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!"
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- Trisha Van Dam