Age Is But a Number

“Charlie, please,” Kevin said, shaking the young girl’s shoulder, hoping the shaking motion would bring her back to consciousness. “Get up, please.”

Kevin heard a distant jingle and recognized it as Charlotte’s phone. He looked over at Harold. Kevin thought he saw the older man stir and a moan escaped from his lips. Kevin grabbed Charlotte and gently pulled her away, taking the knife with him. He wanted to run and get the phone but Harold was waking up, and he worried that if he left Charlotte alone Harold would come over to her and strangle her or something. Then, when he looked down at his blood-stained, torn and ragged shirt, he saw a bump on his pocket in the shape of – a cell phone! Kevin could not believe he forgot that he had a cell phone as well and pulled it out and dialed 911 with shaking, bloody fingers.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” the man on the other line said calmly.

Kevin felt like retching but held it down, worried what it would do because of the deep gashes he had on his stomach. He panted and told the man the address of the park, racking his brain trying to remember it. “Harold Reynolds,” Kevin said, and he saw the homicidal man’s head rolling, more moans escaping from his lips. “He attacked us.”

“What’s your name? How bad was the attack?”

“It’s Kevin Jonas. He – he stabbed Charlotte,” Kevin said, looking down at the still breathing, still unconscious Charlotte. He could see her pulse drumming on the side of her neck. “Still breathing. I was stabbed multiple times too.”

“I’ll have an ambulance heading your way,” the man said, and he asked Kevin to tell him where Harold was.

“He’s waking up,” Kevin said in horror and clutched the knife. “He’s not too far from us. I don’t think I can run with Charlotte.”

“Try your best to defend yourself, Kevin,” the man said. “When he wakes up don’t let him see that you’re talking on the phone. He might kill you and run. Keep him there until the police come.”

Harold started cussing as he stirred and he rolled around onto all fours. “Charlotte,” Kevin whispered as he put the phone down before Harold could look up and see him on the phone – if he hadn’t already. “Get up. Please. We have to go.”

Kevin watched as Harold looked up at him, beat and bloody face twisted into an expression of bloodlust and hate, and stood up. He took a step forward and his eyes went cross, his hand flew to his head – where Charlotte hit him – and stumbled backwards. Kevin tried dragging Charlotte as far away as he could, watching the blood leave stains on the pale, dead grass. He felt like he had nothing else to do but drag her farther away.

“Kev . . . ,” she breathed, beginning to stir, eyes fluttering open and eyes rolling to the back of her head.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, watching Harold walking towards them one step at a time, acting like his feet weighed a ton each, and every step was a struggle. “Help’s coming.”

“Get back here,” Harold grunted, reaching for his back pocket. “Or I’ll end her misery” – he pulled the gun from behind him, pointing it at Charlotte’s limp body – “and shoot you for the hell of it.”

Kevin once again found him face-to-face with death and his body froze with fear. He could do nothing as Harold walked closer to them. Still he felt that he needed to stall just long enough for the police to be here and take Harold in, lock him up forever. But how? If he moved he and Charlotte would be shot, and Harold would get away. All that would be left for the police would be two bodies.

Harold now stood over them, gun poised over Charlotte. Kevin didn’t know what else to say except, “She won’t be any use to you now.” This made Harold stop and his eyebrow raised; it reminded Kevin of Charlotte’s eyebrow raising. “She’ll die” – he gulped and ignored the stinging of his eyes – “and you won’t have any sales.”

“I know,” Harold said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “But this little baby” – he cocked the gun – “still got you to stop. Kill you two and I can run free. They won’t get any information out of you.”

Kevin knew that. But he had to fight to stay alive just long enough for the police to end the tyranny of Harold, lock him up for life. Charlotte will not die in vain. Justice had to reign; evil will not prevail on Kevin’s watch.

“What makes you think you’ll run free?” Kevin said, a cocky smile appearing on his face. Something, a fire blazing back to life, came from within, and despite feeling lightheaded from blood loss and ready to pass out any moment he felt the urge to fight for Charlotte’s and his life. “What makes you think I haven’t already called you in?” He pointed to the spot where he left his phone.

