"Duane..." Detective Bernhardt uttered while straining to take a seat next to me on my couch. "Whew! I heard this address come over on the radio so I came by. How are you holding up?"
"Not too good." I conveyed.
"I know this must be hard. You're going through a lot."
The detective then mustered up much strength to stand up. He snapped on a pair of latex gloves and probed around. He returned moments later with a wallet in his hand.
"Is this yours?" Detective Bernhardt inquired. It was my wallet that was taken from me during the robbery.
"Yes it is."
"The only thing in here is your ID." He disclosed. Those hooligans found my place from my ID. The fare card wasn't enough? They had to ransack my apartment too?
After crime scene officers sifted around my apartment for fingerprints and snapped photographs, they concluded their preliminary investigation. They packed their tools into a black equipment case with metal rivets. Then I guided them out. "Duane, if you find out anything, anything at all, call me." Detective Bernhardt declared before departing.
This city's bane is bluntly stripping what's left of my sound mind. How much more torment could I endure before I lose my sanity? Suddenly my cellphone vibrated. I flipped it open. "Have you gotten home yet?" Lolani texted. She has been the sole presence that's keeping me balanced. I refuse to tell her about the dire straits that follow me around like a dark cloud. I don’t want her to presume me for some coward. I also don’t want her to be afraid of being around me.
Hours have past and I lied in my bed daunted. I questioned if I was approaching my problems appropriately. If I cooperated with Detective Bernhardt and the suspects were apprehended, I might not have been targeted again. On the other hand, what if the muggers' gang retaliates against me for snitching? Either way, something has to be done or I would continue to be a victim.
"Detective Bernhardt." I uttered after he answered his phone.
"Duane?" He replied.
"I'm ready to talk."
"You sure you're up to this?" He asked.
"Yes, I am."
"Well you have my card. Come to the station."
"All right."
I couldn't keep my knee from bobbing. I've been sitting inside Detective Bernhardt's cubicle for an hour contemplating if I'm doing the right thing. I wish I’d known beforehand that I’d be interrupting his dinner. He devoured a hot dog fifteen minutes ago and the stench lingers in his breath. I never liked the smell of hot dogs, especially when it comes after someone belches.
He’s been asking me about the robbery. I told him what happened. He followed by disclosing of a local gang known as the “Downtown Fallen Saints.” "Several people in that neighborhood have gotten mugged and they all described the same three individuals and modus. Three shirtless guys wearing black leather vests approaching them from the rear, striking them, throwing them to the ground and someone snatching their wallet." He informed me. His greasy fingers tugged, pushed and clicked on his computer mouse. He left oily fingerprints on it. Seconds later, a photo lineup started printing on a printer underneath his desk. He retrieved it, slid it my way and asked me if I can identify the suspect. I refused to touch it. I don’t want to touch anything he hands me. I shifted my chair so I could get a better look.
"That's him! That's one of the guys that robbed me!" I confidently blurted out while pointing at the center mug shot. There was no mistaking that pale skin complexion, five inch spiky red mohawk and skull tattoos on his neck and lower cheeks.
"Hoytsworth, huh? Also known on the street as 'Hollow Point Hoyt.' I had a feeling it was him." Detective Bernhardt uttered. "I've had a few run-ins with him. He's been arrested twice for robbery and has a couple of burglary charges. Amazing how he's still out. No matter how many times you lock these guys up they end up right back on the streets. Thanks for your cooperation Duane. Do you need a ride home?"
"No thanks, I'll take the train." I acknowledged. Detective Bernhardt escorted me down a corridor to the exit.
"No matter how many times you lock these guys up they end up right back on the streets," Detective Bernhardt uttered before I left. I wondered if I just made a big mistake by squealing. "If he gets locked up and then released in a couple weeks, I'm done!"
Later on that night, while lying on my bed, I couldn't stop myself from recollecting the conference I had with Detective Bernhardt earlier today. I attempted to read the novel again but I kept revisiting the same sentences over and over. The comic book distracted me before and I haven't finished it yet. I snatched it off my nightstand and decided to complete it.
