“Dad!” The scream tears from my throat.
He doesn’t hear me. My eyes bounce back and forth between him and the gunmen.
“Dad!” I scream again.
Henry asks me what’s wrong, but there’s no time to explain. I start to scramble across the seat. I can get out using my dad’s door. But then the gunfire starts.
The rear window shatters into a million pieces.
I open my mouth to yell for my dad one more time, but the sound is drowned out by the echoing pop of guns.
Bits of glass are hitting my face and arms. I’m frozen in shock. I need to help but I can’t move.
Staring at my dad, I watch in horror as everything happens in slow motion.
His eyes move to meet mine. I can’t hear him over the deafening noise, but I see his mouth move.
My name.
“Vincent.”
My name is all that leaves his lips before a bullet rips into his chest. His eyes glance down, as if he needs to confirm what struck him, before coming back up to look at me.
I’m still frozen, still stuck in place. Helplessly, I watch as blood starts to spread across his white shirt. It’s too much blood. It’s growing too fast.
He uses a hand to gesture for me to get down.
I don’t want to, but when another car window breaks, I roll to the floor of the backseat. Curled up like the scared child I am.
Vibrations roll through my skull. I think I’m still yelling for my dad.
I look up between the seats towards Henry, he’ll know what to do. I start to call out to him, but his body is slumped over the steering wheel. I don’t want to look, but my eyes move on their own and I see the blood that’s splattered across the inside of the windshield.
Then just as suddenly as it started, the gunfire stops. Everything goes quiet for a moment. Until the screaming begins.
I clamber across the floor and reach for the door handle. It takes me three tries before I get a good grip and yank the door open.
Falling out of the car, I land at my dad’s feet.
“Dad!” My ears are still ringing but I can hear my voice enough to recognize that I’m crying. “Dad!”
I crawl up towards his head, chunks of broken glass digging into my palms.
There’s a second circle of blood on his shirt. This one lower, in his stomach. The blood isn’t spreading, and I don’t know if that’s good or bad.
Dad’s hand reaches out for me. Taking it, I grip his fingers as tight as I can.
“Dad. What do I do? I don’t know what to do!”
His fingers squeeze mine back as his eyes close. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
His words are a whisper, but they’ll be forever etched onto my soul.
“No!”
My shout jolts me awake. My heart is beating wildly, and my palms are sweaty.
“Fuck!” I bend forward, resting my elbows onto my knees. “Fuck.”
Still sitting in my office, I realize I fell asleep while thinking about my dad.
Dreaming about that day isn’t new, but it always ends when the shooting starts. I always wake up before dad gets hit. Always. Until today.
My hands are shaking. I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my fingers into fists. It’s not like I wasn’t there, like I didn’t already live that nightmare in reality. But to have to see it all again, in such perfect detail…
“Fuck.” This time my curse comes out as a whisper.
When my phone rings, I startle. Goddamnit that dream has me on edge.
I debate ignoring the call, but it’s Angelo.
I answer. “Yeah.”
“Vin, what do you know about this girl?”
“Huh?”
“Sasha Clark. The girl you wanted me to run.” He lets a pause hang between us. “Dude, you called me like an hour ago to run her. Did you forget already?”
Shaking off the dreamworld, I sit up straighter. “Sorry, lots on my mind. You’re done already?”
“Yeah, not much to find. She’s 30. Rents a nice apartment a few blocks from her office. Which happens to only be a few blocks from our new office. It’s not a cheap apartment, but she makes good money and can afford it. Has a decent credit score. Other than some pricey clothes, there’s nothing really flashy about her lifestyle. Nothing that stands out as a red flag.”
That sounds like the Sasha I know. “Okay. Family?”
“Not much. Dad did the disappearing act when she was a baby. Mom died when she was in college, from some sort of medical thing, best I can tell. But this next part is where it gets interesting.”
I know he doesn’t mean to be callous, but this information has me feeling defensive of Sasha. She’s an orphan. Never even had a dad. Lost her mom when she was just starting to become an adult. My mood was already shit after that dream, but this is sending me deeper into the darkness.
Angelo continues. “One brother, named John. Older by five years. His tracks disappear after the academy.”
“The academy?” I repeat.
“Yeah. Your girl’s brother was a cop.”
That is interesting. “What do you mean was? I know for a fact that she still talks to him. He’s not dead.”
I can hear the smugness in Angelo’s voice. “Nope, not dead. Just a change of career. He’s in the FBI. Special Agent John Clark based out of Chicago. And here’s the best part, he heads up a task force specializing in, you guessed it, organized fucking crime.”
My grip on reality must be slipping, because the next thing I know, I’m laughing so hard I almost fall out of my chair.
