The Glass

When you can escape, should you escape?

The store manager stood at the window, staring into the night at the single automobile. Decordius looked to the manager and glanced down again at his phone. He had no responses. Maybe he shouldn't have been expecting any. He initiated the break-up. He looked up again and the store manager still stood looking at him. He got out of the car and slowly made his way across the parking lot. As he drew near, the manager turned the keys to open the door. He said something, but Decordius just gave a 'yea' and walked to the clock. 

"Well, I'm gone," the manager said, grabbing a plastic bag off the nearby bench. He exited the building and locked the door behind him. 

First thing Decordius did was put a radio next to the PA system, to send more approving tunes over the store instead of the usual elevator music. He located his broom and set about the required tasks. He wouldn't have had to break up with her if she had been honest. The doormat rugs were picked up and moved out of the way. Then he filled the floor washer with water and required detergent and set about moving it around the store. He looked at his phone again. Still no messages. Let her think about it some more. 

The floor scrubber sloshed too much water on the base of a cardboard display of boxes of raisins and made it soggy. Well, it'll be dry by the time the store opens tomorrow, he thought to himself. Slowly he moved the machine around the store, up one side of the aisle, down the other. As he made his way across the front of the store, he looked into the night to see if anyone was out there. He saw no one. His car was as he left it. No cracked windshield. No slashed tires. 

He rounded the back of the store and then he was finished. He drove the scrubber to the back drain and emptied the disgusting water by shoving the hose into the opening. Then he parked the machine and made his way into the store. 

Music was playing that he liked to listen to, so he got himself a coke, candy bar, bag of chips, and picked up the recent tabloid. He looked at the beautiful black woman on the cover. He made his way to the dining area and sat to read with whom she was occupying her personal time. Chips were actually pretty good. He must have been hungry. When the song came on by some little girl trio, he crossed his arms on the table and put his head down. In no time, he wasn't hearing the music anymore. He was lost in exhausted slumber. 

When Decordius finally came to, his neck was sore from the utterly uncomfortable sleeping position. He wiped at his eyes and yawned. He sat a bit longer, staring at the woman on the magazine cover. Remembering his own personal events. 

"Then I just don't want to see you anymore."

He looked at the phone again. Still no messages, no incoming calls. Nothing. He checked to make sure it was operating. Yep, everything okay. Fully charged. No messages. 

He made his way to the back of the store to get the floor buffer and complete his job. He ran the noisy machine up and down each aisle, covering what territory he could. He knew that raisin display would dry out. It would be fine when the store opened in the next couple of hours.

When he was finished with the buffing, he parked that device once more and began rolling out the rugs, sweeping them off. Straightening them up at the doors and in designated areas. His night was done. Now he'd return to his reality when he got off from work. It was morning now, but still very dark outside. He put the magazine back on the stand, threw his trash away. Left some money at customer service. He hung up the PA system and turned off the radio. The regular easy listening tunes filled the store. 

He made his way to the first register and sat on the conveyor belt and grabbed another magazine. He began thumbing through it. Celebrity hot spots, latest fashions, new songs. Singers and actors he knew as children now seemed so old. Just like he was. He put the magazine back and picked up another one. More of the same stuff. New movies. Sure to be a blockbuster. New songs. Sure to be a hit. Making a comeback. Maybe he should try to text back to make sure everything is okay. They've both had a chance to sleep on it. He put the magazine back and pulled out his phone, dialed the number. Hung up before it started ringing. No messages for him. He looked up to see the outside and there was the faintest of blue sky appearing in the distance, giving shape to buildings and trees as dawn neared. Street seemed vacant of headlights. He deduced no one wanted to be out in the morning cold. He looked to the phone again. Just call and make sure she's up. He pressed to dial the number, then clicked the phone back off. She was the one who wasn't honest, not him. He looked out the window again and the sky was even more blue. He walked up to the glass and gazed out into the slowly illuminating parking lot. Somebody should be here by now, he thought. He sat down and checked the news. Nothing spectacular going on. 

Decordius looked out the window yet again. With each glance, the sky grew bluer. He knew this from countless mornings past; everytime he looked outside, the sky would be slowly but noticeably brightening. But somebody should have been here by now. Usually Mrs. Tisdale, the head bookkeeper was first, and the deli workers. No one was pulling into the parking lot. In fact, no cars were out on the road. 

He checked the news again and got the same results. He decided he'd call her. Forget this. He wanted to talk. He was going to make the first move and call her. He dialed her number. It went to voicemail. 

"Uh, yea, this is Decordius. I've thought it over and all. Just give me a call back. Allright? Bye." 

He almost said he loved her. He looked outside yet again. The sky was bright enough he could see the pale color of the roads. He looked at the time. Yea, it was gone time for somebody to be there. He dialed up the store manager and went to voicemail yet again. 

