Digital Painting (2020)
He had attempted to cheat death; instead, he’d invited it into his home.
BY MEGHAN PRAUGHT
IMAGE BY PATSY WISNIEWSKI
Sam heard the sirens getting nearer with every breath he took. His hands began to shake, and he felt his palms sweating as he struggled to keep a tight grip on the pistol in his hand.
“Hurry up!” Michael screamed from across the aisle.
The sound of his partner jolted Sam from his daze. He had been looking at the blood-covered floor for what had seemed like hours. His shirt was stained with the same deep red that was filling the cracks of the tiles, and Sam could feel his head pulsing as he struggled to figure out if the blood belonged to him or the man crumpled in front of him.
This was not how this was supposed to happen. Everything was going wrong, and it was all Michael’s fault.
Sam had done everything correctly. He had set up their alibi, he had planned the heist, he had even made arrangements to have Marissa kept far away from this end of town. She went to a sleepover the night before, and Caroline’s mom was to drop both girls off at school this morning.
Michael had picked the time and location and brought the guns. The guns that were supposed to have been unloaded. And yet, a man was shot.
Michael had insisted that there wouldn’t be any patrons at nine o’clock on a Friday and that the cash register would be full of a week’s worth of sales. But Michael was wrong. As they entered the convenience store, their masks met the faces of eight terrified strangers. As the gunmen entered the store, the customers dropped to the ground—all but one of them, who lunged at Sam.
This was the man now lying at Sam’s feet. He could see the man’s daughter looking up at him, crying. She had wet her pants. Petrified and so small, she reminded Sam of Marissa. She was even wearing her hair in the same braids he had done the night before, complete with the pink ribbons fastening the ends. It had taken Sam years to learn how to form a braid. A pang of guilt crossed his face before he felt the cold and clammy hand of Michael on his neck.
“Shit, man. We’ve gotta get out of here. Quick, get the cash,” Michael said, pushing Sam behind the counter.
Michael handed Sam the key to the register he had taken from the store manager, and with a turn of his wrist, Sam unlocked the till. As soon as Sam had opened the drawer, Michael began shoving the bills and coins in the blue duffel bag that Marissa had once used to store her baseball gear.
Michael was hurriedly stuffing the contents of the register into the bag, preparing to make their exit, when Sam stopped.
“What are you doing?” asked Michael.
Sam was no savant, but he was certain that the spoils from the register were not nearly as much money as they had anticipated. “It’s not enough,” he uttered quietly.
Michael continued towards the exit.
“It’s not enough!” Sam screamed.
“We don’t have a choice. We have to go,” said Michael.
Sam stood there, frozen in disbelief. All of this and there wasn’t enough money.
Michael’s calculations had been off. By a lot. He filled with rage and thought about raising the gun to the back of Michael’s head and pulling the trigger.
There were more people than anticipated and less money. Sam thought about Marissa. He was only doing this for her. If he could not get the money for her surgery, then there was a chance that Marissa would not see her ninth birthday.
He angrily grabbed a man by the arm, placed the barrel of the gun in the small of his back, pushing him towards the ATM in the back corner and forced him to withdraw to his limit. He began instructing every patron to line up and do the same. The pair of gunmen paced back and forth, failing to keep calm as the patrons of the shop lined up to empty their bank accounts using the ATM.
As the police cars rounded the corner and screeched to a stop in front of the store, the last customer threw their savings into the duffel bag. Michael and Sam took off out the back door and piled into a grey Nissan Sentra that had been waiting for them.
As they ripped out of the back alley parking lot, Sam could see the flashing lights behind him. Although Sam was long past his college drag racing days, he swerved and weaved through the busy streets as though it were second nature. All he had to do was lose them, and they were off, scot-free.
They approached the busy intersection of Charles and Main Street. Sam’s foot was glued to the floor of the car when suddenly the light changed from a hopeful green to an alarming amber, and Sam needed to make a choice. He closed his eyes and barrelled through the intersection. His knuckles white, wrapped around the steering wheel, Sam heard Michael scream as he opened his eyes to see the open road in front of him. They had made it. As Sam glanced in the rear-view mirror, he could see the three cop cars halted behind the carnage of cars that had collided attempting to avoid the rogue driver.
