By: Rebecca Down
4:00 pm – New Jersey
The loud bang of the gun still rang out in my ears. Dahlia had dropped to the floor, blood oozing onto the ground. She laid there, a hand over the wound on the left side side of her abdomen, and I quickly prayed that the bullet was not the organ-destroying kind. With the blood beginning to seep out of her…I couldn’t even think about it. This was the first time I’d ever seen her look weak. It scared me. Completely and utterly scared me. I thought we had the situation under control.The alarms were blaring, and there was no way we were the ones in control.
Just moments ago, Dahlia was in charge. She had waved her gun around, yelling in a voice that made people afraid. The tellers were so terrified, they tossed the money into our bags as if they were bombs that they couldn’t hold any longer. We were their queens, and they were our servants, just feeding into our power trip.Then the gunshot rang off, and Dahlia fell to the floor with a loud grunt. My eyes darted to Dahlia and back to the gun. I struggled between stopping her pain, and standing our ground. We didn’t have the control anymore. We weren’t powerful—the gun was. A different woman held that key, a tiny pistol in her hands and a deranged look in her eyes. “Get the fuck on the ground too, you bastard!” I stood, frozen.
She had pulled me into this life. Well, maybe pulled wasn’t the right word. I had definitely chosen this—and even if we were in some fucked up shit right now—I still want it to be known that I chose this. Dahlia was definitely my catalyst—the woman who allowed me to find my own power. A knight in shining armor—or at least a criminal who seemed like one.
I had barely seen beyond my bedroom door before she arrived. Mostly due to my incredibly overbearing mother. My mother made my lunches, chose my outfits, even decided my schedule. At eighteen years old, I had never been to the movies without parental supervision. She had even taken me out of public school at the age of fourteen, once she had decided everyone was a bad influence. Like, that meant everyone. It didn’t matter to her that I really only hung out with my friends from choir class. As if freshmen in choir were really up to anything.It wasn’t my decision. I was pulled out and home schooled in the middle of my freshman year, just so that my mom could control my schooling. “Teachers are always getting it wrong, baby,” she’d tell me. Apparently, we had to look out for even the teachers.
See, I used to assume that she knew best. That without her, I probably would end up drinking under age, doing drugs or dead. Other kids my age didn’t understand the risk they were taking or the trouble they were getting into. Without my mom I’d end up like the rest of them.
My mother once came home from work and found out that I had been planning on leaving. She instantly took my phone away, and when my friend showed up at my house to pick me up, she walked outside herself and told her that I was too sick to go out. I sat inside my room the entire time, just wishing there was some way I could escape that place. Even when my friends tried to act heroic she always had a way to foil their escape plans.
“You know I think Carmen is a bad influence,” she said to me that day, a stern tone in her voice. I had tears in my eyes but I didn’t think she noticed. Not until she came close to my face, and her own expression softened. “Baby,” she always called me that, and lately it left a bad taste in my mouth, “you know I’m just doing this so you’ll always be safe. I’m helping you, I promise.” She wiped my tears away with her soft fingers. I started to believe her. Her soft hands were just so soothing…maybe they did understand me, maybe they understood the world better than I did. These soft fingers held the key to safety—to comfort. Then I remembered how long it had been since I’d seen Carmen…or any of my classmates from freshman choir, and that safe feeling completely disappeared.
I gave her a nod, still praying that my agreeable attitude would get me my phone back—I needed some connection to other people other than her. “You’ll get this back once I know you can be trusted with it.” I watched her as she walked out of my room.
After that, I told the few friends I had left to stop trying. There was no point, she wasn’t going to let it happen. I tried to laugh it off, telling them how hard it was that my mom was so strict, and so protective. “She just thinks she knows best” I’d try to say to them whenever anyone tried to invite me out. It was hard, and I was bitter and tired. There was no point to keep trying. I guess my friends thought the same thing cause eventually those texts stopped coming.
I spent a lot of time doing school work after that. I felt like it was the one thing I could control. Since my mom didn’t spend a lot of time censoring which novels and books I could read, it was my one source into outside information. After doing whatever homework she’d assigned, I’d pull out a book and spend the rest of my time devouring that. At least in that way I felt like I could connect with someone.
