Crime Scene Down the Hallway

I'm a bit disturbed right now, which ain't helping a headache already in progress.

I just found out about something that happened right here last night.

Someone got hurt, someone I know.

He was beaten, then shot.

All in less than two minutes.

He's alive but in a hospital's intensive care unit with a bullet lodged in his spine. Doctors say taking the bullet out will paralyze him from the chest down. Right now he's paralyzed from the waist down. He's 27 years old.

My intuition tells me he will be OK. Let's hope this is one of the nine times out of 10 that I'm right.

The sickest part of this story is why this happened to him.

This man's life is on the line because of a thug, a sick fuck and his sick fuck friends, who showed up to "get him" because--are you ready?--he's dating the thug's ex-wife.

Yup. That's it. I'm not fucking kidding you.

Even worse is that he had just started dating this girl. A two-week relationship led to an event that will most likely forever be the most terrifying moment of his life and one that might have just derailed his future.

Ironically, I had gone to see him earlier--which I never do because I never have to--to give him something related to his job here. I stood with him outside the room where the violent incident took place an hour or two before hell was unleashed on him.

I should've known better. My dog started barking at the curtain last night, which is not like her. She only barks during the day when the glass windows are wide open and she can see people and other dogs outside. I also heard a strange noise and thought it might be a car speeding, a couple arguing or people getting in and out of cars, which is what was happening, but I just never imagined someone's life was in danger. Later, when I took the dog out before turning in, I saw police cars and yellow crime-scene tape around the area where I had last seen him.

That tape is never a good sign.

I knew they wouldn't tell me, so I didn't ask the cops what happened. I figured I would find out sooner or later.

I totally forgot about it until just now, when I again took the dog outside and bumped into the manager here. I asked, he hesitated, said he's not supposed to tell anyone, I told him I saw the cops, I saw the tape, I heard something...

--"Did something bad happen?"
--Yes, he told me with his head.
--"Something really bad?"
--Yes, he nodded again.
--"Did someone get hurt...don't tell me someone got hurt."
--Yes.

And I was told the story I just told you, except in more detail, which I can't include here because I'm not supposed to know anything, much less tell anyone about it.

Shock led to deep concern, which led to anger. This motherfuckers showed up here to terrorize this gentle man--because that's what he is, gentle. They came to torture him--three on one, or five if we include the cunts (sorry, I'm too tired to think of another word and too pissed to care) who came along--and to kill him for the stupidest reason imaginable, just one step above shooting someone for not returning a pen.

Anger gave way to vivid fantasies of what I would've done if I had know what was happening five doors down from me and I had a gun--something I've been wanting for a while.

It is true what they say about the overwhelming feeling of helplessness that takes over when something like this happens and you can't do a thing about it. I can't prevent what already happened, I can't cure him, I can't go out with the cops to hunt these thugs, I can't shoot them in the balls, I can't comfort the victim, not at least until he's out of the ICU, I can't do anything.

I can't do anything about something that needs so much to be done about it. Yes, I feel helpless.

Maybe it is a good thing I don't have a gun.


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Photo source: "Rockie Told To Ease Off On Crime-Scene Tape" by The Onion