Someone Else's Lady

After Easton had been shot, law enforcement ushered everyone out of the bank. The next several moments seemed to happen in slow motion, like one big blur of commotion. People were shouting, people were crying, people were in shock. I was experiencing all three as a uniformed officer led me to the waiting paramedics. On my way there, I spotted a familiar face. Angela's. She was in uniform, wearing an army green shirt with a protective vest over it. She stood in a cluster of fellow marshals along with law enforcement from other branches. We locked eyes for a second, but I was too stunned to say anything. Besides, she was too far away for words anyway. Even though we caught each other’s eye, I didn't know if she recognized me after meeting just once. I barely remembered the trip to the hospital, the gore being cleaned off me, the doctors talking to me, a trauma counselor handing me a card, and finally being picked up by Madeline. Fortunately, my bike wasn't left at the bank because it had been close enough to our apartment that I could walk there. My roommates pampered me like royalty with a home-cooked dinner, which I appreciated despite not having much of an appetite, especially as I realized just how close to death I'd come that day. Things could have easily taken a turn in an entirely different direction. Even though I wasn't sure where I was heading in life, I was glad to be alive. What happened to me was no secret; it had been all over the news. My boss at the office was kind enough to give me a few days off. The police department, however, wanted a formal statement from me, even though Easton had been shot by… …Who? I began to wonder about this as I realized someone had actually saved my life. Really saved it. It hadn't been me heroically breaking free. It hadn't been the madman changing his mind. So who killed the bastard? I hadn't thought much about this until I went to the station the following day. "Next thing I know, there was a deafening blast,” I said. “People were screaming like crazy. Shit was all over me, and then Easton lost his grip on me and hit the floor with a thud. It took a few seconds for my brain to process everything." The female detective I'd never seen before wasn’t doing the best job of keeping her expression neutral as she took my statement. She felt my fear. "Finally, it hit me that someone had shot him… so who did shoot him? Was it someone I knew?" "It was Angela." "Huh?" "Angela." "Oh, wow. Marshal Neumann?" The detective nodded. I took a moment to digest this. "I'd like to thank her sometime." That came sooner than expected when I spotted her ahead of me in a corridor, carrying a couple of canvas bags that looked work-related. Even without seeing her face, I knew it was her. "Angela!" I called. She stopped and turned. "Angela," I said, jogging up to her. "Is it okay if I call you that? Or do you prefer Marshal Neumann?" "No, Angela's fine," she said. "What can I do for you, Jamie?" She remembered my name. "I just wanted to thank you for saving me." "Oh, no problem," she said with a slight smile. "Just doing my job." "Well, to me it was more than that," I said, smiling wider. "I'd hug you for it, but you don't look very huggable right now." She glanced down at what she was carrying. "Yeah." "Would you like to get together for coffee sometime?" Just then, someone called to her from down the hall. She glanced at them, then back at me. "I'm sorry. I'm really tied up right now. Have a good day, Miss Ballard." She remembered my last name, too. And I realized I probably wasn’t going to get any coffee with her either.