Taken By Surprise

by Jessica Frances

  ***

  I go to bed that night, but I’m not sure if I sleep. I don’t feel awake, yet I don’t feel asleep, either. My body is tense and all I hear is the ringing of the gunshot. All I see when I close my eyes is Dana and the blood. I don’t notice the sunlight streaming through my window. I don’t think to close my curtains to keep the light out. I don’t move over to my left side because my right side has gone numb from not moving for so long. Food is placed in front of me, but I don’t think to eat it. Or even to sit up. Instead, I’m pulled up into a sitting position and forced to eat, although I can’t seem to manage more than a few small bites.

  “You need your strength, Zoe,” Mom chastises me softly.

  “Why? What’s the point?” I ask, wondering in my mind what the point to this situation is, to what happened to Dana and even what’s the point of life?

  “Detective Andrews called earlier. They would like you to come down to the station.”

  “Why?”

  “They need you to make a formal statement.”

  I nod and take another bite of the food in front of me. A sandwich. I couldn’t even taste what it was before.

  “That’s good. Keep eating, and get changed for me. I’ll be back in a little while to see if you’re ready.”

  “Okay.” I watch Mom leave the room and quickly move the food away from me, not touching it again.

  I don’t want to remember last night. Not ever again. I want to believe it never happened. I want to go to MAY and see Dana sitting in there, reading a book and having a drink. I want to go up to her and give her a hug and tell her how glad I am that she’s alive. I want to have never met Joel. I wish he didn’t exist. I wish I knew why he did something so awful. Was it to hurt me? What have I ever done to him that’s so awful? What had Dana done to him?

  “Zoe, how are you doing in there?” Mom calls out through my closed door and it snaps me away from my thoughts.

  “Just be a sec, Mom.” I get up and chuck on the nearest clothing to me. Jeans and a hoody. I don’t notice that my hoody is dirty. It doesn’t seem important what I wear.

  The next minute Mom walks in and assesses me. “You can’t wear that.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “Zoe—”

  “Let’s just get this over with, please, Mom,” I snap at her.

  She bites her tongue on her argument and nods at me. We walk down the stairs and I briefly wonder what outside looks like now. Is there still blood there? Are police still collecting evidence? Or is it already back to normal? Can you even tell someone had died out there?

  I shudder just thinking about it and quickly follow Mom out the front door. Hopefully, I’ll never have to go out there ever again.