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Before I could reply, a series of gunshots rang out. My blood ran cold before my brain even registered what the sound was.
People started screaming while men shouted commands —Get on the floor. Shut the fuck up. Don’t fucking move.
It was an assault of noise and commotion that turned my stomach inside out.
It was a robbery.
Grabbing Joyce by the arm, I hauled her into Dad’s office and pushed her toward the desk. I hit the lights and locked the door, hoping they’d bypass the room if they thought it was empty.
“Oh my God!” Joyce whispered, grabbing my hand and yanking me down behind the desk. “I can’t believe this is happening. We’ve never been robbed!”
“We’ll be fine. Just keep quiet.” I squeezed her bony hand in mine, hoping she believed me.
More gunshots echoed in the lobby, along with shrieks and yelps. I could hear Cindy’s voice clearly, acknowledging the order to do something. As the head teller, she had access to all of the cash that wasn’t currently locked up in the vault. Of course they’d grab her.
Heavy boots stormed back and forth, shouting commands that were hard to understand with the distance.
“Did you hit the button?” I whispered, glancing up at the panic alarm beneath Dad’s desk.
Joyce nodded emphatically.
I nodded too, patting her hand. Then we just had to wait for the police. How long had it been? A minute already? A police response at this time of day would be fast. The robbers knew they had to move quick. We just had to stay quiet and out of sight.
I’d no more than reassured myself when the door handle jiggled. Holding my breath, I strained to hear anything else above Joyce’s whimpering and the wild pounding in my chest.
Something heavy smashed against the door. It flew into the wall, impaling the handle into the drywall.
Joyce shrieked, her hands flapping to her face.
The next thing I knew, a gloved hand grabbed the collar of my shirt and pulled me up vertically. I saw a flash of a gun in my face and little else. The man shoved me out of the office and grabbed ahold of Joyce, forcing her out behind me.
“Take it easy!” I said, catching her before she tripped over her own feet on the gleaming floors.
“Shut the fuck up and get over there,” the man snapped in accented English, using his gun to point in the direction he wanted us to go.
Keeping an arm around Joyce, I led her away and helped her to the ground next to Cindy. Some people were laying facedown on the floor with their arms over their heads. Others were kneeling, some crying, some praying. I was more concerned with watching the robbers as they moved around.
There were four of them, dressed identically in black hoodies and jeans, with black neck gaiters pulled up. They were all armed with some sort of gun — one kept an eye on us, another cleared out the registers, and the third guy ran around collecting everyone’s cell phones, car keys, and wallets.
The one who found us disappeared again. Glass shattered in Dad’s office. A moment later he reemerged, obviously pissed off. He kicked a potted plant over, spilling soil all over the place, and yelled something in a language I didn’t understand.
The one standing guard over the people looked at his watch, but didn’t reply.
“Wallet! Cell phone!” another one snapped, shoving a backpack in my face.
I dumped the items into the bag, mentally cataloguing all the credit cards I’d need to cancel as soon as I got to a working phone.
Zeroing in on Joyce again, the pissed-off guy strode forward, nearly bowling his partner out of the way. “Where’s the master key?”
Joyce shrank back, every muscle in her old body quaking. “I, I don’t know!”
The man pressed the gun into her temple, lowering his masked-face closer to hers. “Where is it?!”
Bursting into tears, Joyce yelped. “I don’t know!”
“You don’t know?” the robber taunted, pushing harder with the gun. “You don’t know?!”
“They don’t leave it here,” I interjected, like an idiot. But I was desperate for him to stop torturing Joyce. She was on the verge of a heart attack as it was and after her bypass last winter, I didn’t want to see her drop dead from the stress.
