Chapter 7: Opportunities

P O V: Erin Lindsay

A/N: Swearing and violence in this chapter.

The sound of the gunshot sends me revolting back not so much in the physical sense as in the emotional onset of memories. They crash down on me in sonic waves of digital photographs inside my mind.

It sends me right back to my first kill. Not my first legal kill.

I was fifteen I can still hear Charlie screaming at me angry tense hate filled shouts inside my ear his breath stank of beer and weed. "Pull the trigger bitch, are you a fucking leader? Or do I need to remind you what happens to you sluts who disobey me?" I was young, scared. The gun felt heavier than normal, my throat was tight, eyes watering. I hated when he got like this. "Are you going to let this street trash steal from you Queen? You want your crew to see you as some punk ass little weak bitch who can't even control her own trash?"

My eyes found hers filled with confusion and utter terror her knees curled to her chest, she could barely breath. Tears streaked her chubby face she had only been with my crew for three weeks, I had found her rummaging through dumpsters behind the Middle School, clothes torn, face streaked with tears, that winter had been one of the cruelest of all Chicago polar vortex's. Being the nice girl I was I had taken her in with my crew given her shelter, clothes, food. So how did she repay me?

"This is your show Queen, you run these streets, everyone knows that W of Burton through N of Crosby that's Queen's territory this little bitch thinks she can run her own show on North Park, she has to be taught what happens to traitors she has to be an example Queen or everyone will know you ain't nothing but a little punk ass..

The sound of the gun firing took me by surprise even then my feet remained frozen in their spot, my ears rung. Charlie was sent flying back laughing as the bullet ripped from the chamber catapulted through the barrel directly into her forehead. Blood splattered against the wall smearing in streaks, dripping to the hardwood floor sure to stain. The wet sticky mess hit me in my face. My stomach lurched forward. Her eyes stayed wide open still frozen in that childlike innocence of fear, shock and confusion.

The bullet didn't have a name or an age. She did.

Her street name was tears. Her real name I learned years later after I became a cop. Cora Rae Rijanders she was from Detroit Michigan. Cora was twelve years old when I murdered her in cold blood because of a dispute of drugs/ territory. Her mom Regina had been searching high and low for her ever since Cora had ran away she made the discovery through Cora's journal she documented each time her step-dad had raped her. She put her plan into those pages that she would tell her school counselor and if nothing was done she was gone.

Now because of me her little girl who loved to help her little brother bake, who loved girl scouts, math, singing and double dutch. Now she's gone forever. She had dreamed about becoming a cop to help others who were victims of violence. Now it's sad to me to think a life so pure was taken out in such a cruel violent act.

Money reputation was more important than her sweet little life. Those streets are all about survival, to thrive to be the top is to be the baddest, ruthless and meanest. I became heartless because I wasn't going to be a statistic, I was going to live a better life than my mother. People used me my whole life so I used them.

I'm blessed now to say those old ways are dead and gone. I was given a second chance at living a clean meaningful life. I've tried to bury my past with drugs, booze, boxing, running, therapy. For the longest time it consumed me haunted me, kept me up at night, I did so much shit that no little girl should ever have to do just to get a clean bed, warm food, clothes and an education.

I only learned to forgive myself when I learned to love myself and grow from my past. It's not easy there are times when it still comes back in painful breathtaking waves, those times it's tough to not eat my own gun. Till I think of Hank and how it would destroy him, he gave me life a second chance and a third.

My eyes stop misting focusing now on Gabby she didn't pull the trigger like I did back then, yet Sylvie's blood is literately on us. The stickiness is hot making me sick because it's exactly how Cora's was.

Her words killed Sylvie no one understands how powerful words are. They don't just break hearts, they break people. "Gabby No!" My mind is screaming yet my mouth is sticky unable to open. So I speak with the only reaction I can manage. My fist which slams into Gabby's right eye knocking the gun out of her hand sending it flying.

We don't get a lot of opportunities to change a life or save a life so when we do. We need to take them. Guilt's a bitch Gabby's about to learn to live with regret, tears and horrible choices. It will be it's own brand of hell. But it'll be her life, her actions, her consequences and I will be by her side helping her to learn that each new opportunity is a chance we get to make a difference in the outcome of someone else life.