On this day, however, police sirens ripped me out of those stories… they rang out loud and clear throughout my neighborhood. They rang through my head so loud, I immediately jumped to my window to see what was going on. My mother had left me alone while she went to the store, so there was nothing to stop my curiosity. As I looked outside for the excitement, suddenly harsh, frantic knocks banged on the front door. I sat confused for a second before hurrying downstairs. My mom always said not to answer the door for strangers, but I completely ignored that, and swung the door open.
A young woman, maybe slightly older than I stood at the doorway. Her long, deep-red hair hung in a tight ponytail behind her head, slight drops of sweat rested on her forehead, and she was taking huge breaths of air. She looked powerful, even though she was definitely shorter than I.
“Hi.” She said between breaths, with a quick smile on her face. “I’m looking for a place to stay for a few minutes. Just to uh,…catch my breath.”
Looking back at it, she could probably tell I was young and definitely not good at making my own decisions. She was right. I let her in.
“Thanks babe.” She said without missing a beat. I followed her inside as she wandered into my kitchen, letting it soak in that I just let some kind of criminal into my home.
“Uhm…would you like a glass of water?” I asked, remembering how exhausted she was when she arrived.
“I’d love some.” She said. She looked like she was paying close attention to the noise outside. I started to hear it trail off into the distance. Apparently these policemen really did not know what to do during a foot chase.
I got her some water, then dropped it off at a table nearby. “Who are you?” I asked bluntly. Apparently, my recent months alone hadn’t allowed me to develop the greatest social skills.
“That’s a really complicated question, thanks for asking.” She replied. “You have any roommates around?”
“No, my mom’s at the grocery store.” I replied, instantly regretting letting her know I was alone.
She came closer to me, and touched the ends of my long, brown hair. “What’s your name?” Having her so close to me made my heart jump. She smelled like lavender. I found myself wishing she’d stay this close.
“Eve.” I said. It was as if every single question she asked me I had to answer truthfully. Her beautiful smile and bright blue eyes had that sort of affect.
“What a beautiful name.” She looked all around the house, picking up the water as she went. She drank a few sips and licked her lips before seeing the glass down again. “What a beautiful home too.”
I jumped in on that one quickly. “It’s not really a home. More like a house. Four walls and a ceiling sort of thing.” She cracked a smile at that and I felt a little proud for making her laugh.
“Well, I’m very thankful you let me inside, Eve.” She lingered on my name, as did I struck by the way her lips looked when she spoke. “But it looks like I have to get going.”
She tilted her head, listening for those sirens again, making sure they faded off into the distance completely. Then she grabbed the water off the table again, took a few big gulps, and headed towards the door.
“Where are you going?” I interrupted. My mouth immediately snapped shut. Hearing my own voice ask her that surprised even myself.
“Why?” A smirk pulled at her lips, “do you want to come?” She seemed like she knew the answer before I even realized it myself.
And the next thing I knew we were walking out the door together; I, looking forward to whatever new possibilities could come, and she, always looking over her shoulder for those damn cops.
I felt like I’d never experienced life before Dahlia arrived. Honestly, I hadn’t. New foods, new places, new people. Everything new and nothing old and everything incredibly refreshing. Dahlia showed me things I didn’t even know existed—thai food that I never would’ve even thought to try, jewelry that I never would’ve expected I’d own. My body felt like it was flying—as if I’d unlocked some new ability that I never even knew I had.
Every once in awhile, if we made it somewhat close to my hometown, we’d run across a “Missing Person” sign posted in a restaurant, or a pole on a street side. I’d rip it off in a second, the tearing sound was so satisfying. The thing was, I wasn’t missing. I didn’t want to be found. My mother was stubborn and adamant—continuously looking for me even though she knew I probably wasn’t ever going to come back. Why would I? My life was finally perfect.I was laying on our bed in an old motel room, smoking a joint and listening to some jazz music that Dahlia loved. I never learned the name of the song but she played it constantly and I always got lost in those melodies. She danced in the middle of the room, laughing stupidly. It was an image of her I’d never forget. It was so goddamn different from who she was outside, and I felt grateful that I got to see it. Really, every side of her was brilliant. Her powerful, sophisticated attitude when we were in a five-star restaurant we really didn’t belong in and her beautiful sultry side when we needed to get what we wanted. This —this might’ve been the softest side—the most vulnerable side.
