I'm (Not) Sorry

Chapter 9

Let me tell you a bit about myself. I'm competitive, and I'm a risk taker. I live in the moment and I don't look back. I can't be in one area for too long; I gotta get out there and do something. I hate being cooped up in a room with nowhere to go. People can't get me to stay still for the life of them. I just like moving about. I like doing something with my life. I just don't like sitting around. That's why I went out.

I didn't know what time it was, but I had some idea based on how cold the night was. Winter was starting to set in, so being up and at it at (I think) 2:00 A.M. meant being up and at it in below zero temperatures. I dressed light, though, because I didn't want anything slowing me down. I knew exactly where Dallas lived; that's where me and him had our first brawl. I was tired of sitting around and waiting. I was getting Jasmine back.

I watched my breath fly into the atmosphere as I walked, it being the only thing keeping me focused. I was freezing so bad. I was shivering, hugging myself, tearing up, the whole nine yards. I had a goal, though, and I was determined to reach that goal. I felt like a bit of an idiot, though, for roaming New York City at night. It was a lot emptier than it was in the day, but it was still pretty crowded, for the most part. I just hoped the streets weren't filled with all the wrong people.

I got a phone call from my brother as I reached the outskirts of town, and I hesitantly picked up. His voice wasn't too happy.

"You ain't in bed," he said. "Where the hell are you?"

My brother stayed the night to make sure I was okay; I guess he had heard my sneak out. I bit my lip and sighed.

"I gotta do this, man," I pleaded. "I can't live without her."

"You ain't thinkin'..." There was a pause. "You dumbass! You could die or somethin'! Get your ass home!"

"If I die, I die for Jasmine," I said flatly. "I'm gettin' her to safety one way or another."

"You're crazy..." I could tell my brother was just standing in the dark, shaking his head, even if I couldn't see him. "You are absolutely crazy. I can't believe you're doing this. If you don't come home in the morning, I'll kill you."

I rolled my eyes. "Mhm. Bye."

I hung up and kept walking. My hands were starting to get stiff from the cold, but I was close. I was so close. No turning back now.

Dallas's door to his rundown, one-story house was locked. I was baffled that he wasn't living in a trailer. He had to know someone. I wanted to break down the door somehow, but, like I said, I was stiff. There had to be another way. I looked around the house, when I suddenly heard the garage door open. I nearly screamed and bolted behind a (conveniently placed) bush. I listened as a car pulled out into the driveway. I managed to catch a glimpse of the license plate. "ADL 4681". I played that through the head again and again. ADL 4681. ADL 4681. ADL 4681. ADL 4681.

I perked up when I heard yelling from inside the car. I peeked into the window from the safety of Conveniently Placed Bush, and immediately felt surges of anger, worry, and relief boil all at once. Jasmine was in that car, yelling at the driver. Who was the driver? Was it Dallas? There was no time to think about that, though. I quickly and quietly slipped into the garage before the entrance could close.

Once I was in the house, I smelled something horrid; like blood and sweat. Dallas's house was just a mess of everything. Food, papers, magazines, containers... condoms. I knew why he had those, and I wanted him dead for it. I got out my phone as I looked around the house, dialing the police department.

"Brooklyn Police Department," the feminine voice said. "What is your emergency?"

"This is Anthony Ramos," I whispered. I didn't want to risk waking anyone who might have been there up. "I'm at the home of the man who took my girlfriend, Jasmine Cephas Jones. I saw a car come out of the garage, and she was in it. They're headed down the road, but I don't know where they're going."

"Do you know what the car looks like and the license plate number?"

"ADL..." Shit. I was forgetting already. "ADL... 46... ADL 4681! Yeah. That's the license plate. It's a gray van. It's rusting up and the front is heavily dented from what I'm willing to assume was a crash. Nissan."

"Do you know who is driving the car?"

"No, ma'am," I sighed. I probably should have paid attention to that. "I'm going on a limb, though, and saying it's most likely Dallas."

"Is anyone else in the house with you?"

"Not that I know of. I just entered."

"Okay. Stay put if it's safe. We'll go looking for the car. Nissan van, you said?"

"Yeah. Nissan van, gray, rusting with a jacked up front."

"Alright. Thank you for the information, sir. Stay safe."

That was that. I sat in the disgusting house, wrinkling my nose at the awful smells. I tried to stay positive (and awake), because I knew what was about to happen. The police would finally find Dallas and get Jasmine back. Everything was going to be okay. That's what I hoped.

Please, God, I prayed. Please, let everything be okay.