Chapter Two Jennifer
Chapter Two
Jennifer
A loud shot shatters the morning silence, reverberating through the air. My breath catches. Was that a gunshot?
I freeze, scanning my surroundings, but the streets are empty, and the sound has already faded.
It’s only 7 a.m., and I’m already dealing with this. Great. Just another Monday morning in Chicago. How surprising.
I shake off the unease and keep walking. My mornings are always the same: drop my daughter off at preschool, grab breakfast, then head home to get ready for work.
Predictable, maybe even comforting—but today feels different. That sound lingers in the back of my mind.
This shortcut through the alley isn’t my favorite—it’s disgusting and filled with trash—but it saves time. Time I desperately need as a single mom.
Especially on mornings like this—when every second matters.
I turn into the alley—my least favorite part of this route—when I see it.
Blood. A dark pool of it, glistening on the cracked pavement. My stomach twists. My body locks in.
Instinct screams at me to turn around, to leave before I become part of a murder scene—but my feet won’t move.
And then I see them. And they? They’re watching me, too. As if they’d been waiting for someone to arrive. Someone to see this cruel, bloody scene.
The two men stand over the body sprawled on the ground, their faces sharp and unfamiliar yet… oddly recognizable.
I’ve seen them somewhere before. But I can’t place where.
One of them—taller, long dark-haired, and broad-shouldered—looks startled as our eyes meet. The other, blonde with a jagged scar and a constant scowl, lets out an irritated sigh.
“Why the fuck does this have to happen today? On a Monday morning, at that,” the blonde one mutters, running a hand through his hair. The scar on his cheek twitches as he scowls.
How comforting. At least I’m not the only one who hates Monday mornings.
Fuck. I should run. I should sprint back the way I came. But my body won’t listen.
My gaze drops to the man on the ground, writhing in pain, his shirt soaked with blood.
“Did you shoot him?” The words slip out before I can stop them, my voice barely above a whisper.
The blonde guy’s eyes snap to mine—sharp, cold. “No,” he says curtly. “He is our friend.”
Friend or not, he’s dying.
I step closer, heart pounding. Their eyes track my every move, but I ignore them.
I can help him. I have to try, at least.
Without a word, I rip the scarf around my neck off and kneel beside the injured man, my knees soaking in the blood.
It sends a shiver through me, but I push the feeling aside. My scarf was expensive. But I don’t care right now. I press it firmly against the wound in his stomach.
“Listen to me,” I say, voice shaking, looking up at the men in front of me. “I’ll do what I can, but this isn’t enough. He needs a hospital. You need to call an ambulance. Now.”
The men exchange a look. And then, right when I expect them to get their phones out, the taller one shakes his head. “We can’t,” he snaps.
I scoff. “What do you mean, you can’t?” I look up at them, incredulously. “God. You’re insane. Take my phone, just call someone! Just do something!”
The man’s jaw tightens. “We. Can’t. Are you deaf, woman?”
What an asshole. Is he blind? A psycho? Someone’s dying right in front of him, and he refuses to call for help?
I bite back a snarky retort, my hands trembling as I press harder against the wound.
The injured man’s eyes flutter open. His breathing is shallow and uneven. He looks at me and smiles weakly.
“Thank you for trying,” he whispers. “But don’t bother. I deserve this. I should’ve reacted faster.”
“Nobody deserves this,” I say firmly, though I can tell he doesn’t believe me.
Who are these people? And what the hell was I thinking, getting involved?
His pulse weakens beneath my fingers. Panic claws at my chest. I’ve never lost someone like this—not without backup, not without proper tools. Not as helpless as I feel right now.
“Stay with me, please,” I urge, but his eyes begin to close. His breathing slows… shallow gasps fading into silence.
No. Fuck no, please. Not like this.
I check again—desperately—but there’s nothing. No pulse. No breath.
He’s dead.
And I? I can’t do anything. Change anything. It happened, and that’s that… That’s how the universe works.
My hands tremble as I pull back, his blood soaking through the scarf. “He’s gone,” I whisper.
The blonde one nods, his expression unreadable. The dark-haired man, however, begins to move, casually stepping back like this doesn’t mean anything. No pause. No sign of grief. Like he doesn’t care that his friend just died.
The alley falls silent again, none of our voices filling it. The distant hum of the city feels like it’s miles away.
I sit back on my heels, staring at the lifeless body in front of me. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
I’ve worked in trauma units. I’ve handled emergencies. But this? This is different.
I gently close the man’s eyes, my hands still trembling. “I’m sorry,” I murmur—more to myself than to him.
After only a few seconds, I realize how stupid this decision was. And how truly fucked up this situation is.
I push myself to stand, aware of the weight of their stares.
My voice falters. What am I supposed to say? Do they expect me to say anything?
The dark-haired man steps forward, his presence overwhelming. “You’re coming with us,” he says, his tone making it clear it’s not a request.
“What? No, I—” But it’s pointless.
“You’ve seen too much. I’m sorry, but you can’t leave. Not under these circumstances.”
I glance down at the bloodstained scarf. My stomach churns. I don’t want to go with them. I can’t. But something in his voice tells me arguing is pointless.
And the way he looked at me when he said it? It terrified me. But—God help me—there was something else in that look. Something that sent a jolt through my chest.
Something that, maybe, showed that this cold-hearted man cared for his friend after all.
Before I can protest further, he steps closer. His hand brushes my arm, steadying me. His touch is… gentle. “It’s for your safety,” he coos softly. His voice shouldn’t be that soft. Not after everything I’ve just witnessed.
And yet… I don’t question it. I don’t even want to think about it, really. Safety. Yeah, right. Somehow, I doubt that’s what this is really about.
As they help me to my feet, the truth settles like lead in my chest. I tried to help. I did everything I could.
But it wasn’t enough. And I don’t ever want to feel this powerlessness again.
Even as a nurse, I wasn’t ready for this. It’s been years since I started working in a hospital. And up until now, I let myself believe the illusion that—if I want to save someone—I can.
That illusion? It’s gone now. Fucking shattered and useless.