It was around six when Roger arrived at the gas station, freezing cold and more than a little damp from the light drizzle outside. He shook himself off, but froze when he saw the cashier staring at him from behind the counter. He decided that a friendly smile might appear unnerving to a stranger, so he simply nodded and made his way over to the candy rack.
He immediately sensed that he was being watched. He could almost feel the cashier's eyes burning holes through his chest. It gave him the shivers.
It wasn't so much instinct as an educated guess, given the circumstances. Of course, it didn't help that the resulting self-consciousness made him visibly nervous- which he was- but the problem was that his body language would give the impression that he had something to hide, which was obviously not the case. Just once, he'd like to turn around and see the cashier looking out the window or staring into space or reading a magazine in a way that wasn't meant to serve as a cover for not-so-subtle surveillance, especially since the establishment had a goddamn security camera anyway, so what the hell could the customers possibly get away with? But out of the corner of his eye, Roger could see the cashier leaning forward to peek around a jar of spicy beef jerky, and something told him that it wasn't because he had developed a sudden urge to ponder the aesthetically pleasing arrangement of the assorted candy bars.
This Cold War style non-confrontation was made worse by the fact that there were no Doritos left on the shelf. That was the only reason Roger had marched his ass down to the gas station in the first place. Now he had nothing to buy. Great. Just great. This would make him look even worse.
Maybe he could dissolve the unseen conflict by drawing attention to the problem.
"Did they move the Doritos?"
He wasn't sure who "they" was, exactly, since it was unlikely that the chip arrangement was being overseen by a council of gas station overlords, but it was too late to come up with something cleverer.
The cashier shook his head.
"Ran out. Gotta restock. There's some in the back."
Shit. Now it was going to look like Roger wanted him to leave.
"Uh . . . That's okay. I'll just take these."
He grabbed a bag of Skittles. Briefly, he wondered if that was the wrong move. It wasn't like Skittles and Doritos were equivalent food types, but he really didn't like any other kinds of chips, and he couldn't leave without making a purchase. He nabbed a soda to make the whole thing look less suspicious, feeling somewhat irked that his little performance was going to cost him more than his intended purchase and leave him with two items he didn't want or need, but he had painted himself into a corner, and as stupid as it was to double down on his charade, it would be even stupider to abandon it altogether.
As the cashier scanned his items, Roger gulped and glanced at the painfully garish covers of the celebrity gossip magazines. He tapped the counter, which he realized he probably shouldn't be leaning against, and cleared his throat.
"It's movie night. My girlfriend told me to get snacks."
The cashier said nothing. Roger batted his eyes.
"She was just telling me about this weird commercial she saw where a guy in a dog costume does acrobatics . . ."
God, what was he on about?
"And it, like, brushed its teeth on a trampoline or something?"
Awkward. So awkward.
"But I guess the advertising worked on her, because it made her hungry."
There. He had somehow brought it back to the reason he was here in the first place. Crisis averted.
"Receipt?"
"No, thanks. I mean- Yeah, no, I probably don't need it. Thanks."
Skittles and soda in hand, he marched through the sticker-covered glass doors, feeling even worse when he realized that the rain was coming down harder than before. All in all, it was turning out to be a pretty rotten trip.
It probably shouldn't be this hard to buy Doritos.
Roger sighed and tore open his bag of Skittles, dumping them directly into his mouth. It would be nice, he thought, if he had been telling the truth about buying snacks for some kind of romantic movie night, as the idea of having a girlfriend in the first place seemed rather appealing. He wondered if he'd be happier in the alternate lives he claimed to be living every now and then, just out of convenience. He'd probably be more satisfied in a universe where he was completely honest when he replied to the daily "How are you?" with "Pretty good!" and similar responses. It wasn't that he was unhappy, exactly, but he was inclined to agree with the philosophy that "bad" was the absence of "good", so even if nothing terrible happened to him on a particular day, it wasn't enough to make him feel positive about it. At most, he was grateful that the boring moments weren't actively bad, since he'd rather suffer through banality than honest-to-god hardship, which he had also endured every now and then. Generally, though, he preferred to have things go his way, which he supposed was true of most people. Thinking about it now, he was disappointed that he hadn't been able to buy his Doritos, since he really was craving them right about now. It wasn't like it was the end of the world- he probably wouldn't have been overjoyed to the point of exaltation while consuming a handful of cheesy triangles- but the fact that things didn't work out the way he wanted them to was enough to give him a sense of loss. He'd probably forget about it in a few minutes, and it wasn't like it was that big of a deal, but it still kind of sucked.