"Hey, Mr. Sanders, this is Decordius. I'm in the store waiting to be let out. No one seems to be showing up. Not even the deli workers. So can you come let me out, or get someone here to let me out? This is Decordius."

As he hung up the phone, he stared out the window at the view slowly emerging from the darkness. The streets, far off businesses, trees, power line poles, all getting brighter and brighter in the slowly rising sun, but not a car to be seen. No morning vehicles making their way to work, occupants unhindered by the cold. 

He put his hands against the glass, then pressed the side of his face against it, to strain to see what he could. No movement outside at all. Nothing. 

Decordius stepped back in and sat on the register once more. He crossed his arms in mock frustration and just looked back and forth. 

"I will break this window out if I have to," he yelled to no one. 

He looked to the tabloids again, at the woman he had gazed at first that night, checked some other covers, then looked up again when he thought he heard a car, or a truck. Once again, the outdoors was even brighter. He could see signs across the way, morning wind blowing through the trees and not a hint of life. 

He dialed Sanders again. 

"Yea, look, somebody needs to hurry up and show up. I got to get out of here, man. I need to go. Call me back when you get the chance. I'm just going to have to break out a door or window to get out of here. I don't want to, but I will if I don't get out of here."

He hung up the phone again. Not even a deli worker. No one. 

He dialed 911. He got an operator. 

"Yea, I'm locked in the grocery market and no one is showing up to let me out. I need to get out. I work here all night as the custodian. Everything's allright, but I can't get any manager to show up and let me out."

"I'll send an officer to check on that for you, sir." She hung up. 

It was practically morning. He looked down the other way at the businesses. None of them was opening either. No vehicle was to be seen. He could break the window, but she said she was sending a car to check on him. Just his luck he'd break the window and the police would show up. 

Decordius looked around the store, all quiet and still. He had seen it this way a thousand and one times, so this was no big deal. Then he turned and looked outside once more. 

The sun was all but shining in the morning sky. The day was a pale blue. His car still sat in the parking lot. Only vehicle out there. All that seperated him from it was this glass. He was going to break it. He looked for something to strike it with. He checked in the drawer on the register and there was a hammer. Small, but metal. He picked it up and approached the glass door. Just smash out the lower pane, then he could crawl through. All it takes. Was that a car? He's going to do it. Tap it nice and hard. Was that a car? As he thought, the sun rose higher and the blue sky grew paler and paler. 

Where was everybody? 

Decordius dialed 911 again. This time, he got sent to voicemail. 911 wanted him to leave a message. He spun around as if he expected to see someone in the store. He looked back to the front. 

He dialed 0 for the operator. The phone just rang. No one picked up. His eyes widened looking into the gradually brightening landscape. He dialed 911 again, please leave a message, so he decided then he'd break the glass. He turned to retrieve the hammer where he had sat it down on the floor next to the side door. 

Decordius looked at the floor around the door. The hammer was there, right beside the door. 

On the outside. 

Decordius grabbed the door handle and shook it violently. Somebody had obviously opened the door, taken the hammer and locked it back again. All while he stood there. He shook the door as hard as he could, to set off the alarm if nothing else and yelled as loud as he could. He kicked at the lower pane of glass with his foot. He kicked it again. He punched the upper panel as hard as he could. He was holding back on hitting them. He could tell that. He stepped away from the door and looked outside. He looked at his phone again to check the news. 

Battery low. Bad connection. He didn't have his charger. 

He made his way to the store phone and dialed out. Voicemail yet again.

"Daddy, ah, this is Decordius. If you're there, pick up. Ah, something strange is going on. I'm at the store. I need you to come here and help me. Someone's messing with me." 

He hung up, glancing across to the door where the hammer still resided outside. 

He stormed off to the household section of the store to find another hammer on the shelf. He ripped the cardboard off of it. This claw hammer was bigger than the other one, slightly bigger. He made his way back to the door and was ready to hit the lower pane of glass. Just hit it, break it, shatter it, then he can get out. 

He gave the panel one good tap, then a louder hit. Didn't even crack. He struck it even harder. Still no mark. He looked at the other hammer, still sitting outside. He knew that hammer had been inside, obviously. 

He was going to set a trap and leave this hammer in the exact same spot, then he thought, what would that prove? He already knew someone was messing with him with the first hammer. He walked away from the door, looking up and spinning about as he did so. He looked all about the store, gazing even upward as tho he would climb out the roof if he had to. 

And the sun shined even brighter in the morning. 

