by Willow Rose
“Arms in the air!” one yelled. “Keep ‘em where I can see them!”
Amal stared at the man dressed in the Kevlar vest and black helmet in front of her. He was wearing complete combat gear. Was this some sort of joke? How could they think she—of all people—was dangerous?
“Excuse me…I think you’ve made…”
“Arms where I can see them at all times.”
Scared half to death, Amal raised both of her arms high up in the air.
“What’s that in her hand?” someone yelled.
“What’s that in your hand?” the one standing in front of her yelled. “Put it down now!”
“It’s just a phone,” she answered. She lowered her arm and showed it to them, but that just made everything worse.
“Keep ‘em up!”
“Keep your hands up!”
“Drop the phone!”
Amal felt like crying. Yet she did as they said. She let the phone fall to the floor with a thud, then stared at the uniformed men, tears springing to her terrified eyes.
“Rise to your feet, now! Slowly!”
“No sudden movements.”
Amal did as she was told, as slowly as humanly possible. All eyes were on her in the cabin, and she fought her desire to scream in terror. She was so scared that they’d shoot her; she could barely keep her arms still.
“Walk,” the officer said, making a movement with the gun. “Toward the door.”
Amal swallowed. Thinking she’d have to grab her things, that she couldn’t leave her computer under the seat, she reached down to grab it when they all yelled at once.
“She’s going for a bag.”
“It’s the bomb!”
Amal barely managed to get her arm back up in the air when the shot was fired. As it tore through her skin, it was a surprise for her to realize that it didn’t hurt at all. At least not when it entered her body. It wasn’t until the bullet traveled through her body, cutting its way through her tissue, going upward and lodging itself just below her left ribcage that there was a sudden unbearable burning aggravated sensation. As she fell to the floor of the plane, she waited for there to be a bright light or at least a hand reaching out to welcome her to the next world.
But it never came. There was only deep darkness and the voices of people’s terrified screaming around her.
Chapter 23
I was watching the news while fighting my urge to cry. Liam was still there when I received the breaking news text about an airplane that had to make an emergency landing because of a bomb threat. I then turned on the news and saw that Amal Bukhari, the famous YouTuber, had been shot inside the plane because they believed she was carrying a bomb in her computer. Nine-one-one had received a phone call that same night as the plane was in the air, stating that there was a bomb on board and that Amal Bukhari was carrying it in her handbag, disguised as a computer.
“Son of a g…” I exclaimed as I threw the remote against the wall so hard it flew apart, and the batteries fell out.
“You knew she was next, didn’t you?” Liam asked.
I stomped my feet angrily, then sat down before I rose up again and started pacing back and forth.
“I’ve only known since this morning and thought I had more time. I tried everything. I emailed her, but she never responded. I also tried to call her agent, but he just thought I was some weirdo and hung up on me. That’s what they all think. It’s not easy to get to famous people, you know? I even wrote several comments on her YouTube page, but I don’t know if she’s even seen any of them or my messages on Instagram. My guess is she hasn’t. I thought I could get to her and warn her somehow first, but the Swatter probably saw the opportunity because she was going on a flight. What could be more spectacular, right?”
“It sure is something they’ll be talking about for months. And you’re sure it’s him?” Liam asked.
“Positive. But how do I make the world understand it? To say that they played the same game isn’t exactly proof.”
“Let me get you another glass of that whiskey over there,” Liam said and rose to his feet.
I stopped him. “It’s okay. I don’t really drink much hard alcohol. I think I’ll just go to bed if you don’t mind. It’s been a long day.”
Liam nodded and finished his third glass. I was happy that I knew he wasn’t driving home.
“I’m staying at the Hilton downtown,” he said and put the glass down. “I want more than anyone to catch this guy, and I believe you’re the one who can do it. Let me know if I can help with anything.”
“Unless you can turn back time, then I don’t see how,” I said and rubbed my temples frantically. I felt so frustrated I could scream.
Liam rose to his feet. I wondered about Matt and whether he had gone to bed or if he was still in the kitchen. I couldn’t really face him right now, not after the talk we had in the kitchen. I didn’t want to risk him bringing up Chad again, so I said goodbye to Liam, then hurried upstairs. I checked on the kids and told Olivia she needed to go to bed, too, before walking past our bedroom. The door was ajar, and I could see Matt was in there, asleep. I closed the door carefully, then ran back downstairs, where I sat by my computer and opened Call of Duty.
THREE WEEKS LATER
Chapter 24
“Hey, everyone. It’s me, Amal again. Broadcasting live from my hospital bed, as you can see.”
Amal lifted her phone to show her viewers the monitors next to her and the bed where she was laying. Then she returned to pointing it at her face again. She had lost a lot of weight and didn’t really like the way she looked.
But at least she was alive.
She turned the camera toward her brother Samir, who was standing by the window looking worried. He had been with her since she woke up in the ICU, and every time he looked at her, he had that concerned look in his eyes.
It drove her crazy.
“Say hi to the viewers, Samir.”
He waved at her to stop filming him, and she turned the camera to face herself again.
