On Death's Doorsteps
The hallway smells like piss and weed. Typical for a high-rise in the projects. Frightened eyes watch my every move from a corner left dark by the broken light bulb. Also typical. What isn’t typical is the appearance of the little boy I beckon to me with my outstretched index finger. He couldn’t be much older than three or four, his clothes glorified rags two sizes too big, his arms and legs so thin that a stick figure would’ve looked fat next to him. Crusted blood from his nose sticks to a fat lip. After this raid is over, a call to Social Services will be next on my agenda.
“What’s your name?”
In response, a dark spot soaks the crotch of his shorts.
I squat down to be closer to his eye level. The body armor pokes my hip and I have to balance myself with my fingertips to prevent myself from toppling over. “You don’t have to be scared. I’m Janae, and I’m a police officer.”
His gaze flicks to the SWAT members behind me.
“Can you do me a favor? I saw this really nice playground, right outside that door.” I point to the exit behind me. “Can you go there and wait for me? If you do, I’ll get you a burger and an ice cream cone.”
My bribing tactics are useless; he backs away and withdraws into the corner.
Sawyer clicks his tongue. “Janae, we don’t have time for this.”
No, there’s never enough time for innocent bystanders who won’t bring up his arrest stats.
I straighten, my gaze still on the boy. My gut tells me to station an officer down here with him, but we are short staffed as it is. Four flights up, my partner expects me to have his back when he gives the signal to raid the target’s apartment. We are less than ten minutes out from the agreed time. Today, I truly don’t have time to fuck around and play the hero to some abused and neglected kid.
With a sigh, I turn around.
It pains me to walk away.
It’s an obligatory choice I’ve been doing too often lately.
And it’s not what I’ve signed up for when I joined the force. Sure, getting drug dealer scum off the streets is important, but their replacements tend to sprout within days like weeds in a garden. We never seem to get to the roots of the operation. This little boy, however, could use my help right here and now; I could make a real difference in his life.
With a bitter taste lacing my mouth, I tackle the stairs. The heavy gear slows me down; four flights is a whole lot when carrying so much equipment. By the time I make it to the right floor, I nurse a stitch and a thin layer of sweat covers my back. Sweat droplets tickle under my armpits.
Peeking around the door frame, I drop my voice to a mumble. “All clear.”
I scurry down the hallway with the others on my tail; a scuffing of fabric on fabric is the only sound we make. Our destination is apartment 4D. Taking position on the left side of the door, I lower the visor of my ballistic helmet. Sawyer holds up two fingers. Start of the countdown. I prick my ears to catch a noise from inside the apartment. Nothing but eerie quiet.
The hairs rise on my neck.
There should be voices, or at least mumbles. Something to signal that a drug deal is taking place.
Sawyer, his stare on his tactical watch, lowers one finger.
Sixty seconds.
An annoying sweat droplet slips down the side of my ribcage. Moisture forms above my lip. Something isn’t right.
A shot rings in my ears.
“Breach, breach!”
I stand back to allow the guy with the battering ram to break down the door. Gun drawn, I’m the first across the threshold.
Bang.
A force drives me against the closest wall. My knee buckles and does no longer support my weight. I crash into a sideboard, tearing a coatrack with me as I go down. Buried under a bunch of jackets that smell like Chanel and peppermint, I wiggle to get free. Flooding adrenaline keeps my focus.
Automatic rifles rattle.
Shouts. “Baltimore PD. Drop your weapons.”
Takka, takka.
I finally pull the last coat off me and hoist myself up. Searing pain shoots straight through my body and into my head. Down my leg. I can’t breathe.
Fuck, I’ve been shot.
With a groan, I drop back on the floor. It’s sticky between the jackets that buffer the fall. I run my hand down my thigh and warmth pulses against my fingertips.
Oh, my god, there’s so much blood.
My teeth chatter. Why is it so cold all of a sudden?
“Hold on, I got you.” Sawyer is on his knees next to me and straightens my curled body.
I grit my teeth, but a cry still escapes. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. “Fuck, that hurts.” My breath stutters.
“Don’t talk.”
“Where’s Chris?”
“I said, don’t talk.”
I close my eyes. Fuck, he must be dead. Otherwise, he would be right here with Sawyer, holding my hand. That’s what partners do for each other when one is shot. Especially one you’ve been dating for two years.
“I’m gonna apply pressure to stop the bleeding, alright?” Sawyer prods my chin until our eyes lock. “It’s gonna hurt. Ready?”
I’m too weak to nod, but that doesn’t stop my tears from flowing as soon as he pushes down on my leg just under my hip. My cry stalls my breath.
“Where the hell is my ambulance?” Panic colors Sawyer’s words.
“Five minutes out.”
“She doesn’t have five minutes.”
A chuckle behind him draws my attention away from his face. Even though I’ve only seen photographs of him, I’d recognize Marcos Costas anywhere. He’s the one who brought us to this apartment today.
“I popped that bitch pretty good.” A gloating smile curls his lips. “Her and that rat.” He draws spit into his mouth and his Adam’s apple jumps as he swallows. “Not that those chumps didn’t deserve it.”
Sawyer glares up at him. “I swear, if she dies, I’ll make sure you’ll get the needle.”
Marcos laughs. “As if those charges will ever stick. Man, that rat, y’all tried to entrap me. And when you busted down the door, I was just defending myself.” He smirks. “That’s my constitutional right. And I’m saying nothin’ else without my lawyer.”
His last words barely make it through the ascending darkness. It drifts through the floor and twirls around me, its vines stretching out with smoky fingers. My whole body shakes from the cold. The punishing pain washes over me in waves; I’m drowning and my lungs hurt so badly that every breath is pure torture.
“Hey, hey, stay with me.” Sawyer slaps my cheeks and I refocus on his eyes. “Don’t you dare leave me with this shit. I’m not up for more paperwork.”
I want to laugh, but nothing in my body is working anymore.
There’s nothing in the world but the spiraling pain threatening to devour me. Nothing but shadows snaking its way into my veins. Nothing but coldness freezing every single part of me and making it impossible to twitch even one muscle.
I can’t hold on.
A soft pounding spreads in my ears. Faint and barely noticeable. A failing heartbeat.
I try to focus on my breath, on the rising and falling of my chest. One sign that I’m still clinging to life. A futile effort. The world surrounding me is nothing more than a fuzzy blur.
A bright light explodes in my head.
Then darkness.
Silence.
The Grim Reaper is here to claim me.
Hmm