Welcome To Hell

Episode 1 Camilla's POV "Calvin, where's Meg?" I was already a third of the way into a double shift that had started out a single almost twelve hours ago. "I really need to leave." The cash wrap lead, Calvin Franks, strolled up to the ten items or less express lane, where I stood behind the counter. My d**k-of-a-supervisor leaned against the back of it. The fucker didn't even bother to help bag the damn groceries. "She called in sick, Camilla." He surfed his phone for girls on a dating website. "Got the runs." "So," I whispered, leaning next to him, "tell her to take Imodium and get her ass over here." He shrugged his shoulders and returned to his phone. "Hey, there, darlin'." The first customer in line, a bulky guy with a sour-smelling cigarette aroma about him, kept counting out nickels, dimes, quarters, and pennies for corn chips, generic canned cat food, and a buttload of Ramen noodles. He had already taken five minutes and was still counting! "Can't you call someone? Open more lines?" A woman behind him tapped her foot with an annoyed look on her face. "Sorry for the wait, Ma'am." I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the situation. "We're short-staffed with the flu goin' around." Damn. It's going to be a long night. "And what about the manager?" The cranky b***h glared at me as if I had control over the situation. "Calvin," I called out to him. "A customer wants to speak to you." After swiping right on a blonde with oversized breasts—those things were huge—he glanced up from his phone. Anything that looks like misshapen squishy balls can't be real. "How may I help you this evening?" Calvin went into his plastic store manager routine. I took the opportunity to scan all the cat food, then moved on to the packaged noodle squares. "Well, for starters, you can call for backup. This is the express lane, and that guy has more than ten items." She pointed at the sour-smelling cigarette dude. "Just look at this line. It goes halfway down the food aisle." "As much as I'd like to call for backup, Ma'am, I can't." Calvin's phone chimed. "She's the only cashier in the store tonight." "What about the employees out on the floor, stocking shelves," she asked tartly. "The Dooley brothers?" Calvin broke out in laughter. "I wouldn't trust them behind a register with money if they were the last two people left in the building. Excuse me a moment." He turned to me, then shoved his phone in my face. "Left or right?" "Oh, my God." I shook my head. "Calvin, I don't have time for that." Reaching across the belt, I grabbed a few plastic bags and shoved the groceries inside them. A ping hit his phone. "Hey, I gotta live one." "Seriously?" I wanted to kill him, throttle him with his own phone. "If you're not gonna help me, then please, just leave. Go do something managerial." My manager grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, then stalked off back into the office. "He's coming back to help, isn't he?" the bitchy woman asked. "No, Ma'am." I shook my head and gave her the sweetest smile I could muster. "He was needed in the back." "Yeah," she scoffed. "I bet." Finally, after what felt like an eternity of counting change, the man finished paying and scuttled off down the aisle with his bag of chips, cat food, and noodles. "It's about time." The woman stepped up to my register next, then slammed a bottle of wine on the counter. "This will be all." "May I see some ID, please?" The standard question came out of my mouth on autopilot. "And do you want me to bag it in paper or plastic?" "I'm well over the legal drinking age." She slapped a hundred on the belt of the register. "Put it in paper." "Sorry, Ma'am, but it's store policy. I card everyone who looks under thirty-five to me . . . sometimes over because one can never tell. Plus, it's part of my job." I slid the bottle into a paper bag, then waited for her to hand over her identification. "Well, I've never been treated so rudely in all my life." She slipped her ID out of her billfold, then tossed it at me. Whoever said to count slowly to ten never worked at a ten items or less counter because that s**t never worked. But hey, I tried it anyway. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight— "What are you doing?" the bitchy woman asked. Nine. Ten. Ten. Ten. "Counting." I rung up the wine, then keyed in her date-of-birth into the register. "It's therapeutic when dealing with customers all day." Damn. A quick inspection of the bills on hand confirmed I couldn't make change for the Benjamin. "What did you say to me?" "Oh, uhm, counting my till," I said. "I can't break that bill after dealing with customers all day. Got anything smaller?" She swept up the bill, then slammed a twenty on the register counter. "Will this do?" "Perfectly. Thanks." I picked up the money, then grabbed her change. "Thanks." I shoved the receipt inside the bag, placed the change in her hand, then handed her the bagged bottle. "Thanks for shopping at Cleo's—your friendly neighborhood grocery store." The b***h flipped me off, then