Free Ravenous by Ray Garton Page A

and art galleries did not open until ten.
    The two-story mall stood at the eastern edge of Big Rock, right on the border of the city limits. It was patronized by shoppers from neighboring Seaside, Borden, Raven’s Port, and even Crescent City to the north and Eureka to the south.
    In the back room of the B. Dalton Bookseller where he worked, Jason Sutherland pinned his rectangular nametag to the pocket of his long-sleeve green-plaid shirt, and went to the front of the store. The manager had opened the doors just a few minutes earlier and there were already three shoppers browsing the aisles—two middle-aged women and a man in his sixties. Jason smiled at them as he passed on his way to the register in front.
    Jason’s light brown hair was short and wavy—he’d just gotten a trim the day before at Northgate Hair Design across the way. He had brown eyes with long lashes beneath heavy brows that tilted slightly downward on the outer ends. He had a straight nose, and a strong jaw. It was a fine face, but sad, even when he smiled. His body was soft and tended to be overweight. Jason had fought his weight all his life. He was not athletic—he preferred reading and writing to just about anything. He had no brothers or sisters and had grown up around more adults than children. He’d been a precocious child with an impressive vocabulary which he had not used much because he was so very shy. His weight had been the cause of a lot of pain for him growing up—the other kids never let him forget he was overweight. His weight was also, he’d decided, the primary reason why, at the age of twenty-one, he was still a virgin. His weight, and his painful shyness. He’d made attempts to lose it. He did not eat anymore than anyone else he knew—he didn’t binge eat or use food as comfort. He didn’t get as much exercise as he should, he admitted that. But he was so deathly afraid of embarrassment and humiliation—and that was what he felt every time he tried to exercise.
    The manager of the bookstore was a petite woman in her forties named Georgia Williams. She was a chilly person, stiff, abrupt, even when she wore her empty smile, which always looked forced. That morning, she was unhappy because another worker, Cynthia Newell, was late yet again.
    Jason worried that when Cynthia arrived, Miss Williams would fire her. She had been warned a couple of times about her tardiness. He did not want Cynthia to be fired. Cynthia was, of course, barely aware of his existence, even though they often worked side by side at the register when it got busy, but Jason enjoyed working with her, being near her.
    Cynthia arrived at precisely nine-eighteen. Jason smiled and said, “Hello, Cynthia,” but he said it so quietly that she did not hear him as she hurried toward the back. He closed his eyes as he breathed in the perfume left in her wake. She wore a long grey coat with a black fur collar, and her red purse was slung over her shoulder. She was about the same age as Jason, with short, curly blonde hair and a beautiful oval face. Her shiny curls bounced slightly as she walked.
    â€œCynthia,” Miss Williams said. She was standing in the humor section, tidying up the shelves, when Cynthia came in. She’d stepped out into the center aisle, blocking Cynthia’s path.
    Jason watched as the young woman stopped, her small hands closing into fists, her back stiffening.
    Miss Williams said, “I’m not going to warn you again, understand? The next time you’re late, you might as well not come in, because you’ll be dismissed. Is that clear?”
    â€œI’m really sorry,” Cynthia said. “Really, I mean, I would’ve been on time, but there was a wreck on Westphal Street, and I had to wait, along with everybody else. Really. I mean, it was, like, this really bad wreck, there were three cars all scrunched up so bad that you—”
    â€œAt this point, Cynthia,