This takes a bit to get going, but the set up is important to the ending-- which remains somewhat of a mystery! Please vote, and please comment on what you think really happened! All the clues are there!
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A life in retail isn't so bad, if three things fall your way: you love what you sell, you have a great boss with whom you get along, and your wages are above poverty level.
Well, guess what? Everything *was* falling my way! It was the mid-80's. CDs were still on the rise, vinyl was on the wane, and cassettes pretty much owned the market. I liked several musical genres, and was well-versed in most of them. The ones I was weak in, other employees could cover me.
I was in my early 20s, making a salary in the low 20s (remember, this was the mid-80s, so that was pretty good for retail!) and my boss was really cool. I was pretty sure he liked me, though he seemed kind of shy. We'd been out a couple times on an ultra-casual level ( drinks with the whole gang, that sort of thing), but nothing more intimate. Personally, I wish that'd change, but it didn't appear he was going to make the first move. I was starting to think he was gay! I mean, I was no knock-out, but I'd turned a head or two. Add 20 pounds to Minnie Driver and she'd probably play me in my life story. But I digress.
It was Christmas eve, generally our busiest day of the year. The worst of the day was behind us, though, and things were winding down. It was 5:58; we closed at 6 today. I was on the floor helping a straggler when Tom approached me.
"Hey skip!" I called him that, sort of an in-joke. It's short for "Skipper." He was the captain, I was his first officer.
"Hey number one." The customer gave us a weird look. We didn't care. It was a Star Trek: TNG thing. Tom continued, "I'm heading down to the office real fast. Be right back. I'll lock'em when I return."
I nodded. That was SOP. We never kicked anyone out unless it was getting ridiculously late. As long as a customer entered before we officially closed, we let them shop. We simply locked up and made the doors "Exit Only" until the store emptied.
I convinced the guy I was helping to get the latest version of "A Very Special Christmas," which completed his purchases. As we headed to the counter to ring the transaction, Tom came back up from the office with a frown. I was about to ask him "what's up?" when he shook me off and mouthed "later" and he headed to the front door. I noticed that as he reached it, Santa Claus was entering. Tom let him come in.
"Santa" was a regular walk-in this season. That's all, just a walk-in. He never bought anything. He was an older man doing one of those donation buckets. I don't remember if it was Salvation Army or Toys for Tots or Make - A - Wish. Whatever. The poor guy was out there all day in the cold ringing his bell to convince people to Give! Give! Give! So Tom let him come in and warm up whenever he wanted.
I rang my customer up. Fortunately, he paid cash. I'd already made a deposit slip for the personal checks, including the sum total, and if he'd used one I'd've had to write up an entire new slip. Our bank was very persnickety-- no erasures, cross offs, or white out on deposit slips!
Tom let the customer out the door, then joined me at the elevated counter. We still had a couple things to do up here before heading downstairs to the office to cash out. Tom glanced at Santa, who seemed to be in his own world, then turned to me and said sotto voce, "Bill never made the S-47 deposit!"
Uh oh. Today was Sunday. Banks were closed. S-47 used the same bank we did, but they had broken their drop-bin key. So, for the past week or so while they awaited the red tape for a new one, they would bring their deposit bags to us after closing, and we'd do their deposit for them. Tom explained further, "I went to check the cash pulls in the safe and noticed stuffed in back was their Friday drop bag, behind their Saturday one that Charlie had dropped off with Bill last night!"
"Jay-zuz, and Charlie is on his way with the Sunday drop bag too! Did Bill do our deposit yesterday?" Tom shook his head no. "So we've got what down there-- 4 drop bags, soon to be 5 and 6?" Tom nodded.
Timing is everything, as just then Charlie came knocking on the front door. S-47 was in a mall across town and got to close at 5pm. We were free standing, and corporate wanted to suck out that extra hour of volume. Never mind we wanted to get home and start celebrating Christmas! (Actually, I had nowhere to go really and I don't think Tom did either. Hmmmm.... )
As Tom went to let Charlie in, I approached Santa. "Hey Santa, warming up?" He kind of nodded at me, and mumbled something in a gravelly voice. His voice was about the only thing that didn't fit his role-- the costume was spot-on, he had a full (fake) beard, and a roly-poly build. I glanced down into his donation bucket. "Good day?" I asked, nodding in its direction. He glanced down too and rasped something else unintelligible. Fortunately, Tom interrupted my having to suss out what Santa had said and saved me from having to reply.
