2. Sawyer
SAWYER
I turn to run, getting knocked around by the hundreds of other people who have now realized what’s happening. My purse flies out of my hand, but I keep running. I can’t feel anything as my body moves on pure adrenaline. I’m not thinking. I’m just running. I turn down an alleyway on the backside of campus between two buildings where some of the staff park. The steady humming is so loud bouncing off all the buildings that I can’t tell which direction it’s coming from. I turn back to a shriek behind me, and as I turn forward again, I see three men getting out of a black SUV, walking toward campus.
“Stop!” I scream as I run toward them. “Go back! He has a gun! Get back in the car! You have to go!” I shout. As I’m stepping off the curb toward them, I miss it, crashing into the pavement, sending my phone sliding across the parking lot and underneath a parked car. Behind me, shots ring out again, and I feel two hands pull me up.
“Come on,” the man in front says. “Come with us. We will get you out of here.”
I don’t have the opportunity to survey the situation here. My choices are a maniac with a machine gun or a car full of strange men.
I take his hand and let him help me into the SUV. The other men get into the front, and the car peels out of the spot and off campus.
“To the city,” the man in the back with me says, and the driver nods. I have no idea where I’m going or who I’m with. I have no way to contact anyone. I have no idea how many of my friends, my professors—anyone on campus, for that matter—are dead or alive.
My body starts to shake. I’m not crying. I’m not screaming. I’m not speaking. I’m just shaking.
I feel a hand reach across and take mine, and I turn to him. It’s the first moment I’ve had to really look at him. He seems to be the man in charge. Not the most opportune moment to notice, but he’s beautiful. He has dark-brown hair that’s speckled with gray, with a matching beard and slight wrinkles around his eyes that make him look distinguished. But his eyes themselves, big and chestnut, have something soft about them. He feels familiar, but I don’t have any brain power left to dedicate to figuring out why.
“Hey,” he whispers as his grip tightens on my hand, “what’s your name?”
“Uh, it’s Sawyer,” I stammer.
“Sawyer,” he says, his eyes and his hand never leaving me. “My name is Julian. Can you look at me?”
I raise my eyes from our interlocked hands to his. Julian. Why do I know that name?
“You’re safe. I’m going to bring you to my apartment in the city, okay? We will figure out what to do next from there. We will just take this one step at a time. Alright?”
I nod, clenching onto his hand. I have no idea how much time has passed, but before I know it, I’m in the middle of New York City. Campus is only about an hour away in Connecticut, and on the very rare occasion, I’ve made my way into Manhattan a few times with some friends.
God, my friends. I hope they’re alive.
I reach my free hand down to my pocket, patting my pants on either side. I look up at him.
“I…I lost my phone. Oh, God. My mom… I lost my phone.”
“It’s okay,” he says, squeezing my hand. “It’s alright. We’re about to be at my building. Let’s go upstairs, and you can call her once we’re out of the elevator.” The two men open our doors, and the one on my side leads me around the car to where Julian is waiting for me. He takes my hand again, and one of the men scans a badge to let us into the building. We walk down a small hallway to an elevator that reads Penthouse , and he scans the badge again, then again once we get inside.
I can’t move. It feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest, and my feet feel like they’re made of cement. Finally, as we zip past all the other floors, the doors open.
“Come on, Sawyer,” Julian whispers, leading me out and into a palatial penthouse suite. It’s the most beautiful apartment I’ve ever seen, with the most amazing view, but I can’t even begin to take anything in. I just stand there.
“Mr. Everett, the phone is for you, sir,” one of the men says, and then it hits me.
Everett.
Julian Everett, of Everett Enterprises.
As in, one of the heirs to the multi-billion-dollar Everett Enterprises empire. As in, everything in this room is worth more than I am. Julian takes the phone.
“Hello, yes, we’re safe,” he says. “No, please don’t reach out to the press. No. No one needs to know I was on campus. Yes. No. This isn’t about me. Do they have any information? Jesus. Okay, thank you,” he says, hanging up. He walks toward me.
