Howard’s Pharmacy

“It’s been two years,” she thought to herself. “What were those fools trying to prove?”
 
She walked quickly up the steps and past the Prison Ship Monument as she made her way toward Washington Park and then began to walk north on the sidewalk.
 
“Things were just fine. But those fucking elves just fucked up everything. EVERYTHING!”
 
She had been thinking to herself, but screamed the word, “EVERYTHING” out loud. A young couple walking nearby stopped and stared at her…she could sense their alarm, their excitement.
 
“I’m OK,” she spoke aloud to them as she waved.
 
Thankfully, they kept walking, as did she — now approaching Myrtle Ave, crossing the street and turning right.
 
Only a few steps and she was at her father’s pharmacy. She opened the door and stopped for a moment, deeply breathing in and out through her nose.
 
Smitty was behind the counter. Another young man was out back, probably rummaging through the trash. And maybe ten or twenty people were passing by the storefront at that very moment. She could smell them.
 
Smitty spoke up, “Uh…miss, we are about to close. You’ll need to hurry up and make your purchases.”
 
She almost cussed him, but then remembered she wasn’t in proper form. She thought to herself, “Shit, I would’ve had to go through the entire interview process all over again,”
 
“Sure thing man, I forgot my wallet anyways…” she lied and then walked quickly back out the door of the Pharmacy and around the alleyway, waiting a few minutes before returning again.
 
This time, when she opened the door, Smitty spoke again, “Hey Mr. Howard! Good to see you. It’s been a slow day. Since you’re here, are you OK if I leave early?”
 
She responded in a friendly deep baritone voice, “Sure thing Smitty. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
 
“Yessir. Thanks Mr. Howard!” The young man answered quickly. “I’ve got a date tonight!”
 
The young man took his apron off, hung it on the wall and then quickly moved from behind the register — leaving the Pharmacy and walking down the same street from which Layna had come earlier.
 
She looked upward in the mirrors hanging at an angle from the ceiling — her father’s face looked back at her.
 
Flipping the OPEN sign to CLOSED, she turned off the lights and locked the front doors. Then, she walked back, through the EMPLOYEES ONLY door, and down into the basement. Right turn, left turn, hallway, then locked door. She took out her key and opened it, walking in slowly. A single light hanging from the ceiling was enough to illuminate a small room with a table, a bed, a small kitchenette, a bathroom, and a row of shelves lined with jars — each containing one human head floating in a special preservative fluid.
 
She stepped in front of each jar and inhaled deeply. One after another. Mrs. Littleton. [Inhale/exhale] Pausing, she moved to the next jar and inhaled. Mr. Johnston. And the next jar, inhale/exhale. Samantha Rosen. And then the final jar, containing her father’s head. James Howard.
 
“Father would want me to blend in.” She thought to herself.
 
She sat down at the table and began to prepare a small meal. Then, she put away the dishes, removed her clothes, and then reached upward to pull the chain that turned out the light.
 
Walking over to the bed against the wall, she lied down and began to think,
 
“Tomorrow I will kill one of the men who killed my father. Father wouldn’t want me to do that, of course, but I think Mother would…“
 
And then she fell asleep.