THE PHOEBE YEARS
Chapter 6: Do It
The sun was going down.
Looking out of the long-broken ford, Phoebe could see the array of colors that heralded the coming of night. When it's dark. I'll do it when it's dark.
Perhaps the sky heard Phoebe's thoughts, because darkness came swiftly. It's time. No, a few more minutes. What, are you afraid? No, I just want to make sure I really want to do this. If I go out there now, there's no turning back. Come on, don't be a wimp. I'm sure Mom wouldn't want to have a coward for a daughter. Stop it! Follow through with the plan and I will! All right, all right!
Gathering her resolve, Phoebe reached under the Ford's seat and pulled out the gun.
* * *
A bell rang as Phoebe entered the store. Behind her were shadows in places broken by New York's continued parade of lights. In front of her was the extreme brightness of the convenience store. The cashier turned towards her. He looked to be about eighteen, a year younger than Phoebe. His uniform was an extremely ugly striped shirt with a nametag reading "Paul".
Paul, great, thought Phoebe. This would be so much easier if he was just a nameless face.
Paul watched Phoebe. She wore a pair of old jeans and an old, green t-shirt that were both too small for her. Her hair was oily and there were unwashed patches of dirt over her skin. Her eyes were sunken into their sockets, a clear sign of not getting enough to eat. It was clear to Paul that this girl was starving. But he also sensed something when he looked into his eyes that brought nervousness to him. She was desperate. Somewhere along the line she had just taken one too many beatings from life. And this made him afraid.
"Welcome to Q-Mart," Paul said, trying his best to act as though she was a regular customer.
Phoebe looked at him. Indecision rose in her again. Did she really want to do this? Yes, part of her said, you deserve it. I can't, this is illegal! What, letting any Creepjob on the street fuck you for some money or food isn't! This is different! Just do it, Phoebes. Just do it. Just do it!
She couldn't resist that voice. In most people it was a mental corrupter easily dismissed. But, for Phoebe, it was all too persuasive. Two years ago she had let a guy sleep with her for food. Since then, there had been others. She had let them mount her body for money. She needed it. Since Sidney's death (murder) she wasn't pulling in enough cash through begging to keep herself alive. Whoring had been the only way.
But it just wasn't enough anymore. It seemed like there was no one left who would give her money out of pity or out of lust. She knew that she was on the brink of death. Phoebe knew it and could do nothing about it. She couldn't find a job, and she couldn't scrounge. What was she supposed to do?
The voice gave her the answer. She had found a pistol a year ago and had bought bullets for it after a very profitable whore job. Phoebe had kept it all this time for defense. But the voice had other ideas. It would be so simple for her to go into some store and force whoever was working to give her money. But that's wrong! Wrong? If a man can steal a loaf of bread to feed his starving family, than a girl can steal some cash to feed her starving body. Do it. It's the only way. Do it!
Phoebe pulled out the pistol tucked into the back of her jeans. Paul's forebodings had suddenly taken a turn into sheer terror.
"Keep your hands up!" yelled Phoebe, her voice barely this side of sanity, "If I see your reach for the police alert button I'm gonna shoot you!"
Paul complied automatically. His body quivered, his pores gave out sweat, and his legs became jelly, yet he kept his hands up.
Phoebe walked towards the counter, keeping her gun focused on Paul's chest.
"Listen closely," Phoebe said, no longer yelling. Instead she was practically hissing out the words, "I want all the money you have in the cash register. I want it in my hand, and I want you to do it quickly and quietly."
Paul tried to look into Phoebe's eyes, to see if she was the sort of person who would kill a man. But all he could look at was the gun. He stared down into the barrel like it was a bottomless pit, and he was teetering at the brink of it.
He pressed the button that made the cash register spring open. He began taking out the bills. All right, Phoebes, you're doing it. In just a moment you'll have the money and you'll be gone. Everything's going like you planned.
"I have a girlfriend," said Paul, still taking out the money.
Phoebe didn't say a word. She just looked at him and saw that his eyes were bordering on tears.
"We're going to be married soon, as soon as we both graduate," he said, his voice starting to crack, "We're going to . . ."
"Shut up! Just shut up!" shouted Phoebe.
She didn't want to see this Paul as a person. She wasn't going to hurt him, but she was scaring the living hell out of him.
"Why are you doing this to me?" he pleaded, and now he had stopped taking out the money. He was crying now and blubbering with fear.
"Stop it!" yelled Phoebe, "Just . . ."
"Don't kill me . . ." Paul begged, starting to kneel before Phoebe.
". . . stop it!"
A bang filled the Q-Mart. Paul didn't have time to scream, look shocked, or even gasp. The bullet burst through his forehead and into his brain. He died before he had the slightest idea what had happened.
Phoebe didn't move, didn't say anything, or even think anything. She just watched the body fall to the floor, blood and brains spilling out of the hole she had made. He was gone. Paul was gone. He would never graduate from high school and marry his girlfriend. He would go to a spot of earth in the ground where he would rot until there was nothing left to rot.
Phoebe ran. She ran out of the Q-Mart without taking the money. She ran across the street not caring if a car hit her or not.
Killed him! Killed him!
It was an accident!
His parents will be crying. Don't you remember how you felt when your mom died, when Sidney died? That's how everyone who cared about him is going to feel. You've ruined their lives, and destroyed his. His soul was snuffed out because of you! All because of you!
NO!
Without thinking, Phoebe flung her self against an alley's brick wall. As her head crashed against it and she fell unconscious, the voices faded away. She didn't want to wake up ever again. As long as she just kept knocking her head against the wall, she wouldn't have to hear the voices. The voices which told her about all the people she had hurt. Sweet sleep. Sweet silence.
