What’s the most scared you’ve ever been?

Survival and Immediate Statements

I ran to the back office looking for another exit. There was only the front door and a window that was painted shut. When I came back, Wilson had cleared enough glass to step through and was climbing into the store. I held the display pole like a weapon, but he had that crowbar and was bigger than me.

“Where’s the cash?” He said, “Way too calm.”

I told him Kloe hadn’t done anything wrong, and he laughed, saying she’d stolen from him first.

“Owed him commissions.”

He swung the crowbar and shattered a display case, jewelry flying everywhere.

“Every piece in here should be mine,” he said, smashing another case.

I tried to edge toward the door, but he moved to block me, raising the crowbar.

“You’re going to open that register,” he said.

I told him I didn’t know the code, but he grabbed my shirt and shoved me against the counter. His breath smelled like beer and cigarettes, and his eyes were bloodshot. He pressed the crowbar against my throat.

He said, “Try harder.”

I punched in random numbers and the register beeped angrily. He pushed the crowbar harder against my windpipe and I couldn’t breathe.

“Last chance,” he said.

I was seeing spots when we both heard sirens in the distance. His face twisted with rage and he raised the crowbar above his head. I knew he was going to cave my skull in before the cops arrived.

The crowbar starts coming down and I twist hard to the right. I raise the display pole with both hands. The metal crashes together with a horrible clang that makes my teeth hurt.

The impact throws me sideways into the jewelry case and glass digs into my hip. Wilson stumbles from the deflected blow and almost loses his balance. I scramble around the counter’s other side, screaming as loud as I can. The sirens are getting louder and I just need to survive another 30 seconds.

He lunges after me, but slips on broken glass, going down hard on one knee. His hand shoots out to catch himself, and the crowbar clatters across the floor. I grab the phone from the counter and throw it at his head as hard as I can. It bounces off his shoulder, and he curses, trying to stand back up.

I knock over a display rack to block his path and necklaces scatter everywhere. He kicks through them and reaches for the crowbar again. The door frame fills with uniforms and suddenly there’s shouting everywhere.

Drop the weapon.

Get on the ground.

Three officers rush through the broken door with their guns drawn. Wilson spins toward them still holding the crowbar and they all move at once. They tackle him into the broken glass and he goes down hard yelling about his commissions. One officer pins his arm while another grabs the crowbar and tosses it away.

They flip him over and cuff his hands behind his back while he keeps shouting that Khloe owes him money. My legs give out and I slide down the wall, finally able to breathe, but unable to stop shaking. Everything happened so fast and now it’s over and I can’t process any of it.

An EMT named Reese Stratton kneels beside me, checking my throat where the crowbar left marks. She shines a light in my eyes and asks me to follow her finger while another EMT looks at my shoulder. There’s a bruise already forming where the first swing connected when we blocked each other.

Reese tells me to take slow breaths and checks my pulse, saying something about shock. Officer King Howard walks over holding his phone and shows me a photo. It’s Khloe’s actual car with the windshield completely smashed. He says it was found two blocks from the courthouse.

My stomach drops, realizing Wilson really did attack her car before coming here. He must have followed her this morning and waited for her to go inside. Howard asks if I need to sit down somewhere more comfortable, but I can’t move yet. My phone rings and it’s Kloe sobbing and apologizing from the courthouse bathroom.

She just heard what happened from someone who saw the police cars outside her shop. She’s racing back, but traffic is bad and she’s 15 minutes away. I tell her I’m okay, even though I’m not sure that’s true. The officers start bagging everything as evidence.

They put the crowbar in a clear bag along with Khloe’s wallet and keys Wilson had. They collect pieces of glass with blood on them from where he fell. Officer Howard sits next to me on the floor and takes my initial statement. I tell him everything from when I first saw Wilson across the street to when they tackled him.

He writes it all down in a small notebook and asks me to spell my name twice. We’re sitting on the store’s front step now because they need to process the inside. I’m still shaking and can’t seem to stop no matter how many deep breaths I take.

Howard gives me a case number written on a business card. He says I need to go to the ER for my throat and shoulder, then come to the station later for a full statement. I nod, but I’m thinking about the destroyed door and all of Kloe’s merchandise sitting exposed.

Anyone could walk in and take whatever they want before she gets here. Howard must see what I’m thinking because he says they’ll have an officer stay until Khloe arrives. Reese comes back over and says we really should get me checked out at the hospital. She’s worried about my throat because injuries there can swell up hours later.

The idea of my throat closing up when I’m alone tonight makes me agree to go. They help me stand and my legs are still wobbly, but I can walk. Wilson is in the back of a police car now, still yelling through the window about money. I don’t look at him as we pass, but I can feel him watching me.

Reese guides me to the ambulance and helps me sit on the back step. She takes my blood pressure again and listens to my breathing with a stethoscope. Another EMT brings over an ice pack for my shoulder and it feels good against the throbbing. I watch two more police cars arrive and officers start putting up yellow tape around the storefront.

A small crowd has gathered across the street, everyone holding up their phones to record. This is probably already on social media and I wonder if my mom will see it. Reese asks if there’s anyone I want her to call, but I shake my head. I’ll deal with all that later when I can think straight again.

Reese keeps checking my throat and tells me these injuries can swell up hours later and block my airway completely. She describes how the tissue gets inflamed slowly and I might not notice until I can’t breathe at all.

The thought of being alone in my apartment when my throat closes makes me climb into the ambulance without arguing. They strap me to the gurney and start an IV while we drive to the hospital with no sirens.