Post by BlackButterfly14 on Apr 7, 2009 0:06:16 GMT -5
Formative Years
At the age of 13, Abby Harrison became a juvenile delinquent. One morning, Abby decided to skip school and hang out at the Jagged Edge Bar on 17th Street in Harlem. Her mom was working overtime so she stopped by to help her out.
“You need to go to school, Abby,” she said. “You’ve skip three times this past week.”
“I hate it there. Why can’t I work with you?” she asked.
“You’re 13, and if Roy found you in here, I could get fired.”
Abby was furious, but she didn’t want that. She left the bar and walked along the sidewalk. She was alone, no one to talk to or hang out with. Sirens screamed as she was getting ready to cross the street to a nearby playground. As she was about to cross, there was a gray Mustang driving at about 60 miles an hour and it couldn’t stop. Abby panicked. Then suddenly, everything went black.
Abby woke up with a few stitches and minor bruises. Nothing was broken thankfully. A nurse came in to check on her.
“Child, you are very lucky,” she said. “That crazy fool almost hit you at a pedestrian walkway.”
Her mouth was dry.
“What happened?” she asked as she was trying to get up.
“Lie still, I have an officer coming in to ask you some questions.”
“How long was I out?”
“It has been about a couple of hours. What’s your name, child?”
She had put some medicine on her cuts and put new bandages on.
“Abby Harrison,” she replied. She winced with the burning open wound on her right cheek.
“Well Abby, there was a nice gentleman that was able to push you out the way.”
She couldn’t remember much, but she could recall a man dressed in black pushing her out the way.
“I have to go home,” Abby said.
“I can’t let you go until you’ve spoken with an officer and the doctor can contact your parents,” the nurse said.
Her mother was home when they called, so an officer had to escort her home.
Around 8:30pm, her mother came home. She came into her room and Abby had her headphones on, chatting online with some “friends.”
“My god, what happened to you?” she asked. She examined her cuts and bruises.
“Nothing, I was crossing the street and some car almost hit me.”
“Well, I brought some food home and I’ll make you something to eat,” she said and left.
The next day, Abby left school to hang out at the park. She sat on the merry-go-round watching the little ones play. Laughter began to fade as she lighted her slims. Inhale. Exhale. She was on her back as she spins. Round and round she went as she begins to hear carnival music played in her mind. Abby found her mother smiling as she spinning the wheel in the magic teacup. When Abby woke up and realized she back to where she was, she headed home.
On a Saturday morning, Abby woke up and got out of bed. She found her mother reading an old Sunday newspaper and gradually sipping her coffee in the kitchen. They hadn’t spoken ever since last night. Abby goes to the fridge to get a can of Pepsi and sat at the table. Turning to the next page, she says,
“They’re at it again.” She was thinking that she was ignoring her existence in the kitchen.
“Who’s at it again?” she asked.
She looked up.
“I’m sorry, did you say something?”
She knew it. Her mother seemed like she was pretending like she were mouthing out words.
“I asked who was at it again.”
Folding the paper in fours, she replied,
“There was another robbery at a pawn shop.”
“Was it at the same pawn shop that’s a couple blocks away from where you work?”
“It seems that way, but the police are still investigating.”
It didn’t make sense. Why would someone rob the same place? Abby finished her can and threw it in the trash.
Abby walked with the crowd that afternoon. Glancing at the newspaper reports, she never realized how popular the robbery was. At 3:30pm, she left the grocery store and then suddenly, she heard something shatter. Running towards the commotion, she saw another pawn shop was being robbed. Three people were dressed in dark clothing and wore Bill Clinton masks. One of them looked at her. They saw cop cars coming and he grabbed Abby, making her drop her groceries. She struggled. They picked her up and put her on their backs. She screamed for help, but was knocked unconscious.
An hour later, Abby awoke with a terrible headache, not knowing where she was. They had apparently locked her in a dark boxed room. She looked around to see if there was a window, but they were nailed shut and covered in black duct tape. Luckily, there was a key hole. Peeking out, she was caught by surprise. One of the robbers was the same man who saved her life. He was talking to another robber who was a woman.
“I’m telling you, Richard,” said the female voice. “You can’t keep her here.”
“I know that, Sherry,” he said. “But I had no other choice.”
“It wasn’t like she knew who we were,” she said.
Abby couldn’t believe what she was seeing. They were practically revealing themselves in front of her. Then Richard was looking for the key to her room. She jumped up to go back to the bed and pretend to be still unconscious. He opened to find she was still lying down. Closing the door back, she got up to make sure that they were gone.
“First, she was almost traumatized from a hit-and-run and now, she goes missing,” said Detective Warner as he was sipping his coffee.
Detective Warner, an officer of the Harlem Police Department, was observing Abby’s recent school photo, he continually sipping through his cup and tried to understand the connection.
“What other information did you gather on her?”
