Hurricane

There was a gun to my head a few minutes after I had put you to bed. I had, had my hands up as Bob made Mikey give up everything we had. It was scary, terrifying, I think this is the moment that scarred me enough to make me forget about everything. 

My memory is fuzzy...I remember crying, and that's it.

Then, Mikey jumped at him, wrestling for the gun when it went off. I remember that the world had stopped for two milliseconds and then Bob ran away with the bag of things. I had my hands to my ears, and I opened my eyes to see Mikey lying on the floor groaning.

I can't remember, fully, what he had said, but it was along the lines of "Motherfucker."

"Did he shoot you?" My mind raced...you came out of your room.

"Mommy?" 

I saw blood seeping from the middle of his shirt. I had pulled it up an saw a gapping wound; I almost threw up, but I pulled my shirt off, leaving me in my tank top, and pressed it to the wound.

"Daddy!" You had screamed.

"Izzy, go back to your room!" I yelled, and I didn't mean it to come out so harshly.

"Daddy!" 

"Jinx, get away!" Mikey screamed, "Ow, fuck! Fuck!" I pressed the wound, "Not so fucking hard!"

"I'm sorry!" I felt bile rise in my throat, "You have to go to a hospital. We gotta go."

"I can't!" Mikey snapped, "Just...just..." he seemed at a loss for words.

You came over, with your hands over your eyes and stood by Mikey. He sighed, breathing heavily, you had put your arms around him.

"We have to go." I told him.

"C'mon."


At the ER, I had shown the nurses the fake IDs and documents and Mikey was led into the OR. I was seated back in the waiting room with you, and I waited. We waited for hours, you had fallen asleep on my lap, and I tapped my foot impatiently.

Finally, at 4 am, a doctor came over to me. I stood, cradling you, "Are you Marie McCoy?"

"Y-yes," I stammered, "is my husband alright?"

"We got the bullet out, but he's unconscious at the moment. He should make a full recovery. But, ma'am, whenever a shooting looks suspicious we have to call the police."

My face grew warm, "What did James say?"

"He didn't say anything; the bullet grazed his lung and blood almost began to fill both. He's lucky to be alive."

I exhaled, "Oh God...oh God."

"May I ask what happened?"

"I...I don't know. When can I see my husband?" I cradled you and tried to seem calm.

"You can see him in an hour or so, we're keeping a watch on him."

I nodded quickly, and sat back down, letting the doctor leave. I had to hold my breath as I tried to think of something pleasant. I didn't want to think negatively because it would only stress me out. I rocked you gently, thinking about something nice...then someone tapped me on the arm.

"Excuse me, ma'am, you are Marie?" It was an older police officer.

I stood quickly, "Yes..."

"Let's go somewhere private," He told me; I nodded and followed him down a deserted hallway, "Alright, could you explain what happen?"

I didn't know what to say, I didn't know if I should tell the truth or lie. I had decided to lie, because that's what Mikey would have wanted me to do.

"I-I was taking my daughter out trick or treating and-and when I came home, I saw my husband in the living room...I don't know what happen--he didn't say, he was--" I was rambling and tears were threatening.

He stopped me, "It's alright, Mrs. McCoy, just take your time. Take a deep breath."

I swallowed the massive lump in my throat and nodded once more, "Sir, I don't know what happened. I came home and saw him. I tried to help, I gave him my t-shirt--my jeans--" I looked down at the smeared blood on my knees.

"We would like to take you to the police--"

I stopped him, "No-no, I wanna see my husband first, please. I have to see if he's alright."

The police officer nodded, "Ok, but, we will need you to come down and make a statement."

"Okay, okay."


Mikey was barely conscious when I got to see him. He looked pale and he had those sickly looking tubed around him, and oxygen tubes up his nose. You had waken up by then, and your makeup had gotten all over your face and my tank top.

"Mikey," I cried softly, "Are you ok?"

Mikey just nodded, "I hurt."

"I'm sorry, baby," I kissed his lips, "but, the police--"

"Who called them?" His voice scratched.

"The hospital, the shooting look suspicious."

"I told them we were being robbed..." he whispered and beckoned me closer, "you and Jinx weren't there," he swallowed thickly, "I came home early, this guy took our shit and shot me. Got it?"

"Yeah, I told them I came home to you shot." He kissed my cheek, "I'm so sorry."

He brought his hand up and wiped my eyes, "Stop crying, it isn't your fault."

You had been quiet the entire time, and clung to me. When Mikey reached over to you, you flinched back, and we were confused; "What's wrong, baby girl?" I had asked.

"Yelling. You yell." You explained.

Mikey locked his lips, "Jinx, I'm sorry I yelled at you. Daddy was hurt, he didn't mean it."

You had taken it as it was and sat, gently, on his lap. Mikey couldn't hold you because of the pain and the needles and tubes. He held your hands until we had to go.

"Don't let them take your DNA or fingerprints," Mikey warned.

"I won't." I kissed him, and we left.

The ride home was short and quick. We had gotten an odd look in the cab, but we were exhausted and we didn't care. When we had gotten home, we saw that there was police tape around the tree in our yard and there were cops around.

Panic filled my veins, I jetted into the house, nervous, with you on my hip, "What are you doing?" I snapped at the cops.

A female police officer came up to me, "Ma'am, we're going to--"

"This is my home! You cannot be in here!" I snapped at them.

Another cop came over to me, "Why don't you--"

"Get out of my house!"

They had given me odd looks, and I couldn't explain myself. I didn't know if they had found any incriminating evidence against me, or Mikey. I couldn't be sure; but I knew they had found at least some type of drug. They had given me that knowing look; like they had found me out.

"We'll leave, but we need you to come down to the station." The male cop said to me, "You and your daughter."

My stomach almost turned inside out, "Yeah, okay. Get out." I put up my defensive like Mikey had taught me.

They had left, and I saw my disheveled home. It had already been turned inside out, thanks to Bob, but it felt very, very disturbed. I had felt unclean, and uncomfortable.

"Messy," you told me, "daddy make a mess?"

"You need a bath, baby, okay?" You had hummed softy, ignoring your question.