"Charlie says have a nice holiday, Em," Tom said to me, then turned to Santa. "Santa, Merry Christmas and all, but we have to close up. Emily and I need to get to our families." ( No! I don't! Take me home! ) As Tom led him to the door, I heard Santa mumble something else in his rasp.
Tom froze in his tracks. "What?" he said. More mumbling, and Tom turned back to face me, ashen.
What the hell is Tom doing? Why is he. . .
Oh my god! Santa's packing heat! He was leading Tom back towards me at gunpoint and in that gravelly voice demanding, "Let's all be nice-nice and head to that office you have down there," he said, indicating the door to the basement.
I could tell from Tom's face this was serious. We complied, me leading the way as the three of us descended the stairs. "What do you want?" Tom asked, trying to maintain some control of the situation. I was surprised at the calmness in his voice. Me, I was about to pee my pants!
"Shut up fucker," Santa growled. (That voice will haunt me forever now. It was barely a rasp.) We'd reached the basement and were standing outside the door to the office. There was another door opposite the office that led to a secure storage area for product, and a third door to the back room, which led to a final room that we called the way-back room, used for non-secure storage. The way-back room also had the store's only rest room, and it had a circuit breaker box we used to shut the external lights.
We reached the bottom of the stairs, and milled around in the middle of the three doors. Santa waved the gun at Tom. "Give me your cell phone." Tom complied. Why didn't Santa ask for mine? I didn't have one, but how could he possibly know that? Santa then gestured with the gun again. "You, go turn off outside lights." He saw Tom eyeing the revolver. "I'm not afraid to use this," he warned. "I just did a stretch for manslaughter. Prison doesn't scare me anymore." Tom was still reluctant, but I nodded at him.
"Tom, please. Let's just do as he says. You won't hurt us, will you Santa? If we're nice, not naughty?"
He turned to look at me. I was desperately trying to get a description of his face burned into my memory for a police sketch artist, but the fake beard was too full, the hat too concealing. "Are you mocking me?" It was almost a growl.
I blanched. "No! I'm sorry. Just... nervous." I turned to Tom again. "Please, do as he says!"
"You have a smart assistant, Tom" Santa said. "Oh, and I know how long it takes to kill all the lights. 20 seconds, tops. 15 if you hurry. Let's say we shoot for 13?" Tom's face fell. I could tell we'd had the same idea, and Santa had thought of it too. He chuckled evilly. "Sorry, there'll be no SOS's clicked to the passing traffic. Now MOVE IT!"
Tom continued looking back as he went through the door to the back room. "You won't touch her?" Santa looked at me. "Not my type." Barely reassured, Tom went off to follow instructions. Santa looked at Tom's receding figure. Was he scoping out his ass? Well, he did say he'd been in prison. . .
Santa turned his attention back to me. "In the office. I know you know the safe combination." I nodded, and as we entered the small room, we could already hear the ::click!::click!::click!::click!:: of Tom throwing the breakers. The safe was in the corner next to the desk. I started to kneel down to open it, but we already heard Tom on his way back. "Wait, we'll let the Manager do it." Wordlessly I stood up, awaiting further instructions. "Stand over there facing the wall," Santa told me, as he himself stepped outside the office, awaiting Tom's return.
Facing the back wall of the office, I could hear Tom stop short as he came through the back room door. "In there," that UGHvoice ordered. Tom's footfalls entered. "Stand behind her. Have her kneel down on the floor." Oh my god! What was he planning? Was he going to rape me? As I knelt down, I wanted to tell Tom, if rape was inevitable, to just let it happen. Santa didn't seem to have any qualms about causing us harm if we went against him. But there was no way to get that across without Santa hearing.
I could hear Santa's costume rustling. Oh no, was he unzipping? Please, no...
"Here, bind her wrists with this." I gave a sidelong glance back and could see he was handing Tom one of those plastic ties used by police when they ran out of cuffs. By now I was kneeling and Santa commanded, "Hands behind your back!" I obeyed. But, there was a delay. "What are you waiting for?" Santa demanded.