When Harold turned around, dropping his guard for just one instant is when Kevin took the opportunity to stab Harold in the same spot he first stabbed Kevin and rip the gun from Harold’s weakened grip. Harold, too surprised to do anything, stared in shock at the knife in his side.

“Oh how the tables have turned,” Kevin said, and he pointed the gun at Harold.

Harold said nothing; he only grabbed the knife and tried stabbing Kevin. Kevin, despite his tunnel vision and dizziness, pulled the trigger. He only shot Harold on the left shoulder, watching in disappointment as blood welled and stained the shirt Harold wore. He rarely cursed, but he found himself saying, “Damn it” when he missed the mark: Harold’s heart.

When will this end?!

Harold clutched the wound and walked forward with blood seeping through his fingers, but he touched the spot Charlotte hit him with the bat and stumbled backwards again, an expression of pain on his face. Kevin tried shooting again but missed. He was starting to sway and his vision was shifting from blurry to normal, blurry to normal.

Harold was shot on the left thigh, and he stumbled forward, landing on his knees. He pulled himself, limping towards Kevin with the knife clutched so tightly in his hand that his knuckles were white. Kevin could see Harold’s determination to kill him in the older man’s eyes as he limped forward, fighting the pain and gunshot wounds to get to him. Kevin was worried Harold could see him beginning to fade.

So, as his vision became fuzzy, he shot aimlessly in Harold’s direction, hoping he hit something. Soon he could barely see, and his whole body began convulsing as he dropped to his knees. Harold was now in front of him, pupils taking over the white’s of his eyes, and beginning to sway. Kevin dropped the gun, unable to hold his arms up.

Harold swung the knife and Kevin felt the sting of the blade cut right about his left eyebrow, crimson red swirling with the black of unconsciousness. Then Harold collapsed, and Kevin, blinded by his own blood, looked down at Charlotte as her eyes began to open. His blood dripped onto her pretty dress and mixed with her own blood.

“I love you,” Charlotte whispered, eyes dilated and skin a deathly pale.

Kevin could only plummet towards the ground next to her.

.:-:.

Officer Wayne got out of the car as quickly as he could once he saw the three still bodies lying in the right field. He ran over, calling the paramedics for help, and went to his knees next to them. He knew right away which one was Harold; he had dealt with him before when almost busting him for a drug sale ten times. The other man, he surmised, was Kevin, and he was as pale as the miraculously still breathing girl beside him. Her breathing was coming out in gasps and, if he listened closely he recognized her gasping as choking. He realized in horror she was probably choking on her own blood that was coming from the gaping wound on the side of her neck.

“Kevin,” she gasped. Her eyes, when they opened, were rolling, and she began to convulse.

The paramedics came with a couple gurneys. One of them, Wayne knew, was new at this - he knew because it was his nephew. He watched as he stared in horror at the three bodies. His gaze was fixated on the girl.

“How is she still alive?” he whispered.

“Wanna keep her alive, Jonathan?” Wayne asked his nephew angrily. “Help your team get her on the gurney and get them to the hospital.”

Jonathan nodded and helped the other paramedics getting the girl on the gurney. The others got Harold onto the gurney and once he was lying down his eyes flew open and he looked at his surroundings with rage-filled eyes. He began shouting, trying to get off the bed, and Wayne ordered his partner – who was already running back over once he heard the shouting, a silver purse in his hand – to help with Harold.

His partner, Gordon, threw the purse at him and, as he helped strap down Harold, who was beginning to throw up blood, said to Wayne, “The phone inside is ringing. You should answer it; it may be the girl’s family or friend or something.”

Officer Wayne reached in the purse and quickly grabbed the phone and answered before it stopped. Somebody named Caitlyn was calling.

“Charlotte, are you okay?” the girl on the other line said before Wayne had time to say anything. “I’m sorry, I was just worried -”

“Caitlyn,” Wayne said, interrupting the girl. “This is Officer Wayne. Are you Charlotte’s friend?” Officer Wayne knew Charlotte was Harold’s daughter and knew that Caitlyn could not be a sister or her mother. He had done enough investigating on Harold when he was assigned to his case, which had not only had to do with drugs, but child abuse.

