by Willow Rose
“Thank you,” she said, smiling at her brother. He leaned forward, and she closed her eyes so he could get to them. She felt the brush touch her eyelid gently and swipe a couple of times to the side, then opened them to look in the mirror.
“Not bad,” she said. “You’re actually pretty good at this, Samir.”
That made him laugh. There hadn’t been much to laugh at in the past few weeks, and especially not since they had left on the trip to D.C. She sensed in her brother that he was greatly troubled and felt terrible for putting him through such deep pain. He was worried about her doing this; there was no doubt about it. He was scared she wouldn’t make it.
Amal grabbed his hand in hers and squeezed it. They were in a small camper behind the stage that had been put up for her and for the other speakers that would come out on this day. The stage was placed outside in the street with Capitol Hill in the background. So many stories of pain and suffering caused by the men in blue were going to be told from that stage today. It was going to go down in history. And she had played a significant part in it. For that, she was very satisfied.
“All right,” Samir said with a sigh. “We should get you rolled out there. There’s five minutes till you’re on.”
She swallowed and nodded. “Yes. Let’s do it.”
She stopped herself and winced as a wave of pain shot through her body, closing her eyes for the seconds it lasted.
“Amal? Are you all right, Amal?”
She lifted her head as the pain subsided, but it didn’t go away completely. “Yes,” she half-moaned, “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure you’re up for this? I mean, I could go out there instead if needed,” Samir said. “I could tell them what you’ve gone through. I’ve been there all the way.”
She chuckled and patted him on the arm. “That’s sweet of you, but we talked about this before. They’ve come to see me. They need to see me, see what those pigs in blue did to me. It’s vital for the cause, Samir. I am vital to the cause.”
He nodded. “All right, all right.”
Samir grabbed her chair and rolled her toward the exit, where there was a ramp. He rolled her down onto the asphalt, and as she came outside, she could suddenly hear the roar of people from the other side of the stage. It sounded so massive; she almost forgot to breathe.
“Do you hear that?” she asked.
He nodded. “I sure do.”
“Doesn’t it sound amazing?”
“It sure does.”
The voice came from behind them, and they both turned to look. A woman walked forward into the sunlight. She was short and chubby and had her red hair pulled back in a ponytail. The security guards blocked her way instantly, and she raised her hands to show them she wasn’t looking for trouble.
“Who are you?” asked Samir.
“My name is Eva Rae Thomas, and I need to talk to Amal. It’s important.”
“Why would she talk to you? There are millions of people out there waiting to hear her speak. How did you even get in here?”
The woman nodded with a sigh. “I know a few people around here. And you will listen to me because I have information that’ll make her want to change her mind about going up there in the first place.”
Samir made a face and scoffed. “Why on Earth should she listen to you? Security, we need her out of here…”
Amal stared at the woman, then remembered something. Amal reached up her hand and grabbed Samir by the arm.
“No, Samir, don’t. I want to hear what she has to say.”
Chapter 77
“I know who you are,” Amal said. “You were the one who sent me that email, weren’t you? I remember your name, Eva Rae Thomas.”
I sighed and approached her as her guards backed off and let me through. The noise from the massive crowd on the other side of the scene was overpowering. Amal stared at me, head slightly tilted, eyes narrowed.
“You knew I was going to be shot. You sent me an email telling me I was going to get shot by the police. I didn’t read it till after it happened. So many times, I’ve thought about how stupid I was for not reading it. It wasn’t like I didn’t see the email. I saw it before I got on that airplane, but I just didn’t read it till later because I was waiting for what I thought was an important email, one that I believed was more important than yours trying to save my life. How silly I was, huh? Maybe it could all have been avoided, had I only taken the time to read what you wrote.”
I came up to her, and she reached out her hand. I placed mine in hers. She was pale and weak, but underneath it all, you could still see the beautiful woman she had once been.
“Why have you come?” she asked me.
I breathed heavily. “I needed to get to you before you got up on that stage.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll be helping him out by going up there. This is what he wants. This was his plan all along, to make people hate the police.”
A furrow grew between her eyes, and she gave me a suspicious look. “What are you saying? He? Who is he?”
I swallowed. “The guy who tried to kill you. The same guy who sent the police after you on the airplane. Have you ever wondered who placed that call that made the police think you were carrying a bomb?”
“Of course, I have.”
“Well, I’ve been chasing him. You’re not the first he did this to; I have a list of people, and a lot of them have ended up dead. For a long time, I thought he was trying to get back at you because of who you were, that he held a grudge of some sort, or maybe it was a revenge issue, but lately, I’ve come to realize that it’s a lot bigger than that. This guy has a bigger agenda, and you’re playing a huge role in that. If you go out there and speak against the police, encouraging the hatred, then you’re just helping his mission.”
“It’s nothing but a peaceful protest march,” she said. “I don’t see…”
“Five cops were shot two days ago in an ambush. All orchestrated by this same guy who tried to kill you. These five men have families. They have children, wives, brothers, sisters. They’re someone’s children.”
