by J. P. Barry
Chapter Nineteen
Jillian
Growing up with a gun enthusiast father, I’d held all different types of weapons, but never fired one at anything other than a stationary, non-living or breathing object. Today, I did–twice, and without a second thought. However, the many people watching the feed witnessed it too, but I had no other choice. Nick shoved Lessor. His weapon went off accidently nailing Liam in the right leg. With a wail of anguish, Liam dropped like a ton of bricks. The gun fell. Sarah picked it up, firing a round at Nick, making contact with his left shoulder. To describe what transpired inside my core at that very moment would be like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands–impossible. Too many thoughts to process at once. Too many choices to make in an instant. A ruthless darkness arose. The Devil within came out. Charging Sarah without fear of being shot, I punched her in the jaw with the strength of a hundred men. She let go of the weapon while crashing into the hard gravel driveway. I grabbed it, turning to find Lessor getting to his feet. Lumbering in my direction, he spewed a string of obscenity laced threats. He kept coming at me. You’d think I’d freeze up, crap, I thought I would as well, but I didn’t.
“I’m going to make you regret you were ever born, you disgusting whore. Roast in hell, sinner bitch,” he screamed, attempting to remove the gun from my hand.
A brief struggle ensued, but one swift knee to the groin and he backed way the hell up, doubled over. Still in possession of the weapon, fingers wrapped around the trigger, firing, blindly. His eyes widened. Body stammered backwards. Hands clutched his chest. Blood dripped from his mouth before falling.
“No!” Sarah shrieked, scrambling to her feet, running at me.
Without prompting, arms rose, and fingers pulled the trigger again. The impact occurred on her right foot. She dropped beside Lessor’s stiff, motionless body. His mouth agape. Eyes wide open. He was dead. There was no doubt about it.
Seconds later, the authorities arrived. Dozens of emergency medical vehicles flooded the property. Everything from that point on until later that night was a haze. All I can clearly recall was being told to drop the weapon and put my hands up–to which I complied. I wasn’t allowed to ride with Nick in the ambulance–a paramedic forced me into my own. Once at the hospital, I was wheeled on a gurney from one room to another, never seeing or speaking with the same doctor or nurse twice. I kept asking about Nick, but was either ignored, or told he was okay, which I didn’t believe because no one would let me see him to confirm. Finally, after being diagnosed with shock and a broken left hand, I was told I was being discharged. Exiting the exam room, hand casted, I saw Kendra sitting on a bench, alone. Her expression a mix of rage, anxiety, and worry.
“Jill,” she exclaimed, rising, embracing me tightly.
“I’m so sorry, Kendra,” I cried. Blocked emotions broke free. Tears flowed. Body shook. Fear of the unknown rose to the surface.
“Liam is going to be fine. The bullet grazed his thigh. A flesh wound requiring a few stitches. The nurse said it looks worse than it really is. He will be out shortly. Nick has been in surgery for the past three hours. He lost a lot of blood, but last I heard the doctors were able to remove the entire bullet, and are now working to fix the mess of bones, muscles, and tendons in his shoulder. How are you? Are you okay?” She forced my body to sit beside hers.
“I don’t know,” I replied, because in truth, I didn’t. Kendra’s words made sense and were positive, but until I saw him face to face, got to speak with him, I wouldn’t believe anything told.
“I saw what happened, Jill. You weren’t wrong for shooting those two lunatics.”
Her kindness meant the world, but I wasn’t in the headspace to receive it. Instead, I hugged her, whispering another apology. “I’m so sorry for dragging you and Liam into this,” I wept.
“It’s all right, Jill. Everyone is going to be just fine.”
“Mrs. Winters?” a man’s voice inquired.
“Yes,” I replied, pulling away. Agent Wilder came into view.
“I need to speak with you. Get a statement.”
“Go. I’ll wait here. If I hear anything at all, I’ll come get you,” Kendra replied, squeezing my good hand tightly.
Nodding, I got up, and followed Wilder down a hallway, into an empty exam room.