Turning to his partner Jeffery Peterson, he sat down to look through some files.
“Well, she had been suspended a few times for getting caught cutting in between her class and another suspension for fighting, uh… other than that, not too much, sir,” Jeffery said. “However, her mother’s a different story.”
“How's that so?”
“Charged with DUI, spent her first year in rehab for drugs in 1988, hospitalized for overdosing, charged with assault towards a neighbor and I have some files of complaints from neighbors.”
“What about Abby’s father?”
“There’s no trace on the father.”
Abby was sitting up facing the wall crying in silence when Sherry entered the room.
“I’m sorry about all this, but I’m not sure how long you’re going to be here for.”
Abby had not said a word.
“Is there anything I can do to make you feel comfortable?”
Sherry was really beginning to worry. Gently rubbing her back said to her that she was worried. Abby finally turns to say four words,
“I want to help.”
Stacks of files had overflowed Jeffery’s desk. Other than working in the robbery case and Abby, he had an appealing theory between the two.
“Sir,” said Jeffery. “I know this might be just a thought, but couldn’t Abby have a connection with the robberies?”
Warner stopped typing on his computer. He sprung up from his chair to observing the map of where the robberies had occurred. And what he had missed was that the store she bought groceries from was few blocks away from the second pawn shop.
“You may be right, Jeffery,” he said. “I think I know where the next hit will be.”
At 7:30pm, Abby was directed to break-in the back door and open the front door of the second pawn shop. They never explained to her why they were robbing the same shop again. As soon as she entered the shop, a cop car came out of nowhere.
“Freeze,” said Warner.
Sherry and Richard put their hands up and their get-a-way vehicle was about to go, but it wouldn’t start. Jeffery told the driver to get out as well.
“You’re under arrest,” said Warner. “Turn around and put your hands behind you back.”
Jeffery called for back-up and when in the store to look for Abby. She hid well enough not to get caught; she didn’t want to be found.
“What are they going to do to me?” she thought.
The shop felt like it was boxing in on her. When he left to meet up with Warner, she crawled from behind the back room of the pawn shop. She got up and suddenly knocks off some things off the shelf. There was a videotape on the ground. It was cased up and it wasn’t named or dated. Suddenly, Warner came to search the area and found her.
“Are you Abigail Harrison?” he asked.
She nodded.
“My name is Detective Warner from the Harlem Police Department. I need you to come with me, please.”
They exited out the store and reporters were everywhere. They were calling out to her, wanting to ask questions. He led her to an ambulance and they check her for any injuries. As she sat down, Warner saw the tape.
“What is that?” he asked.
She didn’t know what was on it, but gave him the tape so he would see for himself.
Two weeks later, Abby had to appear in court for questioning. There were no charges against her since she was kidnapped. The judge assumed that the only way she would stay alive was to become involved with the robbery. It turned out that on the tape was a recording of a murder that Richard was involved in. He was charged for murder and robbery, a grand total of over 45 years in a state prison. Abby was glad to see her mother. They left the courthouse and headed home. Their relationship had gotten better since her disappearance.
At the age of 13, Abby Harrison became a juvenile delinquent. One morning, Abby decided to skip school and hang out at the Jagged Edge Bar on 17th Street in Harlem. Her mom was working overtime so she stopped by to help her out.
“You need to go to school, Abby,” she said. “You’ve skip three times this past week.”
“I hate it there. Why can’t I work with you?” she asked.
“You’re 13, and if Roy found you in here, I could get fired.”
Abby was furious, but she didn’t want that. She left the bar and walked along the sidewalk. She was alone, no one to talk to or hang out with. Sirens screamed as she was getting ready to cross the street to a nearby playground. As she was about to cross, there was a gray Mustang driving at about 60 miles an hour and it couldn’t stop. Abby panicked. Then suddenly, everything went black.
Abby woke up with a few stitches and minor bruises. Nothing was broken thankfully. A nurse came in to check on her.
“Child, you are very lucky,” she said. “That crazy fool almost hit you at a pedestrian walkway.”
Her mouth was dry.
“What happened?” she asked as she was trying to get up.
“Lie still, I have an officer coming in to ask you some questions.”
“How long was I out?”
“It has been about a couple of hours. What’s your name, child?”
She had put some medicine on her cuts and put new bandages on.
“Abby Harrison,” she replied. She winced with the burning open wound on her right cheek.
“Well Abby, there was a nice gentleman that was able to push you out the way.”
She couldn’t remember much, but she could recall a man dressed in black pushing her out the way.
“I have to go home,” Abby said.
“I can’t let you go until you’ve spoken with an officer and the doctor can contact your parents,” the nurse said.
Her mother was home when they called, so an officer had to escort her home.
Around 8:30pm, her mother came home. She came into her room and Abby had her headphones on, chatting online with some “friends.”
“My god, what happened to you?” she asked. She examined her cuts and bruises.
