Alana Boone

Coffee keeps me on my feet at these early hours. I'm so mad at my dad for waking me up. I mean, it's my freaking summer vacation. Leave me alone! Here I am at 9am, on a hot summer day, buying coffee to snap myself out of this grumpy mood.

I tried waking my best friend up, but obviously she wouldn't pick up, a reason we became best friends. We're both grumpy at mornings. I'm stuck to buy coffee alone and then run some errands for my dad.

The café is beside the town I live in, small and cozy, with delicate beige walls and white tables decorated with shelves full of old books. As I'm waiting for my order, I hear noises from outside the café. I take a glance at the café glass. The street is bustling with people. "Your latte is ready ma'am" the barista says, grabbing my attention back from whatever's happening outside. I mutter "thank you" as I take the cup from her, flashing a little smile.

I head out, leaving the door to shut slowly behind me, watching two guys full of rage, about to cut each other's throat, just to realize that one of them is pointing a gun at the other. They're screaming but I couldn't understand any word from the loud noises around me, people freaking out and others getting their way out of this damned scene.

Before I can process what I'm doing, I feel my legs taking me towards the guys, hearing my quick heartbeats pound in my chest, somewhere along the way the latte slips from my hands, and I just continue jogging to the scene, then I realize I'm only two feet away from the guy that is about to take a bullet. Yes, I am that close right now. I contemplate whether to back off of this or interfere, but it's too late. The sirens come closer, and a thunderous "BOOM, BOOM, BOOM" rings in my ears. I stand there perplexed, feeling something fall into my arms, soaking my clothes with coldness. I fall to the ground with the bloody body between my arms, taking in what had just happened. Three bullets, in his chest, neck, and head, he looks lifeless, or probably he is. People screaming and running, police officers approaching the scene. I snap back to reality, leaving the body and going as far as I can. Someone touches my shoulder carefully, as if I'm fragile and could break any minute.

"Are you okay, miss?" Out of all the other voices, I hear from behind. I hold my hands in front of my face, staring at the thick blood covering my tanned skin. I touch my face, feeling more blood on my chin down to my neck, then I look at my shirt that's sticking to my skin, drenched with blood. Two hands pull me up. I turn back to see what's happening. My gaze meets a man in formal clothes. I feel like I'm one second away from vomiting from all the blood scent, so I run towards the café door, storming into the bathrooms.

I stand in front of a sink gripping it with both hands, startled at the reflection in the mirror. Nausea hits me again at this sight. I open the water and scrub blood from my hands and face, washing all of it out. Blood drifts down my wrist with water and something black comes visible, "What the hell, that looks like ink…" I say, more to myself than to someone else. "I don't remember writing anything here." I whisper. Confusion consumes me, but my desire to get rid of the blood all over me is stronger.

I remove my shirt to clean it from blood, staying in my bra and pants. I put the shirt in the sink and leave the water running all over it. The bathroom doors open, releasing a teen girl, wearing a white chemise and black pants. She glances at me, realizing I'm not wearing a shirt. "Hey, um… sorry, I just saw you coming in that state and I thought you'd use some help." She says, sympathetically.

"No worries, all good," I blurt out, trying to sound convincing.

"I have a clean shirt." She suggests, with a smile.

"Thank you, that would be good." I snap a smile back at her.

"Okay, give me a second." She turns and disappears out of the bathroom, and once again I'm left alone with the sound of water. I hold the stained shirt and squeeze it as hard as I can. Wrinkles appear on it from squeezing, and the blood is still visible but a lighter red, so I just throw it in the garbage. I look at the mirror again, seeing remnants of blood in my short brunette hair. I lean over the sink to wash it, rinsing it with water at a fast pace, almost panicking. The girl returns with a pink cotton shirt. She puts it aside, grabs some tissues, and helps me dry my hair. "Easy there. Are you okay?" She asks. "Considering a man died on me five minutes ago, I don't know how to answer that." I let out a small sarcastic laugh. I guess that's how I cope.

"Must traumatize… sorry you witnessed that."

"Thank you for the shirt. At least I will not wear his blood on me again." Lord, I'm so awkward.

She gives me a warm smile, "No problem, here to help… I'm Sadie, by the way!"

I giggle at her excitement. "Nice to meet you, Sadie. My name's Alana."

I wear the shirt she brought me, then I run my fingers between strands of my hair, attempting to comb it. "You work here?"

She lifts herself from one leg to the other. "Yes, server, only in summer. I just finished my junior year."

"Ooh, I finished my senior year two weeks ago, my summer starting an all action for me." I chuckle, as if what happened to me is something funny and not traumatizing at all.

The girl giggles quietly. "I should go back. A man wanted to talk to you. I told him you'll come out soon. He looked like an FBI agent or something."

"Alright, I'll see what he wants right now."

"Good luck!" She says with a wide smile, then disappears again behind the doors.

I take a glance at the mirror for the last time, then I look at the ink on my wrist, written on it 'Sirius Covelli', I try to rub it with my fingers, but my attempt doesn't erase it, not even a bit. I run some soap and water over it, scrubbing it violently. Nope, nothing changes. "Great, now I'm hallucinating." I sigh heavily. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath, ignoring what I just read, and getting ready to be asked about what I just witnessed out there.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Police cars surround the incident scene, along with an ambulance and a black car behind. Loud noises lessened, some officers backing people out onto the street, and others searching for the killer. It seems he could take the run. The blood spot lies on the street with nobody near it, and who I'm guessing is the chief of police, inspects the scene. He seems old. I see a man in his thirties coming my way, not wearing formal or any suit. I cross my arms on my chest as he faces me, about to throw a pile of questions at me.

"Good morning. I'm Mason Covelli, and I'm here to ask some questions about the incident."

Covelli??? I am so sure I read that on my wrist two minutes ago; I make a mental note to search the name online when I go home safe and sound. "Good morning indeed sir, I am not related to what happened, wrong place at the wrong time." I say sarcastically.

"Yeah, we figured that from other witnesses. I just want to ask you about the killer's appearance. That would help us." He says, casually.

I briefly describe what I saw, trying not to miss on little pieces, while he scribbles what I'm saying in his notebook. He seems cool, not cold like most special agents. He laughs lightly every time I use sarcasm, and I feel comfortable saying anything, not nervous.

"How did you end up that close to the guys? What was your motive?" He asks what I've been waiting for.

"Uh… I left the café observing what's happening out here, and I thought I could stop it some way, but as I got closer, the police made it and the shots escaped the gun. Everything is still a blur to me. I don't remember how he shot or when. It was three shots." I say, in one long breath. As I fill my lungs back with air, he says, "You shouldn't risk your life like that. You're young. They would've hurt you."

I lower my hands to my waist. "What's life without taking risks, Mr. Covelli? It's boring."

"I hope you don't get yourself hurt. We're done here. You may go; they will give you a ride." He says, pointing at the police officers standing beside the cars. "Thank you for cooperating."

"Alright, and I hope you find the killer." Clapping my hands once, I give him a wide smile and make my way to the police car, as he turns around to continue his undone work.

I get inside the car checking my wrist, and once again, there it is, written in small curvy letters "Sirius Covelli". I wonder who that guy is, and why the hell it's on my wrist. Bet it's one of Raquel's pranks. But then again, why does he have the same last name as the special agent? "Miss, can you hear me?" The driver says. I stare at him confused, "sorry…"

"I was asking for your address." He nods, looking at me from the rearview mirror.

Lord, I have to stop zoning out like this.