watching silently. 'Take the microwave back!' she said. There was too much saliva in her mouth. She was spitting, her words slurring. 'We don't want it! Take it back!'
'You should have made your payments.'
'We'll send you the money! With interest! How much do you want?'
'We got what we want,' Mr. Walker said. He nodded, motioned with his hand, and a doctor stepped in from the corridor. 'She's hysterical,' he told the doctor. 'Sedate her.'
'No!' Doreen cried, but she felt the sharp prick of a needle in her right upper arm, and her strength immediately began draining away.
The doctor stepped back, disappeared.
Her eyes were already closing, and she felt the pressure of the hands removed from her body. With her last bit of strength, she opened her eyes again, saw a blurry Mr. Walker follow the dark figures out of her room.
'Merilee!' she wanted to call, but she did not even have the strength to say her baby's name.
And then she was out.
2
Shannon walked up and down the aisles of the Garden department, intending to straighten the shelves before The Store opened. As always, many of the shelves were in disarray. She'd worked last night until closing and had straightened the mess before clocking out, but the cleaning people or someone must have come by afterward and moved things.
That really ticked her off.
She continued walking, then stopped. The cleaning people hadn't even done a decent job on the floors. There was a reddish brown splotch on the white tile next to the Italian flowerpots that hadn't been wiped up. It looked like . . .
Blood?
She frowned, bent down. The spot hadn't been there last night. She was positive of it. She'd been unwrapping a mint as she'd patrolled this aisle before closing, and the mint had slipped out of her fingers and fallen to the floor. She'd picked it up pretty close to where the spot was now, and she'd seen only clean white tile. It was possible, of course, that she hadn't seen the spot -- _the blood_ -- because she hadn't been looking for it, but it was pretty noticeable, and if she saw it now, she should've seen it then.
_It's built with blood_.
She stood and walked quickly down the row to the fertilizers at the end, then up the seed aisle back toward the register. Even in the daytime, even with the lights on, even with other people in The Store, she could still spook herself back here.
She wondered what it would be like in this windowless corner of The Store after dark. When the lights were off. When the building was empty.
She shivered, sped back to the safety of the register.
She wasn't the only one who had questions about what went on in here after hours. Holly had told her yesterday that she'd heard that Jane in Lingerie had accidentally left her purse in her employee locker overnight and that when she'd come in the next morning the two tampons she kept in her purse in case of an emergency had been taken out of their wrappers and were soaked with blood.
_Blood_.
She'd also overheard two women talking in the break room once, one telling the other that she'd been the last employee to leave The Store the previous night and that she'd heard the sound of muffled screams coming from downstairs, through the closed elevator doors.
And, of course, there were the stories about the Night Managers.
_The Night Managers_.
It was a subject that was not discussed among the employees. Not in the open, at least. But she'd heard whispers, hints, rumors of the Night Managers since her first day of work.
_Night Managers_.
Even the name was scary, and though no one could claim to have seen them, the Night Managers had a reputation. Shannon was not even sure they really existed. There'd been no mention or acknowledgment of them from Mr. Lamb or Mr.
Walker or any of the official sources. And, as far as she knew, only cleaning people worked after hours -- why would The Store need managers when it was closed?
But employees whispered about them after work, made furtive mention of them in the parking lot on the way to their cars. The Night Managers were supposed to keep tabs on all stock clerks and directors and salespeople, to inspect work areas at night, to go over register receipts and make reports.
And if they didn't like what they found?
Goose bumps popped up on Shannon's arms. Word was that a kid in Sporting Goods had disappeared. She didn't know who it was or when it had happened, but rumor had it that the clerk had been asked to stay after closing and have a chat with the Night Managers.
And had never been seen again.
The next day, someone else had been hired for his position.
She didn't know if the story was true. No one did. But whether the Night Managers were fact or fiction, they were like Santa Claus or the boogeyman, a force to be reckoned with. They wielded power, even if they didn't exist, and everyone was afraid of them.
Shannon opened her register and began counting out her bills. She'd finished the fives, tens, and twenties and was halfway through the ones when Mr.
Lamb strolled by, hands behind his back, smiling. He nodded at her. 'Opening in five minutes,' he said. 'How're things in the Garden department? Everything neat and clean, everyone bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready for another successful day?' Neat and clean?
She thought of the spot on the floor.
_The blood_.
She nodded, smiled at the personnel manager. 'Everything's fine.'
TWENTY-TWO
1
Bill drove to the Roundup, parked his Jeep in the dirt lot on the side of the dumpy, windowless building, and walked inside, stopping just within the doorway to give his eyes a chance to adjust to the dim interior.
Ben was at the bar, where he'd said he'd be, a full shot glass and a half a bottle of J & B scotch in front of him.
Bill walked around the crowded pool table and past the jukebox, where a pair of cowboys were arguing over what song to play. The saloon was one of the few businesses in town that wasn't hurting. Of course, now that he'd thought that, The Store would probably apply for a beer and wine license, open up a lounge next to the sushi bar, and suck away the Roundup's life.
_A corporate vampire_.
Ben had called him, fifteen minutes ago, already half-crocked, and said he wanted to meet at the saloon. Bill had asked why, but his friend wouldn't say, would tell him only that it was 'important,' and though Bill hadn't wanted to go, had wanted to continue watching TV with Ginny, he'd sensed the urgency in Ben's voice, and he'd forced himself to get off the couch, put on his socks and shoes, hunted up his wallet and keys, and driven to the Roundup.
_Important_. That could be good or it could be bad.
Bill was betting on bad.
He stepped up to the bar, sat down on the stool next to Ben, motioned to the bartender for a beer. 'So what is it?' he asked. 'What's the big news?'
'I've been fired,' Ben said.
Bill blinked dumbly, not sure he'd heard correctly. 'What?'
'I've been fired. Terminated. Let go. Newtin sold the paper.' He smiled wryly. 'Want to guess to whom?'
'The Store?'
Ben poured himself another shot. 'Bingo.'
