was happening. But the cops didn't seem to care. They had said their piece and now they both were heading toward the exit. Just before they left, I shouted, "wait!"
The latter one stopped and swiveled slowly toward me.
"There was a guy. Well, not a guy, but his name was Judson. You really didn't find anyone in there?"
The officer hesitated for a few seconds. Then he tilted his head with a smile and replied, "sure didn't".