Summer Wild ✔️

Chapter Three

Bang!

"No," someone cried. It sounded as if it came from her mouth.

More bullets were fired. The soft thud of crashing bodies and shouts followed soon.

Charlotte crawled low and saw Aiden crumpled on the ground. His blood oozed everywhere—unyielding and gruesome. With shaking hands, she tried to stop it. Soon, her hands were covered in a sticky mess.

Aiden groaned in agony. She sobbed harder. It was her fault. He had taken the bullet for her. Their eyes cleaved before his closed shut. She had to save him. The colour of death clung to him. No, he can't die. She wouldn't let him.

"Amelia, help me," she pleaded. Where was she? Was she dead too?

Another groan left Aiden as she pressed on the wound, but the blood kept spilling like a geyser. His body shuddered before becoming lifeless. Then he faded away. She was all alone. A white light blanketed her.

"NO!"

Charlotte bolted up. Her chest heaved violently. "Oh my God."

She buried her face in her hands as tears flooded down her cheeks. The dreams were becoming more vivid each time. The details and sounds were no longer fuzzy but sharp and vibrant. When her shivering subsided, she dried her wet cheeks.

The good news was it was already morning. She checked her phone to find selfies from Meghna, taken before the red-eye flight. It was a task to get out of bed when all she wanted to do was to curl up and have a good cry. But there was no point in feeling sorry for herself. Aiden had no interest in helping her. She was on her own.

Changing into her workout clothes, she drove to her favourite spot for a run at Central Park.  As she set the pace, she wondered if Aiden found such a simple task agonizing. How much pain was he in? Was his limp a part of him now?

After an hour of breaking a sweat, she made her way to the car, feeling better. The balmy day lifted her spirits. She yearned to capture the butterflies, the joggers and the towers of the buildings, which played peekaboo from behind the swaying trees. Too bad her camera was in the car. 

Once done, she retraced her way back to her car and gasped. One of the rear windows was broken.

Shit. Charlotte hurried over, mindful of the shards of glass on the sidewalk. It was still early in the morning and the side street was deserted. She cursed. It was the last thing she needed to add to the list of her worries.

Opening the door with great care, she surveyed the inside and documented the theft with her cell phone's camera. It was gone. Her best work was now stolen. Her Nikon camera and laptop, which contained her prized photographs from California. A weight fell on her chest when she realized it also included some of her childhood pictures with her father. She had restored them a while ago.

Charlotte put her head on the steering wheel as sadness gripped her. Anxiety overwhelmed her once more. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she drove to the police station.

The place filled her with dread. Her brother had been locked up there just last year, and the furor it had caused had been unprecedented in the family.

"State your purpose, miss," a forlorn-looking man asked without looking up from his paperwork.

"I am here to report a car break-in," she replied. Her voice came out scratchy and tired.

"Name?"

"Charlotte Weston."

The officer's head shot up. Displeasure shone behind the dark eyes. "Weston, is it?" he drawled.