A/N: This is the journal entry that Serena wrote in. I made it that Olivia was born in 1966, so I put it two years before she was concieved. Olivia is reading this out loud, which is why there are quotations before each paragraph. Enjoy!
2—And So It Begins
"December 24th, 1964
"Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow" were the only words I heard as I walked down the street and pass the shops. It's annoying how everything is so jolly and happy around Christmas time—yes, it's a comfort to know that this is the only time of year that people will actually be remotely considerate and help you up when they push you down unintentionally—but it almost seems fraud at the end of it all. At this point I'm just sick of it all.
"I passed a shop where the clothes were on display in such a fashion where it made me instantly want to buy it. Being the girl I was, I walked into the store, casually, with my hands in my long jacket and wrapping my fingers around my house keys. A bell jingled when I walked in—another Christmas annoyance.
"I saw a man standing behind the counter of the store. He was tall, tan, had Paul Newman-blue eyes and short brown hair. His physique was also a nice touch; he was very in shape. There was one thing that was odd, though: he was staring straight ahead, as if on cue. Ignoring it, I smiled coyly, and said, "Hello."
"He flashed a quick short smile, (still keeping his eyes from me) but it then fell and he continued to stare straight ahead of him. I was expecting a "How are you?" or "Can I help you with anything?" but nothing came of it. I opened my mouth to say something, but instead, he began banging his knuckles lightly against the counter he stood behind.
"I stopped in place, and listened carefully. After a moment of blind listening, I finally deciphered that he was giving Morse Code: Call police. Phone in back.
"My heart froze as I realized that I had just walked right into a burglary. But I followed his instructions, and somehow managed to control the wavering of my voice as I said mock-casually, "I'm just going to check out the sales,"
"As soon as my back was turned, I heard the loading of a pistol. "I know Morse, too," the gruff voice said, "And I can't let you do that. Turn around."
"I did as I was told, and saw a man with a pistol aimed at my face. The man behind the counter was slowly going around it, to stand in front of it. I wasn't sure why he did this, all I was concerned about was if I was going to come out of this store on my feet or in a body bag.
""You don't have to do this," I said slowly, and raised my hands defensively. "It doesn't have to be this way."
"The man smiled, deviously. "It does. It's the busiest night of the year—why not?" As he spoke, I took in features of his face: short, blonde, hair, over-bulging jaw lines, perfect teeth, and two different colored eyes—one blue, one green.
"I tried to think of reasons why not to rob a clothing shop on Christmas Eve—obvious reasons that were usually so clear and so common-sense-like were now failing to come to my mind, and "I began to gape at the man in pure fear. Finally, I said, "Because you could hurt innocent people. No one is going to hurt you," I began to feel myself breathing quicker because of my fear and quickly added, "Can't you just put that away?"
"The man smiled, and I then knew that this wasn't a burglary—it was a killing spree. "Why?" And he pulled the trigger.
"The twenty, short, years of my life flashed in front of my tightly-shut eyes, and my body braced itself for immense pain that was about to inflict it. I finally heard a grunt and a shout of pain, but it was a split-second after that I found that it wasn't my own. Opening my eyes, I saw that it was the man at the counter, and I realized that he had jumped in front of me to spare my life but sacrifice his own. I felt tears flood to my eyes, and I looked up at the man who shot him. He looked down at the carcass and then to me, loaded his pistol, and shot himself. With shaking hands I ran to the phone and called the police.
"Spinning the numbers on the phone, I listened to the dial tone, each ring getting longer and longer. After three, time-consuming rings, I heard a woman. "Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?" She sounded very alert and ready for anything.
"With a wavering voice I said, "A shooting just occurred in," I looked at the front of the store for a name, "Dolly's Apparel on 54th St. The shooter shot himself, and the cashier, but I think the cashier is still alive." I went to feel his pulse on his wrist—it was there, but it was quickly fading. I clutched onto his hand as I continued to talk to the woman on the other end of the conversation.
""Are you hurt ma'am?" The woman asked without any hesitation.
""No, I'm fine. Please, come quickly."
""We're on our way, ma'am. Please stay on the line with me until they arrive."
"I did as I was told, not saying a word, for I was too shaken up by the notion that I had just been in a shooting. After what seemed like hours, I finally saw the flashing lights of the police cars and ambulances. Once they came, I hung up the phone and whispered to the cashier, "Help is here," and squeezed his hand. I ran outside of the clothing store— it was probably a stupid thing, but I needed some sort of anchor than a dying young man.
""Please, in here!" I directed them all, and they all pushed me aside to enter the store, loaded pistols in their hands and metal strapped onto their chests. I stood outside of the store, trying to be a person who was seeing this through the outside-looking-in.
"I was shaking, quite a lot, actually, and watched as they brought out a body bag and a man on a stretcher. They first placed the body bag into the back of the ambulance, and gave CPR to the man on the stretcher. After man attempts of pushing on his chest and giving mouth-to-mouth CPR, they slowly—and almost mournfully—covered his body with a white sheet.
""Miss, are you alright?" I heard from behind me.
"Turning around, I saw a man, probably my age, standing in front of me. "I'm fine, just a little shaken up." I watched as his eyes grew empathetic for me. He had beautiful hazel eyes, was clean-cut, tall, and a well physique. "Did you see everything?" I asked finally, a little ashamed of myself.
"He nodded. "I heard gun shots and I stayed to see what would happen. I tried to go to a pay phone, but the nearest one is ten blocks from here." I wasn't sure if he was trying to apologize, or just explain himself.
"I nodded, understandingly. "You don't have to explain yourself." Feeling stupid just standing in front of a stranger, I held out my hand and said, "Serena." I decided not to give my last name.
"The man took it invitingly. "Jack. Pleasure to meet you." He must have decided the same.
"I smiled politely, although I didn't really feel like curving my lips into an expression meaning happiness. We let our hands fall to our sides, and Jack said, "Want to get out of here? This must be torture for you."
"I gave him an odd look, my gut telling me that this was a bad idea, but my mind not really caring; I had just been in a shooting, didn't I deserve a break? "I… I think I'm just going to go to bed." I said, politely.
"Clutching my hand on the strap on my purse, I turned on my heel, and kept my head down. If the police wanted to question me about what happened, they could find me. I didn't want to talk right now.
""Wait!" I head Jack call behind me. I didn't turn around, I just kept walking until I felt a hand on my shoulder, and lightly push me around. "Let me at least walk you home. You shouldn't be out here by yourself."
"I was almost offended by his notion, but I was in need of some sort of anchor. I felt a small smile creep onto my face as I said softly, "Okay." He smiled, and for reason, his smile was warm and comforting.
"After we walked for a few minutes, we found ourselves laughing and sharing stories. I know it's hard to believe that I was laughing after what had just happened, but I was still shaking. When we got to our door, I said, "This is my door. Thank you again, Jack."
"Jack smiled, a soft smile that framed his face nicely. "You're welcome. Serena, when it's appropriate," he sighed, and bit his lip, "I'd like to get together with you sometime."
"Something in my gut told me that I could trust Jack now. "Sure. I'd like that." I took out my pen out of my bag, and wrote my number on his hand. He smiled, and waved goodbye.
"Some hell of a Christmas."
