Page 7 of Played
The cashier nods, nervously twisting a silver ring on her finger. "You're right. We should go find help."
"As a group," I add quickly. "Safety in numbers, right?"
Nobody argues with that logic. We file out of the convenience store, Eileen keeping Emmy close to her side, Julian holding the door for everyone. The evening air hits my face with unexpected coolness after the stuffy tension inside.
"Let's go to the gas station next door," the elderly man offers, pointing south.
"I see someone," Julian says suddenly, nodding toward a man walking his dog across the street.
We all move together, a strange procession of shaken strangers. The man notices us approaching—eight people moving with obvious urgency—and slows his pace.
"Excuse me," Julian calls out. "We need help. The store just got robbed at gunpoint."
The man, silver-haired with kind eyes and a cardigan that reminds me of Mr. Rogers, looks startled. "Good Lord. Is everyone alright?"
"We're fine," I say. "But they took our phones. Could you call 911?"
"Of course, of course." He introduces himself as Albert while pulling out his phone. "I live just down the street."
While Albert speaks with emergency services, I kneel down next to Emmy who's still clutching her gummy candy bag. "You were so brave in there," I tell her. Her eyes are red-rimmed but she's stopped crying.
"The police are on their way," Albert announces, pocketing his phone. "They said to wait right here."
Eileen touches Emmy's head gently. "I need to get my daughter home. She's been through enough tonight."
"But the police will want statements from everyone," the cashier says.
"My husband will be worried sick," Eileen explains. "Our car keys were in my purse..."
"You can use my phone to call him," Albert offers immediately.
Eileen accepts gratefully, stepping aside to make the call while the rest of us form a loose circle on the sidewalk. Julian catches my eye and gives me a small, reassuring smile. Despite everything, I find myself smiling back.
"My husband's coming to get us," Eileen announces, returning Albert's phone.
We all nod in understanding. Getting Emmy home is the priority now.
Red and blue lights flash as three squad cars pull up to the curb. Officers fan out, some entering the store while others approach our ragtag group.
"I'm Officer Garcia,” a sturdy woman with a tight ponytail announces. "We need statements from everyone."
We take turns recounting what happened. I try to be precise, but the whole thing feels surreal now—the screaming, the masks, Julian's steadying presence.
"Could you identify any of them?" Officer Garcia asks.
"They wore masks the entire time," I explain, frustration bubbling up. "Black masks, black clothes. Nothing too distinctive. All of them were Caucasian and young… in their twenties maybe.”
Julian nods beside me. "They were careful. Never used names, never revealed anything."
The young couple fidget throughout the questioning. "We live just two that way," the guy says, pointing. "Can we head home now? I need to cancel my credit card."
After getting their contact information, the police let them go. They walk away hand in hand, still moaning about the guy's precious phone.
The cashier—Melissa, I learn—keeps wringing her hands. "I need to call my dad. He owns the store, and he's going to freak out."
Julian turns to the elderly man. "Which way do you live, sir?"
"Just down Oakridge," he replies. "About a fifteen-minute walk."
