I used to own a three-bedroom apartment in Manhattan, and now—the sight of the crib stops my train of thought.
No, there’s absolutely nothing to regret about the last year of my life.
I’d like to change some thingsnow, like my reputation and my financial stability, but that’s really only for her, for Maggie. She’s the one thing I’m working for, the one thing I care about.
I’d kill for her.
People take that common phrase—if that’s what you can call it—way too lightly.
When I was in college, full of hope and enthusiasm, I didn’t think I could kill anyone for anything, not even bad people.
Life has a way of testing you, though.
After spending years reporting from war zones, natural disaster zones, or places where human atrocities had happened, I decided two years ago to give it a rest and come back home. Back to where I could wake up and not wonder if I’d still be alive by the end of the day. Back to where I could find something to make me forget how truly fucked up this spinning rock we call home is.
And for a while, I got to live a normal life. I accepted the offer of a more stable job, I reaped the rewards of my hard work, and I started to build myforever life.
Then . . . implosion.
So now I know I’d kill for a few things.
There’s one specific person I’d even enjoy killing, but if anyone put an everyday mobster in front of me and told me I could get my reputation back if I put a bullet in his brain, I’d shoot without thinking about it twice. Or if this imaginary person said I could investigate whatever shady character I wanted and not get fired and humiliated in front of my peers, or that I’d get the last five years of Dad’s life back...
That and probably a whole list of other incentives would be enough for me to kill a bad guy.
But to protecther... I think, as I enjoy looking at her for another five minutes before I slide into bed and force my eyes closed.For Maggie I’d do anything and everything.
My arms burnas I walk briskly down the sidewalk, only one more block to go.
The rain hasn’t let up in three days, but I needed to get more formula for Maggie. I was about to run out, and no matter how awful my life was, I would never let her experience even a second of hunger.
Thankfully, I’d gotten to know my neighbors, the Murphys, a couple who might be of the shady kind—business-wise—but they’re good parents, I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. Theyagreed to watch over Maggie for an hour while I ran to the store, and after I managed to fit a week’s worth of groceries into two bags, I’m almost at the sixty-minute mark and I don’t want them to think I’m the type of man to be late.
I’m not.
I’m responsible, smart, capable, and if nothing else, I’m a devoted father.
It’ssickhow important other people’s opinions have become to me.
As I go to cross the street, only ten feet away from the entrance to my building, a man comes running out of nowhere and knocks me over.
“Move,” he shouts as I fall on the pavement and drench myself in street water.
I watch in horror as all my groceries fly out, and I’m about to tell that asshole everything that’s wrong with him and his mother for good measure, when gunshots ring out.
“Out of the way.” Another voice, deeper, comes from the other side of the street.
Instinct kicks in, and I dive to grab the can of formula. I also manage to get one gallon of milk and a box of cereal before I crawl to the other side of the street, and when I manage to stand, I sprint to my door.
When I get it open, though, I look at the spot where my groceries are swimming in the street—because I’m a nosy idiot who can’t help himself.
The man has tan skin, deceivingly beautiful green eyes, dark hair that looks black from the rain, and a chilling smile on his face as he takes aim and shoots.
I don’t turn to see if he hit his target, I know better, but I realize my predicament and hurry to walk through and close the door behind me. Maybe he won’t know where I went, but as the last inch of the door closes, I see him turn and his eyes collide with mine.
The world around me moves and shifts in a blur of grays. It’s three days later and I’ve been holed up at home, ready and able to defend Maggie and myself at any cost if that maniac comes looking for me.
The Murphys have been a godsend, and they’ve brought me a few groceries and my mail, but when I hear Mrs. Murphy calling from the other side of the door, and I see my wallet in her hand, fear freezes my insides.