“Just spoke with Doctor Harrison. He said Doctor Winters should be in the recovery room shortly, and the surgery went better than expected.” Wilder took a seat on the bed, reaching for the rolling tray table. A beat-up notebook slammed the plastic surface. Licking his right thumb and index fingers, he flipped through pages until a blank one presented.
“I think all doctors say that. Makes them appear to be heroes to the worried families in the waiting room,” I said, standing in the farthest corner away from him. A rather large part of me felt here in a few minutes he’d been slapping silver bracelets on me for committing murder, twice.
“You know? I think you’re right. Anyway, if you’re feeling up to it, could you walk me through what happened? I saw the live feed, but need your personal, eyewitness statement.”
“I’m not saying a word without my lawyer present, nor will I give any sort of recollection of events until I see my husband.”
“Charles Downey?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll give him a call right away, but you cannot leave this hospital until we speak. Are we clear?”
“Crystal,” I answered, exiting the room, heading back to Kendra, who was speaking with a man in scrubs. Liam was beside her, propped up on crutches.
“This is his wife, Jillian Winters,” Kendra informed.
“Mrs. Winters, I’m Doctor Harrison. I performed your husband’s surgery. He’s doing well, and in a step-down unit. Nick sustained a gunshot wound to the left shoulder. I was able to remove the bullet, and the damage caused was repairable. Nothing major was touched. There was substantial blood loss, but two transfusions were administered. He’ll be here for a few days, but I expect a full recovery. Physical therapy will be key in the healing process, but we’ll discuss follow up care later. He’s been asking for you. If you’d like, I can take you back to see him now, but only for a few minutes. Nick needs to rest. I must warn you, he’s on a lot of pain medication and coming down off the anesthesia, so he’s in and out of it quite a bit.”
“Thank you. I’d like to see him, please.”
“Of course. If you’ll follow me.”
Hot on his heals I kept rapid pace behind, walking through a series of several doors before seeing Nick laying on a bed. Rushing to his side, I inspected him not only visually, but with hands as well. His shoulder was wrapped, and placed in a sling. In all our years together, I’d never seen him appear as weak or small. Skin tone, ashy. Eyelids slightly swollen.
“Babe?” he whispered, weakly.
“I’m right here, Nick. How do you feel?” I asked, lacing his fingers with mine.
“Fine. Ask me when the pain killers wear off.” He chuckled. “What happened to your hand? Are you all right?”
“I’m good. Don’t worry about me.”
“You saved my life, Jill.”
“Shhh. Get some sleep. I’ll sit here with you until they kick me out. When you get into a room, I’ll be there. I’ll call Lyla and have her bring some things from the house. If there’s something you’d like, let me know. The doctor says you’ll be here for a few days.” Focusing on anything other than celebrating Nick being okay wasn’t comprehendible. Emotions had to wait until later. Right now, Nick needed me to be the rock, his rock, the same way he’d been mine since day one.
“I love you, babe,” he sighed before eyes closed.
“Love you more.”
Chapter Twenty
Nick
The hospital stay was one giant blur. Most of it was spent high as a kite on pain pills, which I was beyond grateful for. When the weaning process started, discomfort kicked in, full force. Jillian remained by my side, tending to every need, want, or desire. What s
he’d done for me … the image caused a giant lump to form in my throat every time it popped into my brain. Not wanting to discuss what happened while abducted, I denied psychological treatment, suggesting I’d seek counseling privately upon discharge. However, curiosity pertaining to what happened to Warren, Noah, and the ‘flock’ consumed many thoughts. One afternoon, when Jillian went down to the cafeteria to grab lunch, I asked one of the nurses. Though she shouldn’t have shared the information, my charm persuaded her otherwise ethical judgement.
They’d been spread out among several psychiatric hospitals on Long Island and Queens where they’d remain in inpatient programs, Noah included. The treating physicians here felt separating them would be the best course of action. I humbly disagreed with the approach, but it wasn’t my call. Sarah had been shot by Jillian in the foot, and shipped off to a rehab center in Brooklyn where she’d be able to heal physically and mentally in a state-of-the-art facility. There was a chance she’d never be able to use the limb again. The bullet shattered all of the bones, but her doctor was hopeful. As for Warren, Jillian killed him. He bled out in the driveway of his compound. Clean shot to the stomach. By the time he arrived at the hospital, he’d already passed.