A feeling of relief washed over Sam as they sped off, turning into a parking garage. They parked the car and emerged. Michael had lifted it from the lot of the junk yard where he worked. He had switched the licence plates and fixed it up over the last six months, just to abandon it in an empty parking lot.
“That was some impressive driving,” remarked Michael. “You’ll have to teach me how to do that.”
“Thank you, but I don’t think so. We had a deal. You and I go our separate ways from here,” said Sam.
Michael and Sam were not friends. They had met through a support group for widowers. Sam viewed their relationship as an opportunity. When Michael had shared in group that he was in debt from a gambling addiction since the passing of his wife, Sam empathized. But it wasn’t until he joked about robbing a bank that the wheels in Sam’s head began to turn. If they worked together, they would both get what they need, and no one knew that they were anything more than acquaintances. He liked Michael, but they had to continue with their plan, which Michael had stupidly complicated.
Sam divided the cash into two bags, shook Michael’s hand, and headed towards the stairs in the back of the garage. He emerged from the stairwell into a well-lit glass lobby. He could smell the clean air. Hospitals always had that scent. He made his way to the gift shop, being sure to be seen on the security cameras. He purchased a small bear and got ready to leave. He had intended to cross the emergency department to access the second parking lot, where his car had been waiting all morning. His visitor’s pass would vouch for his whereabouts. Sam found himself in the hospital at least three times a week, whether Marissa was there or not; various doctor’s appointments, prescription fills, and volunteering kept him very busy. Sam took a few strides across the hospital’s main lobby, teddy bear in hand, when his phone began to vibrate. He fished through his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. The screen reported eight missed calls. The signal in the underground parking garage was always so unreliable.
As Sam unlocked his phone, he felt a feeling of dread as he attempted to call the unknown number. Who could be calling? Could it be a coincidence? These are the things that crossed his mind as he listened to the ringing.
A frail feminine voice answered the call. “Hello?”
“Hello. This is Sam Chester. I just got a call from this number.”
The voice on the other end erupted into tears. Her voice was practically unintelligible. Sam soon was able to identify the speaker as Doris, Caroline’s mom, though she was clearly not calling from her own phone. Sam could hear the muffled sounds of chaos in the background and his stomach felt sick. Sam prided himself on being someone who does not make silly mistakes. But today, Sam had made a mistake. He had forgotten to send Marissa with her inhaler, and Doris decided to take her home to retrieve it before school. The world went black. Sam could hear Doris speaking but could not focus on any of her words.
Just like in the convenience store, Sam froze.
He was pulled back into reality as the sound of an ambulance approached the emergency department. He watched as first responders ran to meet the EMTs.
“Eight-year-old girl. Car accident at Charles and Main. Severe head injury. BP sixty over forty. Weak pulse.”
Sam watched as a little girl was rolled in on a stretcher. He struggled to see the face of the young patient. Still, his view was obstructed as doctors rushed to bring her to a trauma room. All he was able to see was her hand draped lifelessly off the gurney and the top of her head, long brown braids swinging in the commotion.
Sam felt empty inside, and to this day, he swears he could feel the moment Marissa took her last breath. It seems Sam had actually made two mistakes that day. He had attempted to cheat death, and instead, he invited it into his home.
Meghan Praught is a writer and musician from Georgetown, Ontario, and is a graduate of Guelph-Humber’s Justice Studies degree. She is currently a law student attending Dalhousie University. She has previously performed all across the GTA and her first single, “Second Guessing,” was released on Spotify in August 2021. You can listen to her music at meghanpraught.hearnow.com.
Image: Patsy Wisniewski, Digital Painting, digital painting, 2020.
Edited for publication by Kennedi Awram, as part of the Creative Book Publishing Program.
HLR Spotlight is a collaboration between the Faculty of Media & Creative Arts and the Faculty of Liberal Arts & Sciences and Innovative Learning at Humber College in Toronto, Ontario. This project is funded by Humber’s Office of Research & Innovation.