Chapter 1

Have you ever had a gun pointed at your face? More specifically a Smith and Wesson revolver pressed against the glabella between your eyebrows with your hands raised in surrender?  If your answer is “no,” you are not a seventeen-year-old junior in high school named Don.  A cashier at a family-owned business called Bazaar Town that primarily sold Indian food products with a hint of Southeast Asian.  If your answer is “yes,” I strongly advise you to immediately comply with the gunman’s orders in exchange for your continued existence on this planet not buried six feet under.  And if your answer is “maybe,” good luck taking the SAT.

It began as a normal evening in the store where Don was adding up the prices of three items from a frequent customer on the cash register.  The total came to twelve dollars and twenty-five cents.  She handed him a twenty dollar bill in exchange for seven dollars and seventy-five cents.  He placed the items and the check into a plastic bag and handed it to her who graciously accepted it.  He smiled thanking the customer for her patronage and waved a hand goodbye as she left via the front door. 

Don examined his surroundings noticing a couple of customers browsing the spice aisle, most likely looking for ingredients for a classic Indian recipe or delicacy.  At the aisle to the left he saw Yasmine, the owner’s daughter and a freshman who attended the same high school as him, checking the inventory.  She looked up from her clipboard at him and smiled.  He returned the gesture. 

Don pulled out a comic book from his backpack to pass the time.  Yasmine giggled.  She walked up to the counter to where he was rereading the same comic book for the hundredth time.

“Is it any good?” Yasmine smirked placing her arms on the counter.

Don smiled not taking his eyes off page two.  “You can say that.”

Yasmine laughed.  “Anyways, what’s up?”

Don looked up from page three seeing Yasmine’s genuine curiosity in her eyes and said, “Nothing much, you?”

  “Me too,” Yasmine related with a pout.  “Oh, my friends and I are planning to shop for dresses for the homecoming dance.”

“That’s like a month away,” Don pointed out.

“I know, but you can never be too prepared,” Yasmine stated.  “So…are you going?”

Don raised an eyebrow.  “I don’t think so.  The tickets are expensive, I don’t have anything formal in my closet to wear, and I don’t even know how to dance.”

“I can teach you,” Yasmine insisted. “And I can ask my dad to raise your pay until the extra money adds up to fifty bucks and I know a place where you can rent formal wear at a cheap price.  I’ll even pay for it.”

Don took a step back.  “Are you serious?”

“Of course I am.  We don’t see much of each other beyond working at this place.  Sure we cross each other in the hallways, but that’s pretty much it.  And I want to get to know you better.”

Is she asking me out?

Don saw Yasmine’s eyebrows raised in anticipation of his answer and said, “I’ll think about it.”

Yasmine clapped her hands and smiled in enthusiasm.  Don couldn’t help but smile back.

“I hope you make the right decision,” Yasmine winked.  She grabbed her clipboard and returned to work.

Don sighed and decided to once again be enveloped in by the story and characters in his comic book.

It was unquestionable that Yasmine Gupta had a crush on Don.  The hints were as clear as day.  The looks she gave to him thinking he wouldn’t notice at the periphery of his vision and the blush that sometimes appeared on her cheeks when he smiled at her, causing her to turn her face away from him in the hopes that he wouldn’t notice. 

Don was flattered by Yasmine’s infatuation for him, but he couldn’t understand why Cupid would an arrow from his bow at her while he was in her field of vision.  Sure, he had blonde hair and blue eyes.  But that was it.  He was the kind of person you’d go “eh.”  And he definitely was not Abercrombie and Fitch material.  Cupid had tried to shoot countless arrows at him, but they always bounced off like he was made of titanium.  Cupid, determined and frustrated, took an arrow like a bloody kitchen knife to an ex-lover and attempted to stab him repeatedly, but to no avail. 

Yasmine was very nice and pretty, but Don did not want to pursue an actual relationship with her beyond their professional one.  He had to break the news sometime soon, before it escalated further.

As Don continued reading he saw Mr. Gupta, Bazaar Town’s owner and manager, walking toward him.  He immediately set down his comic book and smiled.  He always liked Mr. Gupta and his wife for their easygoing attitude.  He treated his employees like he was part of the family.

