Lying to Live (6 page)

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Authors: Darrien Lee

BOOK: Lying to Live
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“I want to go home, Domingo,” she sobbed even harder.
“Hang on, Mya. I'll get you out of here.”
Instinct told Domingo to do whatever it took to get himself and his sister out of there. He led her into the bathroom, where he found a small window over the toilets, which he was able to get Mya through.
“Mya, don't move. I'll be right out to get you.”
“Don't leave me, Domingo. I'm scared, Domingo.”
“I know you are. I am too,” he admitted. “Just wait for me, and if I'm not out there in five minutes, start walking home.”
With tears in her eyes she nodded in agreement as she huddled down against the wall and hugged her knees. Domingo climbed down off the toilet and slowly made his way out into the hallway, where he met one of the clerks.
“What happened?” he asked the young man, who was bleeding from what appeared to be injuries from broken glass.
“Some fool came in and started shooting at Viper.”
“Where is he now?” Domingo asked as he watched the young man hold a napkin over the wound on his cheek.
“I don't know. He took off out the door.”
Domingo patted the young man on the shoulder and said, “Take care, bro. I have to get my sister out of here.”
“I understand, bro,” the clerk said as he made his way into the restroom.
Domingo cautiously exited the restaurant and turned the corner into the alley just as police cars pulled up to the curb. He grabbed Mya by the hand and basically dragged her down the alley, which ran between the restaurant and a Laundromat. Once they were at least three blocks away, they stopped to catch their breath.
Domingo hugged his sister and said, “I didn't know you could run like that.”
She held on to her brother tightly and said, “Let's keep going, Domingo. We're almost home.”
He tilted her chin upward and looked into her tear-streaked face and said, “I'm proud of how you handled yourself back there.”
She wiped her tears and said, “I don't know why. I was screaming like a baby.”
He kissed her cheek and said, “You only did what I wanted to do. Don't think I wasn't scared.”
“I thought you got shot,” his sister revealed.
“We're fine. I got us out of there, didn't I?” he asked. “Now your big brother is going to get you home, but I need you to pull yourself together for me. Okay?”
“I'll try,” she answered. “What are we going to tell Mom and Dad?”
He took her by the hand and said, “The truth.”
Back at the restaurant, police taped off the area, while detectives interviewed workers and the few patrons who had stuck around. As the detectives investigated the scene, they did notice a few droplets of blood leading out of the building. The droplets were pretty consistent, and it wasn't clear if they were from a bullet or flying glass.
The detectives continued questioning the manager and the counter clerks regarding the shooting, but most of them were unable to help since they had all dropped to the floor once the bullets started flying. As far as the patrons that stuck around, most of them were too afraid to get involved in the case since Viper was the obvious target in the shooting. So far none of them had even mentioned his name, and their descriptions of the face of the shooter were vague too. Since Detectives Daniels and Young had been working the homicide at the store, they drove over to the restaurant to see if this shooting was in some way related to their case.
“What happened here?” Detective Young asked the responding officers.
“We're still piecing it together,” one of the officers replied. “When the shooting started, people scattered, but we still have the manager and all the employees inside.”
Detective Daniels pulled out his notepad and asked, “Did anyone get hit?”
“If they did, they didn't stick around. We have officers checking area hospitals and clinics for anyone coming in with an injury consistent with a gunshot.”
The detectives continued to inspect the bullet-ridden restaurant. Detective Young asked, “Does anyone know what prompted the shooting or who the target was?”
“The manager doesn't know. He said the restaurant was full when the shooting started and it's a miracle no one was killed. He also said a guy from the neighborhood they call Viper was in the restaurant before the shooting started,” the officer said.
“Viper?” Detective Daniels asked. “That's a familiar name. What about the shooter? Could anyone identify him?”
“Not that we've been able to find. Witnesses said someone tackled the shooter, making him drop the gun, but whoever it was didn't stick around, either,” the officer said.
“Maybe they had a good reason not to stick around,” Detective Young answered. “If the restaurant has surveillance cameras, I want to see them. It could mean getting a dangerous person off the street and possibly even a killer.”
Chapter Six
Denim drove home with a full stomach and a warm heart. She had enjoyed spending the afternoon with Dré and his family. The ribs were tender and delicious, and his mother's potato salad was to die for. Now she was headed home to work on a paper for her honors world history class, but before she could get there, a car barreled out of nowhere, ran the red light, and T-boned her car, sending it into a three-sixty spin. Smoke began to billow out from under the hood of Denim's car as she sat behind the steering wheel, dazed and confused. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror and noticed that her head was bleeding from a large gash. She didn't know if she had any other injuries, but after smelling smoke, she realized her car might be on fire and she went into a panic. Denim's adrenaline kicked in, and she was able to pull herself out of her Mustang. Spectators stood on the side of the road, and Denim couldn't understand why no one came to her aid.
