Page 63 of Her Only Hero

“Who are you?”

He slowly stood from behind the boxes and held up his hands.

“You’re him!”

His black clothes blended in with the shadows. “I’m not here to hurt you.” His words were weak and slurred. Was he high? He shifted.

“Stay still!”

“Please, let—”

“Stop!” I yelled, but he wouldn’t stand still and swayed forward. I couldn’t let him get any closer, and I fired a warning shot to the far right. The man fell back.

As if someone was squeezing my throat, I struggled to breathe. Had I just shot him? But I hadn’t been aiming at him. The shot should have missed him by a mile. Oh, God! His feet moved, and he groaned. I moved cautiously toward him with my gun still drawn. He held his shoulder with bloody fingers and looked at me with glassy eyes.

“Danger.” The word escaped quietly from his mouth, and he slumped back.

“Oh, God.” I placed the gun on the ground and grabbed a T-shirt from the top of the dryer. I balled it up, but I was terrified to move closer to the man. He was breathing funny, labored, and he appeared to be in rough shape. I stepped closer. When I was in arm’s length, I crouched, watching him the whole time. I bit my lip. I wasn’t a doctor or a nurse. I had chosen to work in a lab because I didn’t want to have patient contact—too squeamish. But here I was, attempting to do first aid. I slowly moved the guy’s cool hand and pushed the cloth onto the wound.

He mumbled something I couldn’t understand. Maybe I was hurting him, but I maintained pressure.

I grabbed my phone from my back pocket and struggled to hold it steady as I dialed.

“I need an ambulance,” I said and recited my address.

“What’s the emergency?” the attendant said.

“A man has been shot.”

“Is he conscious?”

The man lay motionless. “I don’t think so.”

“Is he still breathing?”

His chest moved.

“Yes, he’s breathing.”

“Help is on the way. Are you able to apply pressure to the wound?”

“Yes. I am. Please hurry.”

I hung up and dialed Patrick’s number.

“Hey, babe,” he said.

“I shot someone,” I uttered as I looked at the guy’s face. He didn’t seem like a substance misuser. Sobs shook me from the inside out.

“What? Where are you?”

“At my apartment. The basement.”

“Jesus! Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“I’ll be right there.”

---