At first there was darkness, then a fuzzy pounding in his brain. He tried to open his eyes; they began to water. He wiped them with the back of his hand. When he tried to look again, all he could see were vague shadows.
This was all his fault. He had blown everything. Instead of waiting for Detective Rongrun, he had taken action on his own.
Jonathan brought his wrist closer and tried to look at his watch. He couldn’t say for certain but he believed it was nearly four o’clock. That meant at least one hour until the police arrived, which would be too late.
It hurt to keep his eyes open, but he managed to do so. His assailant—Vincent—was holding his father’s gun in his hands. Jonathan could see by the way he was standing that there’d be no arguing with him, no pleading for mercy.
Resignation filled his heart, yet he knew he must try. “Let her go,” he said, regretting the tremor in his voice. “I’ll give you whatever you want. You can hold me instead of her. She needs a doctor …”
“Doctor?” Vincent’s eyes narrowed. “What on earth for,” he said, and he casually raised the gun and pointed it at Ann.
Jonathan shuddered.
“I’ve waited a long time for this,” Vincent said.
Jonathan looked around, trying to gather his strength and wondering what, if anything, he could use for a weapon.
“Call it judgment day,” Vincent prattled on. “We all must atone for our sins. You’re not exempt, and neither is she. Especially not her…”
“How much money will it take?” Jonathan quickly asked.
Instead of a reply, Vincent frowned a little, pointing the gun first at Ann then at Jonathan, and back again, as if weighing the decision who to shoot first.
Jonathan’s head was pounding. He wished he could think more clearly. There would be only one chance, if that. He would have to time his move perfectly.
As if reading his mind, Vincent leveled the gun towards Ann and pulled the trigger.
The gun clicked harmlessly. Once, twice, a third time. Vincent swore, then released the safety and re-aimed.
Jonathan somehow managed to leap upwards, keeping his eyes focused on the gun, while attempting to shield Ann with his own body.
The bullet caught him in the thigh. The force of it was enough to flip him over in midair. No pain, he thought in wonder as he hit the cement floor. Then it flared.
Vincent took aim again.
For a moment, Jonathan thought he might be hallucinating. A man was slowly coming towards them. He had crept out of the shadows and was rapidly approaching.
Vincent was too zoned out to notice.
Closer the man came.
Jonathan realized he must try a diversion. “The police are on the way,” he said, speaking the only truth to come to mind.
“Shut up!” Vincent hissed.
The man was almost upon them.
Jonathan recognized Sidney Greenspan, his skin coloring pasty, his breathing labored … which was ultimately what gave him away.
At the last possible moment, Vincent turned and calmly shot him in the chest.
Sidney’s body seemed to pirouette, then convulse.
Jonathan attempted to lunge at Vincent. But the wound to his leg had diminished his strength.
Vincent stepped aside. “You’re making this easy for me,” he boasted as he raised the gun and fired.