“The doctors are going to do another surgery today. Now, for those of you who haven’t seen my earlier broadcasts and who are just tuning in, I can tell you that the bullet entered here in my side just above my right hip, then traveled upward and lodged itself just below my left rib cage. The bullet landed in a place that you usually don’t survive when a bullet is caught there. I guess I was lucky. The bullet is still in there since they haven’t dared to risk taking it out yet. So far, I have gone through seven surgeries; today will be number eight. I won’t go into too many gory details, but one of the surgeries is one they normally perform on people with pancreatic cancer. Several organs were removed, and the remaining organs are reconnected so I can live. I no longer have a colon or a gallbladder; I’ve lost my left kidney and a third of my stomach. The bullet has, however, now moved closer to my skin’s surface and is poking out under my rib cage, which makes it possible for them to remove it later today. Yay.”
Amal tried to smile, but it was hard. She was still in a lot of pain, and the thought of having to go through yet another surgery was unbearable. She was sick of hospitals and of just lying there, doing nothing. She had begun updating her followers as soon as she was well enough to do so. The video from her being shot had gone viral as soon as her brother posted it when the police gave him the phone at the hospital, while she was fighting for her life. It had reached more than a hundred million views, and when Amal finally woke up, she had close to ninety million subscribers to her YouTube channel. A number that made her the second largest after PewDiePie, who had ninety-nine million.
“But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about today, dear friends,” Amal said. “Today, I have a serious subject on my agenda, not that my surgeries aren’t serious, but this is a matter that has an impact on us all. I don’t recall a lot from the day I was shot inside that plane, but the more I learn, the more I realize that what happened to me wasn’t an accident. It happened because of my skin colo
r. I am more than convinced of this. The police received a fake call telling them that I was carrying a bomb. They took action as they should, no problem there. But then they entered the plane, took one look at my skin color, and decided I was dangerous. You saw the video. You all know that I wasn’t armed and that I was doing what they told me to. I went for my bag, yes, because I thought I had to bring it, but as soon as they told me not to, I stopped. You can see it on camera; I raise my hands again after they yell at me, and that’s when the guy decides to shoot. I could have died. I should have died, according to the surgeons here. It makes no sense that I am still alive. And that’s why I believe it is my duty to address this matter. For years and years, we have been witnessing police brutality toward people of color. And we have been sitting on our hands. We have done nothing. Yes, Black Lives Matter. Brown Lives Too. I have decided to join the fight against police brutality. I am suing the police, filing a civil lawsuit against the police department in Houston. I believe in holding this man accountable for his actions. He didn’t have to shoot me, and I don’t think he should be allowed to hurt anyone else. He belongs behind bars like the rest of us would be if we shot an innocent person and almost killed them. And I ask you, my dear viewers, to come along with me on this road to justice. I am not stopping at the lawsuit. We need to wake up our politicians. So, I have decided to arrange a great protest in Washington, D.C., on January 15th. Let’s see how many we can gather. If all of you come, then we will definitely make an impact. I will be there, no matter if they have to roll me there in a wheelchair. My brother will be in charge of all the arrangements since I will be busy with surgeries and recovery, but mark my words: They think they can do this to us; they think they can shoot us down in the street, in our own homes and even public places and get away with it. I say not this time. Not anymore.”
Chapter 25
I took the escalator down, my suitcase in my hand. I looked at my watch, annoyed. The plane was delayed half an hour, and the turbulence had been terrible as they prepared for landing. I still felt a little sick to my stomach from all the bumping. While the plane was in the air, I thought about Amal Bukhari, the YouTube sensation who had recently been the latest swatting victim and who was now stirring up a fight against the police. I couldn’t imagine how terrified she’d have to have been when seeing those fighter jets outside the window and then learning that there was a bomb on the plane. I couldn’t imagine the terror that had to have been going through her mind and the rest of the passengers for that matter. She had talked about it in her YouTube videos that she now made from her hospital bed. I had watched all of them, mostly because I was so thrilled that she was still alive, that the Swatter hadn’t been able to get her killed after all. He had suffered a defeat, and it gave me hope.
The black limo waited for me outside the sliding doors, and I handed my suitcase to the driver, then got in.
“How was your flight?”
Liam looked at me from above his glasses. I didn’t remember ever seeing him wearing glasses before, but then again, I didn’t know him that well.
“Bumpy,” I said.
“Welcome to New Orleans,” he said with a smile as the limo took off, leaving the airport behind.
“Yeah, well, I wish I was here on vacation or just to experience the town. That would have been more fun.”
“You should at least get some crawfish or beignets while you’re here,” he said. “I know the right places to visit.”
“Of course, you do,” I said.
“So, what are we looking at here?” he asked. “You said you found the Swatter’s next victim?”
I nodded and found the boy’s profile on my phone. “FaZeYourFeaRs hasn’t been active for a very long time. My guess is that he felt such a setback from what happened to Amal Bukhari that he needed time to plan his next move. And I have been playing that silly game every day since. It’s become an obsession almost. At least that’s what my family thinks… That I’m just playing video games. My mom thinks I’ve lost my mind, while the teenagers find it kind of cool, yet a little embarrassing; they haven’t really determined how they feel yet. Meanwhile, Alex, my seven-year-old son, is thrilled and wants to play it too. But I’ve told him no. He’s not old enough. So now he’s cross with me. But yesterday, FaZeYourFeaRs showed up again and entered a game with this guy here. My dad found his real name.”
