Page 173 of Severed Rivalry
And, boy, do they.
I sit back as much as I’m able with my hands behind my back and press my feet firmly into the passenger seat ahead of me. We hit the spike strip, or what I assume is the spike strip, just as we enter Fort Collins.
How fitting that this journey would start and end here.
The change in momentum is only mitigated by adrenaline.
Officers surround the car. “Step out of the car. Hands where we can see them.”
Sharpshooters are visible from the highway overpass and behind police car doors.
But it’s the cold cruelty in the eyes of the driver that truly worries me. Blood runs down his face and fills his mouth as he forms a half-grimace, half-smile and laughs. “You think you won? You think this will end? It never ends.”
He lifts the gun, brightness explodes behind my eyes, and he fires.
51
common fucking courtesy
Cian
“Tell me again how this happened.” The social worker and police officer have me in a small room.
“Tell me how my daughter is.”
“Still in observation.”
I look to the ceiling. It may look like I’m acquiescing, but in reality, I’m calculating. This officer is out of jurisdiction. I did nothing illegal… strictly speaking.
Was it untoward? Perhaps.
Does it border on vigilante justice? Maybe.
Would I do it again? In a fucking heartbeat.
“I pulled in front of the vehicle and hit my brakes.” Plain. Simple. Factual. Not illegal.
“And you took the child from a vehicle and drove her here?”
“Yes.”
“And didn’t call in for the driver?”
“Correct.”
“It’s common courtesy to notify emergency services in the event another participant was injured.”
It’s common fucking courtesy not to kidnap my fucking family.But I don’t say that out loud.
“Did someone else call it in?”
“Yes.”
“And the driver?”
“Why do I feel like you’re interrogating us, Mr. Murphy? It’s the other way around.”
“Are you holding me on any charges?”