“There’s no information yet. Campus is locked down, but the gunman is still at large. Here, call your mom, and let her know you’re safe. Then if it’s okay, I’m going to have a doctor come up to take a look at you. I think you might need stitches.”
He nods toward my head, and I reach a hand up to feel the wet, sticky blood on the side of my face. I hiss when I touch the gash just below my hairline. I’m not even sure what it’s from—bumping into people or falling. I nod, taking the phone.
“Come,” he says, ushering me farther into the apartment. “You can use the study.” I follow him into a massive office with floor-to-ceiling built-ins, a huge desk, and an even bigger view. “I’ll wait outside.”
I wait till he closes the door then shakily dial my mom’s number. She never used to answer strange numbers, but ever since I moved across the country, she answers everything.
“Hello, this is Emily Willis,” she says, her voice shaky, and I can tell she’s crying.
“Mom, it’s me,” I say, and I hear her bark out a sob.
“Oh, my god,” she cries. “Oh, God. Oh, thank you, God,” she says, and for a moment, it’s just the two of us sitting on the phone, crying. “Tell me what happened, baby. Where were you? What did you see?”
I wipe my tears on my jacket sleeve and sniff.
“It…it happened right after I hung up with you. I saw him, Mom,” I say. “I saw…” My voice trails off, and I can’t stop crying.
“Oh, baby,” she says. “I’m coming. I know there are some bad storms right now, but I’ll get on the next flight?—”
“No, Mom,” I say, “you can’t miss your shifts. It’s okay. I’m okay.”
“I’m coming, Sawyer. You’re not being alone right now.” I want to fight her on it. I know how badly she needs every penny she works for. But right now, the only thing I want is a warm hug from my mom. “Where are you, baby?”
“I…uh… Mom, I think I’m in Julian Everett’s apartment.”
“What? Everett? Like the Everetts?”
“I…don’t even know…I’m not even sure…” I start to say. Words aren’t coming to me. Nothing is making any sense.
“Sweetheart, I think you’re in shock. Who are you with? Let me talk to someone. Whose phone is this?”
As if he heard me, there’s a short tap on the door before he opens it again.
“Everything okay?” he whispers. I nod.
“She wants to talk to you,” I say. He nods, walking toward me.
“No problem,” he says. He takes the phone. “Hello, this is Julian. Yes, hi. Yes, it’s really me. Ma’am, I’m so sorry for the absolute terror you’ve probably been through over the last hour or so. Yes…well, yes. She saved me, actually. I was due for a speaking engagement on campus today, and she happened to be running as I was coming in. She stopped us…what’s that? Yes.”
As he’s talking to her, I hear the ding of the elevator chiming through the apartment. One of the tall men who I presume to be Julian’s security has poked his head into the room. Julian covers the speaker.
“Doc’s here,” he says. Julian nods toward me, and the security man waves me out, leading me down the hall and up a set of stairs. We walk down the hallway, and to my left and my right, there is a door on either side. He takes me to the left and opens one of the doors. Inside is a massive suite, and he walks me through it to the extra-large bathroom.
“Sawyer, this is Dr. Simon,” he says, holding his hand out to a young red-headed man who is opening a medical kit and setting things neatly on the massive bathroom vanity. “And I am Tyler, by the way. Other big guy downstairs is Russ. Holler if you need anything.” I nod.
“Thank you,” I say. I turn to Dr. Simon, who I would guess is fresh out of medical school. He doesn’t look much older than me, but there’s something really calming and commanding about his presence that puts me at ease.
“Sawyer, right?” he says. I nod, and he extends a hand to me. “It’s nice to meet you, but I’m so sorry that it’s under these circumstances. I’m so glad you’re safe physically, but I know there is a long road ahead.”
I nod.
The gunman hasn’t even been apprehended.
“Mind if I take a look?” he asks, pointing to my head. He pats the toilet lid, and I sit down, closing my eyes. “Do you know what happened?” he asks. I clear my throat.