“Ready to go home?” Jillian asked, brightly, about a week after the incident.
“Yes. Please. Get me out of here,” I replied, thrilled to be sprung from this joint. I hadn’t seen the inside of my house in months, and couldn’t wait to kick back and relax in my own bed after taking a nice, long, hot shower. “Hey, Jill.”
“Yeah?” she answered, distracted, while eyes scanned the room to make sure she’d packed everything.
Approaching her from the side, my good arm reached for her shoulder. “When we’re home, and settled in, we need to talk. Let’s do this right this time. Okay?”
“We don’t have to, Nick. Yes, I have questions, but after what you’ve gone through if you don’t want to discuss it, we can let it go. I get it. To be honest, you should probably speak to someone about this. Someone who can help you navigate the aftermath better than I’m equipped to. I’m here for you. I love you. We’re good. What happened, what you had to say or do in order to survive …,” her voice trailed. To keep up appearances she was okay and strong for not only her, but me as well, she fought like hell to keep tears from flowing. Shaking her head, she shoved the rise of emotions far away. “We’ve got this, Nick.” Moist, sapphire eyes locked with mine. I couldn’t have loved her more than I did in that moment.
“Come here, babe,” I said, holding my one good arm out against her waist.
Accepting the gesture, she inhaled deeply, head buried in my neck. “Though I know you’re tremendously sadden I won’t be driving,” she started, holding up her casted hand, “a car should be here by now. There will be a crap ton of press outside waiting for us to leave, so Charles is meeting us in the lobby. He arraigned for security to get us the hell out of here without a huge shit show scene.”
Since the escape, the media went wild. Not feeling up to listening to all the reports, Jillian and I chose to ignore the stories. The comically wild ones Liam forwarded to us we shared a good laugh over, but the rest, neither of us had time for. Police and FBI came in and out at all times of the day and night asking the same questions over and over again. My major concern was for Jillian. She’d shot and killed Warren, and caused potentially permanent damage to Sarah. Though Jillian said she wasn’t worried, she was. Her lawyer spent quite a bit of time up here as well. When all was said and done, no charges were brought against her. Warren’s death, and Sarah’s injuries were considered acts of self-defence.
Visitors were limited to a select few to avoid turning the hospital into a three-ring circus. Not so shocking, my parents and siblings came by armed with a full camera crew, which to their dismay wasn’t allowed inside. They stayed for a short while–maybe twenty minutes at the longest. I kept the conversation light, not saying much. Jillian disappeared when they showed up, but I couldn’t blame her. Apparently, my abduction made great news for the Winters Family, putting their name back into the headlines.
“My attorneys will schedule a press conference the morning you’re released,” my father said, patting my injured shoulder, ignoring the wince of pain he’d inflicted. “We’ll film it downstairs in the main entrance lobby. When it’s over, we’ll get into the limo as a family. The press will go wild over it.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’m fine, don’t need the attention, and want to put this behind me and Jill.”
“Don’t be stupid, son. This is just what Jackson needs to boost his numbers in the polls. A good, strong showing of household solidarity. We’ll all be there, but it’s best to leave your wife out of this. After all, she shot that woman, and killed that man. That’s not the image we want to put out there.”
“Absolutely not. My wife put her ass on the line to get me back. What she had to do, what she went through far surpasses anything anyone of you have ever done for me. Jill committed murder, something which will haunt her every waking dream for eternity, to bring me home. Would any of you have ever even considered doing something like that for someone you love? No, no you wouldn’t. Not everything is about ratings, good stories, and free publicity. This is my personal business we’re talking about. I just experienced the most horrific event of my entire life, and all you’re concerned with is Jackson, who’s standing in the corner, barely making eye contact with, or speaking with me other than saying, ‘Hey,’ when he walked in, but who’s totally fine. I was shot–with a frigging bullet, for Christ’s sake. Before that, I was abducted. Kept locked away in a freaking house of horrors. The things Jill and I had to do to escape that, you’d have never.” I paused, taking a deep breath. “Thank you for coming by. I appreciate the time. I’ll reach out when I get home, and am feeling better.”
