All I could hear was ringing in my ears, but I could see Sergey’s face, or what was left of it. Blood and brains were splattered everywhere, and the smell of smoke was overpowering. I vomited all over the floor and started shivering uncontrollably. I heard Alex’s voice in the distance, as if it was coming from the end of a long tunnel. He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me, then he lifted me onto my feet.
I stared up into his familiar face.
“You need to leave.” My purse appeared out of nowhere and he pushed my car keys into my hand. “Go home, get the kids, and take them to your house. Not your aunt’s house. Your house. Do you understand?”
When I didn’t respond, he shook me again and repeated his instructions. “Grace, answer me.”
This time I nodded mutely.
He searched the ground for my phone and dropped it into my purse. “I will call you when it’s safe. Now go.”
I nodded again but I didn’t move.
He put his warm hands on both sides of my face and forced me to look at him. “Grace, you have to go now. Please.”
I don’t know if it was his calm voice in the midst of the chaos or the sirens blaring outside or the overwhelming smell of smoke in the air, but something propelled me to move. I walked out of the gallery, got into my car, and drove home. According to the clock on my dashboard it was 2:36 am. I pulled out onto the street, which was dark and empty, or as empty as the streets ever were in LA.
Ten minutes later I pulled into the driveway of our house. My brain was working now, but slowly. I went to MJ’s room first. I don’t know why I didn’t turn on the light, but I didn’t. I shook him awake.
“We need to leave,” I said.
“What?” he answered sleepily.
“Now,” I shouted. “We need to leave now.”
He turned on the lamp next to his bed and stared up at me, horrified. I looked down and saw what he saw. One side of my white shirt was covered in blood.
“It’s not mine,” I said. “But we need to leave.”
He nodded and kicked off his blanket.
I wiped at my face and realized I was crying, but I kept moving. I went to Sofia’s room next. I pulled off her covers and tried to lift her out of bed, but I was having a hard time maneuvering her. MJ came in and handed me a T-shirt, one of his. He nodded at my chest. “You’ll scare her.”
I pulled my blood soaked shirt over my head and dropped it on the floor. I pulled his shirt on while he lifted Sofia out of her bed. Her eyes opened, but she wasn’t fully awake. She stared up at both of us but didn’t say a word.
“Should we pack?” he asked.
“No,” I said, and he followed me outside.
We were speeding north on the freeway before I wondered if I’d remembered to lock the front door. I had no idea.
Sometime later MJ asked, “Where are we going?”
“Home,” I said. “My home.”
“Is Uncle Alex coming too?”
“I don’t know.”
It was still dark outside when we arrived at my house in Santa Veneta. I parked in the garage, which I never did, and sent the kids upstairs to my bedroom. I laid down on the living room couch with the phone next to my ear. But I was too keyed up to sleep. When the sky turned pink, I clicked on the television. I was hoping to see something on the news about what had happened, but the local Santa Veneta stations didn’t cover the daily violence in LA. I shut off the TV and started googling on my phone. I couldn’t find anything about a shooting at an art gallery.
When the kids came downstairs a couple of hours later, Alex still hadn’t called.
“Do you have anything to eat?” MJ asked.
“Not much.” The last time I was at my house was that night with Alex. We didn’t finish all the cheese and crackers, but he may have thrown away what was left. I pulled my wallet out of my purse and handed MJ my credit card. “Order whatever you want for delivery.”
“What should I get you?” MJ asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m not hungry.”
When the food arrived, MJ handed me something warm wrapped in white butcher paper. “I got you a bagel. In case you change your mind.”
I thanked him and left it on the coffee table. I wanted to call Alex, but I was afraid to. He’d told me he’d call me when it was safe. This time I was going to do what he told me to do.
When my phone finally rang an hour later, I jumped. The caller ID showed a blocked number, but I answered it anyway.
“Alex?”
“Roberto,” he said. “Agent Diaz.”
“Where’s Alex?”
“I don’t know. I was hoping you did.”