Her Calm Voice

By Krysta Tawlks

“Can I help you, young man?”

Her calm voice surprised me. I’d expected her to scream.

Inhaling sharply, I waved my revolver to the right. “Hands on your head. Move in front of the counter. Now!”

The middle-aged cashier ducked to the side, her hands behind her head.

I waved my gun across the length of the café, pausing briefly on a pair of college students balancing trays before lingering on a girl with a laptop. She knocked the device off the table, and it cracked against the tile floor.

“Everyone, on your knees!”

Chairs and tables skidded against the floor as customers fumbled to the ground. They were all so quiet, but not as fearful as I’d imagined. I’d expected more whimpers and gasps, like in the movies.

One man aimed his phone at me.

“No phones!” My heart pounded as I fixed my gun on his face.

The man slid the phone to me. He lowered his head and pleaded for his life as I approached, but his gesture wasn’t enough.

Angling my arm up, I pulled the trigger three times.

The man at my feet shook in relief as three holes punctured the ceiling, not his chest. Firing the gun should have given me strength. Instead, prickling panic stirred my gut. Sirens blared in the distance, adding to my nerves.

Grabbing the man by the elbow, I pushed the muzzle against his temple. “Do exactly as I say!”

I forced myself to relax my hand, mindful of the fact my gun would respond to the twitch of a finger. What irony—a delicate touch executing crushing violence.

“Young man.” The cashier tilted her head with concern. “Let me help you.”

Her voice, calm like still waters, tempered my racing heart. My chest loosened, responding to one word in particular: Help.

A woman whimpered on my right, distracting me—reminding me—of the truth.

“You can’t help me.”

A familiar face flashed in my mind: smiling, teasing, and sweet. Then the text that had splintered my happiness into anger resurfaced, its words like shards of glass: Please don’t talk to me anymore. I’m with Tom.

Red and blue lights flickered through the windows. The man with my gun to his head went limp. I let him fall.

The phone at the front desk rang.

“Shall I answer that, sir? I can talk to them for you.” The cashier spoke like an old friend ready to plead my case—as if I were the one in danger.

“Okay, yes,” I said, although I was far from certain. When she grabbed the receiver, I wasted no time. “Tell them to back off. I’ve got a gun, and I will shoot. I won’t be leaving here alive.”

Without hesitation, the woman lifted the phone. “I’ve got a gentleman here. He says to back off or he’ll shoot… No one comes to the door.” She paused to rest the receiver against her blouse. “They’re going to back off, okay?” She returned to the call. “I don’t know… Twenty people? Twenty-five? He says he wants to die… Young man, what makes you say that?” Her voice was firm, expecting an answer.

My dark thoughts weakened as I felt the urge to answer honestly. “I’ve got nothing to live for.”

Her face flickered to my mind again, draped in shadows. She was gone. I was gone.

Again, the cashier’s voice gently pushed past my thoughts. “Son, you’ve got plenty to live for. People do care.”

Her words gripped my chest, reaching for my heart, but I shook my head. “You don’t understand…”

“Son, you have no idea. Last year, my child passed away. I felt so numb…and then the pain.” She paused, and although her mouth hardened, her voice was calm as ever. “I tried to take my life.”

I should have threatened her into silence, but the raw grief in her voice—she was telling the truth. “You did that?”

“Yes. Honey, things will be okay. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

I arched an eyebrow, glancing around. “Are you joking?”

The corner of her mouth lifted, just short of a smile, then she returned to the phone. “What’s—”

“It doesn’t matter,” I interrupted. “They’re going to throw me in prison.”

She tucked the phone under her chin. “It does matter! You haven’t hurt anybody.”

As she returned to the call, I glanced at the faces in the room and saw them for the first time—the woman clutching a boy to her chest, the gray-haired businessmen leaning against their briefcases, the man stirring at my feet. All eyes fixed on my gun.

“Tell them to bring one unarmed officer.” Maybe they wouldn’t incarcerate me. Maybe they’d give me probation or community service.

“Okay, son. I’ll tell them.”

As she repeated my instructions, I reached for her left hand and placed my gun in her palm. A long breath seeped out of my lungs.

“You did the right thing.” Her voice was certain. “I’m proud of you.”

I believed her. Everything she said. “They’re coming for me, aren’t they?” A shiver pricked the back of my neck.

“Yes,” she said without flinching. “You’ll need to get on the floor. Hands behind your back.”

I accepted this because, as she had said, it was the right thing to do.

I pressed my face against the tile, and the door to the café burst open. Armed officers shouted orders, but all I could hear was the cashier’s voice, speaking to them like I was her friend.

“He’s giving up. Here’s his gun… It’s gonna be okay, son. I’m proud of you.”

The officers squeezed cuffs around my wrists and pushed me toward the door. I looked back as one of the officers touched the cashier’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

She started shaking. Her calm voice wavered, then trembled and cracked. “Bless that boy, but I’ve never been so scared. Oh, God… I can’t believe we’re all okay.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Krysta Tawlks has written various projects over the years, which include a fantasy trilogy called Drag’n Seek and the short story Diary of a Phoenix. Her current project is Bloom, a children’s picture book. She’s a professor at the local community college teaching English classes for English language learners. For writing inspiration, she enjoys watching documentaries about real world issues and hearing her students share about their native countries.

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