- Chapter 1 -
August 10, 2010
MOMA - Museum Of Modern Art
Los Angeles, California
His body hurt.
It didn't matter what he moved. Pain seemed to shoot through every extremity. He could feel the heat, and hear the crackle of the fire. His ears still rang from the explosion. The layers of debris pinning him down made breathing difficult, made it painful. He knew he had to move, get out, but for once his body wouldn't cooperate.
Willing himself to move he slowly raised his arms to push at what was weighing him down. He was trying to remember what part of the museum he was in when the explosion thundered through the building. His head was throbbing so badly he could only concentrate on one thing at a time.
Letting out a loud grunt he was able to move some of the debris. Enough to drag himself out of the rubble. Crawling out from where he was buried he felt the heat from the fire, this time more intense. Flames licked up the walls devouring every thing in its path.
He was coughing hard, as he crawled over more rubble. Stopping when he saw a hand. He started pulling debris off the body, praying it wasn't some innocent by-stander. After moving several pieces away, he finally saw the face of the person he was trying to save. Only it was too late. Jason had no remorse for the lifeless man, as Franco's cold dead eyes stared back at him.
He started coughing again when another explosion rocked through the small exhibit room. Shielding himself from the falling debris caused by that last blast he continued to crawl his way to what he hoped was an exit. Finally reaching a door, he put his hand up to feel for heat. It felt cool. He pushed himself up to a standing position, or more of a bent position, and using his shoulder forced the door open.
Stepping out into what seemed to be an alley, he blinked several times, inhaling deeply as the fresh air hit his lungs. He started coughing again, as he tried to make his way out of the alley. Clinging to the wall he followed it towards the red and blue lights flashing in the blackness of the night. Hoping in all the confusion no one would notice him.
He stopped to catch his breath when a force out of nowhere knocked him down. Once again something was on top of him. Only what was on top of him wasn't very hard or heavy compared to what he had just escaped. That was until he felt the air go out of his lungs as pressure was applied to his chest by two small, but strong hands.
A deep groan rushed out of him along with the air as his eyes tried to focus on who was on top of him. His light blue eyes finally focused in on a pair of startled blue-gray ones, "Oh God! I'm so sorry," a lilting voice rang out.
"Could you," he grunted, "get off."
"Oh...yeah, so sorry," her voice a bit quieter as she climbed off him.
"Are you," taking a deep breath in between words, "okay?" Jason asked.
Looking at the battered man lying beside her, she wondered how he had the presence of mind to ask her if she was okay? "I think I should be asking you that," she said as he started to cough again.
"I'm okay," he told her as he moved his head to look at her. She was sitting on her knees next to him, breathing a little heavily. She pushed her dark hair out of her face and he could see smudges, and a few cuts, marked her face and throat. His eyes traveled over the rest of her and noticed her dress was torn and what looked like blood on her thigh.
Lifting his eyes back to hers, he watched her steel blue eyes as they seemed to do the same thing his did, and that was access his condition. As he watched her he realized she was the same woman that had warned him that Franco had planted a bomb.
He was about to ask her how she knew about it when they heard voices and saw flashlights headed their way. Trying to get up, he felt her hands once again on him as she wrapped them around his arm.
Finally reaching a standing position she took his arm and draped it over her shoulder and her other went around his waist. He was going to tell her no police, when she looked up at him, "My car is this way," and led them out of the alley the back way.