Forty minutes until eleven p.m., the clock on the wall across the room said. I sighed, glad it was nearly over for me for another day. Honest to God, I didn’t like working this late in a convenience store, but it couldn’t be helped, as I desperately needed the money. College wasn’t cheap, and even though I wouldn’t be attending one until I finished high school, which wouldn’t be for another year, I needed to prepare myself financially for it. Dad was no help where money was concerned. He couldn’t budget to save his life, and his wife, Marie, my stepmother, was even worse than he was. She’d spend a month’s worth of Dad’s wages on booze and gambling in a day if he let her control the family’s bank account.

Gosh, it was so quiet tonight. But that couldn’t be helped either. It was the festive season of Christmas, and only a week and a bit until the special day itself. Everyone was busy being happy with their family, celebrating and feasting. Personally, I couldn’t wait to get home…a peaceful place, which I’d be having all to myself for the next few weeks. It’d be paradise for me. It’d be like heaven, which was so unlike last year when it had been chaotic and stressful because Marie had caused so much trouble with her drinking and gambling problems.

This year, I was sure, it’d be awesome. After all, Dad and Marie had gone off to Canada for the holidays to be with Marie’s parents, which they did every other year, and this year happened to be that other year. I had never liked going there, and thank God, Dad had agreed I could choose whether to go or stay. Obviously, I had chosen the latter, which seemed to please them both, as well as me. This was thanks, in part, to the shortage in funds. Without me, they’d have more money for themselves. Furthermore, I was seventeen, old enough to look after myself, and staying behind was my choice. I had decided this would give me a good experience of independence for when I’d be leaving home for college in a year’s time.

I leaned over the counter to pick up a magazine, smiling to myself, wondering what I’d do when I got home. I could read all night and go to bed quite late. After all, my shift here didn’t start until three p.m. so that meant I could sleep in until midday if I wanted to. I could just laze around and enjoy myself instead of hiding in my room in dread while listening to the fight downstairs between the drunken Marie and the depressed, frustrated Dad, like what happened most of the time.

I was just flicking through an article about some fashion beauty tips when my boss, Mr. Collins, called out to me, catching my attention.

“Yes, Mr. Collins?” I queried, wondering if he wanted me to stock the shop again, which I had only just done last evening. I was sure the display shelves were neatly packed, filled with items, and couldn’t have been emptied again so soon—since there hadn’t been many customers around during this time of the year.

The elderly man came over to me and looked around seriously. A few teenaged boys walked in at that moment and headed over to the soft drinks area.

Mr. Collins turned to me and said, “It’s pretty quiet. Why don’t you head on home?”

I flicked my gaze to the clock on the wall. “Are you sure?” I asked, wondering if it was all right to leave half an hour early yet again.

“It’s fine,” he said, waving me away from my position behind the counter. “It’s quiet. I can look after the shop until closing time.”

I knew Mr. Collins didn’t like me working so late since I was only seventeen. Fact was, he had never intended to give me this position in the first place, but I had insisted since I needed the money. As for Mr. Collins, he was in desperate need of a staff member for this unpopular shift, and because no one had offered, he had reluctantly taken me on. Ever since I had started this job not too long ago he always shooed me off home before my shift was over.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “And a pretty young girl like you walking the streets at night isn’t safe.”

He had stated that many times to me, and I knew he was worried for my sake. If he didn’t have a shop to look after, I was sure he’d go so far as walking me home himself, too. Gosh, if only my own father was a little like him, then I wouldn’t have to be in this type of situation in the first place. I’d be like most girls at my school; they didn’t have to worry about money to pay the bills, which were my responsibility, or not having enough food on the table.

“I left you some leftover pies in the staffroom,” he said over his shoulder as he headed across the shop.

I presumed he was going to check on the two boys around the corner to make sure they didn’t do any stealing, which was common in this part of the neighborhood.

“It’s in a plastic bag on the table.” He added.

I put the magazine down and got up from my post.

“Thanks, Mr. Collins,” I said loudly so that he could hear me. He chuckled in amusement, which told me that he had heard me.

As I headed toward the back of the shop, I once again felt my heart tug at Mr. Collins’ kindness. He was always offering me food to take home, even though those items weren’t leftover or past their freshness date. Thanks to him, I wasn’t so often starved, as I usually had been prior to my position here. Generally, I’d go without food until dinner, which I’d have to make myself at home with whatever was available in the fridge and freezer. But since I had started working here, I’d get the leftover bread and savory pies for breakfast and lunch the next day, which was a lifesaver.

In the staffroom, I took my backpack from my locker and then pulled on my jacket. After untying my long hair and letting it fall to my waist, I sighed in relief. Once I was set with my backpack securely over my shoulders, I turned my attention to the plastic bag sitting on the table.

I stepped forward and peeked inside. Once I had seen the contents, I smiled in delight. It wasn’t just pies, there was an assortment of nuts and chips, this morning’s loaf of bread, a couple of canned soups, and a bottle of soft drink.

Though I felt more than a little guilty at taking such a lavish offer, deep down I was delighted. I was poor, after all, and any generosity I was given I’d gladly take.

Grabbing the bag, I headed out the door toward the front of the shop, my feet light. As I came around, I smiled at Mr. Collins and said, “Thanks, Mr. Collins, for the food.”