“Could someone help me please?” she called out to them as she slowly made her way over to the car that had hit her.
Coughing from the smoke, she went to the passenger side of the car and saw a man inside, moaning in agony. The driver of the car was clearly unconscious and unresponsive.
Denim opened the passenger side door and asked, “Are you okay?”
“No. I think my leg is broken.”
At that moment she heard a swooshing sound and noticed flames coming out from under the hood of the car.
“Get me out of here!” the man screamed.
“Somebody help me!” she yelled out to the large crowd that had gathered on the curb, but still no one came to her aid. Realizing no one would help her, she pulled the passenger side door open and grabbed the man's arm. “You're going to have to help me,” she said. “I can't do this by myself.”
The man grimaced and pushed himself out of the car as best he could while Denim pulled his upper body out of the car. Denim helped the man over to the curb and sat him down on the ground. Fire trucks and paramedics arrived on the scene and quickly doused the fire and pulled the driver out of the partially burned vehicle. He was in bad shape, but paramedics felt that he would make it.
While paramedics attended to Denim and the man she'd pulled to safety, she looked around at the crowd, glaring at them.
“It looks like you're going to need a few stitches,” one of the paramedics told her.
“What about the guys who hit me?” she asked.
The paramedic looked over in the men's direction and said, “You're lucky. One of them has a broken leg, but the other one is critical and he sustained some burns.”
Denim stared at the faces in the crowd and shook her head. “I need to call my parents.”
At that exact moment a policeman walked over and handed Denim her purse.
“Is she going to be transported to the ER?” the policeman asked.
“I'm okay,” Denim replied.
“You took a hard hit, and you need stitches. I suggest you go to make sure there are no internal injuries,” the paramedic advised.
“Fine,” she answered as she pulled out her cell phone and dialed her parents and then Dré. As expected, they freaked out and made a beeline to the hospital to meet her.
Minutes later Denim climbed into the back of the ambulance, alongside the man she'd helped out of the car. They made eye contact, and Denim smiled.
“How's your leg?” she asked.
“It's killing me, but the doc says I'll live,” he revealed. “How about you?”
“I have a terrible headache, but other than that, I'm okay.”
“Cool,” he answered before closing his eyes. “What's your name, Shorty?”
“Denim,” she answered. “What's yours?”
“My friends call me R.J., and by the way, thanks for helping me out of the car while everyone else stood by and watched.”
“You're welcome,” she answered before watching in silence as the paramedic started an IV on the man. She texted with Dré during the entire trip to the hospital, and when she stepped out of the ambulance at the hospital, her parents and Dré and his family were anxiously awaiting her arrival.
Tears filled her eyes as her parents hugged her and inspected her injury.
“I'm fine,” she announced.
Dré stepped forward and gave her a hug and a kiss and said, “You don't look fine. You have blood all over your shirt.”
A nurse walked over and said, “I'm sorry to break up this reunion, but we need to get her to the examining room.”
Denim's mom asked, “Can I please go with my daughter?”
“Sure,” the nurse replied.
Paramedics wheeled the man on a stretcher past the family, and Dré did a double take. Police also arrived to get evidence and interview the victims of the accident.
Denim's father, Samuel Mitchell, stepped forward and stopped one of the officers and asked, “Was that man the one who hit my daughter?”
“Who's your daughter, sir?”
“Her name is Denim Mitchell. She was driving a Mustang.”
The officer looked at his notes and said, “Yes, she was hit by another vehicle. The man they just brought in was the passenger of the vehicle. The driver of the car has already been brought in, in critical condition.”
“Was alcohol involved?” Mr. Mitchell asked curiously.
“Our investigation is still in the preliminary stage, but we didn't see any evidence of any at the scene,” the officer revealed. “Once we have more information, I'll make sure it's passed on to you and your family.”
In the examination room, Valessa Mitchell held her daughter's hand while the doctor checked Denim for various injuries. Once he finished with the first round of tests, he turned to Denim and asked her if it was okay to discuss her medical situation in front of her mother. Denim nodded in confusion, not understanding the repercussions. That was when the doctor explained that since she was eighteen, she had the right to privacy regarding her medical condition. With that behind them, the doctor exited the room and allowed the nurse to continue with Denim.
“Okay, Denim, after we stitch up that cut on your head, the doctor would like you to go for a few X-rays just to rule out any unseen injuries, but before we take you up, I also need to verify whether or not there's a possibility that you could be pregnant.”
