Social Intolerance - Part 8

Abby's face distorted into sickness. "Is he...is he dead?" She trembled violently.

"No, thank God," Mom breathed. "But he's in the hospital in critical condition. Do you need me to give you a ride over there? Your mother and brother already are there in the emergency room with him."

"Thank you," Abby said. "I'd like a ride over there right away."

Mom pivoted on the heel of her thick-soled shoe. "Miguel, there's a tuna casserole baking in the oven. Take it out in ten minutes." She jangled her car keys in hand and reached out for Abby. "Come, Abby. Let's get you to your family."

"Thank you again, Mrs. Santana." Abby sounded as though she were struggling to control oncoming tears.

What a brave girl, I couldn't help but think to myself. Despite a terrible tragedy, she still tried her darnedest to keep herself strong. I could learn a lesson or two studying Abby Warren.

The Warren shooting was the topic of discussion at the dinner table. The three of us made a pact to help bring the attempted murderer to justice. How trivial the keying of my car seemed now that there was bloodshed in town. Heck, someone could egg my car, t.p. it, and then shove it into a pond and I wouldn't care! All I cared about now was Abby and figuring out who these unknown vigilantes were!

Dad was on the phone most of the night. Because of his being a detective, I didn't expect it would have taken long for him to begin investigating the case. He got a hold of a store clerk who'd been working when the shooting occurred. According to her, she'd seen a few gunmen involved with the shooting when Damian Warren stepped outside the store. A few men dressed entirely in black with ski-masks pulled over their heads open-fired on Damian, leaving him in a pool of his own blood on the sidewalk.

The fact that he even survived was a miracle.

I wondered if the pastor would even mention this in church tomorrow and ask for blessings on the behalf of the Warren family...

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