A ride to Los Angeles

Chapter 2

Jessica

Someone tried to assassinate me in the middle of an event filled with hundreds of people, TV cameras, and more. It happened at a gala organized to raise funds. I was on my husband’s arm, wearing an off-the-shoulder black evening gown that drew all eyes. My husband, Frederic, was equally elegant in a tuxedo, also drawing his share of looks.

Everything was going smoothly. I had no inkling anything bad could happen that evening. I was standing in a corner, sipping champagne, talking with a few colleagues I’d acted with over the years. Like me, they seemed equally relaxed.

Midway through the evening, what seemed like just another gala turned into an event that I think will be talked about for at least several weeks. News stations around the world will want to know every detail. I can’t even imagine the barrage of questions waiting for me once I recover.

While we were discussing the new film where I was set to play the lead role, a gunshot shattered the quiet evening. A split second later, I was on my knees, clutching my left shoulder, which hurt terribly. I slowly pulled my hand away, and my palm was covered in blood. I’d been shot in the middle of the gala. A few seconds later, I blacked out.

Now I know that when you’re someone as internationally known as I am, the risk of people wanting you dead is quite high. Still, I never thought something like this would actually happen to me, especially not in the middle of a crowded event.

I slowly open my eyes and realize I’m in a hospital room—so I survived. But the more aware I become of the situation and everything that happened, the more I feel a wave of panic wash over me. Someone tried to kill me, and I have no idea who or why. It could be anyone. It could be someone close to me, or someone I’ve never even met. How will I ever be able to trust anyone again after this?

As I start to calm down, I realize my shoulder no longer hurts much. Instead, my arm feels stiff. When I look at it, I see it’s in a cast. How? I don’t remember breaking my arm.

As I ponder this strange fact, something even stranger comes to mind. I think it was a dream or something like that. In front of me was a boy, younger than me. I’d never seen him before, and he certainly wasn’t someone from the gala. He was wearing a leather jacket, and his hair was a bit tousled. Fear was written in his eyes. He told me to hang on, that the ambulance would be there soon, and that he’d stay with me. That’s all I remember. After that, I completely blacked out.

I spent a few moments thinking about what that might mean. I considered the possibility that the bullet might have had some substance that caused hallucinations. But maybe it was just a dream.

I get out of bed to go to the bathroom. My body aches, but it’s a bearable pain. I walk into the bathroom and splash water on my face. As I turn to leave, I catch my reflection in the mirror and freeze.

A blonde teenage girl, with brown eyes, a round face, and a few pimples on her forehead. This isn’t me. I gently touch my face with my usable hand, and I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

But how?

Who am I?

Is this another strange dream?

When I walk back into the room, I come face to face with a tall boy with brown hair and deep, dark eyes, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Hey, babe, how are you feeling?”

I’m even more shocked when it hits me.

He was the boy from that strange dream.