That shuts me up. I don’t want to give these two the satisfaction of anything. Least of all my cries. Jimmy tugs on my shirt and I hit his hand away. I’m not going without a fight.
“You’re set. Cameras rolling,” the short fat man says to Jimmy.
He towers over my average size frame. His eyes burn with hatred as he stares down at my face. “Take this,” he says handing his gun to the other guy. “If she tries to get away fucking shoot her.”
With his hands free, he tangles one of them in my hair pulling me hard to the side. My skull aches and stings as strands are ripped away. One of his knees forcefully pushes between my legs as he presses his body on mine holding me against the concrete wall.
I flinch with every place he touches and sniffle as tears run across my face. There’s no stopping them now, but I refuse to cry out.
Jimmy’s head talks against mine, his lips tracing against my ear as he speaks. “You better start begging or you won’t like what I do next.”
My stomach twists. I work to get away from him but it’s no use. “Please don’t do this,” I beg, staring into his eyes, but I’m met with nothing but the cold, dead calculations of a criminal.
He tears the bottom of my shirt, jerking against my torso and exposing my breasts to the room. The cameraman steps closer to reposition his angle and I cry out. He sticks his head between my breasts, wiggling back and forth and moaning a disgusting grunting sound.
Forget being compliant, I’d rather they kill me than sit back and let this happen. I ball my fist and hit Jimmy in the back as hard as possible, but he doesn’t flinch. I move and wiggle, making it harder for him, but he pulls my hair harder, wrenching my neck to the side.
The pain is too much and I scream trying to kick my legs. Anything to get away.
It feels like hours but it’s probably only another few seconds before Jimmy raises his head, laughing. “Did you get it?” he asks leaning back from my body but not leaving.
“Yup,” The camera is placed on the ground out of reach.
Jimmy’s attention turns back to me and I breathe heavily from the energy expended trying to ward off his assault. He pats me on the cheek a few times, his smile full of evil. “You did a good job. If you don’t fight me, we’ll make sure and get you water. How is that, Sweet Cheeks?” He pinches the extra skin of my cheek, pulling on it harshly.
I try to spit in his direction but there’s not enough saliva in my dry mouth. “I hate you,” I say kicking him the best I can with my knee.
Jimmy pulls harder on my cheek. “Watch yourself. I enjoy a girl who struggles.”
I swallow, taking a deep breath of air and flattening myself against the wall. Jimmy nods his head. “That’s what I thought,” he says taking a step away to retrieve the gun from his partner’s outstretched hand.
There’s a loud explosion, like a firework set off in the building. The side of Jimmy’s head explodes, and a wet substance covers my face. I startle and gasp, my eyes not accepting the scene. His body sways for a moment and then falls to the floor with a sickening thud. I scream, unable to move. What’s happened? The second man flashes me a look of horror and then turns, running to the other side of the building.
My screams echo in the air around me and cover up the footsteps as Hudson slowly approaches. At least I imagine it’s him. My eyes fight with my brain over what’s real and what I wish would happen. Behind him a stream of men in blue invade the room, their guns drawn, as Hudson works to put his away. His hand reaches out, getting closer to my body, but it doesn’t stop the steady screams ripping away at my dry throat.
“Amanda,” he says softly. I read my name from his lips, unable to hear it over my screams. His lips press together in a thin line and his eyes are sad, but understanding.
A steady streamof beeps wakes me up to a stream of light.
A hospital. It’s the place I’ve woken up the last two days. I can’t complain. It’s one hundred times better than a concrete floor in an abandoned factory in Oakland. Even still I fight the panic as my brain comes into consciousness. The hospital therapist says eventually there will come a day when I don’t wake up ready to flee, but I’m not sure I believe her.
My awake body is heavy and sluggish. Yesterday I spent most the day sleeping as my conscious mind worked around what happened after I was taken from the sidewalk in front of Cosmo’s.
Hudson was shot. I watched it with my own eyes. What I didn’t know at the time was the bullet grazed the side of his body and most of his injury was due to the shock of being shot. Even though my mind didn’t want to believe it at the time, he led the charge to rescue me. And yes, he absolutely shot Jimmy in the head — a scene I never ever want to see again, but one that plays on repeat every time I close my eyes.
The events of my kidnapping and Jimmy’s gruesome death have been locked away tightly in a neat box and then secured with reinforced steel. There’s enough space freed up from finding out Hudson is alive. My brain can only handle so much and I’m dealing with the aftermath of the kidnapping. The hospital psychologist promises me I’ll work through the actual events with many years of therapy. Many, many years of therapy.
I gave my story to Ben, every single detail I remembered. There’s no hiding from him this time. Not that I’d want to. I’ve learned my lesson. Ben — patient as ever — sat with me for over an hour helping battle the worst of the story with hard heavy tears.
I pushed myself through, but any other talk of the event has been unsuccessful. All I do is cry. Again, something the hospital therapist says is normal and eventually I’ll be able to get to a place where I can think of it and not burst out into an emotional ball of panic. No one knows how long it will take, but from the deep hollowness in my heart, it will be awhile.
Ben didn’t give me many details about Jimmy or the kidnapping plan, but he promised it wasn’t connected to the shooting outside the Giants Stadium. Their plan wasn’t well thought out and they’ve been rounded up. If they don’t confess, I’ll be forced to testify at a trial, but I’m ready. No more lies and no more being scared.
As I suspected, their initial target was Aspen — it wasn’t hard to figure out — but she was running late, leading Eddie to get cold feet and jump the gun, taking me instead.
My mother stops by every hour to dote on me and remind whoever is in the room how thankful she is I lived. Like we aren’t thankful I’m not a murder victim. I’m worried she’ll need therapy too. Thankfully, there’s normally a friend to take her to the cafeteria when she gets worked up and cries. Aspen’s done more than her fair share. I think its guilt.
Hudson is out of the hospital, and he stopped by my room multiple times yesterday. He talked, and I cried. After he finished apologizing for letting me down, he told me how Ben’s been busy. Richie talked, and they were able to make an arrest in the original shooting. So far Drew hasn’t been outed.
