Page 59 of Love You To Pieces

“Don’t be stupid,” I pant to myself as my legs burn. Pearl appears and disappears in the darkness, sometimes ducking down sidestreets but reappearing not long after. Other dogs bark, and the section of the small town I’m in feels like the only commercial area there is, if I had to guess. Every door I try is locked, and I’m too afraid of security systems to force my way in.

While I’m not sure what day it is, the town seems dark. Deserted. Empty, like there’s a secret curfew and everyone’s home for the night. Given how small Wolf Lake is, I suppose I’m not really shocked.

Nor can I decide whether it’s convenient or not. All it would take is one call to the town sheriff trying to help the poor, scared girl who’s running around in hysterics.

All it would take is one of his deputies answering instead.

A shudder goes down my spine, and as a car drives by, I feel suddenly too exposed and out in the open. I try another door, this one of a sub shop where there’s still a man behind the counter. But all my rattling gets me is a glare from the short, round-faced man and one sausage-like finger pointing back at the door in front of me, where the open sign is dark.

“Sorry,” I call out of politeness, and I step back before he can wonder why some weird woman is frantically yanking on the handle of the entrance. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem too interested and before I look away, he goes back to whatever he was doing before I came along.

The street ends in an intersection, and in the light from the street lamps and stoplights, it seems to me like there’s a small town square here in Wolf Lake. Personally, I hadn’t expected the town to be this big, but now that I know, I figure it gives me a few extra options of places to hide out in, if I play my cards right.

Only a few cars drive by, lazy and slower than they need to be. I wait until the intersection is clear and jog across, finding myself on the edge of the square. It really is just this, I realize, as I notice the streetlights rapidly fading once I’m on the other side of the less than bustling square. More than a one-stoplight town, sure, but really not by much.

Marquee lights cast a reddish-orange glow down at me, and I look up to see the front of an old, almost vintage movie theater. For a moment, I’m sure it’s a relic of the past. Some weird museum that the town uses to recall happier days. The ticket booth outside is blocked with old posters that are falling apart, and they’re so overlapped it’s impossible to tell what movies they might have advertised.

I’m about to turn away when I realize that I’m wrong. My eyes land on the posters wreathed in lights that shine inward to illuminate the titles.

These are new movies. Ones I know have just come out in the past few weeks, and a few others marked with coming soon that I’ve seen advertisements for back home.

“Holy fuck,” I breathe, and without letting myself hesitate, I grab the heavy door and pull it open.

Small doesn’t begin to cover the size of the theaters. The lobby itself is a rectangle, with a snack and ticket bar to the left, taking up most of the wall. It’s abandoned, though the display cases full of candy are illuminated enough that I can see every single box. The popcorn maker is off, and the butter-tinged air smells burnt and stale as the freshness ebbs.

Holding the door open for Pearl, I look around the lobby for signs of life, but I find none. She comes in with her nose to the stained, patterned carpet that looks like it was installed in the eighties, though she doesn’t have much interest in whatever else is going on in here.

A car suddenly slows outside, and I look up with my heart in my chest, suddenly terrified that Fox or Deacon has found me. It idles, not quite in front of the theater, and I stare outward like a deer caught in headlights while fumbling for any idea of what to do.

If it really is them⁠—

The car takes off again, seconds after the stoplight at the closest intersection turns green. A breath I hadn’t meant to hold is expelled violently from my chest, and I step inside to let the door of the quiet theater close behind me.

Inside, I take my time, looking for a landline or a left cell phone somewhere—anywhere—inside. I check the ticket counter, under the registers, and my hands come into contact with years of forgotten grime that’s gotten pushed further and further back, never truly cleaned up correctly.

By the time I’m satisfied I still don’t have a way to call anyone, I’m scrubbing my hands on the fabric of my sweatpants, my lips curled in a disgusted grimace. “Fucking gross,” I hiss as I do one last check around the lobby. The only sounds come from the two arcade games close to the door; their lights still blinking on and off and whirring, while high-pitched bells call over anyone stupid enough to put in a quarter.

Right as I’ve started trying doors, I hear footsteps, and a door slams somewhere in the distance. I don’t think; I simply move. Whistling to Pearl, I duck down the short hallway leading to the only screen in the entire building.

With the doors propped open and the room dark, it’s easy for me to slip inside and disappear, though I still keep my gaze fixed on the lobby.

A boy no older than twenty-five appears through a swinging door, boxes stacked in his arms and headphones covering his ears. Even from this far away, I can see the stark freckles on his pasty skin, and the way his curly hair bounces in every direction except in a way that it would look somewhat managed. My estimation of his age drops a little, and his shirt verifies that he’s just the guy who pulled the short straw and has to close.

Thankfully, the music he’s listening to—which I can literally hear from twenty-something feet away—keeps him from doing a damn thing when Pearl sneezes and nearly makes me levitate in surprise. I glare at her, as if she meant to do it, only to find the dog chomping on a half-eaten hot dog that somehow found its way behind the trash can.

“You’re disgusting,” I whisper, but I have to remind myself she doesn’t exactly have the best taste.

She eats people, after all, without even having an upset stomach to show for it. I’m sure an old hot dog will do nothing to a cast-iron gut like hers.

The boy goes behind the counter, opening the boxes to pull out an assortment of candy, popcorn buckets, and cups. As he restocks, he mouths the lyrics to whatever he’s listening to, and sometimes his body joins in with a little shoulder wiggle or jerk.

God, kid, I think to myself with all the pity I can muster twisting up my chest. Don’t ever quit your day job.

The heavy front door I came through opens again, and instinctively I creep backward into full darkness. It means I can’t see who’s there, but I’d rather stay ignorant than be seen and thrown back to where I escaped from. It’s probably a manager, I tell myself. Or someone who doesn’t know the theater is closed for the night.

“What?” The voice sounds young, and I imagine it’s the boy whom I’ve now dubbed Carl. “No, I haven’t seen anyone like that.” I hear a thud, and when I manage to peek out just a little, I see the confused night shift worker has put his headphones onto the glass counter, a perplexed expression on his face.

The other voice, a deeper murmur, comes again, and Carl’s eyebrows knit in confusion. “No, sir, I think I’d know if some woman came in while we were closed. Especially a girl with a dog.” He gives a chuckle, like the idea of it is absolutely absurd to him.