“Yes,” Caitlyn said, and he could hear the panic in her voice. “She’s hurt. Oh God, please no.”

“I’m sorry,” Officer Wayne said. “She and Kevin are being put into an ambulance. Charlotte’s still . . . breathing, but Kevin -” He looked over and heard the paramedics saying that he was still breathing and something about surgery. “- he is going to need surgery. They were attacked by Harold.”

“Oh, God,” Caitlyn sobbed, and Wayne heard a man ask, “What happened?!”

“They’re being taken to the hospital right now,” Officer Wayne said and he told her which hospital. Caitlyn said she would be there shortly and that the Jonas family would be notified. Then she hung up.

“Let her die!” Harold shouted. “Let them both -” His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he was out cold.

“Still breathing,” Jonathan said to Wayne as he came closer. “Kevin’s starting to wake up and Charlotte’s still, ah, choking. I don’t know if -”

“Don’t jinx it, son,” Wayne said, watching as the girl, who was being put into the same ambulance Kevin was being carried into, convulsed a little. They had a bench in there for Kevin because two gurneys would not fit in the ambulance. They were short on transportation at the hospital, unfortunately.

.:-:.

“I’ll notify the Jonas family and be there at the hospital soon,” Caitlyn said to Officer Wayne and she hung up, letting the tears roll silently down her cheeks. She looked at Nick and began to shake as she sobbed. As she explained what Officer Wayne told her Nick got up from his seat across from her and got on his knees next to her, holding her hand.

He went pale; he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Come on,” he said, grabbing her and leaving whatever money he had in his pocket on the table before running out of the restaurant. When the waiter at the front podium complained, Nick shouted that the money was on the table and that they had an emergency.

Nick tried to obey traffic laws but the speed limit was not fast enough. He was even on the phone while driving and he looked out for cops. There were none, so he just listened to the sound of the phone ringing and, when his mom answered, prayed Kevin would live. He prayed he would be able to tell his mom that his older brother was injured – how badly he had no clue, but if it was anything like the last time he had a run in with Charlotte’s dad . . .

Nick prayed that he would not break down telling his mom the news.

.:-:.

Denise Jonas looked over at her two sons – her two dateless sons, watching her youngest eat his spaghetti neatly and noiselessly with a smile. Then she looked over at her second oldest and frowned slightly wondering – jokingly of course – where she went wrong as he slurped a noodle as loud as he could, laughing as the sauce flew everywhere.

“Joseph Adam,” she scolded, wiping tomato sauce off her cheek. “Act your age, not your shoe size.”

Frankie smiled over at his brother with a mocking grin. “Yeah, I’m your shoe size and I’m acting better than you.”

“I’m your shoe size,” Joe mocked, waving his fork around and making faces at his brother. Denise sighed as Frankie, ruining his angel-like behavior at the table with perfect manners, began making faces back at his older brother and mimicking each other.

Still, she loved them more than words could express.

The phone rang and before Denise could get up Joe shouted, “It I got,” and ran toward the cordless phone. He pulled it off the receiver and, plugging his nose, said, shocking his poor mother, “Geek Squad, we fix all your nerdy needs for a price so low we don’t even need a calculator.”

“Joe,” Denise chastised her son for the ump-teenth time that night.

“Sorry mama,” he replied, still pinching his nose. “I’m just bored.”

She snatched the phone away from him and patted his cheek, very tempted to smack him for being so rude on the phone and making it hard for her to get mad at him because she loved him so much. “Sorry about my son’s behavior,” Denise said to the mystery person on the other line. “This is Denise Jonas, may I ask who -”

“Mom,” the other person said, and she smiled.

“Nicholas,” she said happily, thankful that Joe didn’t answer to a stranger with that voice. “How’s your -”

“Kevin’s. . . . He’s hurt,” Nick said levelheadedly. “Charlotte too.”

“How did this happen?” Denise asked, reaching for her keys and her purse, ready to go to wherever her first born son was. And then it dawned on her. “Charlotte’s father. Harold Reynolds.”

