7
The sirens are getting louder. JT can’t be here when the cops arrive.
He feels dazed. His body’s stopped convulsing, but his limbs are leaden and unresponsive. But staying put
can’t happen. He needs to move.
Looking up at the crowd that’s gathered around him, JT searches for the heavyset guy in the leather jacket
and shades. He catches snippets of the conversations. Sees the pity in the
rubberneckers’ eyes.
‘…poor bastard didn’t stand a chance…’
‘…argument or whatever…’
‘…just left him flapping around and ran…’
The heavyset guy’s gone – melted into the crowd and away. The sirens are coming closer.
Clenching his jaw, he rolls onto his side and forces himself up to sitting. His
vision blurs, and a wave of nausea surges through him. JT clenches his fists.
He can’t sit here on the sidewalk – he has to get to Lori.
The memory of her disappearing into the truck replays in his mind, firing him
into action. Gritting his teeth, he forces his body to move and scrambles to
his feet. He stands, swaying for a moment.
‘Are you okay?’ says an older lady in pearls and a tweed skirt, her face creased in concern.
JT tries to answer but can’t form the words. Instead he turns in the direction the truck took Lori and
takes a step. Stumbles. And just manages to stay upright.
‘You really should sit down,’ says the lady.
JT doesn’t look back. Bruised, wobbly, he focuses on putting one foot in front of the
other and heads for DuSable Bridge.