Decordius took the hammer with him this time. He journeyed to the beer aisle and grabbed a couple of his preferences. He ventured back to the dining area and sat down. He could see the front of the store at an angle and how bright the outside was getting. He hadn't had anything to eat since that candy bar and those chips, but he seemed to have no appetite. He drank a beer, looking about as he did so. He pulled out the phone again. Dead. He tossed it upon the table. He wondered if he could find a charger around here somewhere, in a desk drawer if nothing else. He finished off the beer and took off for Sanders' office, carrying the second bottle and the hammer with him. 

Upon entering the office, Decordius looked around at the plainness of it all. He was still waiting for someone to suddenly show up, tap him on the shoulder, "what are you doing in here?" 

He picked up the picture frame on Sanders desk, looked at those in the frame. He put the frame back, then walked around the desk to sit down. He opened the top drawer and looked about. He wasn't shuffling through anything. He deduced keys would be sitting on top in whichever drawer they were placed. 

He checked the second drawer. Shouldn't be so far down in here. Where else would they keep the door keys? Then he looked at the tv. Where was the remote to turn it on? He quickly did so and began searching for a news channel or something. He really wasn't surprised when all he found was tv reruns, infomercials and some old movies. 

Decordius looked at the phone on Sanders' desk and picked up the receiver, anticipating dialing out, but only got message machines. He exhaled then, just dropping the phone on the desk, and leaned back in the chair. He put the hammer on the desk and opened the second beer bottle and began drinking. He finished off the beer as he leaned back in the chair. The tv played a grainy, old, black-and-white movie. He listened to the dialogue a bit, how unrealistic and foreign it sounded, the way they spoke. He took a deep breath and looked up. Maybe he could tear through the ceiling somehow? 

Decordius took a deep breath and raised his head. He was hungry now. He looked about and saw he was still in the office. A color movie was now playing, with a redheaded woman looking like she was from the 1950s singing. He had nodded off? He looked at the empty beer bottle still sitting on the desk and checked the label. What had he drunk? 

He stood and walked out of the office and looked to the front of the store once more. Still vacant. No people, no cars. And now it was growing dark. Had he slept the entire day. And there, still in the parking lot, was his car. Unmoved. 

That's final, he decided. He's breaking out a window. He turned to get the hammer. The hammer? It ended up outside. But he had a second hammer. Where was it? In the office, on the desk. He raced back to the office to see if this hammer had vanished as well. No, there it still was. On the desk where he left it. 

"DECORDIUS!" 

He turned at hearing his name. Someone had actually called him. He looked at the tv and the woman holding a microphone. She was talking about 'recording us'. He grabbed up the hammer and walked out of the office. 

"I'm getting out of here!" he yelled as he walked toward the front of the store. He clutched the hammer, ready to smash the glass as hard as he could. Not a soul around. He stood motionless and looked about. Why was no one out there? Where was everybody? 

He walked up to the glass and pressed his forehead against it, raising his hand without the hammer, and tapping on the glass with his finger. The hammer slipped from his other hand and landed on the floor. He was hungry, so he ventured to the meat department. He was going to cook something in the deli. He wasn't sure what, but he was having something. Ribs? Steak? Burgers?

He took his choice to the deli and prepared it, steaming hot. Practically burned, but he was still hungry, so he had no prblems eating it and washing it down with another beer of a different brand this time. He couldn't believe someone had drugged his beer, but then someone had taken the hammer. He kicked off his shoes that he had been wearing much too long and wiggled his toes in his socks. He finished his dinner, downed the beer, then made his way to the office again, grabbing a candy bar as he passed. He got comfortable in the chair and leaned back to watch the tv.

He flicked through channels as he ate the candy bar, stopping on the station identified as NEWS. He wasn't getting anything there. Nothing but snow. He clicked on and found an old tv show or something. He leaned back to watch it. He wanted to be caught watching tv in Sanders office. Then he could get out of this place. 

He looked about at his predicament. If everybody outside was killed by a poisonous gas, the store wasn't airtight. Why wasn't it seeping in? If everyone wasn't dead, where were they? He looked over to a filing cabinet drawer and pulled it open. Still no keys, but he saw a file labeled payroll. Well, this should be interesting, he thought. He began thumbing through the figures, but it didn't matter. He didn't know who many of these people were. They worked days and evenings. He worked nights. 

There was laughter coming from the tv. The bald man was running around, making ridiculous gestures. The audience was laughing at him. The woman seemed perplexed. Decordius smiled. Just break the glass. Just break the glass. He leaned back in the chair. He deduced he'd fall asleep again. That dinner was good. Break the glass. He decided he might as well break the glass and be done with it. He wiped at his eyes and nose. 

A different show was on the tv. Different fashions. Different hairstyles. An old rerun from a different decade. He had nodded off again. That chair was too comfortable. He walked out of the office to look at the front of the store again. It was pitch black outside. And there on the floor was still the second hammer. But when he looked to the first hammer, it was still outside. 

