June 11th, Oceanside, California 2:34 am
I slipped out of bed surreptitiously and Alyssa stretched her arm and yawned before snuggling into a new sleeping position. My heart felt like it would beat out of my chest. I didn't know what to do. Joseph wanted me to do something with that tape, but what? Was I supposed to turn to over to the police? Was I supposed to take this on myself? I knew that Joseph wouldn't have approved of that. He would never want to endanger Alyssa or me. I had to find out what was going on. Who was that man that James killed? Who was that Cuban man? I had so many questions that needed answers. The first person I could think of that I could trust was Monica.
Monica was our cousin. She and I were very close. Our friendship began almost from birth, when we lived with her family in Alhambra. She and I were only three months apart so we shared everything, even at times, boyfriends. Well, more like fought over. When we moved out, Monica and I were best friends. She helped James and me with our business endeavors, but she stuck around much longer than I did. She now lived in Whittier, not far from home. She gave up the game year's ago, but never left. She still ran around with the wrong guys who were either in prison or on parole. She was married once, but she caught him sleeping with her sister and decided to take her kids and move out. He decided to keep it in the family and married Rosario, her sister.
She has five kids, two from Ramone, her ex-husband, and one each from Mario, Jesus, and Casper (I'm not even sure she knows his real name), None of which she knows the whereabouts of. Sometimes I feel sorry for her, but I don't know anyone as tough as Monica. She takes it all with a grain of salt and will spit it back in your eye. I knew that if anyone knew what was going on, she would.
7:59 am
I couldn't wait any longer to call my beloved cousin. I knew that she wouldn't be up yet, but dialed her number anyway. I wasn't sure what I was going to say. I mean, she was James' cousin too. How could I tell her that I thought he had murdered my husband?
The phone rang three times before a tired Latina woman in her mid-thirties picked up the phone, "Who the fuck do you think you are waking me up at...what fucking time is it anyway?" That's my Monica.
"Its 8 o'clock Monica. Its Jess, how are you?" I answered.
"Oh my God! How you been girl? I haven't heard from you in forever!" Monica sounded shocked to hear from me.
"I've been alright. Ya know, gettin' by. Alyssa is still having a hard time."
"Poor baby. She's a tough chica tho, like her ma. She'll be ok."
"Yeh, I know..." I paused and took a breath. I didn't call to reminisce or to chit chat with my cousin. "You heard from James lately, Mon?"
"Oh...yeh...uhm, a couple weeks ago maybe. He was in Texas, I think. Asked me for some help with some merchandise. I gave him the name of a connection I had in Hemet. You 'member Javier?"
"Hemet? What's Javier doing in Hemet?" Now for most people I know, Hemet will not sound at all familiar. Few people even know where it is. Out in a quiet little valley, approximately two hours southeast of Los Angeles, one mountain away from Palm Springs, is a little town called Hemet. What was once a beautiful retirement community, is now a cesspool. figuratively, if the Inland Empire (or the IE as the locals call it) were to have eaten bad Chinese for dinner and regurgitate, Hemet would be the trash can and its residents, the vomit..
"His girlfriend moved out there with her family because the houses are really cheap. They got a house for like $50,000. After some bastard shot her dad, he left her the house up here, but Javier convinced her that she should sell it and buy a cheaper house in Hemet and 'invest' the rest. Business is great down there."
"So I take it you're still 'in business'?"
"Just when I need the extra cash. I mean, ya know. Its for the kids."
"How are the kids anyway?"
"They are a'right. I mean, what can you expect right? So anyway, what's up? Why you looking for James?"
"I need to find him. I think he knows something about how Joseph died. Do you know where in Texas he went?"
Monica paused for a moment. Jessica could tell that she now uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was heading. "Amarillo, I'm pretty sure. What are you talking about? I thought Joseph's death was an accident?"
"Hit and run. I'm pretty sure James knows who ran. You up for a little road trip?"
"Hell yeah chica! Let's go! I'll have my ma watch the kids."