“Not everything is about you and that wife of yours, Nicholas,” my mother said, matter-of-factly.
“This time it was, Mom, but in your eyes it never is.”
They lingered for a few short moments before making an excuse–something about having to check in on my grandfather who’d fallen under the weather a few weeks ago, and left.
Good Riddance.
What would happen next? No idea. Recent events caused an overflow of doubt and queries. I felt I failed Warren’s ‘flock’. I should’ve been able to help them, heal them, but I didn’t. Decades of learning and acquired knowledge were called into question. How could I keep writing books, giving lectures, hosting a Podcast dispensing useless, if not dangerous advice? I truly believed myself to be a fraud. An empty, hopelessness settled inside my gut.
“Everything heals, Nick. Body, mind, soul–it all gets better, happier, stronger, it just takes time,” Jillian urged, and she was right.
“My mind’s all over the place, Jill,” I admitted. It had been some time since I opened up to her about personal internal struggles. Usually I played the role of the rock. The reversal felt weird, causing me to feel weak and helpless.
“It has every reason to be, but instead of going back to what we’ve always done, why not start over? New house. New careers. New prospective on life. New everything, Nick. I’m not saying we run away from the past. I’m saying we run in another direction. Seasons change four times a year, and no one says a thing. Why can’t we make one bold transformation, together?” She shrugged.
“I don’t know, Jill.”
“Well, you’re in luck, because I do,” she replied, reaching for my hand, walking us out of the room, thusly ending not only a chapter of our lives, but completing the entire book.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jillian
One Year Later…
“Tonight’s End Game segment is going to be a little different, and emotional–for me. Many of you already know, this will be my final The Bottom Line broadcast. It’s no secret my husband, Nick, and I are expecting our first child in three months, but what we haven’t announced yet, what I’m beyond thrilled to share i
s starting in the coming weeks, on this network, Nick and I will be co-hosting our own live morning talk show called, This Just In. I wanted to take this time to thank my viewing audience for welcoming me into their homes every night, for placing unwavering trust in my ability to provide accurate, unbiased news, and for weathering all the storms experienced without judgement, but with constant support. I am sad to leave, but excited to start this new chapter. I’d also like to thank the entire crew here who’ve gone above and beyond each and every single day to make sure they deliver the best show to you. My producer, Liam Steven, will be joining Nick and me on the new set, as well as my personal assistant, Lyla Marx. Topher Robbins, our station owner, has something special up his sleeve for this time slot beginning tomorrow. After the show closes tonight, a trailer for This Just In will introduce you to the new morning format, as well as allow Mr. Robbins an opportunity to fill you in on everything in between. Nick, Liam, Lyla, Mr. Robbins, our crew, myself, and baby girl Winters, all hope you’ll make us part of your morning wakeup routine. As for now, for the last time, I’m Jillian Winters, and that’s the bottom line. Goodnight.”
“Cut, and we’re out,” Liam shouted, removing his headset. “Great show everyone. Thank you.”
Usually I’d jump out of my chair to stretch, but tonight I sat motionless, tears welling, mic pack still on. It was the end of a career making era. That moment between old and new, comfortable and uncertainty.
“Hey. You okay, Jill?” Liam questioned, leaning against the anchor desk.
“Stupid pregnancy hormones,” I lied, wiping the moisture away with the tips of my fingers.
“It’s almost over. Then you’re in for a totally new adventure.” He laughed. “The crew got a goodbye cake for you. It’s your favorite–chocolate mousse. Come on, no more tears.” Pulling me up and into a warm embrace, he softly patted my back.
“One last thing,” I said, taking my cell phone off the tabletop. Clicking the picture app, I snapped a quick selfie of us before vacating my old set.