When I pulled onto my street and saw the flashing lights in front of my apartment, I knew. I threw the car into park, got out, and ran.
“Jack!” I faintly heard Alan call after me.
Herb was standing in the lobby. He saw me, and rushed over to hug.
“Jack, we thought he got you.”
“Fuller?” I managed.
“Killed three cops and a bunch of others, escaping.”
My eyes welled up.
“M-Mom?”
“They’re about to bring her down.”
“Dead?”
“No, but she’s in bad shape.”
I pulled out of Herb’s grasp, raced up the stairs.
Cops, paramedics, a crime scene unit. Pained looks from people I knew. A black body bag, on the floor of my kitchen.
My breath caught. I unzipped the bag.
Mr. Griffin, half of his head missing.
I pushed into the living room, saw the stretcher, watched some horribly beaten body being intubated.
“… oh no…”
I rushed to her side, unable to reconcile it in my head, unable to believe that this broken, bleeding thing was my mother.
Her hand was cool and limp. The paramedics pushed me away. I wanted to follow, wanted to go with her, but my legs gave out and I collapsed onto the floor.
Something brushed against my leg.
Mr. Friskers.
I grabbed the cat and held him tight and cried and cried and cried until nothing more came out.