headed to the door. A little old lady carrying more groceries than I could count in one glance approached the cash register. "Sorry, dearie." She gave me an apologetic smile before starting to unload her basket onto the countertop. "You're the only lane open." "That's okay." I returned the friendly gesture. "I got ya covered. So, how's your day going?" "It's going." She slammed her heavy purse on the counter and unzipped it. "At my age, any day when I'm up and moving is a good day." She put a few more items on the belt. "How about you?" "Oh, not too bad," I replied in that autopilot mode again. "Can't complain." "Now, where is that?" She stopped what she was doing and opened her purse up again – this time revealing a wrapped chocolate bar. Its golden wrapper glinted from beneath the fluorescent lights above us. "Here," she said, handing it to me on top of all the groceries scattered on the countertop. "It's for you, my dearie." "For me?" I blinked in surprise. "Oh, uhm, thank you." I accepted it, taking it from her hand. "It's a thank-you gift for working so hard tonight and doing it with such beautiful grace." I wasn't really sure how I should react or how to thank her properly. No one ever gave me stuff. Well, sure, for my birthday and holidays, but never just out of the blue. She continued unloading the food items onto the belt one by one until they were all scanned and paid for without further incident or delay, not that I was expecting any. If only all my customers in line were as sweet . . . that'd be nice. "Have a good night." Still holding onto that small golden-wrapped chocolate bar between trembling fingers, a smile danced on my lips. "You too, dearie." She grabbed up all her numerous bags of groceries and made off toward the exit with them tucked tightly under each arm. I stood behind my register, feeling both incredibly grateful yet also extremely bewildered by such a random act of kindness on this otherwise terrible day at work. After the store had closed, I found myself alone once more in my express lane. Calvin had put his phone away and joined me now that all the prep work for tomorrow was done. "Ready to go?" Calvin headed to the door with the store keys in hand. "Oh, yeah," I said with a sigh. The candy bar came to mind, and a smile bloomed on my lips. "What's with the face?" Calvin asked. "Ya gotta hot date or somethin' going on?" "Yeah." I laughed. "A date with my tub and my Kindle." With steady steps, I made my way to the back of the parking lot where the employees parked. Well, all but Calvin, that was, and then slid behind the wheel of my little white Ford Escort. Reaching into my checkout smock, I grabbed the candy bar. Hmm. Now's as good of a time as ever to take a bite. The candy wrapper was golden and thick – almost like waxed paper. I slipped my fingernail underneath the edge, then peeled it back. It was so hot and humid outside, and with my air conditioner not working, I debated about whether or not to unwrap it. But I was also curious as to what it was in the first place. Was it chocolate? Was it a Tootsie Roll? Was it fudge? I mean, come on, it's a gift. Why would a woman give me something I didn't like? She was nice enough. Might as well take a bite. I unwrapped it, broke a piece off, and slipped the chocolate into my mouth. For a moment, I just let it sit there on my tongue, waiting for the burn, bitterness, or sweetness of the flavor to hit. But then I realized I couldn't taste anything. Rubbing the sweet confection around with my tongue, I couldn't help but wonder why she gave me something I couldn't even taste. But then it hit me. I'm f*****g starving. This is like pure cotton candy for me. I took another bite. And another. And another. It really was nothing but sugar. I realized there was no flavor. It was like eating sugarcane, and yet, it tasted so f*****g good. I managed to chew it because I was so f*****g hungry because I'd missed both lunch and supper. I looked down at the golden wrapper I held in my hands. It was the same. I was holding a chocolate candy bar that was nothing but pure sugar, yet I couldn't put it down. Damn. This must be what heroin feels like. A glint of yellow caught my eye. There was something else in the wrapper. So, I shook it, and out popped a ticket. It was small, pale yellow, and had some wording written on it. "What is this?" The front of the golden ticket read, "Congrats." I flipped it over, only to find three more words. "Find Your Mate." I looked at the ticket in disbelief, then looked around the empty parking lot to see if anyone had overheard my surprise. No one was around. The sun had long since set, and the street lights flickered overhead. For a while, I just sat there alone in my car, staring at this odd piece of paper in my hands. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. This is some kind of joke, right? But before I could even process what it meant, a strange feeling passed over me like a chill racing across my skin, and then I began to glow. Did she drug me? My heart raced. What the holy f**k?