the ground she screamed.
“Run!”
Abel kept shooting and everyone ran. They scattered. My mom was struggling to get back to her feet when Abel walked up and stood over her. He pointed the gun at her head point-blank, execution-style. Then he pulled the trigger. Nothing. The gun misfired. Click! He pulled the trigger again, same thing. Then again and again. Click! Click! Click! Click! Four times he pulled the trigger, and four times the gun misfired. Bullets were popping out of the ejection port, falling out of the gun, falling down on my mom and clattering to the ground.
Abel stopped to see what was wrong with the gun. My mother jumped up in a panic. She shoved him aside, ran for the car, jumped into the driver’s seat.
Andrew ran behind and jumped into the passenger seat next to her. Just as she turned the ignition, Andrew heard one last gunshot, and the windshield went red. Abel had fired from behind the car. The bullet went into the back of her head and exited through the front of her face, and blood sprayed everywhere. Her body slumped over the steering wheel. Andrew, reacting without thinking, pulled my mom to the passenger side, flipped over her, jumped into the driver’s seat, slammed the car into gear, and raced to the hospital in Linksfield.
I asked Andrew what happened to Abel. He didn’t know. I was filled with rage, but there was nothing I could do. I felt completely impotent, but I still felt I had to do something. So I took out my phone and I called him—I called the man who’d just shot my mom, and he actually picked up.
“Trevor.”
“You killed my mom.”
“Yes, I did.”
“You killed my mom!”
“Yes. And if I could find you, I would kill you as well.”
Then he hung up. It was the most chilling moment. It was terrifying. Whatever nerve I’d worked up to call him I immediately lost. To this day I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t know what I expected to happen. I was just enraged.
I kept asking Andrew questions, trying to get more details. Then, as we were talking, a nurse came outside looking for me.
“Are you the family?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Sir, there’s a problem. Your mother was speaking a bit at first. She’s stopped now, but from what we’ve gathered she doesn’t have health insurance.”
“What? No, no. That can’t be true. I know my mom has health insurance.”
She didn’t. As it turned out, a few months prior, she’d decided, “This health insurance is a scam. I never get sick. I’m going to cancel it.” So now she had no health insurance.
“We can’t treat your mother here,” the nurse said. “If she doesn’t have insurance we have to send her to a state hospital.”
“State hospital?! What—no! You can’t. My mom’s been shot in the head. You’re going to put her back on a gurney? Send her out in an ambulance? She’ll die. You need to treat her right now.”
“Sir, we can’t. We need a form of payment.”
“I’m your form of payment. I’ll pay.”
“Yes, people say that, but without a guarantee—”
I pulled out my credit card.
“Here,” I said. “Take this. I’ll pay. I’ll pay for everything.”
“Sir, hospital can be very expensive.”
“I don’t care.”
“Sir, I don’t think you understand. Hospital can be really expensive.”
“Lady, I have money. I’ll pay anything. Just help us.”
“Sir, you don’t understand. We have to do so many tests. One test alone could cost two, three thousand rand.”
“Three thousan—what? Lady, this is my mother’s life we’re talking about. I’ll pay.”
“Sir, you don’t understand. Your mother has been shot. In her brain. She’ll be in ICU. One night in ICU could cost you fifteen, twenty thousand rand.”
“Lady, are you not listening to me? This is my mother’s life. This is her life. Take the money. Take all of it. I don’t care.”
“Sir! You don’t understand. I’ve seen this happen. Your mother could be in the ICU for weeks. This could cost you five hundred thousand, six hundred thousand. Maybe even millions. You’ll be in debt for the rest of your life.”
I’m not going to lie to you: I paused. I paused hard. In that moment, what I heard the nurse saying was, “All of your money will be gone,” and then I started to think, Well…what is she, fifty? That’s pretty good, right? She’s lived a good life.
I genuinely did not know what to do. I stared at the nurse as the shock of what she’d said sunk in. My mind raced through