"That's right. I need to find a safe place for Alyssa. I'll take her to Joseph's mother's house in Vista."
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
June 10th, Oceanside, California, 3:56 pm
I twirled the video cassette in my fingers, the anxiety was building inside of me. It had been a week and I still couldn't bring myself to watch the tape. I couldn't figure out what was wrong with me. I knew that I must be afraid of the secrets that it may possess. Perhaps it was his a video of his bacheleor party, our wedding, or perhaps Alyssa's birth, but I knew better. I knew that there was something on that tape that would terrify me. Could he possibly have known that something awful would happen to him? How could he know? It was an accident. Open and shut case. There was nothing at the scene of the collision to discern otherwise.
Alyssa was playing in her room, but I was still concerned that she might walk in. I thought that I should wait until after she had gone to sleep.
10:53 pm
Put the damn tape in the video camera Jessica Maria Martinez! You can do it, I told myself. I slipped the cassette into the silver camcorder and slowly pressed play. It was Alyssa's 6th birthday party in Alhambra. We had driven up to see my family on her birthday. Alyssa was preparing to blow out her birthday candles surrounded by grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Joseph who was holding the camera said, "Make a wish mija." For a moment I wondered where I was, then an image in the far right corner of the screen caught my eye. It was me and my brother James, arguing, near the edge of the property. I remembered that we had had a disagreement about living arrangements for our mother.
Since she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2006, we constantly bickered about what was best for her care. At the time of Alyssa's party, our mother, Guadalupe (or Lupe to her friends and family), was in stage 4, and all the chemo and radiation in the world couldn't save her. We both knew this, but James insisted on sending her to a nursing home, but I was determined to take care of her. In the end, it didn't matter what we decided because she died only three days later, in the comfort of her own home. It killed me that I hadn't been with her when God came to claim her.
After James and I were finished bickering about problems we would never have to face, I stormed off and found my place next to my gorgeous daughter, but the drama was far from over.
A black Escalade pulled up next to my brother and a tall, muscular Latino emergered from the driver's side of the vehicle. He was definately not Mexican. The image was slightly blurred but his attire suggested South Beach, not East L.A. I squinted to see his features, but to no avail. All I could see was his black hat, a blue button down shirt that looked silk, and black slacks. He looked very important and very dangerous.
James walked over to the gentleman and shook his hand. The dangerous man motioned to the back seat of the car and James looked through the window. James nodded. Joseph's glance had now moved from his precious daughter to his brother-in-law and his friend. Joseph said, "Great job Alyssa. Daddy's so proud of you, I'll be right back." Joseph moved, carefully closer to the car and the two men. He found a large violet hydrandea to crouch behind and kept the video recorder rolling.
Now that James was closer, I could see the man's features more clearly. No, not Boriqua. Definately Cubano. Not that I was an expert on the subject. Living in Southern California my entire life had limited my knowledge of Latinos. Most hispanics were Mexican, some Guatamalan, Honduran, but few Puerto Ricans or Cubans. Just like Native American tribes have different features and characteristics, so do different types of Latinos. Being a part of that culture fine tuned your abilities to recognize such characteristics.
Looking through James' eyes, I watched the horror unfold. He zoomed in to the back window of the black Escalade and through the darkened glass I could see the outline of a person, flailing about, as if bound, perhaps gagged. James quickly pulled a small handgun from his back pocket. His movements were quick and the sound of the gun was masked by the sound of a pinata being smashed and children screaming. Suddenly Alyssa's voice called, "Papi, come see what Abuela filled the pinata with! There's dollar bills and candy!" James' face jerked back to see my husband hiding behind the bush, and then the screen went black.
I must have stared at the black screen for a few minutes before I realized what I was doing. I was shaking and in shock. That was James that had shot someone. My hermano, my brother. What had he done? And why? Who was that Cuban man? Dozens more questions flooded my mind, as a dam broke inside of my head. Joseph's death wasn't an accident. He was murdered.
