Unexpected Inheritance

9

Then, the door to the store jingled again, and the soft shuffle of boots on the wooden floor broke the eerie silence. Miranda and Rosalind both turned, and in walked a young man, probably in his early twenties, wearing a worn jacket and a baseball cap. He didn't seem to notice the tension in the room at first, casually glancing around before he approached the counter.

But Rosalind cursed under her breath, her eyes wide as she took in the man's appearance. "Not now," she muttered under her breath.

Miranda's heart sank. This couldn't be happening. They needed to stay quiet, stay still—but the man walked up to the counter, his gaze settling on the two robbers. He must have sensed something was wrong because his posture immediately shifted, and he started asking questions.

"Where are the Warrens?" 

The robber closest to him didn't flinch. "They stepped out," he replied with a tense smile, clearly trying to cover up the fear that was likely creeping into his own thoughts. But the young man wasn't convinced.

Miranda's stomach twisted. He was too curious, too persistent. Rosalind glanced at Miranda, silently asking the same question: Should they hope this man would just leave, or should they wish he'd somehow come to their rescue? She wasn't sure what to think anymore. The store, which had once felt so familiar, now felt like a trap—trapping all of them in a moment that felt too dangerous to escape.

The man was still asking questions, seemingly oblivious to the situation. "You sure they're not here?"

The tension between the robbers grew thicker, their eyes flicking from the man to each other, the gun still clutched firmly in the one robber's hand. But then, the young man did something that both scared and relieved Miranda—he pulled out his phone "Guess I'll just call Ben and—"

Before he could finish his sentence, the sound of a gunshot rang through the store.

The noise was deafening, the kind of sound that made Miranda's heart skip a beat. The young man's body jerked as the bullet hit him. He stumbled back, his phone falling from his hand as he crumpled to the ground in front of the counter.

Miranda's breath hitched, and time seemed to stop for a moment. Rosalind let out a strangled gasp, her hand flying to her mouth in horror. He'd been trying to help. He had been so close to saving them—and now he was bleeding out in front of them.

Miranda's stomach twisted, her heart lurching in her chest. She couldn't process what had just happened. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the man now lying motionless on the ground.

The robbers didn't seem surprised by their own actions, just cold and calculated as they eyed the fallen man.

"Now," the robber who had shot him said, looking back at Rosalind and Miranda, "No more distractions."

The robbers began moving more quickly now, both of them focused on the register, but all Miranda could do was keep her eyes on the young man—hoping, praying he was still breathing, somehow.

The gunman's eyes snapped to her hand, where her phone sat, half-hidden by her fingers. His expression twisted. "You call someone?" The gun was now aimed at her. 

Miranda swallowed hard, trying to remain calm. She knew that anything she said or did could push him closer to pulling that trigger.

"No," she said, her voice hoarse but steady. "I didn't call anyone."

Rosalind chimed in quickly, trying to diffuse the situation. "We don't want any trouble," she said, her voice trembling but firm. She wasn't sure if it was convincing, but the desperation in her tone was enough to show she was trying her best.