Shannon followed her sister out of the break room and down a short hallway to stairs that led to the basements.
Mr. Lamb was waiting for them at the bottom of the steps. 'You're just in time.'
'What is it?' Sam asked.
'We caught Jake Lindley stealing. From The Store. Apparently, he was on his break, and he decided to pilfer a Snickers bar from the check stand display next to Francine Dormand, with whom he was having a oneway conversation.' Mr. Lamb smiled dryly. 'Francine turned him in.'
The personnel manager's attention shifted to Shannon. He eyed her intently. 'You used to date him did you not?'
She felt nervous, frightened, but Sam stood up for her. 'Yes, she did. And Jake broke it off, although I fail to see what bearing that has on this case, Mr. Lamb.'
'Quite right,' he said, bowing obsequiously. 'Quite right.'
'So what is the penalty?' Sam asked.
'As per the rules spelled out in _The Employee's Bible_, he shall be taken to the Hall of Punishment and the appropriate disciplinary action will be there decided.'
Sam paled. 'The Hall of Punishment?'
Mr. Lamb smiled. 'The Hall of Punishment.' He motioned toward an open door halfway down the corridor. 'Come. The others are waiting.'
Sam shook her head. 'I can't oversee something like that.'
Mr. Lamb's smile never faltered. 'I'm afraid you have no choice, Ms. Davis. It is the manager's day off, and you are in charge during his absence.'
'Then we should call him --'
'To again reference _The Employee's Bible_, the manager is not to make any decisions or oversee any disciplinary actions on his day off. Those responsibilities automatically and irrevocably devolve to the assistant manager.' He took her hand, led her toward the door. 'Come.'
Ignored by the personnel manager, forgotten about by her sister, Shannon nevertheless followed them down the corridor and through the door, down a short flight of steps and into another basement.
She had never been here before, and she stopped, looking around, feeling frightened. The walls were black. As was the ceiling. As was the floor. Wrought iron Gothic chandeliers with red flame-shaped bulbs offered what little illumination there was.
Ten or twelve employees were lined up in the usual double row in the center of the high-ceilinged room. In this light, she thought, in this place, with their stylized leather uniforms, they looked like medieval torturers.
Members of the Inquisition.
Sam and Mr. Lamb walked between the two rows to the head of the room.
_The Hall of Punishment._
A rack of gleaming metal instruments, tools she did not recognize and had never seen before, was wheeled out by two tall exceptionally pale men wearing shiny black coats. They immediately retreated back through the side door from which they'd entered, and Mr. Lamb lovingly touched what looked like some sort of knife.
They were going to hurt Jake, she realized.
_Kill him?_
No. Even The Store wouldn't go that far. It couldn't. Such a thing was illegal. They might beat him, yes. Humiliate him. Punish him. But they wouldn't _kill_ him.
Would they?
She stood just inside the doorway, watching the scene unfold, feeling not only nervous and anxious and terrified but . . . something else. Something more personal. This was Jake they were talking about. Her Jake. He was a jerk and an asshole, and she had no doubt that he had ripped off a candy bar while he was trying to pick up on a big-titted babe, but that didn't mean that he deserved to die. Stupidity was not a capital offense.
And The Store had no right to act as judge, jury, and executioner.
_Die? Capital Offense? Executioner?_
She realized that those words came naturally to her, that they did not seem at all far-fetched or out of place in this hellish black room.
But this was still America. Laws still applied. To The Store as well as to individuals. The Store might be able to fire Jake, might be able to press charges and go after him in court if he'd done something illegal, but they could not physically harm him.
She stared at the twin rows of leather-clad employees, at her sister and Mr. Lamb standing beneath the flickering glow of the red-lighted chandelier.
No, that was not true.
They _could_ harm him.
And they would.
And no one could stop them.
She felt sick. Even after everything, even after what had happened at the sweep, maybe, somewhere deep down, she did still love him.
Sam looked over, meeting her eyes. 'Maybe you'd better go back to work,' she said. Her voice, authoritative and powerful, carried clearly across the Hall. Shannon shook her head, her mouth dry, unable to speak.
'It's not a suggestion,' her sister said. 'It's an order.' There was hardness in her voice, a tone of command, but there was also concern, a caring intent hidden from all but herself that told her she had better leave. Next to Sam, Mr. Lamb stood grinning.
Shannon looked away.
'Leave,' Sam said. 'Or I will have someone escort you back to your post.'
She wanted to stay, wanted to fight, wanted to protest whatever they were going to do and protect Jake from The Store's punishment, but she nodded, acquiesced, and turned to walk out.
From somewhere far away, in another room, another basement, she heard Jake. He was screaming. She recognized his voice, and her heart sank within her, but she did not stop, did not turn around. Instead, she increased her pace, trying to get away from the horrible sound. She actually felt relieved when she was once again among customers and merchandise on the floor.
Sam came over to her register an hour later. Shannon was helping a customer, and she wanted that customer to remain forever; she did not want to be alone with her sister, did not want to know what had happened, but the customer paid for his purchase, thanked her, and left.
Shannon pretended to fiddle with some receipts and void forms, then finally gathered her courage and looked up. 'What happened?' she asked. 'To Jake?'
'He's been . . . reassigned.'
Shannon felt cold. 'What does that mean?'
Sam met her gaze, and the expression on her face was one of muted horror and stunned disbelief. 'He's a Night Manager,' she said softly.
3
The alarm woke her up at five, as it always did, and Samantha rolled out of bed. She missed living at home. It had been exciting at first to have her own place, and The Store had given her a decorating allowance, letting her choose items from the Furniture department to furnish the house. But even though this cottage was all hers, it wasn't home. Home was where Shannon and her parents lived. And she missed it.
She missed a lot of things. And there were times that she wished The Store had never come to Juniper. She'd be starting school right now if she hadn't gone to work for The Store, beginning her first semester in college, surrounded by guys and girls her age, meeting interesting people, learning new things.
Instead, she'd met - Mr. Lamb.
She shuddered, pushed the thought out of her mind.
There were a few negatives, but overall she liked The Store. She had an aptitude for the retail business, and she'd risen quickly through the ranks. The Store had been good to her. The Store recognized and made use of her abilities.