No one ever told me that life was going to be easy. I knew that it wasn't. I knew that I would have to find hard to get out of my neighborhood and that the chance of that were slim to none. As a teenager, I had accepted that. That my quince was probably the most glamorous event of my life. That my wedding would probably be one forced upon me due to a pregnancy and the thought of trying to raise a child in East L.A. frightened me.
My parents, both Mexicans immigrants, moved to Alhambra when my mother was pregnant with James. James was three years older than me. We were both born in the U.S., which is supposed to mean something, but Alhambra is far from the paradise that living in the U.S. promises. My parents, three older brothers, and I lived with my mother's sister, my tia, and her five children, in a three bedroom house. Picture that for a moment.
When I was about eight, we finally moved out of Tia's house and into our own two bedroom house. Sharing a room with three older brothers was a welcome comfort, although privacy was always an issue. My brothers, youngest to oldest were, James, Jesus, Armando, and Roberto. James and I were the only ones born in the U.S., hence the American names. James had always been the one who caused the most trouble. Our older brothers tried in vain to help him, but before they knew it he had joined a gang and was dealing before he was 13. We both were.
I had my tattoos removed soon after Alyssa's birth. I didn't want her to see her mother like that. A chola. I wanted her to see her mother as a strong Mexican-American woman, capable of anything. I wanted to protect her from the streets of LA, the evil. I should have known that one day it would all catch up with me.
James and I shared many business ventures in our young stupid years. As an adult, nearly middle-aged, I realize how foolish we were. At the time it was all about the money, the glamour, and respect. Of course the dealing was just the beginning. A little weed here, a little coke there, meth, whatever we could get our hands on. Then came the guns We would spend hours everyday filing serial numbers that we lifted from various sources. For me it was all about being favored in my brother's eyes. I looked up to him. He always had whatever he needed, cars, clothes, he was making a life for himself here, whereas my other brothers worked 10-12 hour days for minimum wage or less and still barely made ends me. I adored James, and I thought he felt the same about me.
Alyssa was playing in her room, but I was still concerned that she might walk in. I thought that I should wait until after she had gone to sleep.
10:53 pm
Put the damn tape in the video camera Jessica Maria Martinez! You can do it, I told myself. I slipped the cassette into the silver camcorder and slowly pressed play. It was Alyssa's 6th birthday party in Alhambra. We had driven up to see my family on her birthday. Alyssa was preparing to blow out her birthday candles surrounded by grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Joseph who was holding the camera said, "Make a wish mija." For a moment I wondered where I was, then an image in the far right corner of the screen caught my eye. It was me and my brother James, arguing, near the edge of the property. I remembered that we had had a disagreement about living arrangements for our mother.
Since she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2006, we constantly bickered about what was best for her care. At the time of Alyssa's party, our mother, Guadalupe (or Lupe to her friends and family), was in stage 4, and all the chemo and radiation in the world couldn't save her. We both knew this, but James insisted on sending her to a nursing home, but I was determined to take care of her. In the end, it didn't matter what we decided because she died only three days later, in the comfort of her own home. It killed me that I hadn't been with her when God came to claim her.
After James and I were finished bickering about problems we would never have to face, I stormed off and found my place next to my gorgeous daughter, but the drama was far from over.
A black Escalade pulled up next to my brother and a tall, muscular Latino emergered from the driver's side of the vehicle. He was definately not Mexican. The image was slightly blurred but his attire suggested South Beach, not East L.A. I squinted to see his features, but to no avail. All I could see was his black hat, a blue button down shirt that looked silk, and black slacks. He looked very important and very dangerous.
James walked over to the gentleman and shook his hand. The dangerous man motioned to the back seat of the car and James looked through the window. James nodded. Joseph's glance had now moved from his precious daughter to his brother-in-law and his friend. Joseph said, "Great job Alyssa. Daddy's so proud of you, I'll be right back." Joseph moved, carefully closer to the car and the two men. He found a large violet hydrandea to crouch behind and kept the video recorder rolling.