As he pulled the tab on the soda can, Roger noticed something unsettling. He had accidentally purchased Mountain Dew- and some part of his brain registered this as abnormal- but more importantly, he was being watched. On his way home from the gas station, he had strayed from the glow of the main road and wandered towards the darker area of his neighborhood. Darker in the sense that the night was broken only by the occasional street lamp, rather than the aura of convenience stores, headlights, neon signs . . . generally, it was just a little less bright around his house. Now, this didn't usually scare him- he had excellent night vision, after all- but the fact that the darkness was more pronounced indicated that any person moving through it might be trying to hide. Whether or not they were successful was irrelevant: suspicious behavior was suspicious behavior, and right now, Roger was getting goosebumps.
Across the street, someone was sitting in a parked car. They seemed to be talking on a cellphone, but they were staring directly at Roger. He told himself that it was nothing, that they might be looking at him because there was nothing interesting going on nearby, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the subject of the phone call was not incidental. Immediately, his mind was overwhelmed with scenes from movies where people were kidnapped in similar situations, and he instinctively turned to make sure that no one was getting ready to put a bag over his head.
Oh, god. What if they had him surrounded? What if this was a planned attack? What if they knew where he lived?
He tried to tell himself that it was ridiculous to assume that he'd be the target of a planned attack- he had no political connections and no assets worth seizing- but then it occurred to him that maybe they were counting on the fact that he was a nobody, that they intended to sell him into some underground ring of . . . something . . .
Heart pounding, he took a step back. The car's engine began to purr. As soon as the wheels started to turn, something inside of Roger snapped. He darted forward, dropping his beverage- it was probably for the best, since it was Mountain Dew- and made a dash for his house. He was a fast runner, so he made it pretty far down the block, but he realized that going straight home was a bad idea. What if someone was waiting for him? Worse still, what if the observer was expecting him to give away his address by fleeing towards it? He didn't have a reliable security system, and his family was probably asleep by now. They'd be trapped in their own house, and he wasn't sure how long it would take the police to arrive if he called them.
Changing his mind, Roger turned back and ran past the car, which was a better idea anyway, since it meant his pursuer would be forced to turn around.
Then again, maybe this was all just a big misunderstanding-
Roger yelped in terror as the stranger exited the vehicle, moving towards him with a brisk stride. He continued to flee in the opposite direction, towards the gas station, where he hoped he'd be able to call the police. It was almost humorous how he had felt so threatened by the cashier, who might just turn out to be his personal savior. If all went well, Roger promised himself that he'd apologize for telling him that stupid, fake story about the dog commercial and buy all the Skittles he could afford, to make up for wasting the man's time.
As he approached the highway, however, Roger started to realize how foolishly he was behaving. First of all, whoever was in the car had no way of outrunning him, and if the stalker wished to be efficient, they'd have turned around and continued the chase in their vehicle. Yet they had taken the time to get out of their car, which may be a sign that they meant no harm.
Roger felt like an idiot. Of course the mysterious stranger felt the need to talk to him: he had dropped his Mountain Dew and danced all over the place like a crazy person, probably looking ten times as paranoid as he had in the gas station.
He groaned, tapping his big toe as he tried to recall whether or not the person in the car had done anything suspicious before seeing him go into full panic mode. All he could remember was how terrified he had been, and though he could recall certain elements of what had taken place, he was starting to question his perception of the sequence of events, which he might be misremembering out of fear and confusion.
When his lungs and heart recovered from the adrenaline rush, Roger turned and made his way back home. In all likelihood, the stranger would be long gone, and they'd soon forget about the random guy who freaked out for no reason. If they were still around, Roger wondered if it was worth clarifying what had happened. On one hand, he'd rather not make things more awkward. Then again, if they ran into each other again, it would be weird to pretend that nothing had occurred a few minutes prior.
