Whether I was content, or whether I was sorrowful, these emotional calculations were of the least importance at this moment. The imperative thought on my mind was that a member of the public was on the ground unconscious during my sacred duty as a protector of the public.
I jumped from the roof-top. I reached the civilian level; the street level. I rapidly ran to examine the health of the woman that had just been shot. I leaned over her body, knowing that I could not be observed, I began to think, ‘Her hair perfectly reflects the moon light. Her skin… so obscure that she appeared to dissolve within the murkiness of the night. I noticed that she was wearing a grey pencil skirt and a formal white shirt. I always loved this about women, the delicacy and… the innocence.’ Then, a rational thought streamed into my mind. ‘I needed to shut my mind off from such romantic notions. This is most likely a dead woman! Now, it is time to react. My mission is to ensure that SHE STAYS ALIVE!’
I loudly shouted, “Help! Help!”
No-one replied to my instinctive call. No-one but the woman that laid upon the ground. She began slowly to breathe again. My pulse hastily responded to the hectic realisation that the woman was still alive.
I took the woman into my arms and carried her to the nearest telephone booth. I carefully put her onto the ground in front of the telephone booth, and I called for the ambulance. I gave them all of the details that were necessary to ensure that the woman was taken to hospital.
When an ambulance arrived, one of the doctors asked for my name. I confirmed this. Then, the doctor wanted to ask me another question but I decided to disappear from the scene without a word. The ambulance then left Catford.
A week later…
The woman, Monique Paul, was in Lewisham Hospital, the nearest hospital to Catford. Since the night that Monique was shot, during my night patrols, instead of chasing criminals, I checked upon Monique’s health. Each night I visited her; her health was stable. However, a doctor’s report did not state that there was any further improvement as regards Monique’s health. This began to consume my mind.
My feeling of guilty deepened. This is because I was there, when the shooting took place. Nevertheless, I did not stop the bullet that pierced Monique. This lack of action on my part resulted in the deterioration of my daily motivation; to work effectively and efficiently at the university.
Two days later, during the night…
I checked upon Monique’s health. And the doctor’s diagnosis concluded that Monique was in a coma. This made me clench my fists. Then, I felt a familiar emotion, which I had avoided to express for almost six years. It was my anger. Furthermore, at this moment, I slowly realised that this emotion took control of me. I began to think of what I would do to the pseudo-policeman when I found him. Yet, I did not want to think or act too emotionally. Thus, I exited Monique’s medical room.
I went to the rooftop of the hospital and I disappeared. After an hour of frantic walking, I found myself in Chelsea borough in front of a liquor store.
I thought, ‘It is winter. I will buy some whiskey to warm my soul.’ I entered the store. I asked a cashier, “Do you sell Jack Daniels in here?”
The cashier responded, “Oh yes, we have Jack Daniels. Which edition would you like, Sir?”
I simply responded, “Whatever you recommend?”
The cashier laughed, and comprehendingly replied, “Well, Sir, that is self-explanatory. I would recommend this version.” The cashier pointed at the Golden bottle of Jack Daniels.
I immediately told him, “I would like ten of them!”
The cashier replied, “I see, you must be having a big celebration.”
I impatiently responded, “Yes, indeed.”
The cashier prepared two bags with five bottles in each bag. Then, he pronounced the price, which was beyond my cash limit. Realising this and without hesitation, I knocked the cashier out with one blow to his temple. Then, I grabbed the bags and ran off from the store.