Mr. Gupta smiled back and said, “Don, how was your day today?”

“It was good, Mr. Gupta.”

“Great,” Mr. Gupta cheered, but then his face cracked, deep ridges forming between his eyebrows as they came together.  “Listen, Don, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Okay.”

Mr. Gupta took a heavy breath and said, “I need to tell you that I won’t be able to give you your paycheck at the end of this week until I can make some payments for the store.”

Don saw the apologetic look on Mr. Gupta’s face. It was not a mask, but was completely imbedded into his skin like a tattoo and he empathized.

“I understand Mr. Gupta.  I can hold off my shopping spree at H&M until you have everything back in order,” Don laughed.

Mr. Gupta laughed as well, immediately leveling down his face and said, “Thank you for being so understanding, Don.  I knew you were a good kid when I hired you.”

Don smiled and Mr. Gupta gave him a firm pat on the back before retreating back into his office.

Yasmine approached the counter.  “I’m sorry, Don.”

“It’s okay Yasmine.  It’s not like I’m paying rent or raising a child or anything like that,” Don assured her.

“I know.  It’s just so hard seeing my dad like this.  The fear of losing the store he spent two decades putting so much time and energy on.  He hasn’t gotten much sleep the past few weeks and I caught him more than once sleeping in his office with his hands still on the keyboard.  I just don’t want anyone else being dragged down with us.”

Bazaar Town was the only store left in the street that was still open for business. The mom and pop businesses of the borough were rapidly failing, being closed down and boarded up. If business did not improve soon, Bazaar Town was likely to become another example of the dangers of owning a business.

I need to do something.

“Look Yasmine, if your dad needs to lay off an employee�"”

Yasmine immediately interjected and said, “What? Oh, that’s so sweet of you, Don, but it won’t come to that.” 

“Oh good.”

“Wait a minute,” Yasmine said with narrowed eyes.  “Is this your way of saying that you don’t want to work here anymore?”

Don instantly straightened his back.  “No, of course not.  I love working here.  I just wanted to help your dad out and�"”

“I’m kidding, Don.  Jeez, you always take everything I say so seriously,” Yasmine laughed, playfully slapping Don’s arm.

Don smiled in embarrassment.

“Regardless, that was really a sweet proposition you made.  My dad would have appreciated it,” Yasmine noted with warm eyes and a gentle smile.

Then out of the blue Yasmine stood on her toes and leaned forward over the counter kissing Don on the cheek.  He immediately blushed and he turned his face away from her, but he was already caught red-handed, or rather red-cheeked.

Yasmine smiled and said, “Well, I guess I’ll get back to work.”

“Yeah, uh, me too.”

As Yasmine walked away Don mentally slapped himself on the head.  So Cupid had resorted to hijacking the mechanisms of his physiology to make it appear as though he liked the kiss.  In reality he blushed whenever he was in an uncomfortable social situation and the kiss was no exception.  He looked at her, wondering how much damage he had done.  She noticed his stare and he quickly looked down at his comic book trying to ignore the smile she gave him.

Great.  Just great.

***

It was ten o’clock, closing time, and Don was preparing to leave.  The store was empty except for Don, Yasmine, and Mr. Gupta who was still in his office. 

Don picked up his backpack and was saying goodbye to Yasmine when a man entered the store.

“Sorry sir, we are about to close,” Yasmine said.

“The store opens again tomorrow from twelve to ten,” Don added.

The man didn’t acknowledge either of them as he looked around the ceiling.

“I’ll be quick,” the man said as he sped to the shelves on the left.

Don placed his backpack behind the counter when Yasmine said, “Oh Don, you don’t have to.  I can take care of it.”

“It’s okay; he said he’ll be quick.”

Don could see the man browsing a section of the shelves up and down repeatedly.  He thought the man’s behavior was odd as he was going up and down like an umpa lumpa.  He was also Caucasian.  It wasn’t unheard of for white people to shop in the store, but most of their regular customers who entered and purchased from the store were Indian, with the exception of two people who were aspiring chefs.

Yasmine approached the man.  “Do you need any help finding something sir?”

“Uh, sure, can you help me find…oh wait, here it is.”

The man placed his chosen item on the counter, a bottle of mustard oil.

Not the most unusual item I ever saw a customer purchase.