“Who is he?” Liam asked as he looked at the picture. “He seems awfully young.”
“That was my reaction too. I just can’t bear to see a young kid like him lose his life. Now, the kid is one of the top gamers on Fortnite. He actually won the world championships last year, so he’s quite good. But what scares me is that the Swatter is desperate now. After the setback at the airport, he’s in dire need of a win. He wants to be sure that nothing goes wrong this time.”
Liam nodded and took off his glasses. “Then we’ll just have to make sure everything goes wrong this time.”
Chapter 26
THEN:
@MIsstressWolf: Welp! I can’t believe it. Went to Chicago Comicon. The event just got evacuated. Standing outside now. Waiting.
@Legy: What’s going on?
@MIsstressWolf: Apparently, there was a threat. Someone called 911 and said he was on meth and that he would shoot the place up. It was all evacuated. I was so confused as I ran out underneath the whir of choppers. Police are everywhere. It’s so cold outside.
@ DeVilSQuaD666: Ha, ha, baby girl. I can just see you running for your life.
@MIsstressWolf: Excuse me @DeVilSQuaD666? You find this funny?
@DeVilSQuaD666: Sure do.
@MIsstressWolf: How? What could possibly be funny about me running for my life?
@ DeVilSQuaD666: It happens, baby girl. It happens.
@MIsstressWolf: I’ve been standing in the cold for three hours. I’m terrified and thought I was going to die. You still find that funny?
@ DeVilSQuaD666: Very.
@MIsstressWolf: There was a little girl who couldn’t find her mother. She was crying because she thought she was dead. She kept clinging onto my arm while she called her mother’s name. Is that funny too?
@ DeVilSQuaD666: Sure is. To me, at least.
@MIsstressWolf: How can you say that? What kind of a person says something like this?
@Legy: I can’t believe you @DeVilSQuaD666. Why would you taunt her like that? Are you a Troll? Who are you?
@DeVilSQuaD666: Someone having fun, that’s who.
@MIsstressWolf: You’re sick. For all I know, you called it in.
@DeVilSQuaD666: Ha, ha. Maybe.
@MIsstressWolf: You’re not well. Please stop commenting. I’ll block you.
@DeVilSQuaD666: Will do. But I’m telling you. You ain’t seen nothing yet.
Chapter 27
“Liam Berkeley. Welcome.”
A handsome man in an expensive suit opened his arms to welcome Liam. He couldn’t be more than in his late twenties. He hadn’t lost his hair yet but had a very obvious receding hairline. He laughed and hugged Liam, who seemed uncomfortable and pulled away quickly.
“So stoked that you’re here. My client will be so thrilled to meet you. As soon as he heard you wanted to meet him, he got so excited. He’s seen your show like...a gazillion times. And he loves it.”
Liam nodded. He looked embarrassed and uneasy. It was one thing I had come to learn about this guy; he was nothing in real life like he was on TV. On-screen, he would yell and scream at everyone and say loads of offensive things. But in real life, he was actually quite humble and didn’t seem very impressed with his own career. At times, I even got the feeling that he was a little embarrassed by it. I wondered if it was because it wasn’t really him; it was a character he played. I also wondered how it had come about. When had it started? Did he used to be angrier, or had he always played a role? How many people knew his real self?
Jamal “Buddha” Robinson’s manager barely noticed my presence with more than a nod, and we followed him into the Su
perior Seafood Restaurant, where they had set up the meeting with the young gamer and Fortnite world champ.
The teenager sat alone at a table, his fingers tapping on the screen of an iPhone when we entered. From a distance, he looked like any of Olivia’s friends at school, with his cap and Nike sports jacket, except I had a feeling all his clothes were sponsored. His hair underneath the cap was dyed purple on one side and had been bleached on the other. His dark brown eyes lifted as he heard us, and he spotted Liam. They fist-bumped, shared an awkward half-hug, and we sat down. The waiter arrived and took one quick glance at Liam, then looked like he wanted to run away. Jamal ordered crawfish for all of us, while Liam told the waiter he’d like a good old-fashioned burger.
“I know it’s not what you expect from me, but I like a little guilty pleasure now and then,” he said when the waiter nodded, looking like he could cry. “And I promise not to criticize it. You have my word.”
That made the waiter smile as he left, partly starstruck, partly terrified the restaurant might end up on TV, being mentioned as the worst restaurant and him the worst server. I knew Liam would keep his word. He had told me it was partly why he seldom went to restaurants anymore. People were terrified of him and his criticism. I had thought a guy like him didn’t go out to eat because he could cook it better himself and because it would never be good enough for him, but that wasn’t the case.
The agent left us, and Liam used the first twenty minutes to congratulate the boy on his big win and the three million dollars that came with it. He then went on to giving him advice on being suddenly famous and how to avoid being used, and he told him to make sure he invested his money properly, so he didn’t spend it all. It was all to win the boy’s trust and not scare him half to death.