Mr. Collins, who was now serving the two boys, nodded at me with a big smile on his face. “No problem,” he said.

I was at the exit when I said loudly again, “Good night, Mr. Collins, and see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Collins said. “You be careful out there.”

I smiled and waved. “I will.”

Alone, I headed down the street, humming to myself. Suddenly, I shivered a little. Gosh! It was colder than usual this winter, wasn’t it?

Very aware that it was getting darker and more baleful the farther I walked away from the main streets, I tightened my hand around the plastic bag and increased my pace. I’d be honest that I never liked walking along this street alone at this time of the night. It was more than a little uncomfortable and nerve racking, to be sure, beside the fact that this neighborhood wasn’t the safest in Las Vegas. Numerous gangs ruled the streets, and to encounter them at this time of the night, I’d surely be in big trouble. Thank God, that had never happened to me, but I knew luck wasn’t always going to be on my side, so I had always been on my guard.

Only one more block to go, I thought, realizing that the street was getting quieter and more sinister. That couldn’t be helped since most of the people around here had gone off to their relatives’ places for Christmas to celebrate, and to be sure, the area felt like a ghost town.

Yes! Only a little more to go, then I’d be home, safe and sound. I couldn’t wait to lock the door behind me, change into my old, comfortable pajamas, throw a pie into the microwave, and then eat to my heart’s content. I was more than a little hungry as I had not eaten since lunchtime today, and that had only been a slice of sandwich I had made for myself. I had to admit I was good at neglecting to eat. It was habit, I supposed, since they, Dad and Marie, had always neglected to feed me when I was young, and it was now a habit for me.

I turned the corner of the street and sighted my apartment complex not too far away. The place was a five stories-high building made of gray stone. Not that anyone could see the color of the dull structure at this time of the night, for it was dark and overbearingly gloomy, just like most of the occupants, some thirty small families or so, who lived there.

With my mind now fully occupied on what book I should read tonight before going to bed, as I knew I was saved from any gang encounter, I headed straight toward the building. Once I got closer, where the lights were brighter, I stopped short in my tracks at the sight I beheld. I blinked twice, thinking I must have over exhausted myself at work and that my eyes were playing tricks on me. Because surely…

Surely there wasn’t a man lying there on the concrete.

I shut my eyes for a brief second to clear the apparition, reassuring myself that I was merely seeing things because I was tired and that it was also late.

When I fluttered my eyes open again, I sucked in my breath in dread. Dear God, the body was still there.

My step faltered once I realized what I had seen wasn’t because of my overly active imagination. It was real.

My eyes widened in shocked surprise as my breath caught at the back of my throat.

Oh, dear Lord! It was truly a man, and he looked lifeless.

I rushed forward, my heart racing as I scanned the body from head to toe. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t dead before I did anything stupid, like touch him. After all, I didn’t want to contaminate evidence if there was going to be an investigation taking place.

Gosh, I thought, as I examined the body with sharp eyes, but surely, the man was handsome. His clothing, too, though disheveled and covered in dirt, looked expensive. Fancy shirt, jacket, trousers, and shoes that would have cost quite a lot of money to buy.

I flicked my eyes back to his face. God, he looked like a dead angel with such pale hair. And his angular features, though covered in scratches and bruises, were beautifully breathtaking. If this wasn’t Las Vegas and he wasn’t lying on his back with so many raw wounds at this time of the night, I would have thought he was a hot male model posing as an injured hero for some awesome magazine.

I dropped the plastic bag in my hand on the concrete and got down on my knees. Then I leaned my face toward his.

Are you dead? I asked internally. Please don’t be dead. Please…

I moved closer and checked the pulse at the base of his neck. Please, I thought in dread, let there be a pulse. Then I felt it, a slight kick against my two fingers, confirming that there was indeed a pulse.

A gasping noise came my way. This was followed by a slow, shallow intake of breath and then a long exhalation. I felt my heart burst with delight and relief.

He wasn’t dead! He was still breathing.

Without further ado, I touched his face as I called out to him.

“Hey. Are you okay? Can you hear me?” I asked loudly. “Can you hear me? Are you all right?”

I cupped his face in my small hands, begging him to respond to me and praying he’d be all right. God! Please let him be all right.

“Can you hear me?” I asked again, my voice shaking now, fearing the worst because he wasn’t responding.

God, please let him be all right.

“Hey, wake up. Please…can you hear me? Are you all right?” I asked again, trying hard to keep my voice calm, but it was impossible. I was panicking, wondering if he was more severely injured than I had previously thought. I didn’t want him to die. Not here and definitely not in my hands when I was trying to help him.

A groan came my way again, telling me the man was still conscious.

Pleased with his response, I sighed in relief and said quickly, “I’m going to call for help. You just hold on for a moment, okay? I’m right here beside you. Help is going to be here soon.” I assured him, hopefully, successfully.

I turned my attention away from him and hastily went about searching my jacket pocket for my cell phone. I felt it and, with a shaky hand, swiftly took it out. Swiping it to unlock, I started dialing 911. All the while, I kept one eye on the man beside me to make sure he wasn’t getting any worse or going into an unconscious state.

I was about to push on the ‘phone’ button when suddenly, a large, strong hand—covered in cuts and bruises—grabbed my wrist and pulled me forward.