“But this is a peaceful event.”
“For now,” I said. “Until he ruins it. I bet he is out there right now amidst all these people, riling them up. All it takes is for him to find a few bad seeds and get them to do something stupid. The police are on edge as well; they’ll overreact at the smallest thing. Maybe he’s not even alone in this. It’s the easiest thing in the world to make sure this all goes wrong. You’re handing it to him on a silver platter. You’ve got several million angry people out there right now. It can so easily go wrong. Think about it. Please.”
“Listen, we need to get going, Amal.”
Amal’s brother came up to us. Amal had told him to leave us alone so we could talk, but now he had come back.
“They’re waiting for you.”
“Please, Amal,” I said. “Don’t do it. Don’t let him win.”
“Of course, she’s doing it,” her brother said dismissively. “Do you have any idea how much effort it has taken to get her here? To arrange all this? People have come from all over to be a part of this movement.”
“Think about Nathan,” I said. “Nathan Downey.”
Amal’s eyes met mine, and they locked for a few seconds, her nostrils flaring lightly while she pondered what I had said. I had struck something inside of her by mentioning the boy’s name; I could tell I had. Amal had to know what happened to him and that he was yet another innocent victim in this sick game the Swatter was playing. But was it enough?
“I’m sorry,” Amal said and looked away. “I have to get up there now. They’re waiting for me.”
With that, her brother grabbed the wheelchair and turned her around, then pushed her up the ramp toward the stage. I stared at her as she disappeared behind the big black curtain while the crowd chanted her name on the other side.
Chapter 78
Amal felt a wave of adrenaline rush through her body as she wa
s rolled onto the stage and the roar emerged from the crowd. She couldn’t believe her own eyes as she stared out at the ocean of faces. Screaming fans, banners, and people as far as the eye could see. Amal took a deep breath, taking it all in.
This was truly spectacular. Seeing this, the politicians had to listen. They had to know that the people demanded a change.
It wasn’t for nothing. All that happened to you wasn’t in vain.
Amal lifted her hand and waved at the crowd while her brother parked the wheelchair and handed her a microphone.
“We love you, Amal!” someone yelled.
Amal smiled. A tear had escaped her eye, and she wiped it away. The crowds were still roaring, but slowly subsiding as they waited for her to speak.
“Oh, wow,” she said into the microphone, half choking up. “Look at all those faces, all those people. Look at you! I can’t believe you all came out for this. But I am so glad you did.”
She swallowed while preparing to begin her speech, then turned her head to see that Eva Rae Thomas was standing on the side of the stage, watching her. Amal bit her cheek while thinking about what she had said right before she went up to the stage.
She had mentioned Nathan Downey, the kid who was beaten up just because he was the son of the officer who had shot Amal. He had no part in this. He had done nothing wrong. Was this what Amal wanted? An eye for an eye?
Amal looked away. She focused on her speech and the people who were waiting patiently for her to begin.
The microphone feedback howled loudly as she lifted it back up to her lips. Amal winced, then spoke as the sound disappeared:
“Protests work when groups are willing to be bold in their tactics and persistent in their approach. It serves as a powerful signal to the rest of society that something extraordinary is happening.” Amal looked down briefly at the piece of paper in her hand where she had written what to say, then back up at the crowd. “Today, the media is weaker; the institutions meant to be watchdogs aren’t as watchful as they’re supposed to be. But marches like this mobilize people, wake Americans up to the gravity of the situation. It can push progressive politicians to action. It can confront those who do nothing with their cowardice…”
Amal paused and looked down at her notes, then cleared her throat. She couldn’t find where she was at. It was like the words were jumping around on the page, like they wouldn’t stand still, no matter how much she willed them to. She kept seeing Nathan Downey’s face. She had watched all the news stories about him she could find, and she’d read all the articles about the little boy who was attacked on his way home from school just because of who his dad was. She had kept telling herself that what happened to him had nothing to do with all this, that is was unfortunate and terrible, yes, but she couldn’t do anything about it. But now, as she sat there, she realized it was all connected just as her being shot was connected to something bigger. And if it was ever to change, it had to start somewhere.
It might as well be here.
Amal looked at Eva Rae Thomas once more, briefly, then crumpled up the paper in her hand, lifted the microphone, and looked at the crowd.
“But it can also divide us further and create a situation that will hurt more people than it benefits,” she said.
Chapter 79
“I was shot,” Amal said, grabbing the wheels of her chair and rolling it closer to the edge of the stage. I watched from the sidelines, holding my breath as she crumpled up her paper and went off-script. I had no idea what she was going to do.
“And I was angry about that. For a very long time, I was very angry. I had done nothing wrong. I was just a woman on a flight, and I believed I was shot because of my skin color. I’m still angry at what happened to me, sometimes furious, since my life will never be the same again. I mean, look at me…my body is completely destroyed.”