Don typed the price into the cash register as the man turned his back to him and scratched his head aggressively, causing a shower of dandruff to fall from his hair.

Don ignored the human snow machine and said, “That’ll be five dollars and twenty cents.”

The man turned back and looked at Don in surprise.

“Five dollars what?”

“Twenty cents,” Don repeated.

“Okay, just let me find my wallet.”

The man dug in both of his front pockets pulling out crumbled checks and coupons tossing them onto the counter.  Yasmine was in the middle of the store with crossed arms tapping her foot impatiently. Don smiled in sympathy.

The man rubbed his temple and said, “Sorry, I must have forgotten my wallet.”

“It’s okay, sir,” Don said.

“I’ll come back tomorrow.”

The man shoved his trash back into his pockets and walked out.

“That was strange,” Yasmine spoke as she walked to the counter and took the mustard oil.

“The most exciting five minutes of my life,” Don joked.

Yasmine laughed and took the mustard oil back to its appropriate shelf, when the front door opened again revealing the same man.

“Oh hi sir, did you find your�"”

Don noticed the man held something in his hand, but it wasn’t a wallet.  It was a gun, a Smith and Wesson revolver to be precise.  The man looked at him with scared, but determined eyes and pointed the revolver at his face.

“O-O-Open the cash register, hand me the money and I’ll leave!” the gunman stuttered.

Yasmine was walking back to the counter when she saw the gunman pointing his revolver at Don.  She turned hastily toward the office where Mr. Gupta had a tire iron in his desk just for this type of situation.

The gunman saw her and pressed the revolver right between Don’s eyebrows, shouting, “Don’t move or I’ll pull the trigger!”

Don could hear the safe action trigger click causing his heart to race a hundred miles per hour and sweat droplets to race down to his jawline.  Yasmine immediately complied and sat on her knees with her hands over her mouth. 

The gunman turned back to Don and said, “Now give me the cash.”

Don nodded and opened the cash register to pull out the money.  As he was collecting all the cash into his hand he thought back to all the reality television shows he watched that showed raw footage of gunmen attempting to rob stores and whoever the gunmen were threatening fought back.  Now he understood that the gunman was looking at the ceiling for cameras that could video record his face for the local news to broadcast.  For a few seconds he considered grabbing the gun and turning it on the gunman.  But he remembered Mr. Gupta telling him that no amount of money was worth the invaluable price of his life.  Where was Mr. Gupta?  Was he in his office calling nine-one-one?  Or was he silently walking through the aisles with his tire iron waiting for the right moment to attack?

After cleaning out the drawer of the cash register, excluding the coins, his trembling hand extended to give it to the gunman.  He snatched the money and started counting his loot.  Don saw Yasmine discreetly making a hand motion and he knew she was doing a charade of pressing the panic button below the counter.  Noticing the gunman was distracted, Don pushed the button and Yasmine nodded in approval.

Don began analyzing the gunman remembering details of his face and body.  He was the same height as him, medium build, brown hair, and brown eyes.  So far he described the look of thousands of other men in Felicity alone.  But then he identified a cross tattooed on the side of his neck.  That was ironic.  Had he forgotten the commandment of “thou shalt not steal?”  Or was he like every other Christian who cherry picked what and what not to believe from the Holy Bible?

The gunman looked back and forth from Don to the money in his hands.

Suddenly he shouted, “Is this all you have?!”

Don nodded.

Aggravated, the gunman pointed his revolver to the ceiling and shot a bullet causing plaster to fall on his head adding to the Yuletide.  Don took a step back as he heard Yasmine scream.  The gunman pressed the muzzle of the revolver on Don’s cheek and he immediately winced from the heated metal.

“Don’t lie to me.  I know people hide hundred dollar bills below the register.  Now give it to me!” the gunman demanded.

Don tried to explain that that was all the money in the cash register, but before he could finish his explanation the gunman’s pistol whipped him at his temple.  Don backed against the wall behind him before falling to the floor.  His vision was blurry, but he could distinguish a figure walking around the counter and opening the cash register for the nonexistent hundred dollar bills.  He could hear coins dropping to the hard linoleum floor, the dismantling of the cash register, and the call of his name followed by crying.

