He would, he had to. Asher didn’t do things for money, but he had money because he did things. He loved and wanted and admired and adored. He controlled his business, yes, and he was overbearing at times, but it wasn’t because he wanted money, it was because he loved what he did. It all made sense to me now. He said he tried to love Beatrice, and I’m sure he did, but he couldn’t comprehend how to do it because Beatrice didn’t want to accept him.
I accepted him, but it was more than that, too. I allowed Asher to love me the way he needed to love me. A little dominating, sometimes infuriating, but that was Asher and if I wanted a part of him, then I needed all of him. He never pushed me too hard, but just enough. He never…
I loved Asher so very much and I felt my heart racing at the thought of it. My fear tangled with my love, fighting for space in my chest, and I could barely breathe at the mass of emotion. Asher was dying. Solomon shot him. I needed to get away from here, not only because Asher had asked me to, but because he couldn’t die. I’d call the police, get an ambulance. They’d save him. I would ride with him to the hospital and make sure he was safe and…
“Go!” Beatrice screamed. “Go after her!”
“Why did you do that?” Solomon asked.
What were they talking about? I had no idea.
“Go!”
Solomon pursued me. I escaped from between the bookcases and into more open territory, except with unwanted tears blurring my vision I didn’t know where I was. Where did I go, what did I do? I bolted for a bright light, unsure exactly where it was but thinking I should go towards it. To the store, to the front. I could close the door behind me and lock Solomon in while I ran to Robert and we called for help.
I ran, faster, tripping over the scattered remnants of bookcases and shelves and metal rods. My feet felt heavy and thick like I’d worn tight shoes all day and had just taken them off. My blouse caught on a shattered piece of a bookcase, ripping when I pulled at it in my frantic escape.
I heard Solomon behind me, dodging past wooden debris, chasing me. He ran fast, faster, and when I glanced over my shoulder at him I saw him toting his gun around, the metal gleaming in the dull light from above.
I dashed forward towards the bright light, expecting to escape and settle this, except the large loading dock door blocked my way. I stared, dumbfounded.
I hadn’t run towards the door connecting the storage area to the shop; I’d run to the unused loading dock in the complete opposite direction.
Solomon gained on me and, seeing me stricken and still, slowed his pursuit. He jogged the rest of the way, moving towards me at a leisurely pace. I stared at him, beyond him, but I couldn’t do it for long, couldn’t stand to see him approach. Looking down, afraid and ashamed, feeling distress at having tried so hard and failed, I noticed something odd.
It didn’t quite stick in my mind as to how, or why, but the loading dock door was open. Not by much, just about half a foot off the ground, but enough that…
I fell to the ground, scrambling forward, trying to crawl beneath the door. It was a tight fit—too tight—but this was a matter of life or death. If I could escape, if I could…
“Do you really think it’s that easy?” Solomon asked.
He pointed the gun straight at me with his finger poised next to the trigger.
“Please,” I said. “Please don’t do this.”
Solomon’s finger pulled back, slow and steady. With the gun aimed at my head and with me an easy target, prone on the ground, there was no way he could miss me. I closed my eyes, felt the helplessness of my feet dangling in the air. My futile escape amounted to nothing, because now I was dead.
A heavy crack rippled through the air. That’s it, I thought. He’s fired, and in half a second I’m dead. Half a second passed by, but I still felt alive. And another, then a few seconds more, and…
“Are you going to stay down there or what?” Jeremy asked.
I blinked, once, twice, and opened my eyes. Solomon lay crumpled on the ground, his body lying in an unnatural pose, limbs akimbo, head twisted and looking up at the ceiling with his eyes glossy and disoriented. Behind him, standing, was Jeremy with a half-broken piece of plank in his hands; apparently the remnants of a bookcase shelf.
“Where’s Asher?” he asked.
“Jeremy, help, please. I need to… I’m stuck. Jeremy!” I clawed at the floor, trying to free myself from being stuck under the loading dock door.
Exasperated, nearly crying—why was Jeremy crying?—he ran over and pulled me loose. He helped me stand and hugged me tight.
“Jessika, where’s Asher? He sent me a text that said ‘help.’ I went around back and saw this door and figured… well, I figured I’d pull a you and sneak in to see if I could help, but then I heard you screaming and saw Solomon chase you. I hid and waited and thank God I did because… I just can’t even believe this. This is too crazy.”