Denim's eyes widened and her skin unexpectedly changed color and so did her mother's.
She cleared her throat and said, “Well, there's a possibility, but I'm pretty sure I'm not.”
“Denim,” Mrs. Mitchell whispered.
“Mom, don't start. I'm careful,” Denim revealed. “What do you want me to do? Lie?”
Her mother shook her head and immediately teared up.
Seeing Mrs. Mitchell's anxiety, the nurse intervened and said, “Mrs. Mitchell, it's never easy finding out your children are sexually active, but at eighteen, it is a reality, and I commend your daughter for being honest. I have no doubt that you've given Denim all the right tools to become a responsible young woman.”
With that said, Mrs. Mitchell cupped her daughter's face, kissed her cheek, and said, “I love you, and I trust you'll continue to make good choices. Don't let me down.”
“Don't worry, Mom. I won't,” Denim replied before getting into the wheelchair so she could go get her stitches and X-rays.
Mrs. Mitchell wiped the stray tears from her eyes and said a silent prayer that God would continue to protect her daughter, watch over her, and help her make sound decisions regarding her future.
An hour or so later Denim was dismissed from the hospital with a clean bill of health, aside from having a slight concussion and some bruising. She was told that her muscles would probably be sore for a couple of days but otherwise she was okay. During the ride home, she pulled her diary out of her purse and made a short notation.
Dear Diary,
I freaked out my parents and Dré again today. I feel like I have an invisible target on my chest or something. Got in an accident, and now I'm a little banged up. My car is probably totaled, but it could've been much worse. Angels were definitely watching over me once again. My head is throbbing from a gash on it, and I have a slight concussion. I can't wait to get home so I can lie down. Not sure if I'm going to go to school tomorrow.
D
Denim slept for the rest of the afternoon and all night. When she woke up the following morning and sat on the side of the bed, she couldn't believe how sore her body was. As she looked in the mirror, she noticed bruises that weren't on her body the day before. That was when she realized that she'd gone through more trauma than she'd originally thought, and there was no way she could go to school today or tutor Julius. Luckily, her work schedule was only part-time this time of year. However, her cheerleading schedule was full-time, causing her to miss their grueling practices for a few days.
A soft tap on her bedroom door interrupted her thoughts. She opened the door to find her mother standing on the other side with a heating pad, toast, and some orange juice.
“How are you feeling?” Mrs. Mitchell asked as she sat the tray on the nightstand.
“Sore. Thanks for the heating pad.”
Mrs. Mitchell sat down in the chair next to her daughter's bed and asked, “You're not trying to go to school, are you?”
She leaned down and showed her mother the bruises on her arm and leg. “No, ma'am. Look at these bruises. I didn't have them yesterday.”
Mrs. Mitchell ran her hand over her daughter's soft skin and said, “It doesn't surprise me. I'm sure it'll be a couple of days before you're feeling more like yourself.”
Denim climbed back into bed and said, “I need to call Julius and cancel my tutoring sessions with him until further notice.”
Her mother stood and said, “Go ahead and eat that toast so you can take your meds. All you need to do is rest. A little later you can get in our jetted tub to help soothe your muscles.”
Denim nodded as she bit into the toast.
Her father poked his head in the door and said, “How's the patient this morning?”
“I'm fine, Daddy.”
He kissed her forehead and said, “Dré stopped by on his way to school. He's having a fit about getting to see you.”
“He's here now?” Denim asked before jumping out of bed and sprinting into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face.
Mrs. Mitchell smiled and then turned to her husband and said, “I see she's not that sore, after all. Go downstairs and stall him for a few minutes, until she get herself together. I'll let you know when she's presentable.”
“Okay, boss,” he replied before giving his wife a kiss on the lips.
Julius leaned against his locker, reading his text messages. One in particular caught his attention. It was a text from Denim about canceling their tutoring session. Her text informed him that she had been in a car accident but that she was okay, just sore from the ordeal. Concerned, he quickly dialed her number and waited for her to answer. When he heard her voice, he felt immediate relief. He had become quite attached to Denim and saw her as a dear friend. She assured him over and over that she was fine and told him she would give him all the info on her ordeal in a day or two. Satisfied, Julius wished her well and made a mental note to send her flowers after school.
“Julius!” Domingo called out to his best friend. “Why haven't you returned my call?”
Julius tucked his cell phone in his pocket and said, “Life's been kind of crazy. Those detectives showed up at my house again, and my dad went ballistic.”
“Why are they sweating you so hard just because your job application was in the store?”

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