At that moment, time seemed to stand still. My eyes were seeing the scene that lay before me, but it was as if my brain was left in the past, trampled in the alarming speed of events. There was a brittle silence, like a balloon being pumped fuller and fuller and fuller with air...I needed to do something, breathe, swallow, close my eyes and focus, but I was frozen, mummified in time. The masked man before me raised the nose of his gun, aiming it into the crowd. The gun jerked back violently as he fired, bullets cutting through the air, the silence suddenly shattered. A blood-curdling wail of terror instantly erupted from the sea of bodies, as the thin atmosphere of the street was suddenly cast into chaos. People, men and women alike, shoved each other aside as they forced their way through, their faces colorless and their eyes painfully wide, like those of a cornered animal. I recognized one of the bodies that pushed me out of the way, her fingernails leaving red streaks on my forearm. That's the woman who was sitting next to me on the bus. She was so quiet and reserved then, her face buried in a book. Something hard hit me in the hip; it felt like someone had thrown a pebble at me. I looked back to the masked man, the icy feeling in my brain and throat thickening as he turned his murderous brown eyes onto mine, his gun still vibrating against his shoulder with the effort of expelling bullets. I felt another pebble hit me in the left side of my chest as I crumpled to the ground, a strange exhaustion taking over my body. Everything had happened too fast, everything was too strange. My head started to ring with the sound of my own heartbeat as I melted onto the pavement, a burning sensation beginning to irritate the places where the 'pebbles' had struck my body. Fire-pebbles? In muted confusion, I looked down. Blood had soaked through the front of my dress, now starting to pool on the ground beside me. The burning feeling sharpened with every second, and I realized that I had been shot. A heavy unconsciousness enveloped my senses as my head fell back to the ground.

/*/*/*

''Twenty-four civilians were killed this morning in the shooting on Chapel Street in Brussels, leaving more than 29 injured. The shooter was not identified, but witnesses informed us the man was around one eighty-three tall, with dark skin and brown eyes. The shooter, using an Automatic Kalashnikov 12 assault rifle…."

Tintin leaned forward to switch the radio off, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the arm of his chair as he sank back into it. Archibald Haddock lowered his newspaper slightly from across the parlor.

''Sounds pretty serious.''

''Mm.''

Tintin brought his hand up to his chin, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration, as he often did when he was thinking. The telephone in the entryway rang, echoing through the quiet house rather loudly.

''May I?''

''Yes, please,'' Haddock replied, waving him away. Tintin caught the phone on its third ring and brought it up to his ear.

''Hello, this is Tintin speaking.''

''Ah, Mr. Tintin. I was hoping I could get a hold of you. Have you heard about the shooting? Tragic.''

He recognized the deep voice on the other end of the line with expectancy.

''Hello, Mr. Lawson. I just heard on the radio. How soon are they going to announce the names of the victims?''

''You will be the first to know, as I was calling to ask if you could pitch a story for us.''

''Certainly. I can go and interview some of the witnesses today, if you'd like.''

''That would be a fine start, but what we would really like to know is...well, we've seen you work before, Tintin.''

''I'm sorry?''

The voice on the other end of the line chuckled quietly.

''You've cracked open cases that would normally take detectives with decades of experience many months to figure out, in the course of a few weeks. You've been around the world without spending a single pound. You've gotten dangerously close to master criminals and escaped unscathed."

Tintin's ears warmed at the generous praise, as the voice continued,

"I don't know how you do it, but we need you to do it again. Belgium is in great need of protection at times like this.''

''I-I'll try my best, Mr. Lawson…''

''I know you will. Give me a call if you need anything.''

Tintin heard a sharp click on the other end and replaced the receiver, returning to the parlor. Haddock glanced up at him expectantly.

''Who was that?''

''Mr. Lawson. My boss. He wants me to do a story on the shooting this morning.''

''Ah, so you're going off on another one of your wild goose chases?''

''It-it's not like that, really. I'm just interviewing some witnesses.''

''Hm. And hedgehogs fly.''

Tintin was stunned for a moment by the similarity between Haddock and Mr. Lawson's dialogue. It was as if the retired sea captain had overheard his conversation, yet he knew that wasn't likely. He ran a hand through his ginger tuft thoughtfully as Haddock continued,

''You've really made a name for yourself, Tintin. Don't be so bashful about it; you know, you might even be proud of yourself.''

''Er...yes. Well, anyway, I should go. I'll be back before seven.''

Haddock chuckled to himself as Tintin left the room, his scraggly black beard quivering in response.

''We will see, Tintin. We will see.''