Just as I read the final page, I had an eerie feeling that I was being watched. I rested the comic book on my chest and glanced around my room. Suddenly, I was startled by a pair of flaming red eyes peering at me from a shadowy corner. "Who's there?" I hollered while promptly erecting myself. When my eyes got acclimated to the dark, I could suddenly make out his inky silhouette standing before me. His black ensemble blended in my dark room. The figure sauntered into the red light that seeped through my tattered window blinds from a vertical neon sign fixed to the liquor store across the street. He was towering. His body was veiled by a long cloak that flowed over his shoulders. The bottom of the cloak was disposed on the floor in a perfect crescent. His identity was concealed by a black mask that outlined his chiseled jaw line and broad nose. "The Legend?" I inquired. The superhero from the comic book I just read? He posed in the light and continued to stare at me with those flaming red eyes.
"Who are you?" I asked. He gently raised his hand to his head and clenched his mask. Just as he was about to reveal himself, rapid sounds of gunfire reverberated off my walls. It startled me awake from the dream I was just having. I quickly realized it was coming from the front of the apartment building. I plunged to the floor and inquisitively scrambled to my window.
A brand new white 2003 Cadillac Escalade careered down the street as a rear passenger was poised out the window gripping a fully automatic AK-47. The hustlers shooting dice in front of my building took cover behind parked cars. Once the onslaught ended, they all scattered. Some fled into the building, others up the street. For a second, I thought the gunshots were intended for me.
Six months have passed since I pointed out Hoytsworth in the photo lineup. However, I have not heard from Detective Bernhardt since. I haven't received a subpoena to appear in court. I no longer see Hoytsworth around either. My inquiring mind wants to call the detective and ask to be updated. Then again, it might be best just to put this whole thing behind me.
In those six months, Lolani and I drew close; relationship close. She’s officially my girlfriend. She has invited me to her parents' house for dinner one night. She's a youthful rendering of her mother. Her father is very particular about the company his only daughter keeps. However, I think I managed to gain his acceptance. In the course of time I will introduce her to my parents.
Every Thursday at five fifteen Lolani routinely springs into the dry cleaners. I glanced at the creeping hands on the analog wall clock. She'll be making her appearance any second now. While anticipating her arrival, Mr. Delancey suddenly asked me to take the trash out to the dumpster in the back alley. Of all time he waits until Lolani is scheduled to come in. I raced through the back door, hurled the trash bag into the dumpster and made it back to the counter just as she walked in.
"Hey Duane!" Lolani greeted. She's sporting a white spring dress with orange accessories correlating with her shoes. She clenched her outfits with her left arm and aimed a cellphone at me with her right hand.
"Lani, what's up?" I gasped. She set her clothes on the counter while continuing to aim her cellphone at me.
"You like my new phone?" She inquired
"I guess. Why are you holding it up like that?"
"Because I'm recording you. It has a built in video camera. Isn't that cool?"
"Lani, c'mon, put the phone away." I directed while playfully trying to snatch it out of her hand from behind
the counter. She smirked and jerked back just enough so my fingers were out of reach.
"C'mon, smile for..." She was suddenly interrupted. The storefront glass door violently swung open causing it to shatter as it collided against the wall.
"YOU THOUGHT WE FORGOT ABOUT YOU MUTHAFUCKA!" A gunman barked while storming into the cleaners clinching a semi-automatic sawed-off rifle. He was followed by two other unarmed men. All of their identities are concealed by black knitted balaclava ski masks. They are also sporting dark wool sweaters.
"WHOA, WHOA!" I hollered with my trembling hands extended before me trying to ineffectively defuse the situation. I was greatly concerned about Lolani.
The gunman glanced at her and she apprehensively lost grip of her cellphone. It fell onto the white tiled floor as she backed into a wall. She pressed her palms against it. I've never seen her so frightened.
The gunman suddenly hoisted up the rifle and aimed it at her. My heart suddenly sunk. I vaulted over the counter and darted towards Lolani. Just before I embraced her, three gunshots resonated throughout the room. She wailed and collapsed into my arms. I couldn't hold her flimsy body. We both fell onto the floor.
