EVE OF CHANGE

By Darcy N. Carmichael

Once again, Olivia finds herself standing alone in the darkness, high upon a rooftop overlooking Lawsin City Park. She has been here every night this week, keeping a constant vigil from her perch for the scum of this city, those who would prey on people crazy enough to be in this park, alone after dark.

It all started off simple enough, tr

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stratton Press
• Release date: Jan 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9781947355958

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Dedication

To my mom, whose love and creativity inspired me to pursue my artistic passion.

Fun at the Park

ONCE AGAIN, I find myself standing alone in the darkness, high upon a rooftop overlooking Lawsin City Park. I’ve been keeping a constant vigil for the scum of this city, those who would prey on those who are crazy enough to be in this park, alone after dark. I have been here every night this week, and from my perch, I can see almost the entire park. Here I sit patiently watching, waiting for the right time to reclaim this park from the dark element that has stolen it from the citizens of Lawsin City.

I know exactly what you’re thinking! You think that I am out far too late on a school night! I am dressed head to toe in black and gray camouflage, so I must be just as crazy as those people in the park I am trying to protect! In some ways, you might be right. Yet unlike those innocent people, I am here for a purpose—although I do not really know what that purpose is. This may sound really strange, but the one thing I do know, the one thing I am absolutely, positively sure of, is that it is this park that holds the key. The very key that unlocks the door to who I am and who I will become.

I used to play here when I was a child, which, upon reflection, feels like a lifetime ago. Looking down on this park, my mind is filled with fond memories of my mother. She would push me on the swings, and I would laugh and tell her to push me higher. We would build castles in the sandbox, creating whole other worlds for me to imagine I lived in. As I sit here looking at this park and remembering the wonderfully great times I had here with my mother, I can’t stop my mind from drifting. Somehow I always end up flashing back to that day, that horrifying day that changed my life forever.

It was ten long years ago, and I was playing with my mom in the park like always. She was pushing me on the swings as I playfully cried out, Higher, Mommy, higher! The sounds of gunshots suddenly filled the air, and abruptly our laughter ceased. A deadly silence hung over the playground, and then just as suddenly replaced with the sounds screaming and panic. I remember my mom grabbing me from the swing in midair. She held me close to her chest, her strong arms holding me tight as she ran for cover.

As Mom ran, I could hear more gunshots going off all around us. Mom held my head down and into her shoulder for protection. Still to this day, I can remember the smell of her perfume. Mom finally found safety behind a large boulder, and she lowered us down to the ground beside it. We waited there, hoping for the violence to pass, but it was too late; the fear that we were running from had already found us.

Somewhere between the swings and the safety of the boulder, a stray bullet had found us. My mom had been shot. She told me everything would be just fine, like mothers do, and held me close to her body for my protection. Mom whispered over and over to stay as quiet as a mouse until the bad men went away. So we waited in silence for help to arrive, and she slipped away from me, into the darkness of slumber.

A high-pitched scream for help snaps me back to present day and reality. I immediately focus all of my attention back to the park where the plea for help had come from. Pulling out my night-vision binoculars from my backpack, I search over the dimly lit park for signs of trouble. In anticipation, I listen for another scream to help give me a location.

I didn’t have to wait long; the next scream comes from the northeast corner of the park, which is relatively close to my position. With my binoculars, I see a very scared woman running for her life down the forest path. Close on her heels are two men, and even from way up here, I could tell they were up to no good. This woman is a fast runner, but not fast enough. The two men soon overtake her and push her to the ground.

If I am going to save her, I have to move fast. Grabbing hold of the black climbing rope I had tied off to a pipe on the roof, I swiftly rappel myself down the side of the four-story building and into the dimly lit alley below. I move quickly and quietly across the street, disappearing into the bushes surrounding the park.

My face painted with gray and black stripes and the camouflage bandana tying back my hair back make it difficult to actually see me. I am able to move through the dark wilderness and shadows of the park swiftly and silently, approaching my target.

In the back of my mind, I am trying to remember the last known location of the attack. As I pick up the pace, I can only hope that I am not too late. I am close now, and so I come to a stop, listening closely for any sounds of a struggle that will lead me to the woman and her attackers.

Her screams are faint now, muffled, as if there is a hand over her mouth. I can also make out the sound of gravel being kicked around. That means she is still alive and she’s a fighter.

