Creighton kept his eyes on the clerk. They met face-to-face and the clerk passed Creighton, staring at him as if he was reading his mind. The clerk turned the corner from the counter where he and Creighton met. He started to walk in the direction to the back of the store, towards the cooler area. Creighton grabbed the back of his red shirt with his left hand and pushed him along, making the clerk move at a faster pace.
Standing there by the candy aisle, I was frozen, still wondering what was going on. Watching Creighton and the clerk passing by, I was in a trance. Walking slowly to the main aisle of the store, about halfway between the front doors and the aisle where Creighton and the clerk were, I thought about running. I looked back to see how close I was to the exit. It was about ten running steps away.
I heard Creighton tell the clerk not to say or try anything. “Act calm,” he said as they were walking to the cooler. He had the gun jabbed into the clerk’s neck with his right hand and the back of the clerk’s shirt scrunched up in his left hand. They passed me, and Creighton finally acknowledged me. “You get back here too you stupid bitch.”
No way was this really happening, I thought. The man I loved was going to do this? It wasn’t possible. I started to follow them both to the back cooler. The clerk was so scared he urinated in his pants. Creighton walked behind him, the gun still to his neck. I could see a trail of urine on the floor. I finally realized this was not a joke.
We got to the walk-in cooler where the beer and sodas were stored. I stayed in the archway of the door and watched in horror as Creighton yelled at the clerk to get on the ground. Creighton pushed him and he lay down on his stomach. The clerk still hadn’t said a word to try to save himself from what was about to happen. Creighton put his left foot on the clerk’s back, right between his shoulders and his butt, and I shouted out, “What are you doing? Why are you doing this to him?”
I hoped that the clerk would plead for his life, but the sad truth was he was too scared.
Expressionless, Creighton looked at me and then he looked at the clerk. “Please don’t do this to him,” I pleaded. “What are you doing Creighton? Please don’t do this. Please. Look at how scared he is. He won’t tell anyone, and neither of us will. "Stop!”
Creighton wouldn’t listen to me. Leaning over, with the gun in his right hand, he brought the muzzle within about eight inches of the clerk’s head.
