...8:29 PM...

...March 5th,2013...

"Hello?" I ask, answering the phone getting out of the restaurant shutting the door behind me.

"I have a question," Pete's voice came over the phone. "What would you do if there was a forged painting in the mansion of a dead man and it was going to be sold at a high price during a crime scene?"

I look around in the somewhat dark street lit by street lights.

"Pete," I said, hunching my brows. "Who gave you my phone number?"

"My sources are confidential," Pete said.

"I would throw a fireball into the painting and end the insulting event right there," I said. "And for it being an active crime scene then everyone in the room is a possible suspect."

"And if you knew who the murder is?" Pete asks.

"Tell the police," I said, walking down the sidewalk.

"Well, that is way too easy," Pete said.

I stop in my tracks.

"Pete," I said, deepening my voice. "Did you base Elizabeth Sweets off me?"

"No," Pete said, innocently. "You are not a con artist working for the FBI."

"Who is your confidential informant?" I ask.

"I cannot tell," Pete said.

I had a short laugh.

"You know there should be a song about confidentiality," I said.

"I think there is," Pete said.

"I will find out who told you," I said. "And next time you will not easily know my number."

I lower the phone then hit the red button and put the phone into my pocket. The street lights reflect off the small puddles left on the dirty ground. I put my hands into my pockets. I resume walking down the sidewalk with my purse in hand. Who else had I told my phone number to? I told Chelsey, a co-worker, my phone number because we are friends.

I go past a bar.

That is until I heard a commotion from the alley adjoining the bar's right hand side secret entrance. I turn towards the alley. I saw a couple thugs giving two girls a tough time. I take my jacket off near to the right corner of the wall and drop my purse on the jacket.

"Yo!" I shout.

The four thugs had the two girls pinned when they looked towards me.

"Can't you see we are busy here?" The first thug asks, gritting his teeth.

"No," I said. "I see a couple cowards taking on some one taller than them. You know that is not fair," I walk forwards noticing the girls are a couple inches above the ground. "Correction; stop picking on some one shorter than you."

"None of your business," The second thug said. "Just leave us to our sisters."

I look over towards the two girls.

"Sisters?" I ask.

The girls are trembling in fear and their eyes are full of panic. I can tell they are petrified; too scared to speak. If they tried to speak only screams could possibly come out. Their body language is one I have seen a lot in crime procedural shows where potential victims are in the hands of a bad guy and the good guy is right across holding a gun typically.

"Yeah," The fourth thug said.

I frown turning my head towards the thugs.

"All right," I said. "You idiots just lied to me."

"I said; NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!" The second thug turns around aiming a gun at my direction and presses the trigger.

I reach my arms out in self defense and closing my eyes expecting the worst. However I heard 'bling,bling,bling' like bullets bouncing off of godly steel. I open my eyes seeing the thugs staring back at me in shock. At least the thugs who were holding on to the girls let go. The second thug shook his head snapping out of the shock then aims the gun at the fleeing girls. Frankly I get in the way of the bullet's path using my arm bands to deflect them back at the thugs. One bullet hit the leg of the third thug, two bullets land to the ground, and then I feel a hot stinging pain in my shoulder.

The girls ran.

In that sheer pain I am able to make the thugs be wrapped in metal binding them together.

"Oh, I forgot to mention," The rock said. "I gave you two powers. One is able to move objects and people at will."

"Telekinesis," I said.

"The second is making things go boom," The rock said.

Funny how The Director of Transformers loves to make explosions go 'boom' and I have that power.

"Oh great," I said, with a painful sigh. "Michael Bay should have this power, not me."

"What power?" The second thug asks.

I look up with a smile.

"None of your concern," I said, lowering my hand.

I walk back to the jacket, pick up my purse, and put the jacket on over a bleeding wound.

"Yo Wonder chick!" The third thug shouts. "What about us?"

I use my right hand to hold the purse.

"Someone will find you," I said. "And I will deny all of it when they come to me."

_____________

...8:40 PM...

...My apartment...

