“It’s ok if you like him. Miguel is a great guy.” Secretly I am rooting for him; he’s one of the few men that have earned the right to be in Morgan’s life. He’s ambitious, loyal, and fun to be around. In a nutshell, Miguel is a catch.
“Of course, I like him. I wouldn’t have slept with him if I didn’t. But whether or not it goes beyond that is the question.” We both shrug simultaneously and go back to rummaging the racks.
Morgan and I continue our hunt for clubbing outfits for Breckenridge. I’ve purchased the blue dress and a few practical pieces, while she’s snagged a few sexy numbers that are out of my price range. While we’re browsing in another store, I get the keen feeling that we’re being watched. It’s as if all my senses have been heightened and they’re picking up some unknown signal, telling me to turn around. I spin on my heel and scan the store floor, my eyes darting around rapidly. Nothing appears to be out of place yet I know something isn’t right. I extend my arm out in front of me. The soft thin hairs on the back of it stick straight up. The air in front of us has a shimmery effect to it, like the hot sun beating down on asphalt. I can actually see the air. I can hear a familiar murmuring in my ears yet I can’t place where I’ve heard it before. All I know is we better get out of here. Now. Something is terribly wrong.
I turn to Morgan, alarm etched in my face. “We better go,” I say with a hushed, urgent voice. “I just have an eerie feeling something bad is going to happen. I know it sounds crazy, but just trust me.”
Morgan takes in my anxious expression, my hazel eyes devoid of all humor, and nods. She knows I’m not kidding around and this is not the time for questions. She casually yet hurriedly puts the dress she’s holding back on the rack and follows me out of the store. We’re trying our best to keep calm, not wanting to bring any attention to our exit. If someone is looking to hurt us, they would surely zero in on two girls running for their lives. We try to remain as collected as possible until we’ve walked far enough away that I no longer feel the strange sensation. Once we have taken a seat in a quiet corner in the food court, I turn to face Morgan’s worried eyes.
“What was that?” she asks.
“I don’t know. I just got a really bad feeling something horrible was going to happen. Call it intuition; I just didn’t want to stick around to find out. Would you think I was crazy if I told you I could just sense stuff? Like dangerous stuff?”
“Yeah, I heard of things like that,” she whispers. She looks up to meet my eyes when reluctance and doubt wash over her face. “My dad used to tell me stories about my grandmother. I guess she was some weird Vodou priestess who used to deal in black magic. You know, my dad was raised by his aunt so he wasn’t around all that mess. But he used to see things, really scary things that would haunt him at night. His mother was known for…,” she trails off. I can see this subject makes her uneasy, and I know now that she isn’t aware of what she is. “She conjured the dead.”
“Holy crap, Morgan! Are you serious?” I say, playing it up a bit. Nothing really surprises me anymore.
“Yeah. Really freaky shit. And once you open some doors, they can’t be closed. Before my dad was sent to live with his aunt, those spirits would visit him.”
“And after he left? He never saw them again?” I really am intrigued. Could Mr. Pierre be some kind of Medium?
“I don’t know. He never talks about it. After his mother died, he just acted as if she never existed.”
Before I can delve any further into Morgan’s past, a chorus of horrified cries rings out, echoing through the mall. Then right on cue, a stampede of screaming shoppers begins to rush towards the exits, many falling down the escalators and stairs, causing some to be trampled. Morgan and I both stand simultaneously, eyes wide with alarm. Something has happened. Several security guards and mall police officers rush towards whatever dread the shoppers are running from. It is just as I feared.
Morgan and I cautiously make our way towards the scene, maneuvering around petrified patrons so we can get a better look. We both know we should be running away from the terror, but curiosity has taken its hold on us. We look down the long corridor, assessing the scene.
“The cops are going towards the store we just left,” Morgan says mindlessly. Her unblinking eyes are dazed with fright.
“I know.”
A police officer steps out among the crowd and waves his hands wildly. “I need everyone to back up! No one beyond this point!” he shouts, trying to block off the perimeter of the store from onlookers.