Given that our clientele was mostly older Asian women I was rather alarmed when a young Hispanic man walked into the store that first afternoon. Though he appeared harmless but in my slight panic I phoned next door to Barclay Seafood, my father's first business venture with Uncle Peter dated back to 1979. I asked for someone to be sent over for security, so a driver came around and just stood by the door, and the Hispanic man left after having circled only half the space.
Then on the following day he showed again, but this time he stood behind locked door, it was something we do when alone in the store after certain hours. So when he knocked I simply shook my head and mouthed "Closed". He lingered for just a moment longer before turning to leave.
Then on the third day he came again, my father had just left to lunch and had dropped 20K in cash for a late deposit. I was on the phone with my mother in France, chatting away happily as he pushed the door in, I paused just long enough to decide not to call Barclay, Why? I suppose he'd become familiar, I remember still that solemn air about him, and those haunting eyes, he looked so sad. But I kept my mother on the line, thinking it would somehow shield me from harm. After a few minutes he stopped at a rack in the back of the store and said, "I'll take this." I cut the line and approached him for the outfit, when I got close enough he pulled me down by the elbow and threatened me with a hunting knife, "Don't scream", he said in a low steady voice. Despite his warning I started to cry, purely from fright, and muttered "Please don't hurt me," repeatedly. And in reply he kept saying, "Stop crying". I guess we were both amateurs.
Then he asked me where the register was, I walked towards it with him still holding my arm, leaned over the counter and pressed No Sale to open it, "Take all the money out," he commanded. I gave him all the cash from the register, it was just under $300, after eyeing the bills he asked, "Is there more?" In a split second I remembered my father's deposit, which I'd tossed in a drawer behind the display case in the front by the telephone, I asked myself if I believe he'll leave if I were to give him that, but before I thought any more of the situation I screamed in tears, "Please don't hurt me". Then he changed target and asked, "What's upstairs?" "Nothing, just offices." I said, instantly calm. "Show me," he pulled me towards the staircase. "NO! There's nothing up there, PLEASE, let me go". Fresh tears streamed down my face as I realized the horror in store for me. "Stop crying or I'll cut you." He said, more forcefully. When I looked at the shiny blade I felt a different fear and cried even louder, then he started to drag me by the arm to go up the stairs while I resisted with the help of gravity. He never squeezed my arm any harder, he didn't strike me, he simply dragged and I continued to resist, then at the landing where the stairs turned I suddenly found myself free, in a flash I looked him in the eyes, incredulous; I turned and fled to the sidewalk wearing only my black lacy bra and purple skirt. All heads turned and stared in silence, I felt the moment freeze, then out of the corner of my eye I sensed a shadow fading away. Then the next moment he was gone.
I returned to the store and locked the door, picked up my sweater on the stair and pulled it over my head, What had just happened? I asked myself. How did I get away? The rational explanation? It was a fluke to have chosen that loose fitting sweater that morning, which allowed me to easily slip through as we played tug of war. But if you ask me, it was my Oversoul who had come to my rescue. He didn't come with bells or whistles, just a simple press and release.
A year later I flew back from Los Angeles to testify against him in court, and noticed that his eyes were haunting no more.
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