Cause of A Damn B-Day Catch-22. pg. 16-20

Page 16

==== Still reeling from my encounter with Pastor Bill, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. I had stood my ground, a departure from my usual compliance. Throughout my life, I had been ‘saved’ countless times, dragged to the altar by my grandmother. But no more. This was the end of my compliance with this system of social control. As we exited the sanctuary, their members gave me a wide berth, avoiding me as if I were a contagion. It was just as well; I had no intention of returning anytime soon. Peter and I were here only because of a birthday catch-22. But come December, for Peter’s 30th, we’d be escaping to the warmth of the south like migrating birds.

 Page 17

==== Suddenly, Peter’s movements were swift and decisive, reminiscent of a linebacker making a crucial tackle in a high-stakes game. With a surprising burst of strength, he shoved me into a small, dimly lit closet just off the foyer.

“You’re ruining my dress!” I yelled at him, my voice a mix of shock and indignation. I struggled against his firm grip, taken back by the unexpected show of force. He pushed me further into the cramped space, my back hitting the cool, hard floor, along with my expensive Ferragamo purse. His hands frantically skimmed over the door, searching for a lock that didn’t exist, his actions tinged with a palpable sense of urgency.

“What the hell are you doing? Are you out of your mind?” I screamed, my voice reverberating against the closet walls, amplifying the panic in my tone. My heart pounded furiously in my chest, each beat echoing the fear coursing through me.

His hand clamped down over my mouth to stifle the screams. Near my ear, he whispered, “I saw a man... with a gun,” his breath was ragged, his eyes wide with alarm.

The gravity of his words struck me like a physical blow, sending a jolt of ice through my veins. Instinctively, I pushed his hand away, my mind a whirlwind of terror and disbelief. We were trapped in this dark, confined space, vulnerable and exposed, with no means of securing our makeshift refuge. The thought sent a chill down my spine.

From outside the closet, the muffled sounds of distant screams and ensuing chaos penetrated the thin walls; each cry was a stark reminder of the nightmare unfolding just beyond our hideaway. The air in the closet felt heavy, charged with fear and uncertainty, as we huddled together in the shadows.

 Page 18

==== “He’s got a gun,” the panicked whispers seeped through the closet walls, each word dripping with terror, infiltrating the cramped space where Peter and I hid. The air felt thick, charged with an overt fear that clung to every breath we took.

In response, Peter’s actions were rapid and pivotal. He deftly pulled out his iPhone, his fingers moving with a practiced urgency that belied our precarious situation. As he tapped the emergency button, I could almost feel the silent waves of our distress call emanating from the phone, an invisible signal of our desperate plea for help. The device, usually so mundane and innocuous, had become our lifeline, connecting us to a world beyond the chaos.

As he pocketed the phone, Peter turned to me, his arms encircling me in a protective embrace. His body was tense, coiled with readiness, yet there was a tenderness in his hold that belied his fear. At that moment, he was more than just a friend; he was a barrier between me and the unknown horrors lurking just beyond the thin veneer of our sheetrock sanctuary.

Tears welled in my eyes, a mix of fear and an acute sense of vulnerability overwhelming me. My mind raced with thoughts of Sid and Jenn – our friends, our confidants. The uncertainty of their safety gnawed at me, adding to the maelstrom of emotions. Were they, too, hiding somewhere, hearts pounding in terror? Or were they out there, unwittingly caught in the direct path of danger? The thought of them facing this nightmare, possibly alone and unprotected, sent a fresh wave of dread coursing through me.

In the suffocating darkness of the closet, with only the faintest sliver of light sneaking under the door, the reality of our situation settled heavily upon us. We were trapped, tangled in a scenario that seemed more like a horrific scene from a movie than reality. The distant sounds of chaos and fear continued to filter through the walls, a haunting reminder of the peril just inches away.

 Page 19

===== “Hey, Pastor Bill, you ready to go to heaven?” The chilling question, delivered in a menacing tone, sliced through the tense silence like a knife. Its implied threat hung heavily in the air, ominous and unsettling.

Huddled together in the cramped confines of this closet, Peter and I became mere spectators to the unfolding horror outside. The cacophony of fear and chaos just beyond our hideaway was almost flagrant. The sounds of people scrambling for safety collided with their terrified cries, painting a vivid tapestry of panic and desperation. Each frantic footstep and each whimper of fear reverberated through the thin walls of our sanctuary, keeping us painfully aware of the terror that loomed just inches away.

Without warning, the closet door quivered and rattled under a violent impact, as if the horror had come knocking directly on our flimsy barrier. The suddenness of it sent shockwaves of fear coursing through my body, my heart racing wildly in response. I clung to Peter, seeking some semblance of comfort in the midst of this nightmare.

The air around us was pierced by desperate, agonizing screams of “Nooooooo.” A solitary gunshot rang out, its sharp report cutting through the disharmony and sending a bone-chilling shiver down my spine. The reverberation of the shot lingered ominously, a haunting reminder of the life-and-death stakes just beyond our hiding place.

In the distance, barely audible over the chaos, the faint sound of approaching sirens trickled into our ears. It was a beacon of hope, yet it seemed torturously distant. The reality of our potential rescue was tantalizing yet frustratingly remote.

Amidst the terror, a voice outside – strained but unmistakably tinged with a note of relief and urgency – announced, “The Police are here.” The statement should have been a comfort, a sign that help was imminent. Yet, in the cramped darkness of the closet, with danger lurking so close, it did little to ease the knot of dread that had tightened in my stomach.

 Page 20

==== Frozen in place, Peter and I clung to each other, an island of human contact in a sea of fear. The familiar scent of his cologne was a comforting presence amidst the enveloping terror. It was a strange juxtaposition – the mundane mingling with the extraordinary – as if even in our darkest moment, the normalcy of life insisted on making itself known. Our minds were tormented with worry for Sid and Jenn, Ms. Helen, Bree, her husband Jarrod, and their son Ivy. Were they safe? Or had they, too, been swept up in this terrifying maelstrom of chaos?

As these thoughts swirled through my mind, a more profound question nagged at me, tugging at the very edges of my consciousness. In these moments of sheer despair, where was the divine intervention we so desperately needed? The silence on this matter was deafening, leaving me with a hollow feeling of abandonment.

Suddenly, without warning, the closet door flung open, an explosion of blinding light invading our dark sanctuary. My heart catapulted into my throat. Every muscle tensed in anticipation of the unknown. My eyes instinctively clenched shut against the harsh glare, as if by refusing to see, I could somehow ward off the impending threat.

In that heart-stopping, breath-holding moment, a chilling and unbidden thought wormed its way into my mind, casting a shadow over my racing heart: what if this was the end? What awaited us on the other side of this abruptly opened door? The uncertainty of it was paralyzing, and for a fleeting second, time itself seemed to stand still, suspended on the edge of an unknowable precipice.

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