As Don’s vision returned he saw the gunman pacing back and forth, telling Yasmine to shut her mouth, probably thinking this robbery was not worth any money he received.  Suddenly he felt the collar of his shirt being pulled up.  He was forced to stand on his feet and was slammed to the wall.

The gunman pointed the revolver to Don’s uninjured temple and shouted, “Where’s the safe?”

“There’s no safe,” Don responded.

“Liar.  Tell me where you keep the money before I kill you,” the man threatened.

Don didn’t respond.  He knew whatever truth he said would only end in the gunman pulling the trigger and any lie would only delay the inevitable.  He closed his eyes.  In the distance he heard Yasmine begging the gunman to spare his life.  Where were the police?  Was the panic button not working?  And where the hell was Mr. Gupta?  Was he sleeping on the job?

Don heard the front door ring.  He opened his eyes to look at the individual unfortunate enough to not identify the “closed” sign.  His eyes widened.  In the doorway stood a man whose entire head was covered by a tight, smooth, white mask leaving only the eyeballs exposed. 

Oh great!  Sorry buddy, but this store is already taken.  Come back later.

“Who the hell…holy f**k, it’s you!” the gunman panicked.

The gunman twisted Don around and wrapped his left arm around his neck with the revolver pointed at his temple.  Soon both of them were walking backwards from the counter and faced the masked stranger several feet away.

“Go away, Anomaly, or the kid’s dead!” the gunman protested his hot breath on Don’s ear.

Anomaly?

Anomaly snickered.  “Relax man, I’m just here as a paying customer.  So what do we have here?”

The gunman tightened his arm around Don’s neck while Anomaly browsed the aisle.  He was wearing a hoodie with the zipper halfway up, white undershirt, ripped blue jeans, and white sneakers.  The mask extended down his neck and he wore matching gloves.

Anomaly came back to face them with a can he was casually tossing up and down in his hand. 

“You think you are very canny, don’t you?” Anomaly laughed.

Before Don knew it, Anomaly had thrown the can seemingly at the speed of light.  It collided with the gunman’s forehead and Don fell to the floor when the gunman let him go.  When the gunman bellowed in pain Yasmine came running and dragged a still stunned Don from under his arms to the far side of the store.  Don had a front row seat to the action taking place while they sat on the floor, Yasmine hugging him tightly. 

Anomaly casually picked up the revolver the gunman had dropped and tossed it across the floor.  The gunman saw him and raised himself into a fighting stance.  Anomaly laughed before adopting the same position. 

It all happened so fast.  The gunman tried to punch Anomaly in the face, but in a flash Anomaly tilted his body, dodging the punch.  He blocked his opponent’s arm with his forearm and returned a punch to the chest.  Then he grabbed his opponent’s shoulder and kneed him right in the abdomen, causing him to fall to the floor.  He pulled out plastic handcuffs from his pocket restraining his opponent’s hands behind his back.

After cuffing his opponent, Anomaly surveyed the area and stopped when he saw Don and Yasmine still sitting on the floor.  He left the gunman moaning in pain and approached them.  He crouched in front of Don and held his jaw rotating his head left and right to examine his injures.  He could feel the warmth through Anomaly’s gloves as it thawed his frozen face, still cold from what he had just witnessed.

“Make sure the paramedics check you for a concussion when they arrive,” Anomaly informed.

Don just nodded, his gaze locked in with Anomaly’s.  His gray eyes shone with bravery and heroism.  Despite the mask, he could distinguish a smile there.  He blushed with a blossoming rose on each cheek.

Anomaly redirected his attention, not his eyesight, to Yasmine and said, “You take care of him, okay?”

“I will.” Yasmine tightened her arms around Don.

They all turned their heads as sirens were heard in the distance.

Anomaly slowly stood on his feet, not taking his eyes off Don’s, and said, “Well, I have to go.  Until next time.”

Anomaly took several steps back and turned, finally breaking eye contact, and ran out of the store.  Don stared at the door while Yasmine softly cried on his shoulder.  Despite the possibility of losing his job, being kissed by a girl that he didn’t have the same feelings for, and having his life threatened all he could think about was the masked stranger.  Cupid shot an arrow that finally penetrated through his body that night and he quickly realized he was in love.