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Show 198 magnet. "Turn around!" he screamed, waving the gun at them. They turned away, toward the front of the store, with Steve still sitting on the floor. Vaguely, she noticed the clock above the front door: twelve-oh-eight. Could that be right? It wasn't possible, it had to be later than that. She waited: every fibre in her body listening. But the only sound was Steve's hard breathing. The look on Mr. Richards' face-as if she would be the last person he would ever see alive-was frozen in her mind. Was he alive? She winced-as if the gun had suddenly gone off. But there was no booming echo. It had not. There was only the hard silence. Steve's quick breathing. Not moving her head, afraid the gun would go off if she did, she braved a quick glance over at him. He held his hands to his groin, his face screwed up in pain. He had hurt himself in some way, pulling on the cord. That wonderful face, distorted by pain: she was angry, deep within herself, for the first time at that man. She mouthed the words, Are you okay? He was. He shook his head that he was. But the pain was in his face. Twelve-fourteen. The clock had not stopped, as she had thought. She took a deep breath, She would not hear the gun. Not now. She was sure of that. Almost sure. And then she wasn't. She wasn't sure at all. |