Now that James was closer, I could see the man's features more clearly. No, not Boriqua. Definately Cubano. Not that I was an expert on the subject. Living in Southern California my entire life had limited my knowledge of Latinos. Most hispanics were Mexican, some Guatamalan, Honduran, but few Puerto Ricans or Cubans. Just like Native American tribes have different features and characteristics, so do different types of Latinos. Being a part of that culture fine tuned your abilities to recognize such characteristics.
Looking through James' eyes, I watched the horror unfold. He zoomed in to the back window of the black Escalade and through the darkened glass I could see the outline of a person, flailing about, as if bound, perhaps gagged. James quickly pulled a small handgun from his back pocket. His movements were quick and the sound of the gun was masked by the sound of a pinata being smashed and children screaming. Suddenly Alyssa's voice called, "Papi, come see what Abuela filled the pinata with! There's dollar bills and candy!" James' face jerked back to see my husband hiding behind the bush, and then the screen went black.
I must have stared at the black screen for a few minutes before I realized what I was doing. I was shaking and in shock. That was James that had shot someone. My hermano, my brother. What had he done? And why? Who was that Cuban man? Dozens more questions flooded my mind, as a dam broke inside of my head. Joseph's death wasn't an accident. He was murdered.
No one ever told me that life was going to be easy. I knew that it wasn't. I knew that I would have to find hard to get out of my neighborhood and that the chance of that were slim to none. As a teenager, I had accepted that. That my quince was probably the most glamorous event of my life. That my wedding would probably be one forced upon me due to a pregnancy and the thought of trying to raise a child in East L.A. frightened me.
My parents, both Mexicans immigrants, moved to Alhambra when my mother was pregnant with James. James was three years older than me. We were both born in the U.S., which is supposed to mean something, but Alhambra is far from the paradise that living in the U.S. promises. My parents, three older brothers, and I lived with my mother's sister, my tia, and her five children, in a three bedroom house. Picture that for a moment.
When I was about eight, we finally moved out of Tia's house and into our own two bedroom house. Sharing a room with three older brothers was a welcome comfort, although privacy was always an issue. My brothers, youngest to oldest were, James, Jesus, Armando, and Roberto. James and I were the only ones born in the U.S., hence the American names. James had always been the one who caused the most trouble. Our older brothers tried in vain to help him, but before they knew it he had joined a gang and was dealing before he was 13. We both were.
I had my tattoos removed soon after Alyssa's birth. I didn't want her to see her mother like that. A chola. I wanted her to see her mother as a strong Mexican-American woman, capable of anything. I wanted to protect her from the streets of LA, the evil. I should have known that one day it would all catch up with me.
James and I shared many business ventures in our young stupid years. As an adult, nearly middle-aged, I realize how foolish we were. At the time it was all about the money, the glamour, and respect. Of course the dealing was just the beginning. A little weed here, a little coke there, meth, whatever we could get our hands on. Then came the guns We would spend hours everyday filing serial numbers that we lifted from various sources. For me it was all about being favored in my brother's eyes. I looked up to him. He always had whatever he needed, cars, clothes, he was making a life for himself here, whereas my other brothers worked 10-12 hour days for minimum wage or less and still barely made ends me. I adored James, and I thought he felt the same about me.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
June 28th, Somewhere over England, 2:52 AM
June 28th, Somewhere over England, 2:52 AM
He'll find you, you know he will. That was inevitable. That voice inside my head, were the only words I could hear. My thoughts plunged me deep into a sea of despair. Although I felt solace as the plane rose high into the air, I knew it wouldn't last. He was still there, with me, feeding off of the fear that gripped me. The woman sitting next to me must have picked up on my apprehensiveness and said, "Don't worry luv. I've flown this flight at least fifty times to see my grandchildren and I haven't died yet." The elderly women, perhaps in her 60's had the most soothing voice with her Manchester accent. Her eyes were warm and her face was lined with decades of laughter. I smiled at her, "Thank you. I'm sure we'll be fine."