"But how did that one get outside?" he asked aloud. He let out a loud scream as he raced forward to retrieve the second hammer, picked it up, stepped back and let it fly. The hammer spun in the air, but the rubber handle struck the glass without even crackin it. The hammer spiraled back at Decordius and hit his hand when he put it up to deflect it. 

Decordius hollered out loud and collapsed to the floor misery. The hammer hurt, but he was fed up with this whole spectacle. He dropped between two registers and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He blinked a few times, then rared back as he inhaled. He raised his arm to lift himself up, but it was the one the hammer struck. He slumped back down onto the floor. He rubbed his forehead with his hand. Just break the glass. He slid his hand down over his nose and mouth, then slowly opened his eyes. 

And it happened again. The piped in music seemed to change midstream, from one song to another. 

"Oh, no!" Decordious thought as he now raised himself up with his other hand, so he didn't black out from any pain. Sure enough, when he looked out the windows, it seemed to be daylight. He didn't know what day, or even how many days there had been. He's going to break the glass now. Where did the hammer ricochet to? 

Decordious looked for the hammer, but couldn't discover where it had been propelled to. He laughed now at the situation. 

"Well," he said, "I'll just go get another hammer off the rack. I know there is at least one more over there."

Then he heard crying. Faint, soft whimpering. 

Decordius looked to the window and raced toward the glass to look out at who this might be. 

"Hello!" he shouted out. Break it! Just break it! 

He looked from one side of the parking lot to the other, straining to see who was making that sound. Finally he saw the figure, toddling along. 

"Hey!" he called out. "Hey!" 

He rapped on the window. The infant seemed to be crying too loud to hear anything else. 

"Hey!" he tapped on the glass again, a little bit louder. 

The tyke stopped and looked around a bit then saw Decordius at the window, waving his arms. The baby let out another holler, then turned and began walking toward the store front. Decordius moved along so the infant would follow him. The baby hesitated, then walked again. 

Decordius deduced the child was just beginning to learn how to walk. The baby was dirty all over and had on socks, but no shoes. Decordius had to find out how that hammer got out and knew this baby was a test to get him to break the glass, so he decided he'd let the kid do it instead. 

"See that hammer? Pick it up. That's it. Pick it up. Now hit the window. Hit it! Yea! Haha! You can do it." 

The child frowned up, showing two bottom teeth. It mumbled something incoherent, and Decordius just encouraged it further to hit the glass. 

"Hit it! That's it! Hit!"

The rapping noise the baby made grew louder and louder. The baby seemed to make protests of some kind in doing the task. 

"You can do it! Come on!" 

The hits were coming loud now. The baby stopped, wrinkled up its face and began fussing some more. It dropped the hammer. It slapped an empty palm on the glass. 

"No, no," Decordius said. "use the hammer! Use the hammer! Pick it up. Pick it up."

The baby reached down to pick up the hammer again and sat, moving the hammer about. It began wailing some more. 

"Pick the hammer up," Decordius said. "Pick it up!" 

He'd have to show the baby what to do, Decordius decided. 

"Don't go away! I'll be right back." 

He ran to the appliance aisle in the store and snatched up another hammer, ripping the cardboard label off and made his way back to the door as fast as he could. It took no time at all. 

Nevertheless, the infant was gone. The hammer was still there. 

Decordius slumped to the floor, never taking his eyes off the outside hammer. It had been moved, hadn't it? If he imagined the baby, then the hammer would still be in the same position before the baby showed up. The hammerhead was turned toward the door, or was it the handle toward the door? Had the hammer been moved or was it still in the same place from when it mysteriously made its way outside the door to begin with. 

Decordius couldn't remember. 

"Hey! Hey, kid!" Decordius yelled. "Come back!" 

But he suspected the infant had taken off, thinking Decordius had left him, or was never there to begin with? 

"Just sleep," he said to himself. "If you're not going to break the glass, just close your eyes, and more days and nights will pass by. You got a whole store to live in. Just sleep."

He looked at the last hammer he had acquired. He had wanted to show the baby how to do it. But was the baby ever there? 

"You want me to break the glass," Decordius said out loud. He tapped, then pounded the hammer on the tile floor. "Break the glass." 

Decordius looked up again and once more, the outside seemed to be growing dark. Or was it the dawn brightening the day? How long had he been on the floor now? He stood up, tossing the hammer down near the door. 

"Take it," he said. "Take all of them." 

He looked out the front window, then did an about-face to see the entire store. 

"I don't care, because I have a fully stocked grocery store to sustain me, and when it runs out, then I'll break the glass and only then, however long it takes. I severed my ties with the outside world, and all that stands between me and that empty world is this glass storefront, so I'll stay here, and when I deem it is necessary, then I'll seek my escape."