Somehow I am able to peel off the jacket and shirt. I grab a squishy ball into my left hand pressing myself alongside the wall in a brown chair at a square table. I have a plastic bowl alongside the corner of my elbow. I put a rag into my mouth then pick up a long surgery themed tweezers out of the wet metal bowl. The wound has been disinfected. The pain is relatively burning hot kind of like a steaming tea pot only a little degree's higher. There is three holes in my shoulder that I hadn't noticed during the conflict with the thugs. Not one but three bullets are in my left shoulder. I wonder why in every spot available that three bullets lodged themselves into my shoulder.

'Come on,' I mentally thought, 'You can do this'.

I slid the tweezers into the first wound wincing in pain squeezing the ball biting down on the rag. Oh my primus this is excruciating! I feel a tear escape my eyes down my cheek. The tweezers snap onto a metal item lodged underneath the injured skin. Even more tears come out. Now how long has it been since I last cried?

Let's count.

2006, 2007,2008,2009,2010,2011.

Six years.

Six years ago I learned crying gets you no where except to lash out your feelings at the time. I remember because it was in Oak Groove right outside Fort CampBell,Kentucky. The long curvy road leading away from a vast dead group of trees. Now let's go back to the house in Oak Groove. I can remember there being two rooms; our room was right across from Mom and Step Dad. Across from the parents room was a bathroom. Down the hall there would be three rooms; kitchen, eating area, and living room that had a computer at the right hand corner across from the large television set. The last time I cried was in my room because...Now that I think of it, it was a silly reason. But Mom had mopped the floor and she didn't want me to step on the wet floor so I got upset about it. So take six years out of fifteen; all right, I was nine years old at the time.

I drop the bullet into the gray bowl with water.

I feel relieved but generally in more pain.

'You can do it,' I thought, relaxing my grip on the squishy ball.

I sigh.

My apartment mainly is a apartment; obviously. The one you can rent in the city and serves as a lousy excuse for temporary housing. The phone in my purse is ringing pretty loud. Note to self; change ring tune for anonymous calls. Ah Primus, whoever is calling me does not need to hear ugly horrible screams at this time of night. I pick up the tweezers once more seeing blood coming out of the disturbed hole. I sunk my teeth into the rag squeezing down on the ball. I highly recommend people (who have not seen movies where someone takes bullets out of another) not to do this and go to the nearest hospital.

I pry out the second bullet and drop it into the bowl.

Ah Primus, the phone rings again!

Can't stop now.

I made myself remove the last bullet and drop it into the bowl. I take the rag out onto the table. My tongue feels bitter and my entire mouth feeling so disgusted. It feels unfathomable in the middle of tingling pain. I relax in the chair with utmost silence comforting me letting go of the squishy ball followed by a string of pain. I close my eyes tilting my head up towards the ceiling taking small breaths. Eventually time passed and I find myself staring at the ceiling with a aching neck.

I straighten my head hearing a pop from the back of my neck.

Ring,ring, ring!

My left arm feel so sore.

OH SCRAP.

From the corner of my eye I saw three holes with dry blood.

I thought of kitchen paper and then lala a roll of kitchen paper levitated over to me. Somehow I am able to wrap the paper around the shoulder then after a couple layers the roll is cut and flies back to the counter it had come from. The phone floats out of the purse flying into my view. I saw 'Chelsey Cross' on the screen and the battery low. The green button dips in forwards then a couple other buttons until Chelsey is on speaker.

"Joooyy!" Chelsey sang. "Whheeeree areeee youuu?"

"I am home," I said. "Sick."

"Ew," Chelsey said. "You better stay home."

"Yes," I said, with a short laugh. "That's what I thought."

"How long is this gonna be for?" Chelsey asks.

"Probably a week," I said.

"Get better, Joy," Chelsey said.

"I will," I said. "Bye."

Now how in the world am I going to move around?, I thought as the red button is pressed on. The screen returns to the screensaver of a crystal with unique outer space colors behind it. Then another call begins ringing on the phone reading 'Pete of War'. I groan rolling an eye. The phone reads '11:39 AM'. The red button bends inwards and then pops back up.

"Not now, Pete," I said.

Oh right, I have to change my phone number.