2. Cat
2
CAT
So much had happened in the last two weeks, and yet it felt like the world had also stood still.
First, we had the funeral for my parents. I didn’t cry once during the ceremony. I likely didn’t have any more tears left. I was just numb. Both my parents had been shot during the robbery and died almost instantly. The only thing that had helped me sleep even a little at night was knowing they didn’t suffer.
All our relatives from Puerto Rico came up for the funeral, but I didn’t even remember many of them being here. They all offered condolences and for Valeria and me to move back home with them. I could go to college there, and Valeria could start fresh in high school. On one hand, those things made sense, but on another, it felt foreign to us. Valeria and I had only ever known Florida . It’s where we were born and raised. We’d visited Puerto Rico but had never lived there.
Our abuela was going to stay with us for a few weeks, at least to get through the trial, but then she wanted us to move back with her. She was old and her English wasn’t that great, so it was easier for her to go back home. Valeria begged me to stay here.
“You’re eighteen now. You could take care of me, and we could stay here in Florida ,” she begged me. “ Please , Cat . Please .”
I wanted to, I really did, but mentally, I was drained. I told myself I would wait until the trial was over and then decide.
The last remaining gunman from the robbery had not been the brightest bulb in the box. He had gone to the hospital shortly after to seek treatment for his injuries, where he was arrested shortly after. Because he had sustained injuries in the shootout, it took nearly two weeks before he was released from the hospital. He was set to appear at a bail hearing later that morning, and I was to testify at that hearing since I was the only survivor to have seen his face. Apparently , they wanted to use my testimony to prevent him from getting bail before the real trial began in several weeks.
My sister was not expected to testify but was still coming to court with me in case the prosecutors changed their minds. We sat just outside the courtroom in what felt like a stuffy doctor’s office waiting room.
I thought I would be more nervous about the bail hearing, but I was still so numb from everything that had happened that I didn’t really register being there. The attorneys on both sides asked questions, as did the judge. The words just kind of came out of my mouth as though they were memorized, which I guess they kind of were since I had practiced with the prosecutor and other attorneys the past few days.
When I finished testifying, I walked past the man who shot at my family. The one whose face—and creepy scar— I’d tried to avoid looking at while I testified.
The police had told us that all the men involved in the robbery that day were members of the Cross Street Kings , a local gang that was rapidly growing in both numbers and violent criminal activity. The man I testified against stared at me, his face completely blank, showing no emotion. The men seated behind him in the gallery area, however, radiated hostility. There were two of them, and they looked like they belonged to the shooter’s gang.
Our attorney had warned us that they were likely there not just to support their own, but also to ensure nothing damaging was said about the gang. They didn’t speak—but they didn’t need to. Their glares said everything their words did not.
I was escorted out of the courthouse along with my sister, two attorneys, and two police officers. I walked down the stairs, holding my sister’s hand, just wanting to get home. At the bottom of the stairs, we had turned to go to our vehicle, when I heard several pops. I froze. Suddenly , I was back in the gas station with my family and being shot at. I felt my body being thrown to the ground, and my knee seared with pain. Shouts and screams exploded into the quiet scene before I realized we weren’t back at the gas station but, in fact, were being shot at right outside the courthouse.
Next, we were huddled into a car and whisked away. It took several minutes for me to realize I was even injured, likely due to the adrenaline. I reached down to grab my leg which felt excruciatingly painful, only to realize my leg was not positioned correctly. I didn’t have to be a doctor to know your knee and leg bone should not be angled that way.
An hour later, my sister and I sat in a hospital room after we had both been checked out. Valeria was fine, having only gotten a scratch, which only slightly eased my heart rate. I , however, had broken several bones from my knee to my ankle from the fall. After a successful surgery, I was put in a cast for several weeks and would need to rehab it after the cast came off.
There had been several police officers posted outside our hospital room ever since we got there, but now I looked up to see one of our attorneys from the trial and two other people walking in the door to our room. One had an FBI jacket on. The other was in a suit, both with grim looks on their faces.