Her cries persisted as I held onto her. I peered at the gunman hoping he was content with just trying to scare us. Then I felt my hands becoming wet with something warm and thick. I glanced down and the side of her white dress was quickly turning red. She'd been shot.
"LOLANI!" I bawled as persisted to embrace her. "PLEASE MAN PLEASE!" I desperately pleaded to the gunman.
"Hoyt! Let’s go!" One of the accomplices blurted out in a remorseful tone as he fled out the door. The second accomplice ensued.
"You snitching mutha..." The gunman uttered while aiming the rifle at my head. Then I blanked out.
A steady beeping tone awakened me from a deep sleep. As my blurred vision cleared I noticed Detective Bernhardt sitting in a chair besides my hospital bed. A familiar looking Asian female, with shoulder length jet black hair, stood next to him. She was short and slim yet appeared to be athletically built. She was dressed in business attire. She had a youthful face; if I had to guess her age it would be in the range of mid to late twenties. Her badge hung on a beaded chain around her neck.
"How long have I been in the hospital for?" I asked Detective Bernhardt. I glanced into the hallway and saw my parents tensely pacing about.
"You've been here for almost a month. You just finished your second surgery." He conveyed.
"Second surgery? A month? What? What happened?" I was completely oblivious.
"You got shot. Don't you remember?"
"No, I don't."
"You were shot in the head. It's a miracle you're still alive and talking. The doctors are cautiously optimistic that you'll recover after therapy. There are no signs of swelling which is a good thing. Your family wants to talk to you for a second." Detective Bernhardt stood up and gestured with his hands for my parents to enter. My mother bustled into the room as if she couldn't wait any longer. Her eyes saturated with tears. My father was composed as always. He sauntered in after her.
"How do you feel?" My mother inquired after embracing me.
"My head hurts."
"Besides the headaches Duane, how are you doing?" The doctor asked as he stepped in.
"Fine." I responded.
"Can you move your feet for me?" He inquired. I did. "How about your arms?" I moved them too. "Very good. Well, first you are very lucky to be alive. The gunshot wound damaged a section of your brain called the amygdala." The doctor relayed while hoisting up an x-ray photo towards the fluorescent light. "This part of the brain processes memories of emotional reactions which is probably why you don't remember getting shot in the head. Without this part of the brain functioning properly you might also start noticing different behavioral patterns."
"Different behavioral patterns? Like what?" My father asked.
"Well the amygdala's also gives us the ability to be afraid." The doctor replied. "Our body responds to fear in several ways: increased heartbeat, sweating, immobility, heavy breathing. You probably won't experience any of those reactions anymore. But to be safe it's imperative you stick to the medication regiment I am going to prescribe."
"Will the medication make me normal again?" I inquired.
"Well like I said, you 'might' start noticing different behavioral patterns. It's not certain at this time. It's too early to tell. If you have any more questions feel free to ask." The doctor's pager suddenly went off. He hoisted it up to his eyes then bustled out of them room.
"Do you mind if I ask Duane a couple of questions about the shooting?" Detective Bernhardt amiably asked my parents.
"No, that's fine." My father responded while embracing my mother and escorting her out the room.
"Duane, I want you to meet Detective Wu. She works in the homicide unit."
"Homicide?" I inquired. "Did someone die?"
"Duane, you don't remember what happened at all?" She asked.
"No I don't, who died?" I persisted to inquire. "Was it one of the employees I work with?"
"No, it wasn't them. Duane, I'm going to play back a recording. It's from a cellphone that was recording during the shooting. It may jog your memory a bit." Detective Wu said while retrieving a small tape recorder from her blazer pocket. She pressed the play button.
"Hey Duane!" "Lani, what's up?"...
"Wait, wait. That's my girlfriend's voice. OH GAWD PLEASE NO! PLEASE TELL ME SHE'S OKAY!" I blurted out interrupting the recording.
"Duane please, try to listen to the recording." Detective Wu pleaded.
