It was 5:27.

Steven took a cart from the cart attendant at the front of the large grocery store and began his random procession through the aisles. Once again he noted how much quicker it would be if he simply made a list before he went shopping.

Steven watched a woman trying to select produce and keep her three small children relatively quiet at the same time. She met his eyes, and her expression appeared both apologetic and hopeful, as if maybe Steven would volunteer to take them off her hands for a few years. He smiled and nodded, hoping she saw his empathy without feeling the need to share life histories.

A large man pushed a cart overflowing with diet food and Steven grinned to himself. Maybe it’s not what you eat, but how much he thought, and hoped his expression didn’t betray this as he smiled continued down the aisle. A small group of young men wearing heavy coats entered the grocery, and Steven thought this was very odd considering the sweltering heat. He dismissed them as college students falling victim to some fad, and maneuvered his cart into the frozen food section.

A young boy was surveying the freezers. Steven guessed he was trying to decide on his best argument to an unseen parent on changing the menu tonight to pizza. The boy glanced at Steven and took a step toward the edge of the aisle to allow him room to pass. Suddenly the boy looked back up, and appeared slightly confused. “You’re the man from before, aren’t you?”

Steven instantly surveyed the area, well aware of what this meant. Children weren’t more susceptible to déjà vu than adults. They did however have a strange ability to feel it before it happened. Adults usually only noticed the second time around.

“Everybody to the back of the store!”

The shout came from the front of the aisle. One of the men he’d seen earlier was walking toward them with a rifle, his face now covered with a mask.

A woman screamed. Two men shouted at each other, presumably one of the hostages and one of the gunmen. Someone was crying. He needed to go back, but also needed to get as much information as possible, since he couldn’t control when he would arrive. They reached the back of the store. Steven counted five gunmen herding the customers and employees toward one corner. One of them was still yelling at a rather muscular shopper, evidently the source of the argument. Steven saw the look on the customer’s face change from fear to determination. It was time. The large man reached for the weapon. A shot rang out, and the faces of those behind the would-be hero were now splattered with red. Almost instantly the other young men, nerves evidently pushed beyond the point of return, also began firing.

Steven felt the concussion throughout his being. He felt an explosion of pain as if a significant part of his chest had suddenly torn itself free of his body. He looked down and the rapidly expanding red stain around the fist-sized hole in his t-shirt explained the new sensation. There was no need to look further but he couldn’t help noticing the shredded flesh surrounding empty space where part of his upper body had existed only seconds ago.

Steven watched as a second section of his shirt disappeared in a crimson spray, this one near his navel. Just below his right knee another red mist formed and his new blue jeans also had a piece missing. Steven lost the ability to stand. His body folded in upon itself and fell to the ground as if someone had turned off a switch and stopped all electrical impulses to his muscles.

His delicate features were marred by the collision between his face and unforgiving floor tiles. As the world began fading he summoned all his strength, and just before the final pinpoint of light faded from his sight he said, “I am Videor.”

Steven screamed. His heart raced as he clawed at his chest and then his stomach. His lungs burned as he touched his knee. He stopped screaming and hungrily sucked air. Finally he regained his breath but his heart still raced. There was no more pain but its memory lingered fresh in his mind. Never before had he been this close to defeat. Another fraction of a second and he would be lying dead in the meat section. Although being at the scene of a crime made prevention easier, it also carried the obvious risk not surviving long enough to go back.

After regaining his composure, Steven looked around his apartment, grateful he had returned to familiar surroundings. He was not always this lucky.

He checked his watch. It was already 4:57. Eight minutes plus travel time. Never enough time, he thought, and the irony didn’t elude him as he tucked the semi-automatic pistol into his waistband, just in case.

Stopping at a nearby pay phone, he called the local police, briefly telling them he and four of his friends planned to take over the grocery and kill anyone trying to stop them. He hung up, ignoring pleas for more information from the officer.

It was 5:16.

It was 5:27 when Steven took a cart from the cart attendant at the front of the large grocery.

A woman in the produce section met his eyes. Her expression appeared thoughtful, that look people have when trying to place a familiar face.

A large man did a double take as Steven passed by his overflowing cart.

Sirens wailed outside. A clerk tried to see the source of the disturbance, then reported a scuffle between police and some young men in winter coats.

A young boy surveying the freezers looked at Steven and appeared slightly confused.

“You’re the man from before, aren’t you?”

Smiling, Steven winked and continued his search for dinner.