“He got them, mom,” Nick said, and she heard his voice crack. “Caitlyn said the cop that called us said Kevin needs surgery and that Charlotte was still breathing but they’re going to the hospital.”

“The same one we took Charlotte to the first time we met her? The one we took her to when she fainted at the softball game?”

“Yeah,” Nick said. “We’re just pulling up.” She heard sobbing in the background. “Caitlyn, I don’t know if it’s them.”

Denise hung up and looked at her two other sons – her two unharmed, safe, perfect sons. They had worried expressions on their faces and were stiff as boards. Denise felt something wet run down her cheek and she knew that Joe and Frankie knew what was wrong.

Joe got up from his seat and suddenly looked grown up to her. He needed to shave; he had stubble along his jaw line, his upper lip, some on his cheek. His hair was cut in a way that made him look much older, no longer a child at all. She wondered when he began growing up and her eyes began to sting, memories of her children running through her mind. Kevin especially: running around and babbling so much for a baby; a wonderful big brother who watched out for Joe, then Nick, and lastly Frankie; and last of all showing what a big heart God gave him by doing everything he could to make others happy, particularly Charlotte.

Joe had walked up to his mother and she watched him reach for her hand. He grabbed the keys from her and said softly, “I’ll drive,” and told Frankie to call their father. As Frankie did what he was told, Joe grabbed his mother’s hand and led her to the door.

.:-:.

“Caitlyn, I don’t know if it’s them,” Nick said into the phone and, watching the ambulance doors opened, heard a click and a beep from his phone. “Mom?” He looked down at the screen and saw “CALL ENDED” in bold, red letters. He tossed the phone aside and parked the car.

The doors of the ambulance opened and out stepped . . . a paramedic with an empty gurney. Caitlyn had stepped out of the car to see if it was her friend and began hiccupping, gasping for air, and she leaned against the car for support. He could tell she was so overwhelmed by all this, as was he, though he didn’t show it. She was expressing outwardly what he felt inwardly: Despair. Hopelessness. One thing she wasn’t feeling that he did: The unbearable need to hold her in his arms and tell her it was all in God’s hands, that He has things under control, and that he, Nick, was scared too.

He got out of the car and walked over to her, immediately taking her in his arms and did exactly what he needed to do. She nodded, thankful that she had Nick.

“I’m scared too,” Nick whispered, leaning his cheek against her silky hair. “I’m so scared. Worried.”

“Nick,” she breathed, and she lifted her head up to look at him. “I . . .”

She was struggling for words, he could see that. But he read it in her eyes and kissed her in response. It was a kiss filled with fear, panic, and the last bit of hope either of them had. He could feel her tears falling down his cheeks, his chin, and when he pulled away he wiped away her tears. Then he saw a car from the corner of his eye pull into the parking lot and park in the isle across from them. His mom stepped out of the car.

“Nicholas,” she shouted, and Nick took Caitlyn with him to meet her and his brothers at the car. He was surprised at how quickly they had come. Surely they were not obeying traffic laws the way he was not.

“Thank God you two are all right,” Denise said, hugging both of them at the same time. “We saw an ambulance behind us, but, we don’t know if it could be . . .”

The sirens interrupted Nick before he could say that his brother and Charlotte had mostly likely beaten them here. Even after the sirens went off he said nothing – no one did. They watched as the doors opened and as another ambulance pulled up. Out of the first ambulance came an angry, violent, strapped down man shouting, “I hoped I killed her!”

“It’s him,” Caitlyn gasped, and her grip on Nick’s hand got tighter.

He looked at the other ambulance as the doors opened. “That means -”

“Charlotte!” he, Caitlyn, and Joe shouted as they ran toward the gurney with the still girl lying on it.

The first paramedic they saw came up with the gurney and waited at the doors of the ambulance, letting the unconscious Charlotte roll by with her paramedic. Then, from the same ambulance she was pulled from, came another paramedic carrying a blood-soaked, barely conscious, pale Kevin Jonas.

“Kevin!” Denise shouted and bee-lined to her eldest son, forgetting the rest of the world.