Chapter 6: Do It
The sun was going down.
Looking out of the long-broken ford, Phoebe could see the array of colors that heralded the coming of night. When it's dark. I'll do it when it's dark.
Perhaps the sky heard Phoebe's thoughts, because darkness came swiftly. It's time. No, a few more minutes. What, are you afraid? No, I just want to make sure I really want to do this. If I go out there now, there's no turning back. Come on, don't be a wimp. I'm sure Mom wouldn't want to have a coward for a daughter. Stop it! Follow through with the plan and I will! All right, all right!
Gathering her resolve, Phoebe reached under the Ford's seat and pulled out the gun.
* * *
A bell rang as Phoebe entered the store. Behind her were shadows in places broken by New York's continued parade of lights. In front of her was the extreme brightness of the convenience store. The cashier turned towards her. He looked to be about eighteen, a year younger than Phoebe. His uniform was an extremely ugly striped shirt with a nametag reading "Paul".
Paul, great, thought Phoebe. This would be so much easier if he was just a nameless face.
Paul watched Phoebe. She wore a pair of old jeans and an old, green t-shirt that were both too small for her. Her hair was oily and there were unwashed patches of dirt over her skin. Her eyes were sunken into their sockets, a clear sign of not getting enough to eat. It was clear to Paul that this girl was starving. But he also sensed something when he looked into his eyes that brought nervousness to him. She was desperate. Somewhere along the line she had just taken one too many beatings from life. And this made him afraid.
"Welcome to Q-Mart," Paul said, trying his best to act as though she was a regular customer.
Phoebe looked at him. Indecision rose in her again. Did she really want to do this? Yes, part of her said, you deserve it. I can't, this is illegal! What, letting any Creepjob on the street fuck you for some money or food isn't! This is different! Just do it, Phoebes. Just do it. Just do it!
She couldn't resist that voice. In most people it was a mental corrupter easily dismissed. But, for Phoebe, it was all too persuasive. Two years ago she had let a guy sleep with her for food. Since then, there had been others. She had let them mount her body for money. She needed it. Since Sidney's death (murder) she wasn't pulling in enough cash through begging to keep herself alive. Whoring had been the only way.
But it just wasn't enough anymore. It seemed like there was no one left who would give her money out of pity or out of lust. She knew that she was on the brink of death. Phoebe knew it and could do nothing about it. She couldn't find a job, and she couldn't scrounge. What was she supposed to do?
The voice gave her the answer. She had found a pistol a year ago and had bought bullets for it after a very profitable whore job. Phoebe had kept it all this time for defense. But the voice had other ideas. It would be so simple for her to go into some store and force whoever was working to give her money. But that's wrong! Wrong? If a man can steal a loaf of bread to feed his starving family, than a girl can steal some cash to feed her starving body. Do it. It's the only way. Do it!
Phoebe pulled out the pistol tucked into the back of her jeans. Paul's forebodings had suddenly taken a turn into sheer terror.
"Keep your hands up!" yelled Phoebe, her voice barely this side of sanity, "If I see your reach for the police alert button I'm gonna shoot you!"
Paul complied automatically. His body quivered, his pores gave out sweat, and his legs became jelly, yet he kept his hands up.
Phoebe walked towards the counter, keeping her gun focused on Paul's chest.
"Listen closely," Phoebe said, no longer yelling. Instead she was practically hissing out the words, "I want all the money you have in the cash register. I want it in my hand, and I want you to do it quickly and quietly."
Paul tried to look into Phoebe's eyes, to see if she was the sort of person who would kill a man. But all he could look at was the gun. He stared down into the barrel like it was a bottomless pit, and he was teetering at the brink of it.
He pressed the button that made the cash register spring open. He began taking out the bills. All right, Phoebes, you're doing it. In just a moment you'll have the money and you'll be gone. Everything's going like you planned.
"I have a girlfriend," said Paul, still taking out the money.
Phoebe didn't say a word. She just looked at him and saw that his eyes were bordering on tears.
"We're going to be married soon, as soon as we both graduate," he said, his voice starting to crack, "We're going to . . ."
"Shut up! Just shut up!" shouted Phoebe.
She didn't want to see this Paul as a person. She wasn't going to hurt him, but she was scaring the living hell out of him.
"Why are you doing this to me?" he pleaded, and now he had stopped taking out the money. He was crying now and blubbering with fear.
"Stop it!" yelled Phoebe, "Just . . ."
"Don't kill me . . ." Paul begged, starting to kneel before Phoebe.
". . . stop it!"
A bang filled the Q-Mart. Paul didn't have time to scream, look shocked, or even gasp. The bullet burst through his forehead and into his brain. He died before he had the slightest idea what had happened.
Phoebe didn't move, didn't say anything, or even think anything. She just watched the body fall to the floor, blood and brains spilling out of the hole she had made. He was gone. Paul was gone. He would never graduate from high school and marry his girlfriend. He would go to a spot of earth in the ground where he would rot until there was nothing left to rot.
Phoebe ran. She ran out of the Q-Mart without taking the money. She ran across the street not caring if a car hit her or not.
Killed him! Killed him!
It was an accident!
His parents will be crying. Don't you remember how you felt when your mom died, when Sidney died? That's how everyone who cared about him is going to feel. You've ruined their lives, and destroyed his. His soul was snuffed out because of you! All because of you!
NO!
Without thinking, Phoebe flung her self against an alley's brick wall. As her head crashed against it and she fell unconscious, the voices faded away. She didn't want to wake up ever again. As long as she just kept knocking her head against the wall, she wouldn't have to hear the voices. The voices which told her about all the people she had hurt. Sweet sleep. Sweet silence.