JESSICA FROZE AND watched as the bookshelf plunged toward her. She stuttered in her steps conflicted about which direction to move. She shuffled to her left, but the bookshelf hit her right shoulder and pushed her toward the wooden shelves on the opposite side. Her head smacked against the wood and she collapsed to the floor.
“Jessica!” I said before looking toward the opposite end of the fallen shelf and seeing Ken’s trainer standing where the shelf once had.
As I lifted my pistol to target him, something slapped my right hand. I looked down and saw the gun fall from my hands along with a shiny, black Crockett & Jones dress shoe coming toward my face. I tilted my head back while hopping backward simultaneously, barely dodging the foot. As my head nodded forward, I widened my stance and