He was just beginning to run through a set of possible opening lines when he heard footsteps. Turning around, he saw a looming figure emerging from the darkness, moving rapidly towards him. He started backing up. He wanted to say something, but it felt like he had just swallowed a tennis ball. The stranger spoke first.
"You're not getting away this time."
Roger felt his heart plummet. He had willingly returned to a dangerous situation, assuming that the perceived threat was all in his head. This was the kind of behavior he laughed at in horror movies. Somehow, he had become the gullible victim who marched straight into the killer's domain without a weapon or a plan. He hadn't even called the cops.
"You're coming with me."
Roger was frozen in place. He wanted to run, but the stranger was close enough to grab him, and he was reaching out-
"Get away from me!"
He backhanded his assailant, who grabbed his arm. Roger wondered if he could break free, or if he'd tear the stranger's wrist off if he tried. His grip was like some horrifying cross between a blood pressure cuff and a king crab, and he didn't know how to make him let go. In desperation, he thrashed around until he managed to rake his hand across his attacker's face. He felt a wave of relief as his arm was released, but it was short lived. He barely had time to turn six inches before he was felled by an indescribable pain in his gut. As he hit the concrete, he wondered if he had indeed heard a sound that shattered his senses, or if he was just imagining things because of physical trauma. He then realized that, yes, it made sense for him to have heard something before bleeding out, and he knew he was bleeding out because there was dark liquid spilling over the sidewalk's edge.
There was no other explanation.
He had been shot.
He realized that he was about to die, and wondered-
***C***
"Tragic news in Belem, Florida: a resident of a gated community was viciously attacked by a suspicious individual, and the results were deadly. The unnamed victim was ambushed in his own neighborhood by a velociraptor, who mauled its target in a brutal encounter before being shot and killed. Witnesses say they heard shouting, followed by a single gunshot. The aggressor, identified as sixteen-year-old Roger Vantory, stalked and cornered the victim, who fired his handgun in self-defense. He has been released from police custody as the investigation continues. More on this story as it happens."
***C***
"I was sitting in my car when he started circling me, looking like he was about to, like, pounce- pounce on me or something. He said to me, he said- you best not be messin' around here, or things could turn ugly- then he bared his teeth and pulled me out of the car- I, uh, opened the door before that to ask him if he was lost . . . Before he circled me, I mean. And I remember, he gave me this look, see, like he was real hungry. Probably wanted to intimidate me. I fell- He pushed me, um, to the ground, and then I got up and he started growling and snapping his jaws, and I warned him not to come any closer, or I'd be forced to shoot him. Then he said- I'd like to see you try- and he lunged at me, so I unholstered my gun and-"
***C***
"I know there's been a lot of controversy surrounding this incident, since people are speculating that there was a species-based motivation for the shooting-"
"Let's not forget that the vigilante was also a dinosaur."
"That doesn't change the fact that there may have been prejudice involved in his decision to pursue the victim, especially when he had already called the cops-"
"Well, as he said in his reenactment, the raptor was engaged in suspicious behavior- which has nothing to do with his species, obviously- that's not what he meant-"
"The shooter was an iguanodon."
"Exactly. They were both dinosaurs- I mean, if anything, the raptor would have attacked the shooter for reasons related to species, no?"
"I don't think that's the issue here, since-"
"So you're telling me that a raptor can claw some poor dinosaur's face off and that somehow doesn't make him dangerous? This is a huge issue. I mean, he could have killed someone."
"He did."
"He k- No, I was talking about the raptor."
***C***
"It is my personal opinion that Roger Vantory intended to hunt and kill the man who shot him in self-defense, as is supported by the latest testimony which reveals that he swiped his killing claw multiple times after unlocking the car door without warning-"
***C***
"I mean, it's just a scientific fact that raptors are prone to this sort of thing. They're goddamn condors, and it's no surprise that their name literally- literally means 'bird of prey'. We can expect a whole lot of major chick-outs from them in the future, those birds."
***C***
"Roger Vantory-"
"It's not Roger. It's Roger."