As she paused, people yelled slogans against the police, chanting for those blue pigs to die, calling them murderers. Amal lifted her head and looked out at them, then spoke again, this time sounding more determined than earlier:
“But…recently, someone reminded me of the importance of forgiveness. The men that shot me had families, and Officer Downey’s child was attacked. He was beaten half to death and is in a coma right now. I need you to understand that I never wanted that to happen. That is not how it’s supposed to be. We’re better than that. I have not come here to create division; that’s not what I’m all about. I want to build bridges. I want to put down my anger and blame, and I need you to do the same. Therefore, I ask you all to welcome with me a former FBI agent with whom I have recently become friends. Please welcome Miss Eva Rae Thomas. She is with the police, and also my friend.”
Amal turned to look at me, then stretched out her arm toward me, nodding. I stared at her, not knowing what to do. Not only was I terrified to be on stage, but I also had to keep a very low profile. There was no way for me now to argue that I wasn’t involved with the movement. Cameras were recording all of this, some broadcasting it live, and Amal’s brother was also live-streaming it to her YouTube channel. My face was going to be all over the news in a few seconds, and that was exactly what Isabella warned me against. She would no longer be able to protect me if they wanted to prosecute me for being involved in the shooting of the five officers in Orlando.
“Come on out here,” Amal said, smiling.
My feet refused to move. I stared at the woman in the wheelchair, holding out her hand, urging me to come while the crowd had gone completely silent.
This is not what they came to see. This is not what they want.
I couldn’t breathe, and every part of me screamed not to, yet I did it anyway. I took a step forward, then another, and soon I was walking onto the stage, out into the open where every set of eyes could see me, and every camera had me in their lens. I wanted to build bridges, too; I wanted to help.
“Eva Rae Thomas, ladies and gentlemen,” Amal said and grabbed my hand in hers. She lifted them into the air. The crowd looked dumbfounded like they didn’t know what to say or do. Amal saw it, then said:
“I say we all hug an officer today, huh? When we march through these streets, let’s at least hug one officer each. Let’s help spread the message of love instead of hatred. That should be our real mission. I’ll start by hugging Eva Rae Thomas.”
She pulled me into a hug, and I bent down to put my arms around her. As we hugged, the crowd broke out into a spontaneous cheer behind us that kept going for a very long time, getting louder and louder.
As she let me go and I turned away, I spotted movement on one of the rooftops nearby, and too late, I realized what was happening. I threw myself forward, trying to cover her when the shot echoed through the air.
Chapter 80
Three bullets tore their way into her chest. Her upper body went into spasms, and seconds later, she went completely still, head slumped to the side.
NO!
I shook her, crying.
“Amal, no, please.”
People came running onto the stage from behind the curtain, but I hardly saw anything anymore. I kept looking in the direction where I had seen the shooter on the rooftop, but of course, he was gone. The crowd stopped clapping and cheering and had turned to screaming in shock. Police officers came running onto the stage and tried to get people away from Amal’s dead body.
I stopped one of them.
“I saw someone on the rooftop over there,” I said and pointed. “Over there, to our right side.”
The officer looked where I was pointing. “We’ll get a team up there asap and surround the neighborhood. He’s not getting away.”
“I sure hope not,” I said, not feeling very hopeful. If this was the Swatter, then he was too smart to get caught.
I waited there for hours while the police finished up. An ambulance arrived, and they took Amal out of her chair, carrying her onto a stretcher. They closed the body bag over her head, and just like that, she was gone. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I wept as they
took her away, leaving her brother behind looking confused and lost.
Meanwhile, the crowd was taking their anger to the streets. There was yelling and screaming, and suddenly, there were loud crashing noises as they smashed in store windows. Several cars were set on fire along with dumpsters that they rolled into the street. The police set in with their forces, trying to calm the crowd, but that only made things worse. As I came down from the stage and looked out at the town, it felt like a war had just begun.
Amal’s brother, Samir, came up behind me. His eyes were filling, the words coming out of him as choked sobs, “They say someone said it was a cop that shot her. That’s why they’re angry.”
“Do you believe it was a cop?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yes.”
“Why would they shoot her and make a martyr of her?” I asked.
“Why not? She spoke up against them and their violence. She was a symbol of a movement against them.”
I looked up at Samir. He looked so much like Amal, it was almost scary. He exhaled deeply, then grabbed his phone. “Anyway, I need to call our family.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” I said. “I truly am. She was a remarkable woman.”
He gave me a look of brokenness, then left, phone pressed against his ear. The whole scene was one of chaos, and, to be honest, I had no idea where to go or what to do. I had given a brief statement to the first responders, but the investigators looking into Amal’s death would want to get more later, so I thought I’d better try and get back to Priscilla’s house somehow. I had borrowed her, car and, as I walked to where I parked it, protesters were running around in the streets, yelling slogans and fighting the police. I rushed to the car, then got in as a large police vehicle drove onto the road, and about fifty of them jumped out, wearing full body armor, running toward the roaring crowd.
“This is never going to end well,” I sighed as my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out. It was a text from Liam of all people.