The flight to Los Angeles was pretty uneventful. My new friend, Grace, and I chatted about parenthood, the flight, and the weather for quite awhile, until the desire to sleep had set in. It was a small comfort, talking to her. I was sure my flight would be consumed by my fear. I learned that she had four children, all grown, and six grandchildren, four of which were in the States. I told her about Alyssa and how much I wanted to be back with her. Somehow I knew I might not see my daughter for a very long time.
When we began our decent into LAX, a gentleman sitting in the window seat closest to mine said, "My God, I think there's a fire in LA." I smiled at him and said, "No, it looks like that all the time." From high above the clouds, we could all see the reality of one of the most famous cities in the world. A huge layer of browish-gray smog covered the city, disguising its true beauty. I was glad that I lived in Oceanside.
Several hours after returning to my own country, I was at home. I desperately wanted to drive to my mother-in-law's home and pick up Alyssa, but I didn't know what would be worse. I doubted that James knew where she lived, but I was sure that he could have found out. I knew that she wasn't safe with me, but she wasn't safe without me either. Who would protect her?
The moment that I arrived to the front door of our beach condo, I realized that something wasn't right. Although the door wasn't open, not even ajar, I could see that the wood around the lock and the door jam was broken, as if someone had forced their way into the house.The door was unlocked. I wasn't sure if I should stay and figure out what had happened, or run. Suddenly, the phone rang from inside the condo. Quickly, without thinking, I unlocked the door and rushed to it and answered, "Hello."
"Thank God Jess! I didn't know what happened to you. I went down to Trafalgar at 1 am. There was blood everywhere, I called your mobile, are you hurt?" Lawrence's concerned voice was a great comfort.
"I'm fine Lawrence. I stabbed James, but I left. I got scared and I left. I don't know what to do. He'll come for me." I said.
"Just sit tight, luv. I'll be there tomorrow." His words calmed me. My fear dissipated within those ten syllables.
He'll find you, you know he will. That was inevitable. That voice inside my head, were the only words I could hear. My thoughts plunged me deep into a sea of despair. Although I felt solace as the plane rose high into the air, I knew it wouldn't last. He was still there, with me, feeding off of the fear that gripped me. The woman sitting next to me must have picked up on my apprehensiveness and said, "Don't worry luv. I've flown this flight at least fifty times to see my grandchildren and I haven't died yet." The elderly women, perhaps in her 60's had the most soothing voice with her Manchester accent. Her eyes were warm and her face was lined with decades of laughter. I smiled at her, "Thank you. I'm sure we'll be fine."
The flight to Los Angeles was pretty uneventful. My new friend, Grace, and I chatted about parenthood, the flight, and the weather for quite awhile, until the desire to sleep had set in. It was a small comfort, talking to her. I was sure my flight would be consumed by my fear. I learned that she had four children, all grown, and six grandchildren, four of which were in the States. I told her about Alyssa and how much I wanted to be back with her. Somehow I knew I might not see my daughter for a very long time.
When we began our decent into LAX, a gentleman sitting in the window seat closest to mine said, "My God, I think there's a fire in LA." I smiled at him and said, "No, it looks like that all the time." From high above the clouds, we could all see the reality of one of the most famous cities in the world. A huge layer of browish-gray smog covered the city, disguising its true beauty. I was glad that I lived in Oceanside.
Several hours after returning to my own country, I was at home. I desperately wanted to drive to my mother-in-law's home and pick up Alyssa, but I didn't know what would be worse. I doubted that James knew where she lived, but I was sure that he could have found out. I knew that she wasn't safe with me, but she wasn't safe without me either. Who would protect her?
The moment that I arrived to the front door of our beach condo, I realized that something wasn't right. Although the door wasn't open, not even ajar, I could see that the wood around the lock and the door jam was broken, as if someone had forced their way into the house.The door was unlocked. I wasn't sure if I should stay and figure out what had happened, or run. Suddenly, the phone rang from inside the condo. Quickly, without thinking, I unlocked the door and rushed to it and answered, "Hello."
"Thank God Jess! I didn't know what happened to you. I went down to Trafalgar at 1 am. There was blood everywhere, I called your mobile, are you hurt?" Lawrence's concerned voice was a great comfort.
