I tossed my phone onto the passenger side seat and drove fast, the wheels of the SUV kicking up water as I took a corner hard.
This was a stupid, needless risk. I looked at the girl in the rearview mirror and she was sitting up, slumped to the right side, holding a hand against her shoulder. She was sweating, breathing hard, and glaring at me like she wanted to rip out my heart.
But fuck, she was beautiful. I couldn’t just leave her there or throw her out in front of the hospital. I had to make sure she was going to be okay.
Nobody else was supposed to get hurt. That bodega was normally empty. We’d been scouting out that hit for days, preparing for it, making sure it wouldn’t blow back on us, making sure there’d be no collateral damage. This girl was a mistake, a stupid mistake, and I was going to make it right.
No matter what, I’d make it right.
2
Colleen
I woke up and stared at a white ceiling for a long moment, confused and disoriented. I took a deep breath and felt a flare of sharp pain in my shoulder, followed by a dull, aching throb. I sat up on one elbow and stared around the room.
I was lying on a large bed, wide enough for two more people. There was a simple end table with a clock sitting on top that said 6:55 in glowing red numbers. I groaned a little and looked at the wooden wardrobe, the set of drawers, and the chest at the foot of the bed. The walls were a grayish blue color, and simple black and white landscape photographs hung on the walls.
There was a door at the far side of the room, standing slightly ajar. I thought I could see a tile floor and a mirror hanging on the wall. There was a closet next to that door, and another door on the wall to my right. That was shut tight.
I let out a groan then fell back onto the bed as the night before came rushing back.
I remembered going out to the bodega around the corner from my apartment. I was bored, a little lonely, and I wanted some ice cream because I couldn’t sleep. I’d been out at the bar with Tracy and only had one drink before leaving early. I figured I’d buy a pint, eat half of it, and watch The Office until I passed out.
But then there were gunshots. I heard shouting outside. The glass shattered. And something knocked into me, not painful at first, but quickly blooming into a sharp screaming fissure in my shoulder. I staggered back, knocked over some shelves, and dropped to the ground.
That’s when he arrived. Square jaw, bright blue eyes, dark hair. He frowned at me and I could have sworn he was a movie star. I thought I was hallucinating, or dreaming, or about to die and he was the vengeful angel sent to drag me up to heaven or something like that.
Instead, he picked me up, carried me to his car, and took me to his house.
I couldn’t remember much after that. The rest was a blur of him bringing me inside… and then a couch, or maybe a bed… and another man, whispering soothing words. He gave me a shot… and then nothing after that.
I touched my shoulder and winced. It took me half a second to realize I wasn’t wearing the same shirt from the night before. It was a man’s white t-shirt, too big for me, but not so enormous that I was swimming in it. My shorts were the same, although there was a brownish splotch along the front, which was probably a bloodstain. The shirt was gone, and I felt a chill run down my spine.
That man… he could’ve stripped it from me. I touched my chest and felt a small amount of relief that I still had on my bra, at least.
I got out of bed, felt a little dizzy, and steadied myself on a window sill. I looked outside and saw a quiet Philly street, the rowhome across the road, a guy in a suit walking along with a briefcase in his hand. I turned from the window and walked into the bathroom before splashing some water in my face, took a few deep breaths, tried not to freak out.
I should be in a hospital. I got shot last night, shot during some kind of attack or maybe a robbery, I couldn’t tell. I think I got a glimpse of some guys on the ground when I was carried out of there, but I wasn’t thinking straight and maybe I made all that up.
“Shit,” I whispered to myself.
Then I turned and walked to the door. I grabbed the knob, turned it, and pushed. Nothing happened. The knob wasn’t locked, but the door didn’t budge. I pushed again and again, but something on the outside was keeping the door shut. I shoved against it, banged against it hard, but it wouldn’t move. I felt tired and light headed and my shoulder began to ache again as I stepped away from the door.
“Fuck,” I said as panic began to set in.
Some guy shot me then picked me up and kidnapped me. He called some random doctor that gave me some insane shot, and I had no clue what they did to me while I was unconscious. I felt sick, like I might puke, and I ran back into the bathroom. I took off the shirt, peeled back the bandage, and stared at the wound.
It was stitched up, neat and clean. I reached up to touch it, but felt a stab of pain and instead pressed the bandage back down again.
“What the fuck,” I said, and sat on the edge of the tub. I put my face in my hands and took deep breaths, trying to calm myself, trying
