I hear an operator pick up, and that’s when I start talking to him. In a voice that would be louder than necessary if I were only speaking to him, I say, “So, what are you going to do to me?” I can only hope that the operator can hear what I’m saying.
“Shut up or I will shoot you. Do you not understand? This is a gun!” he says. He’s too quiet, though. The operator won’t hear that.
“Yes, I understand that it’s a gun. And I also understand that that is my boyfriend's house you’re trying to break into.”
Suddenly, headlights shine on me, and the sound of an engine fills my ears. A car door slams behind me, and running footsteps approach. I’m too scared to turn and see who it is.
An arm pushes me behind a solid body, and before I can process what’s happening, Jameson is in front of me, pulling a gun out of his holster. He’s not working. He’s in normal clothes. Where has he been? Why didn’t I even notice that his truck wasn’t in his driveway?
“You’re under arrest—” Jameson begins to say as he starts to step forward, but he doesn’t get to finish what he’s saying. The man pulls the trigger of his gun, and Jameson doubles over.
The man is so focused on Jameson in that moment that he seems to have completely forgotten about me. With adrenaline pumping through my veins, I run to him faster than I’ve ever moved before and swing the bat right at the man’s gut.
Jameson is able to come over and hold him down with a knee to the man’s back. I see now that the shot landed in his arm, and I’m watching blood drip from the wound. I’m frozen in fear and don’t realize he’s speaking to me.
He grabs my arm forcefully and gives me a quick shake to get my attention and instructs me on where to find his handcuffs in his house. After he hands me his keys, I run inside and fumble around for longer than I’m comfortable with, trying to find the handcuffs.
Jameson—my Jameson—is outside with his knee in the back of a man who just tried to kill him. He’s injured. Is there an artery in the arm? I’m pretty sure there is. Could he be bleeding out right now while I’m in here? I should have paid more attention in science class. Focus, Millie. He needs you!
Finally, I find the handcuffs—not where he said they would be. Fine time to not put them where they belong. I run out of the house to find the two of them fighting in the yard. I walk over and kick the guy right in his goods and hand the handcuffs over to Jameson while the man writhes in pain.
He gets the handcuffs on the guy and then pulls him up from the ground and marches him over to his patrol car parked in the driveway. The man is still trying to fight him, so Jameson uses the arm and leg restraints to keep him down.
“You’ve ruined my life. She’s gone. I can’t find her because of you!” the man shouts at Jameson from the patrol car. It dawns on me who this man is. This is the man he told me about one day. The man who beat and kidnapped his wife. Jameson arrested him and helped her get on her feet, and this is who has been stalking him for months.
“I can’t get arrested. I’m on parole! I can’t go back to prison!” he continues to yell.
Jameson pulls his phone out of his pocket to call for backup, but before he can place the call, a police car, an ambulance, and a fire truck pull up in front of the house. I forgot about my phone sitting in the grass still connected to the 911 operator. I pick it up and let her know that everything is now under control. She breathes a huge sigh of relief and asks a few questions before we hang up.
Talk about a stressful job. I would have lost my mind having to listen to all of that and not know what was going on. I’m not cut out for this. Taking out one bad guy with a baseball bat is the end of my crime-fighting career.
A paramedic wraps Jameson’s arm and loads him into the ambulance. I wrap my arms around his waist and brush the hair from his forehead. I notice the sheen of sweat breaking out on his body. He’s breathing hard, like his entire body hurts.
“He’s going to be fine, ma’am,” the paramedic says. “Will you be riding with us?” he asks. I think he assumes that I’m his wife.
I shake my head and say, “No, I’ll take my car so I’ll have a way to get home later.”
He nods his head and then closes the door. A minute later, the ambulance takes off with its lights flashing. I say a quick prayer that they get there quickly and safely.
The police officer comes over to me to ask questions, and I give him a quick rundown of what I experienced. I have no idea what the man was planning to do once he was inside, and I don’t know his name or much about his history with Jameson, but the officer seems satisfied with the information I give him.
He says he’ll probably see me at the hospital, and then we part ways. He gets in his patrol car and drives away, and I run inside to put on a bra and real pants. I grab a few snacks and bottles of water. I have no idea how long I’ll be at the hospital. What do they do when someone’s shot in the arm?
When I get in my car, I drive like I’m racing in the Daytona 500. Tears start trailing down my cheeks as the adrenaline starts to wear off and tonight’s events come crashing down on me.
I could have lost him tonight. That bullet could have hit his heart or lungs or head, and I wouldn’t have him anymore. I would have never had the chance to tell him how I feel or give my whole heart to him.
I’ve spent so much time being afraid to love someone because they might be taken from me. Tonight, I learned that it’s far scarier to hold back and then find out that you want someone with every fiber of your being when it’s too late. I don’t intend to make that mistake again. As soon as I can, I’m laying it all on the line for him.
Joan, Eilleen, and I have been at the hospital for hours. Jameson has been in surgery for about an hour now, and all three of us are nervous wrecks. The surgeon wasn’t sure if he was going to remove the bullet or not, so he did call and give us a short update once he got in there and saw the damage. The bullet is coming out.
The surgery shouldn’t take too much longer. There wasn’t a ton of damage, according to the surgeon. We got lucky. So many things could have gone differently and ended in a much different outcome.
I don’t know exactly how things will turn out after all of this. Will Jameson be able to work? Will his arm heal properly? The only thing I do know is that I’m never taking another moment with him for granted.
A little bit later, the surgeon comes out and tells us that Jameson is out and in recovery. It will still be a little while before he wakes up, but we can all breathe a sigh of relief that he’s out and doing well. I settle into what can only be labeled as the world’s most uncomfortable chair and try to get a little sleep. I’m not going anywhere. I will be here when he wakes up.