Help!

“Help!”

The diner, made popular only because of its proximity to the interstate, had a retro theme. An old juke box stood in one corner, and old vinyl records were stapled to the walls. The orange seats were faded by the sun streaming in every afternoon, and the floors were so worn or dirty that you could barely identify the pattern that they once boasted.  There were only six booths and some worn swivel bar stools at the counter.

He pushed me into the furthest booth from the door and sat next to me blocking me in. I wanted to cry out for help or look longingly into the waitresses’ eyes until she knew my despair, but I was hyper aware of the gun barrel that pinched my side just below my rib cage.  When I raised my gaze to look up at the waitress, I felt the gun dig deeper into my side, and I lowered my eyes to the table.

He had been stalking me. I remembered seeing him when I had stopped to get gas before work at the Wawa. He was standing a car length back from me. I wasn't sure where he had come from. When he realized that I saw him, he turned and walked away. I saw him again when I stopped at the ACME after work. He was in the parking lot sitting in a car. He stood out to me. Something was just not right about him. He stared a little too long, and his gaze was piercing. I thought he was odd, but I didn’t register “danger” until last night. He was waiting in the darkness when I came out of my apartment. I heard him before I saw him. He climbed out of the bushes and came at me like a panther. The air was charged with his energy. I heard my heartbeat in my eardrums and was so in shock that he didn’t even need the gun to get me into the car that he had waiting. He blindfolded me and tied up my arms and legs. I pleaded with him to let me go, but he acted as though he couldn’t hear a thing I was saying. 

During the night, he stopped the car only to get gas. I prayed that someone would see me tied up and call the police, but when he removed the blindfold, I saw that we were enveloped in the darkness of the night. 

We had been driven all night and most of the day, and this diner was the first glimpse of hope I had.

“Welcome to Dixie’s Diner” she said in a monotone voice. Her name tag read Ida, and the wrinkles on her face matched the ones on her uniform. “What’ll it be?” 

He ordered for both of us, just as he said he would in the car before coming in. “Eat yer food and don’t think ‘bout makin’ any trouble” he whispered thickly into my ear.   Before we came in, he made the rules crystal clear. He had said this was a test. If I failed the test, someone was going to die. It was fairly clear that "someone" would be me.

My mind was racing….I had to think of a way to signal the waitress. Somehow let her know that I desperately needed help. Reading the labels on the records next to me, I saw “It’s Now or Never” by Elvis Presley, “When Will I Be Loved” by The Everly Brothers, then right beside me, I spotted it. My heart nearly leapt from my chest. A record to the right of my shoulder labeled PARLOPHONE in bright yellow lettering said songs from the film “HELP!” by the Beatles. I immediately blocked it with my shoulder. 

I watched intently as the slow blonde waitress placed the plates down methodically onto the orange laminate table. She looked worn out, like she had worked here her whole life…maybe she had. “You folks aren’t from ‘round here” she sighed putting down a steaming cup of coffee. “No” he replied. He had ordered us burgers and fries. It was late in the afternoon and the first food we had since yesterday. The burger was served in a red plastic basket. Along the side of the burger were a few packets, one with ketchup, one mustard and the other relish. 

It suddenly came to me….the packet of yellow mustard! I opened it and squeezed a little out onto my burger. I kept it in my hand and quickly retracted it back under the table. He ate quickly stopping only to guzzle the hot coffee. I knew I didn’t have much time. I squeezed the packet of mustard in my right hand onto the vinyl bench next to me. After another bite of the burger, I put my right index finger into the mustard. While taking a bite of the burger using my left hand, I put my finger onto the record pointing to the word “HELP!”. When I pulled my finger away, I immediately stuck that finger into my mouth. He looked at me then. I wondered if he could hear my heart beating or sense that I had done something. But then he just looked back at his plate and continued eating. I dared not look at what I had done, but just prayed that Ida would notice it and put the pieces together.

It must have been weird that we were sitting there together not speaking a single word. I hoped it was strange enough to put up a red flag. When Ida stopped at the table to refill his coffee, I darted my eyes to the record on the wall willing her to look. For a second, I thought she saw it, but then she just turned her head away oblivious.

When he finished his meal, he pushed his plate away and signaled for the check. My time was running out. Ida approached the table scribbling on a pad and for the briefest second as he counted out money, my eyes connected with hers. With everything in me, I tried to express in a glance my distress.

As he pulled me from the bench seat toward the door, I saw Ida approach our booth.  As her head quickly pivoted to the door.... a single shot rang out.