“Pinche cabrón is gone. El coño jumped out the window. Now untie me, motherfuckers.” Whoever this woman is, she has a mouth on her. I have no problem leaving her tied up until one of our female officers is on the scene.
“Where’d he go?” Deacon asks her.
“How the fuck do I know? Untie me, culo.” Her foul-mouth is only working against her.
“Sit tight. A female officer will be here shortly.”
“D, get the girls out of here and tell the team to set a perimeter and start knocking on doors. We need to find Jesus—fast. He couldn’t have gone too far. Also, check on the mother and little girl across the street.” Deacon nods and leaves the room.
As I turn to leave the room, I notice a cracked mirror hanging on the wall facing the unkempt bed, and in the reflection, something outside the window catches my eye two seconds too late. The first shot fired is a headshot to the female, brain matter splattering everywhere. The second shot stings, but with my revitalized adrenaline boost, it doesn’t register that I just got shot. I shoot back, hitting who I assume is Jesus, but I don’t know where the bullet hit him or if he’s dead.
Turning to leave the bedroom, I use the wall as a crutch to keep me on my feet. When I clear the hallway, and I’m back in the living room, an EMT is entering the house and runs to my side to help me.
I’m lightheaded and know I will likely pass out soon, so I tell him a woman and the third gang member are down by gunfire, and where to find them. I then follow-up asking if the little girl and her mother are okay. Before he can respond to my question, we step out of the house, and I have my answer. I see Deacon on his knees across the street, covering one of two lifeless bodies, and the world goes dark.
12
Britney
When I get the phone call from Deacon that Kade got shot while apprehending their gang suspects, my head begins to spin. Of course, I ask my brother if he is okay, and when he confirms that he’s not hurt, I feel a little better. After telling Deacon I was coming to the hospital, I begin to feel woozy as my world begins to crumble around me. The fear that I may never see Kade alive again becomes overwhelming.
I text Sydnee to pick me up and take me to the hospital because I don’t trust my driving. Every horrid image occupying my mind distracts me from the conversation my friend is trying to have with me. Until I see Kade with my own two eyes, I won’t believe he’s alive and will pull through this.
Shock kept me from crying earlier, but now that panic, regret, and fear are taking over, that’s when the tears start to stream down my cheeks. Giving in to all my feelings is like opening the floodgates. The harder I cry, the more snot dribbles from my nose, and my breathing is borderline hyperventilation.
“Do you need me to pull over?” Sydnee’s hand grabs mine and squeezes. Looking over at my friend, I see she’s barely hanging in there. She’s trying to remain calm and steady for me when I know she wants to freak out too. Shaking my head from side to side is the only way I can answer her question. Syd squeezes my hand again, letting me know she understands.
Glancing to the back seat of her car, I see a t-shirt and yoga pants. I grab the shirt, and without asking, I blow my nose with one end and wipe away the tears with the other.
“Ew,” Sydnee comments.
“Sorry. I’ll buy you two new shirts,” I croak out, finally finding my voice.
“Oh, I know you will,” she responds. When I look over at her, she’s still eyeballing my new handkerchief.
“I said I’d buy you two new ones.”
“You’re lucky because Mötley Crüe is coming out of retirement. You’ll be buying concert tickets to replace your new snot rag.”
Looking down, I open the shirt and see that it’s the one she bought back in 2015 when we went to one of Mötley Crüe’s farewell tour concerts. That’s what I get for not thinking and just doing.
“Deal,” I tell her as I turn my attention out the passenger’s side window.
“So that you know, I have Kleenex in my glove compartment.”
Now she tells me. Brat. Reaching forward, I grab two new pocket packs of Kleenex from the compartment and put them in my purse. I’m not about to walk into a hospital with a concert t-shirt as a snot rag.
Somehow, my friend got me out of my head for a few minutes, just long enough to pull into the hospital parking lot without a hysterical passenger. We both suck in a breath when we see numerous patrol vehicles and fire trucks crowding the parking lot. As I look closer, I notice that it’s not just Los Palomas vehicles. Multiple law enforcement agencies are present, including the Sunnyville Police Department. SPD being here doesn’t surprise me since both my brother and Kade are friends with a couple of guys at that department.
“Breathe,” Sydnee mumbles.
“I am.”
“Not you, me.” Glancing over at Syd, I see her taking slow, steady breaths.
“Thanks for driving. I know it wasn’t easy.”
“Easier for me than you.”
Upon exiting her car, we meet around the front, and I grab her hand. As we start the trek across the parking lot, I begin to feel lightheaded. My pace slows, and the building in front of me begins to blur. Everything in my line of sight narrows as tunnel vision sets in. Releasing Sydnee’s hand, I bend over, placing my hands on my knees as I try to regain my equilibrium and sight. Mimicking her breathing from before we got out of her vehicle, I start to feel a little better.
“You okay?”
“Give me a sec. I felt like I was going to faint.”
Patiently waiting, Sydnee stands beside me, rubbing my back as I continue to focus on my breathing. Before I move, I close my eyes, hoping it will help when I stand up straight. As I slowly right myself, my eyes flutter as I open them. When I do open them all the way, I’m thankful they are in focus, and the building before me no longer looks like an abstract scene from a horror film.
“You good?”
Nodding yes, I reach over, grabbing Syd’s hand once again. It’s not long before we get to the sliding doors to the hospital, and we’re standing at the unoccupied reception desk. After a minute or two, a security guard comes out from the door behind the counter.
“Good evening, ladies,” the portly gentleman greets us.
“Could you please direct us to—”
“Visiting hours are over,” the man cuts Sydnee off before she can finish her question.
“My brother’s partner was shot and brought here,” I tell him, hoping he will tell us where to go besides home.
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear about that young officer. Hold on.” The guard clumsily types on the keyboard before his attention comes back to us. “Looks like he’s still in surgery. Put these on.” He hands us visitor badges. “Take the elevator to the third floor. You can’t miss the crowd of support up there.”
“Thank you, sir,” Sydnee and I both say in unison.
We trek toward the elevators. Once there, Syd presses the third-floor button, and the doors open immediately. It’s mere seconds before the elevator chimes and the doors open to the third-floor hall and waiting room, both packed with first responders.