"Fuck, I was gonna look it up. Ro-jay Vantory-"
***C***
"New information on the Roger Vantory case: it seems that six days prior to his assault of a heroic vigilante, Vantory posted a still image from Walking With Dinosaurs, a documentary series that features a gang of raptors hunting an iguanodon. The screenshot, from the episode Giant of the Skies, was-"
***C***
"Sources indicate that Vantory was known to partake in Skittle-sniffing, a process by which saurians get high by inhaling crushed candy-"
***C***
"Vantory was known to cut class for various reasons, including what his family claimed were 'medical emergencies', but there are several instances where there was no reason given for his absence-"
***C***
"Don't you think there's something a little suspicious about the fact that the shooter had previously reported six individuals to police, all of whom happened to be velociraptors?"
"That statement is false: two of those individuals were utahraptors."
"So you're telling me that that doesn't raise any red flags?"
"Of course not. Even if he was targeting raptors- which he wasn't- it makes sense to keep their species in mind, seeing how so many raptors are arrested each year-"
"You're saying you want to arrest more raptors because raptors are prone to getting arrested?"
"Prone to committing crime. You can't argue with the numbers. More raptors are arrested than any other species-"
"You just said 'arrested'."
"Because they commit more crime."
"Why do you say that?"
"It's what the numbers indicate."
"You just said-"
"Look, I'm just stating the facts. Don't come crying to me with this raptor-supremacist bullshit. You can't honestly tell me that you value the lives of criminals over the lives of the people trying to stop them."
"Does that justify killing a disproportionate amount of raptors? Unarmed raptors?"
"It justifies killing criminals. And they have those killy-claws. They're hardly 'unarmed'. You can't just pick a fight and expect that people aren't going to defend themselves. This species is dangerous. But it has nothing to do with species. Some individuals are just bad apples, that's all. Vantory literally ripped the car door off its hinges-"
"But when was the last time an unarmed compsognathus was shot?"
"Was there not a well-documented incident in 1997?"
"That wasn't fatal, and that was hundreds of years ago. You can't use that as a defense."
"No, I can't, because compsognathuses are not dangerous. Can you name one instance of compsognathus violence? No! That's because there's something going on in raptor communities. You think you're so virtuous, defending those 'poor raptors', but if you really cared about their safety, you'd be addressing instances of rap-on-rap crime."
***C***
"I mean, let's not forget that multiple photos uploaded to social media show Vantory wearing a Jurassic Park t-shirt, implying he was in favor of raptor violence-"
"Hang on, I gotta stop you there. There's no indication that he supported that kind of thing."
"Well, why else would he be wearing that shirt?"
***C***
"-announced that he'd be selling the murder weapon and donating all proceeds to InGen. This sparked outrage, as the company is known for its anti-saurian and anti-sapisaur politics-"
***C***
"Let's not get caught up in the whole 'species' thing. Let's not make this about species. The raptor was shot because he committed a crime. He assaulted that poor iguanodon-"
"And he was killed."
"In self-defense."
"There's no proof that Vantory initiated the conflict. For all we know, he could have been acting in self-defense as well. It's become abundantly clear that he was attacked because he was a raptor."
"You can't make those kinds of claims."
"The shooter frequently uses raptor slurs."
"That doesn't prove anything."
"His profile picture is the anti-raptor flag."
"He's clearly just expressing his herbivore pride."
"He was caught boasting about the incident. He called Vantory a filthy, dirty, no-good raptor."
"Look, let's not make this about species . . ."
***C***
"If you want to know who's really making this about species, just look at the raptors. They're the ones who brought it up in the first place."
"Well, not to play devil's advocate here, but I think what they're getting at is that Vantory probably wouldn't have been targeted if he wasn't a raptor."
"Oh, so now all humans are shooting all raptors? I'll bet you didn't even know that it was an iguanodon that shot the poor, innocent hupia."
***C***
"You're defending a violent criminal. If that raptor was allowed to roam free, someone could have been killed."
***C***
"I don't know how you can defame someone who risked his life in the name of justice. He took the law into his own hands and prevented a crime from taking place that night."
***C***
"You know how raptors are. They'll kill you for no reason at all."
***C***
"This gun was used to save my life from a near-death, brutal attack by Roger Vantory."
***C***
There was no other explanation.
He had been shot.
He realized that he was about to die, and wondered if they'd ever catch the man who did it.