Without making a sound, I move in closer; I need to get a better look at the situation. Timing is everything, so I cannot slow down too much. I will have to make decisions on the fly.

Through the trees in front of me, I can see the two men. One is kneeling over her; he has a knife in one hand, and the other hand is over her mouth. He thinks he is in control of the situation but keeps telling her to shut up.

The other man is standing off to the side with a gun in hand. He is supposed to be the lookout; however, I can tell he is uncomfortable with the whole thing by the way he is keeping his distance, and he seems a little too jumpy. That is a dangerous combination.

I have to make my move, and I have to make it fast! I pick up the pace, and without missing a step, I soar from the cover of the trees like a jungle cat. Leaping through the air, I land on and tackle the lookout to the ground. I had to take the gun out of the equation. As his head hits the pavement with a thud, he goes unconscious. The gun flies from his hand and slides along the paved path into the ditch beside his friend. I disappear into the tree line on the other side of the path before his friend has a chance to see a thing.

The remaining man looks around frantically, not knowing what is going on. He lets the woman go and scrambles for the gun he sees in the ditch. He drops the knife as he quickly upgrades to the gun. The woman struggles to get to her feet and run away, but she is frozen with fear when she sees him start firing the gun blindly into the trees.

I am lying flat on the ground, well below the barrage of bullets. From my hiding spot, I can see the desperation in his eyes, even in the dim light of the streetlamp. Listening closely, I count the bullets—6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1—and then I hear the familiar click, click, click of an empty gun.

Kneeling up from behind the log that had protected me, I can see the woman hiding under the light. She is tucked into a ball crying, quietly though, so as not to make a sound, and she is not moving at all, which should draw any attention away from her.

The man runs over and frantically tries to grab the extra bullets from his friend’s pocket as he unsuccessfully tries to wake him. Then he fumbles with the bullets as he tries to reload his six-round revolver. This is not the best gun on the street but easy to use. This guy is definitely not a gunman, and in the state of mind he is in, this should be as easy as taking candy from a baby.

Grabbing a rock from beside me, I throw it over the path and into the trees on the other side and quickly duck back behind the log. The sudden sound startles him because I can hear him drop all the unloaded bullets he has in his hand to the ground. I hear him snap shut the gun, and then again he is firing randomly into the trees in the direction where the rock landed. He only manages to get three bullets in, and so very quickly, he is empty again.

His back is now facing me; I can make my move. Jumping from my hiding spot in the trees, I make a beeline straight for him. I jump him from behind, and with a quick hit to the head, he is down. As I rise up, he goes unconscious and drops at my feet, just as hopeless as his friend.

As I look down at my handiwork, a smile comes over my face. I like to think that somewhere out there Mom is watching me, with a smile on her face too. I reach into my deep pocket and pull out the long plastic ties—the same ones the cops use for handcuffs. I quickly bind up both their feet and hands and leave them in the middle of the path.

I look over toward the streetlamp, and I see the reason I’m here. The woman they attacked, who is still curled up in a fetal position and crying. She is obviously traumatized by the ordeal and is in need of serious help. Comforting people is not my forte; I am more of a snap-out-of-it kind of girl. But what the heck, I am willing to give it a try for just this once.

As I start moving closer to her, she looks up at me with fear in her eyes. I can see she needs to be reassured, but as I am about to speak, I hear the siren of the cop car in the park coming from somewhere behind us; the echo of car doors shutting lets me know they are close. That very sound in itself stops me in my tracks.

Saved by the bell, I think to myself as I head back into the safety of the trees. You will be fine now that the cops are here. I have to go. That was all I had time to say as I quietly disappear back into the darkness!

I watch the two cops turn the corner and into the clearing with their guns drawn and ready for anything. They both have looks of surprise and then relief when they see the two thugs tied up and lying helpless on the path. One cop turns his attention to the woman sobbing at the lamppost. I could hear the soothing tones as he attempts to calm her.

The other cop goes over to check out my handiwork. Neither one of them seems to notice the rustling of the leaves as I move about in the tree to get a better look, or maybe they didn’t care?

From my perch high in the tree, I see the cops going about their work as quickly as possible. It is a shame that the park has gotten so bad, even the cops are afraid to be here at night. One of them suddenly looks up into the trees. It feels like he is looking directly at me, so I freeze instantly, staying as still as I can. He gazes up at me for only a few moments, but it feels like an eternity to me, and then he just shakes his head and turns away. His arm