"I'm fine Lawrence. I stabbed James, but I left. I got scared and I left. I don't know what to do. He'll come for me." I said.
"Just sit tight, luv. I'll be there tomorrow." His words calmed me. My fear dissipated within those ten syllables.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
June 3rd, Oceanside, California 7:42 AM
June 3rd, Oceanside, California 7:42 AM
Dawn broke against the eastern sky. I rolled over in my bed and smiled at my sleeping bed partner. Alyssa was sound asleep and her chocolate curls covered her cherub face. I kissed my daughter's forehead and made my way out of bed. She looked so beautiful lying there. She was only six and hadn't been able to sleep in her own bed since her father died in March.
On March 20th, Joseph Martinez had been driving home from a construction job and was killed in a hit and run accident on Pacific Coast Highway. Each night I recounted that horrible night and the horrific aftermath. Each day grew darker for Alyssa and me, who missed him terribly. Sometimes when I woke up in the morning I felt like he was still there beside me, but realized that he had only left half of himself with me. Joseph was a wonderful father and husband and I had come to understand that sometimes bad things happen to good people. My daughter was not so forgiving of the Lord.
So I began my Saturday morning, cooking breakfast, cleaning house and playing Go Fish with my little girl. I never won. She was too good. She was watching a Hannah Montana epsiode for probably the 15th time when I decided to go into Joseph's old office and clear things out. It had taken me two months to even open that door. I didn't want it to change. I wanted it to be just as he left it when he came home. But he wasn't coming home.
My therapist said that it would be emotionally cleansing to clear out all of his things that weren't of any importance to me. She said that throwing away all of the non-essential things would be like a weight lifted off of my chest. I had felt that weight, everyday and thought that eventually my chest would collapse under the pressure.
I sat down in his large, black, leather office chair, ready to peruse through old paperwork. I glided my finger through the layer of dust now covering his oak desk. Everything still in its place. A pen lay next to a contractor's bill. Was I supposed to pay that? I didn't know. I normally didn't meddle in his work affairs. I opened the first drawer to the enormous desk and what I saw, chilled every bone in my body.. A black 8 mm video cassette case with a note that read, " JESS WATCH ME!"
Dawn broke against the eastern sky. I rolled over in my bed and smiled at my sleeping bed partner. Alyssa was sound asleep and her chocolate curls covered her cherub face. I kissed my daughter's forehead and made my way out of bed. She looked so beautiful lying there. She was only six and hadn't been able to sleep in her own bed since her father died in March.
On March 20th, Joseph Martinez had been driving home from a construction job and was killed in a hit and run accident on Pacific Coast Highway. Each night I recounted that horrible night and the horrific aftermath. Each day grew darker for Alyssa and me, who missed him terribly. Sometimes when I woke up in the morning I felt like he was still there beside me, but realized that he had only left half of himself with me. Joseph was a wonderful father and husband and I had come to understand that sometimes bad things happen to good people. My daughter was not so forgiving of the Lord.
So I began my Saturday morning, cooking breakfast, cleaning house and playing Go Fish with my little girl. I never won. She was too good. She was watching a Hannah Montana epsiode for probably the 15th time when I decided to go into Joseph's old office and clear things out. It had taken me two months to even open that door. I didn't want it to change. I wanted it to be just as he left it when he came home. But he wasn't coming home.
My therapist said that it would be emotionally cleansing to clear out all of his things that weren't of any importance to me. She said that throwing away all of the non-essential things would be like a weight lifted off of my chest. I had felt that weight, everyday and thought that eventually my chest would collapse under the pressure.
I sat down in his large, black, leather office chair, ready to peruse through old paperwork. I glided my finger through the layer of dust now covering his oak desk. Everything still in its place. A pen lay next to a contractor's bill. Was I supposed to pay that? I didn't know. I normally didn't meddle in his work affairs. I opened the first drawer to the enormous desk and what I saw, chilled every bone in my body.. A black 8 mm video cassette case with a note that read, " JESS WATCH ME!"