“Catalina, Valeria ,” our attorney Miranda spoke. “ This is FBI Special Agent Ken Cooper and US Deputy Marshal Adam Keys .”
Not knowing why they were there but also not having the energy to ask, I just nodded at both of them. My sister, however, did not have a problem speaking.
“Are you here to arrest the people who tried to kill us?” Valeria asked loudly.
“We are currently searching for them,” said the man in the suit, who must have been Deputy Marshal Keys .
“Who was it? Was it the guy she testified against? How did he get a weapon?” Valeria fired off in rapid succession.
“The man in custody did not shoot her,” Miranda said. “ Our other prosecutors confirm he was inside the courtroom the entire time, but we do believe it was someone from the Cross Street Kings who shot at you both. One of the men sitting behind the suspect in the courtroom left after we did to make a phone call, apparently.”
My heart rate sped up. They were after us because I had testified! Was it my fault? I not only put myself in danger, but my sister too.
“What do we do now? What if they come back?” Valeria all but yelled.
“That’s where we come in,” the man in the FBI jacket said. “ The FBI and US Marshals will give you and your sister a new identity and put you up in a safe house.”
“How safe?” Valeria asked, but before they could answer, I spoke up.
“Witness protection?” I choked out.
“Yes, ma’am,” the agent confirmed.
“For how long?” I asked.
“At least until the trial is over and all threats against you and your sister are removed,” he responded in a very monotone voice.
“Do we get to stay together?” I asked.
“Yes, your sister is a minor, so we will be transferring her custody over to you and offer you both protection in a new location,” the agent responded.
“We have to move?” my sister all but shrieked. “ What about our stuff and our belongings and my friends and our house?”
“Police officers are at the house now, assisting in packing up some things from your home so we can bring those to you,” the agent said. “ You can give us a list of things if you need something specific.”
“I want to pick out my own stuff,” Valeria said.
“You can’t,” the agent said, but his eyes darted over to Miranda , hinting at something we clearly weren’t privy to.
My sister started to talk, but I held my hands up and spoke over her.
“What aren’t you telling us?” I asked slowly. “ Why can’t we go back to the house?”
Our attorney, Miranda , sighed and came over to stand closer to me near the hospital bed. I liked her. She had been very nice and patient with both Valeria and me through this whole process. At this moment, her proximity made me uncomfortable, though.
“The best way to keep you safe is to remove the target,” the agent spoke up. “ The official report from the FBI is that the two of you were shot while exiting the courtroom…and sustained significant injuries. No one involved has any idea if you survived or not. This buys us some time to move you to a safe location and keep you there until the threat is over.”
My heart dropped. My sister gasped beside me.
“How will Abuela know how to find us?” Valeria asked, barely above a whisper.
“The only people who will know your location are in this room, plus a few others at the highest levels of the FBI and Marshal Service .”
Abuela. Our family. They just buried my parents, and now they will lose Valeria and me.
“But can we see them after the trial is over and the bad guys go to jail?” Valeria asked.
“I can’t answer that,” the agent responded with no emotion in his voice but also with a very distinct finality. “ There are too many variables, but we can reassess after that time comes.”
“What happens if they come after me the next time I testify?” I asked.
“For now, we will use your testimony from today, which was recorded, to use at later trial dates for this week,” Miranda spoke. “ We will meet with the judge privately to explain the situation to him and can allow for extra testimonies that would remain private through sealed courtrooms. The suspect and his attorneys will never know your new identity or where you have been moved to.”
“Can I at least say goodbye to my friends and family before we leave?” Valeria asked, but I already knew the answer.
“I’m sorry, no,” the agent said.
“As soon as the doctor clears you to leave, we will take you both to the safe house and get you set up with new identities,” the marshal explained.
And with that, my life fell even further apart. Losing our parents had felt like the worst thing that could ever happen to us, but now, being forced into a new identity proved me wrong. A new identity and path of life that neither of us wanted.