“I got bumped into when a bunch of us were running,” I say, “and I also fell in the parking lot. I don’t remember hitting my head, so I’m not sure which it was.” He nods.
“Well, either way, we will get you cleaned up,” he says. There’s a knock on the door just as he’s reaching for some gauze and something to sterilize and clean the cut. Julian steps in.
“How’s she looking, Doc?” he asks.
“Hey, Julian,” he says without taking his eyes off what he’s doing. “She looks good, considering. Three, maybe four stitches and she should be good to go.”
Julian nods and then sits on the edge of the free-standing tub that’s in front of the toilet.
“So, I talked to your mom,” he says, “explained how you ended up here. There are some flight delays coming out of Seattle right now because of weather, but she will be on the next commercial one they can get out of there. Unfortunately, none of our jets are on the West Coast right now, so we can’t get her here any sooner than that. She’s on standby until my people can get her a ticket.”
“But…how…she can’t…” I start to ask, but when we make eye contact, I know why. He’s paying for it. “You don’t have to…that’s so nice of you.” He nods and keeps talking.
“We’ve ordered you a new phone that should be here shortly, and I have one of my guys working on downloading your contacts so you can start checking in with your friends.”
We make eye contact again, and I swallow as Dr. Simon jabs me with the needle of Novocaine. I wince, and I feel Julian’s hand on mine.
“No updates on the shooter as of now, but I do know that campus is locked down with no one allowed on or off until law enforcement catches him. I spoke with your mom, and I’m happy to put you up in a hotel, but you are also more than welcome to stay here tonight. You can have this suite. It locks completely from the inside, if that makes you feel any more comfortable. She wasn’t a fan of the idea of you being alone tonight, and I don’t think she’s wrong. Obviously, it’s up to you, but I wanted to let you know that you are more than welcome to stay put.”
I swallow as Dr. Simon prepares the stitches while the Novocaine sets in. I clear my throat.
“Thank you,” is all I can muster, my voice cracking. He squeezes my hand.
“I’m going to go check on the status of your phone,” he says. I nod as our hands break from each other.
A little while later, Dr. Simon is cleaning up his supplies, and we’re headed back downstairs. He and Julian talk for a few minutes, and then I see Julian hand him an envelope as Russ walks him to the elevator. Tyler is nowhere to be seen, and suddenly, I’m aware that it’s just me and the random billionaire who swept me up to his tall tower today.
There are three large brown bags on the massive kitchen island, and Julian grabs them, walking toward me. There are three huge couches in the middle of the sunken living room centered around a large fireplace.
“Before you sit,” he says—not that I was going to—“I thought you might want to change. I guessed on sizes, but one of my assistants grabbed a few things in a few different sizes so you could wear whatever was the most comfortable. I thought you might want to…get the day off of you.”
One thing about me is that I hate to feel like I owe people. Gifts make me uncomfortable because I have this overwhelming sense that I’m only worthy of them if I can return the favor. But today, I can’t seem to care. And he’s right. I want nothing more than to get this outfit off of me. I want to burn it.
“Thank you,” I say.
“There is shampoo and soap and everything you should need in the bathroom in your suite. If you need anything else, I’ll be right down here. The phone should get here by the time you’re done.”
I nod and go back upstairs. I choose an ultra-soft sweatsuit and some fluffy socks from the bag and get into the shower, turning the water as hot as it will go. And while the room fills with steam, I sob quietly against the glass.
I get myself together, wash my hair and body, and get dressed. When I get back downstairs, Julian is plugging a phone into one of the chargers that has magically appeared from one of the arms of the couch.
“Just in time,” he says. “Aaron said that he was able to get into your cloud and download your contacts. He is still working on getting your pictures, but the contacts are here.” He hands me the phone. “Do you want some privacy?”
I think about it for a moment.
“No,” I say. “Could you sit with me?”
He nods, grabbing a glass of whiskey off the table and scooting closer to me.
“Of course.”