020 POV inside pharmacy part 1 1348

The first thing I notice as I approach the entrance is a very obvious security camera on the ceiling right by the front door. I stare it for a moment too long, imagining the people who will watch this footage back later. I figure it's been installed in such an obvious position as a deterrent. I recall reading somewhere that people are far less likely to commit a crime if they're aware they're being watched. 

I stop staring at the security camera and enter the store. I glance across the room at the checkout girl who looks my way briefly then shares a concerned look with the pharmacist who has also noticed that I'm in a dishevelled state from the car crash.

'Okay, I'm in and they've noticed there's something wrong with me already.' I whisper into the microphone on my earphones. 

'You'll be fine. They won't consider you a threat. If anything they'll want to help you.' The man replies.

'What the hell am I getting?'

'Go to the first aid section. You want bandages, gauze, medical alcohol, tape and scissors.' He says quickly, without thinking, like this shopping list is something he buys every other day. Which makes me wonder even more about who he is and the life he leads.

I look around the store and locate the isle I need. I move quickly, probably too quickly, given that I'm sure both employees are watching my every move with concern. I pick up a carry basket on my way to the first aid section where I locate bandages and look over the array on offer. 'What sized bandage do you want?' I ask the man quietly. 

'Get five of the largest ones they've got.' He barks back, annoyed that I should even have to query this. 

I do as I'm told, then look at the gauze. I'm not sure how much to get of this, but I decide to make an executive decision rather than chance annoying him for clarity. I put five packs of gauze in my basket, then pick up the largest bottle of medical alcohol they have along with three packs of medical grade bandage tape and a pair of scissors. 

'Okay, I've got everything, I think?' I say quietly to the man. 

'You think or you know? I don't want to have to send you back in there if you've forgotten something.'

'I've got everything you asked for.'

'Great. Now you see the elderly lady behind the drug dispensary?'

'Yeah.'

'You're going to ask her for a pack of hypodermic needles and a bottle of liquid Benzocaine. Be sure to ask for the liquid Benzocaine, not the gel. Also a pack of Doxycycline.'

'What the hell is Benzocaine and Doxycycline?' I ask out of reflex as I genuinely have never heard of them before, but I immediately regret asking. I don't need to know, and I'm sure by the way the man exhales long and slow before answering that my question annoyed him.

'Benzo's a local anaesthetic, Doxy's an antibiotic. Now stop asking questions you don't need to and do as you're told.'

I look up at the elderly lady behind the counter. She stands with her back to me, but I can see that she's watching my every move in the reflection of the glass cabinet behind her. 

I walk directly to her, trying to look inconspicuous. Ironically, this very act makes me look more conspicuous. She turns to me exactly as I reach her counter, which only confirms that she was indeed viewing my reflection.

'Hi, how're you doing?' She asks as a look of concern washes over face. I suddenly realise that the immensely bright lights of the pharmacy must make me look a lot worse that I did in the darkness of the cabin of my car. 

'My lord, what have you done to your forehead?' She asks with a genuine concern I hadn't expected.

I freeze, unsure what to say. 

'You okay dear?' The lady prompts.

'Answer her goddamnit, tell her you had a fall, you were wearing high heels and tripped on some stairs just now.' The man says quickly. 

'I had a fall. Heels and alcohol don't mix.' I say in an overly spritely way that I'm sure comes across as one hundred percent forced and disingenuous.

She looks at me flatly, trying to read me. She knows something outside of my physical ills is wrong, but she's not quite sure what. I want to tell her everything. I want to say there's a man in the car parked directly outside the floor to ceiling front glass windows, that he can see us both and that he has a gun aimed at us right now. But if I did that her natural reaction would be to panic which would endanger her life more than it already is. It would endanger my life as well, now that I come to think of it.

'You really need to get that seen to.' The lady advises. And she's right. With a cut like this, after the crash I just endured I should be in an ER somewhere, anywhere but here. 

I hold up the basket of first aid items and offer, 'I'm about to,' but I realise that was a mistake as I have far too many bandages, gauze and rolls of tape to treat the two inch cut on my forehead. The lady evidently recognises my slip-up and looks at me strangely. She takes a pen and writes on a piece of paper then slips it across the counter to me along with the pen for me to write a reply. 

She's written: Are you okay? 

She's read me completely. I always was a terrible liar. My face says no I'm not okay at all! But before I can write anything back the man speaks in my ear, 'Just a reminder that if you try to let her know anything I will execute her. I can see you both very clearly and I've got my sight lined up with her chest right now, try me.' He says that in such a flat, dry, tone I know he's not bluffing. If I dived now I could maybe make it out of his line of fire. But the woman wouldn't know what's happening until it's too late. I know this man will shoot to kill to survive, I've already seen that. This woman's death is not something I can have on my conscience. 

I force the most sincere smile I can and say, 'Really, I'm fine. I got drunk and tripped at the top of the landing from my apartment.' The lady doesn't seem to buy this, but she looks like she doesn't know what else to do. 

'Liquid Benzocaine, Doxycycline and hypodermic needles.' The man reminds me. 

'Is it possible to get Benzocaine, Doxycycline and some needles?' I ask.  

'Benzocaine and Doxycycline are script only, and to be honest, if you're thinking of treating your wound yourself, I'd highly recommend against it. You should get to an ER to have it seen to properly.' 

I freeze again, unsure how to reply. The woman is right. It's ridiculous that I should want to treat a cut like this myself. Any sane person would have a professional take care of it. The man hears me freeze and offers, 'Tell her you can't go to an ER as you're between jobs and don't have insurance.' I relay this verbatim but the lady replies with, 'There's a twenty-four hour free clinic only six blocks from here. You may have to wait a while but at least you'll have it seen to properly.'

There's a sudden pop of gunfire and the sound of glass shattering as a bullet passes through the front window and smashes the glass cabinet behind the Pharmacist.

The lady and the check out girl both scream. I'm surprised that I don't. The two employees look at each other in a state of shock, no idea what just happened. 

'Tell her she's got ten seconds to get you a bottle of liquid Benzocaine, a pack of Doxycycline and some needles or the next bullet goes through her chest.' The man shouts in my ear.