Thursday, December 11, 2008
June 28th, Westminster, London, 12:33 AM
June 28th, Westminster, London, 12:33 AM
I've thought to myself many times, just give up. Just give up, Jess. Give up and go home. That's what everyone else would do. No one expects you to be brave. But I'm not everyone else, am I? I knew if I could just dig deep enough I could fight back. I wasn't going going to back down. My last breath couldn't prevent me from carrying out his execution.
The clouds enveloped Trafalgar Square quickly and silently. Dark, heavy rain would soon consume us. The darkness loomed around us and a chill crept deep into my flesh. My heart pounded, but my eyes showed no signs of fear. I stood there, eyes narrowed with anger. He stared back at me, almost grinning. The expression on my face remained uninhibited.
"You know I could kill you, right here, right now. No one would notice," James said, wryly.
"Then do it," I replied, my heart beating even faster. James shifted, slightly taken aback.
"No, I think I'll make you writhe. Squirm a little It doesn't matter where you try to hide Jess. I'll find you. I might decide to slit your throat while you're sleeping in Nepal. Or maybe I'll gut you like a fish while you're strolling the streets of Madrid."
I tried to fight back the fear and glanced for a moment up at Admiral Nelson, watching us from above. My eyes fixated back on James and I said, "Right. Well don't flatter yourself. I'm not some dumb bitch that you can intimidate. You're the one who should watch his back." The wind had picked up and was now blowing my long chestnut hair into my face, but I ignored the strands as they disturbed my vision.
James moved swiftly and lunged toward me. Quickly, I plunged the long rigid blade of the black Bowie knife I had been concealing in my jacket, deep into his stomach. He fell to the ground and my hands were covered in his blood. I stepped back wondering if Lady McBeth herself had been so cold.
June's rain flooded the Square before I could catch my breath. I ran, as fast as I could possibly go, down the dark path, out of the Square. I knew I hadn't killed him and I think that is what terrified me the most. He'd be back and when he did come back, he'll kill me. So I ran, hailed a taxi and headed straight for Heathrow Airport.
I've thought to myself many times, just give up. Just give up, Jess. Give up and go home. That's what everyone else would do. No one expects you to be brave. But I'm not everyone else, am I? I knew if I could just dig deep enough I could fight back. I wasn't going going to back down. My last breath couldn't prevent me from carrying out his execution.
The clouds enveloped Trafalgar Square quickly and silently. Dark, heavy rain would soon consume us. The darkness loomed around us and a chill crept deep into my flesh. My heart pounded, but my eyes showed no signs of fear. I stood there, eyes narrowed with anger. He stared back at me, almost grinning. The expression on my face remained uninhibited.
"You know I could kill you, right here, right now. No one would notice," James said, wryly.
"Then do it," I replied, my heart beating even faster. James shifted, slightly taken aback.
"No, I think I'll make you writhe. Squirm a little It doesn't matter where you try to hide Jess. I'll find you. I might decide to slit your throat while you're sleeping in Nepal. Or maybe I'll gut you like a fish while you're strolling the streets of Madrid."
I tried to fight back the fear and glanced for a moment up at Admiral Nelson, watching us from above. My eyes fixated back on James and I said, "Right. Well don't flatter yourself. I'm not some dumb bitch that you can intimidate. You're the one who should watch his back." The wind had picked up and was now blowing my long chestnut hair into my face, but I ignored the strands as they disturbed my vision.
James moved swiftly and lunged toward me. Quickly, I plunged the long rigid blade of the black Bowie knife I had been concealing in my jacket, deep into his stomach. He fell to the ground and my hands were covered in his blood. I stepped back wondering if Lady McBeth herself had been so cold.
June's rain flooded the Square before I could catch my breath. I ran, as fast as I could possibly go, down the dark path, out of the Square. I knew I hadn't killed him and I think that is what terrified me the most. He'd be back and when he did come back, he'll kill me. So I ran, hailed a taxi and headed straight for Heathrow Airport.
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