"You like my new phone?" "I guess. Why are you holding it up like that?" "Because I'm recording you. It has a built in video camera. Isn't that cool?" "Lani, c'mon, put the phone away." "C'mon smile for..." (In the background I heard a loud banging noise and the sound of glass shattering) "YOU THOUGHT WE FORGOT ABOUT YOU MUTHAFUCKA!" "WHOA, WHOA!" (I then heard some rumbling. Then I heard three gunshots followed by screaming and more rumbling) "PLEASE MAN PLEASE!" "Hoyt! Let’s go!" "You snitching mutha..." (Then I heard another shot, the screaming grew louder. It was followed by two more shots and the cries suddenly stopped) "Call nine one one!" (The voice sounded like Mr. Delancey’s) “Oh my God, they're dead. I think they're dead. Duane! Duane..."
"DID HE KILL HER?" I growled.
"Duane, Lolani is... She's dead!"
Never in my life have I ever felt a surge so strong; so filled with fury. Anger overwhelmed me and I had no control over it. I suddenly let out a roar so loud and disturbing the detectives lurched from my bed. My concerned parents, the nurses and the doctor rushed back into my room. "Get security!" My cries convinced the staff to put me in restraints. Just as I lunged out of the bed, I was met by able-bodied guards that tackled me back onto it. "NO!" I hollered while trying to fend them off. My attempts were short lived as all four of them collectively managed to confine me. They fastened my wrists and ankles to the bed railings with padded leather restraints. But my roars persisted. My parents' efforts to calm me down were useless. I remained combative and struggled with the restraints until I managed to loosen one of them up. The security team continued wrestling with me as the doctor retrieved a syringe and injected it into the intravenous drip feed. Moments later I felt unsteady and weak. Then I drifted off.
I came to after the doctor flipped a light switch on. The fluorescent light fixture is directly above my bed and it’s awfully intense. It triggered a headache. I must’ve been out for a couple of hours. I don’t feel as angry anymore. Whatever he injected into the intravenous drip feed must’ve calmed me down.
The doctor sauntered in with four individuals. All but the doctor wore disposable 4ply face masks. The four of them also sported white lab coats but theirs were much shorter than the doctors. I’m guessing they were interns. The individuals approached my bed and stood over me. All four pairs of assorted eye shapes and colors peered at me like a lab rat. It was irritating. One of the interns took hold of the hand contro
ller from my side and adjusted my bed. The back rose until I was just about sitting upright. He then removed a pen light from his pocket and shined it into my eyes. I attempted to smack his hand away but suddenly realized I was still in restraints.
“Get the fuck away from me!” I growled at him. However, he persisted to aim the light into my eyes.
“All right, that’s enough guys. I’ll meet you in the hallway.” The doctor directed. The intern continued for another three seconds then followed the rest out of the room.
“Duane, can I ask you a question?” The doctor suddenly inquired while examining my vitals on the heart monitor.
“What?”
“If I took these leather restraints off your wrists and ankles, what is the first thing you would do?” He sauntered towards my bedside. His right index finger and thumb caressed the stubble around his chin while his arms crossed over his stomach. The inquisitive doctor seemed interested in hearing my response.
“These restraints are the only reason why the man that killed her is still alive.”
“Do you really think retribution will make you feel better?” The doctor asked.
“I’m certain it will.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I can’t feel any worse than what I’m feeling now.”
After the doctor readjusted my bed, he turned the light off and strolled out of my room. I tried to continue sleeping. The recording, however, lingers in my head and it’s haunting. Every time I dozed off I was startled awake by her cries and the resounding gunshots. When I finally drifted off I relived the harrowing events in my dreams; pleading to the gunman to "Let her live! Just shoot me!" But he still refuses and it plays out the same way.
The doctor prescribed me with antipsychotic and antidepressant medications. It's supposed to suppress my hallucinations and tempers. I hate having to take the prescriptions. It feels like I'm being muzzled. My girlfriend was murdered and I can't even grieve. I missed her funeral because I was getting a bullet surgically dislodged from my brain. The bastard shot her two more times after he shot me. "TWO MORE GOT-DAMN TIMES!" He wanted to be certain she was dead. He executed her. Hoyt! He’s still on the loose. He'd be lucky if the police find him before I do.
The Legend Page 3