Dahlia walked over to the bed, plopping down and propping her head up on her arm at the same time. She yanked the joint out of my hand and took a big hit. As the smoke poured out of her mouth, her lips curled into a smile.
“You’re looking beautiful.” She said, with a dazed smile.
I smiled right back, not bothering to respond. She already knew I thought the same thing about her.
“Let’s go to New York tomorrow.” I pulled the joint out of her hand, taking another hit. “I’ve always wanted to see The Big Apple.” All the flashing lights and loud noises, I was aching to go.
As soon as I mentioned that though, her smile faded. “I don’t think that’s possible Eve…. we’re running out of money. I know you don’t like it but…”
“No.” I planned on dropping it there. Dahlia had mentioned needing to steal more before, but I’d always dismissed it. I might’ve left the path a little bit but I wasn’t planning on completely running through the woods.
“Eve… we’re not gonna be able to keep living like this if we don’t-”
“No. We can’t. How much is left, can’t we just put it off for a little longer?”
Dahlia sighed heavily, clearly frustrated. “We have enough for a few more days in this motel. Nowhere near enough to make it to New York.”
I sat up, and tried to think about what we should do. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, I didn’t want to be a criminal or a bad guy or whatever. I didn’t know what else Dahlia and I could do without any money… How could we survive? I was starting to get nervous too, I didn’t have any skills! What kind of job could I get that could possibly help us live on our own? What kind of job could Dahlia get that didn’t involve stealing?
Dahlia took the joint out of my hand, but not because she wanted it for herself. Only because she could tell I was starting to panic. “Alright…” she said slowly, “No more mary jane for you.” I cracked a smile. I always loved the way she talked, using phrases that belonged in the past.
She took a deep breath. “I have a plan already. There’s this bank a few towns over…We passed it on our way here. Maybe we can pay someone to go check it out for us, ya know? I promise we will be prepared for this. We won’t hurt anyone. We can go just go in, take the money, and get out.”
I thought about it. I knew Dahlia knew what she was doing… she’d told me about what she’d done, stolen from jewelry stores, robbed liquor stores, a bank here and there. She knew what she was doing for sure. I trusted her—she wasn’t a killer. No one would get hurt. I took a deep breath. No one would get hurt.
Dahlia was looking at me, waiting for me to respond.
“Okay. Let’s do it. You better know what you’re doing. If this goes south I’m gonna kill you.” I said with a laugh, pushing her with one finger on the arm.
She chuckled, “Trust me, babe. I got this all under control.”
Well trust me, there was definitely no control here now. Dahlia was on the floor, blood starting to pool, inching towards my shoes. Her eyes were barely open and I knew she’d be gone soon.
“Get on the floor! Don’t make me shoot!” The woman screamed. She was holding her tiny gun between both her hands, shaking with fear.
I tried to get my own thoughts steady. The police would be here soon. The small gun held in my waistline started to burn, as if it was physically telling me to use it. It was so hard to think with Dahlia’s blood touching my feet. I pulled out the gun, my hands so sweaty I was sure it would slip out my grasp. I pointed it right at the head of the old lady.
“Who are you calling a bastard, huh?” I screamed. There was no way that sounded intimidating. No way, no way. I guess I had to fake it ‘til I made it here.
I shot the small gun off quickly, right next to the old woman’s head. It made a jarring noise that made a few other tellers yelp. “Don’t move, granny. Drop the gun.” She hesitated for a moment before dropping her tiny pistol, the clanking noise echoing throughout the silent room. I could still hear Dahlia’s tiny moans. I was really cutting it close.
I shut off one more scare shot right into the ceiling of the building. “No one better fucking move or the next one is going into someone’s heart.” I’d never heard my voice so loud before, it was starting to scare even me. I kept my gun in the air and grabbed Dahlia around the waist. She yelped in pain, and I realized I wasn’t going to be strong enough to get the both of us out of there, at least not with this tenpound bag of money on my back too.
I dropped the bag. It fell with a heavy thud, but I wasn’t even thinking about it. I headed for the exit with a barely-conscious Dahlia hanging on my side. Our getaway car sat with the engine running and I knew I had seconds before the police would be on our tail. I tossed Dahlia into the backseat, hoping the roughness of it all would wake her up a little bit. She couldn’t die. She wouldn’t die. Putting the car quickly into drive, I stepped on the gas and headed directly into the setting sun.
