The Rockstar's Redemption

Chapter 1 "Are you sure you don't want me to walk you home?" I deny repeatedly, a small reassuring smile resting on my lips. "You're taking Olivia out for breakfast tomorrow," I remind him, to which he oddly grimaces, "It's late enough that you don't want to wake up early tomorrow, Jason. Don't worry about me, it won't be long now. I'll be fine." "Willa..." he insists. "Go on" I push him gently. "I know you, you're not an early riser and you can't look bad for a girl. Go on." Before he can say more, I turn and head down the street. I've lived in this small neighborhood all my life and while it's not the best in town, it's not the worst either. Nothing has ever happened to me and the crime rates are very low, but when you have a best friend like mine, you have to be prepared for the biggest of psychopathic dramas to pop into his mind. The way home is always quiet, I'm not even scared of the many broken light poles that have gone years without being fixed, taking away from the brightness of the road and the constant small alleys that line almost every street. And it is that this night should be like all the others. Only it isn't. Tonight, unbeknownst to me, would change my life forever. With my headphones on, I start humming as I walk home, missing only two short streets. The image of the little patient I treated at the end of the day is still etched in my memory, reminding me of one of the reasons why I am in my profession. The gratitude in people, especially from children when you treat them with the kindness and gentleness that perhaps many people do not give them, is more fulfilling than a better paying job surely would be. And it is as I go rapt in my thoughts, the music playing low in my ears, that I hear it. I hear it. It's hoarse moans, followed by hard thumps that sound painful. I shudder, stopping my pace. An even louder moan, followed by more pounding, reaches my ears again even over the sound of the music coming from the headphones. I walk slowly as I pull the devices out of my ears, feeling my heart racing faster and faster. My feet want to flee in the opposite direction, my panic begging me to turn around and walk away. But a single, painful thought of my mother brings me straight to the scene, not allowing me to ignore the situation. "Is he dead?" A masculine voice asks, chilling my blood. What?! I lean against the wall, hiding. The urge to run away comes over me more and more strongly. But now that I'm close, something other than thoughts of my mother come over me. Something that shames me. I don't want them to see me and hurt me. So I anchor myself against the wall, keeping myself hidden. "No" a softer voice joins in, then I hear another blow being struck. "Let's go, that's enough" the man with the coarser voice speaks again, however, the blows don't stop, I keep hearing them. "We've made it clear to him what he'll do, let's go." And I, the smartest person in the world, stand there, in the middle of what I am sure is a crime scene. My hands shake as I cling to the wall. I dare not poke my head out and look into the alley. I don't dare intervene, not until I hear rapid footsteps coming from the opposite side where I am. And just as I peek out, I catch it. I don't know how my eyes see it, but it's as if the image is imbedded in my head. A large colorful tattoo rests on the arm of one of the thugs, on the same arm where his hand carries a knife covered in blood. Before I can see more, the two men disappear. Almost instantly I hear the screeching sound of tires on pavement and the acceleration of a speeding car. My feet immediately run towards the large lump lying on the wet floor, ice running through my veins as I smell and see the blood. A big pool of blood. A part of me keeps telling me to run, to walk away, that it's none of my business, but it's an injured person in front of my eyes, how can I leave him there, like he's nothing more than a broken object I saw in passing? "s**t" the word I rarely say comes out of my mouth, my knees scraping the old gravel of the worn floor as I fall in front of the body. My frightened eyes dart frantically around the poor human being, my body still shaking. He is a man, a nearly dead man in need of help. I'm afraid to touch him, but I need to know. So, with extreme care, I bring my trembling fingers and feel his weak pulse. "Can you hear me?" I ask, my face close to his to try to get his attention, to make him hear me better. More blood is what I smell and he doesn't answer me anything. With trembling hands I reach into my purse and awkwardly start to call 911, but weak fingers stop me, wrapping around my wrist with what attempts to be strength. I freeze, staring at the bloody hand against my skin. "No." A gasp escapes my mouth because I didn't say that word. "Oh my God" I look at him dumbfounded. "You're alive!" A part of me feels stupid because, Jesus, I felt his pulse, of course he's alive, but nothing else makes it out of my mouth. "D-don't... don't... call..." What? "Don't talk" I whisper, looking at his bloodied face. "I'm going to call an ambulan..." "No!" He screams again, his hand clinging to my wrist with a determination that amazes me in his state. "Don't-don't call... don't... don't call... anyone." Don't call anyone? "But..." "No!" For the first time the man's eyes open, but only slightly. And I freeze because the pleading and agony I see in them is too much for me, for anyone. "N-nobody." "You..." the fingers on my wrist tighten a little, his eyes on me open just the tiniest bit wider, briefly showing me a brown color stained with the redness of his pupils because of how bad it is. "You're in a bad way." He denies and opens his mouth to speak, but a painful cough is what comes from his cracked lips. My eyes are still fixed on the man, the agony I see in his face breaks me a little inside and I don't understand why. Or maybe I do, he reminds me of someone. He's my chance to redeem myself. "Can you walk?" I gasp at the stupidity of my question. "Of course not, if you're almost dead..." I stop, looking at him, a nervous giggle escapes me. "You'll be fine, you'll be fine, you're not dead." What was I about to say?! I was going to declare him dead, right to his face! And I just don't know what I'm doing. What I am sure of is that his agony goes away a little when he hears that I'm going to help him. So I know I'm doing the right thing. "N-nobody" the man whispers again, his fingers pressing again on my wrist. "N-nobody, y-yes me..." " Sh-sh" I whisper. "Don't talk." He ignores me. "N-nobody, if... if they see me..." "Don't talk..." "D-die." I furrow my eyebrows, confusion filling me, apart from all the tumult of thoughts invading me. I'm crazy, I'm crazy, I'm crazy! I have to be to do this, thinking I'm Superman! He keeps looking at me as if I'm about to lose consciousness, there's an insistence in his eyes, as if he's asking more of me than I understand. "You'll be fine." The boy shakes his head, then finally grunts painfully: "P-promise me." "Yes, yes, yes" I agree without knowing what he's talking about, stumbling to help him up only to drop him again. Mother. Holy. I try again and do my best to put his weight on me. And don't ask me how I do it, because even I don't know. But I do, I manage to drag this poor dying man all the way home. "Promise" he insists as soon as I lay him on my bed, grimaces resting on his dirty, bleeding face as he holds his side. "What do I promise you?" I whisper in a tiny voice, stumbling around my room as I reach for the first aid kit. "N-nobody, promise" he keeps repeating the same thing as I freak out in my room. "Promise." And the agony all over him urges me to do it. "I promise!" I scream, losing my patience. And it's only when he hears my words that his eyes close and he loses consciousness.