“Nothing, I was crossing the street and some car almost hit me.”
“Well, I brought some food home and I’ll make you something to eat,” she said and left.
The next day, Abby left school to hang out at the park. She sat on the merry-go-round watching the little ones play. Laughter began to fade as she lighted her slims. Inhale. Exhale. She was on her back as she spins. Round and round she went as she begins to hear carnival music played in her mind. Abby found her mother smiling as she spinning the wheel in the magic teacup. When Abby woke up and realized she back to where she was, she headed home.
On a Saturday morning, Abby woke up and got out of bed. She found her mother reading an old Sunday newspaper and gradually sipping her coffee in the kitchen. They hadn’t spoken ever since last night. Abby goes to the fridge to get a can of Pepsi and sat at the table. Turning to the next page, she says,
“They’re at it again.” She was thinking that she was ignoring her existence in the kitchen.
“Who’s at it again?” she asked.
She looked up.
“I’m sorry, did you say something?”
She knew it. Her mother seemed like she was pretending like she were mouthing out words.
“I asked who was at it again.”
Folding the paper in fours, she replied,
“There was another robbery at a pawn shop.”
“Was it at the same pawn shop that’s a couple blocks away from where you work?”
“It seems that way, but the police are still investigating.”
It didn’t make sense. Why would someone rob the same place? Abby finished her can and threw it in the trash.
Abby walked with the crowd that afternoon. Glancing at the newspaper reports, she never realized how popular the robbery was. At 3:30pm, she left the grocery store and then suddenly, she heard something shatter. Running towards the commotion, she saw another pawn shop was being robbed. Three people were dressed in dark clothing and wore Bill Clinton masks. One of them looked at her. They saw cop cars coming and he grabbed Abby, making her drop her groceries. She struggled. They picked her up and put her on their backs. She screamed for help, but was knocked unconscious.
An hour later, Abby awoke with a terrible headache, not knowing where she was. They had apparently locked her in a dark boxed room. She looked around to see if there was a window, but they were nailed shut and covered in black duct tape. Luckily, there was a key hole. Peeking out, she was caught by surprise. One of the robbers was the same man who saved her life. He was talking to another robber who was a woman.
“I’m telling you, Richard,” said the female voice. “You can’t keep her here.”
“I know that, Sherry,” he said. “But I had no other choice.”
“It wasn’t like she knew who we were,” she said.
Abby couldn’t believe what she was seeing. They were practically revealing themselves in front of her. Then Richard was looking for the key to her room. She jumped up to go back to the bed and pretend to be still unconscious. He opened to find she was still lying down. Closing the door back, she got up to make sure that they were gone.
“First, she was almost traumatized from a hit-and-run and now, she goes missing,” said Detective Warner as he was sipping his coffee.
Detective Warner, an officer of the Harlem Police Department, was observing Abby’s recent school photo, he continually sipping through his cup and tried to understand the connection.
“What other information did you gather on her?”
Turning to his partner Jeffery Peterson, he sat down to look through some files.
“Well, she had been suspended a few times for getting caught cutting in between her class and another suspension for fighting, uh… other than that, not too much, sir,” Jeffery said. “However, her mother’s a different story.”
“How's that so?”
“Charged with DUI, spent her first year in rehab for drugs in 1988, hospitalized for overdosing, charged with assault towards a neighbor and I have some files of complaints from neighbors.”
“What about Abby’s father?”
“There’s no trace on the father.”
Abby was sitting up facing the wall crying in silence when Sherry entered the room.
“I’m sorry about all this, but I’m not sure how long you’re going to be here for.”
Abby had not said a word.
“Is there anything I can do to make you feel comfortable?”
Sherry was really beginning to worry. Gently rubbing her back said to her that she was worried. Abby finally turns to say four words,
“I want to help.”
Stacks of files had overflowed Jeffery’s desk. Other than working in the robbery case and Abby, he had an appealing theory between the two.
“Sir,” said Jeffery. “I know this might be just a thought, but couldn’t Abby have a connection with the robberies?”
Warner stopped typing on his computer. He sprung up from his chair to observing the map of where the robberies had occurred. And what he had missed was that the store she bought groceries from was few blocks away from the second pawn shop.
“You may be right, Jeffery,” he said. “I think I know where the next hit will be.”
At 7:30pm, Abby was directed to break-in the back door and open the front door of the second pawn shop. They never explained to her why they were robbing the same shop again. As soon as she entered the shop, a cop car came out of nowhere.
“Freeze,” said Warner.
Sherry and Richard put their hands up and their get-a-way vehicle was about to go, but it wouldn’t start. Jeffery told the driver to get out as well.
“You’re under arrest,” said Warner. “Turn around and put your hands behind you back.”
Jeffery called for back-up and when in the store to look for Abby. She hid well enough not to get caught; she didn’t want to be found.
“What are they going to do to me?” she thought.
The shop felt like it was boxing in on her. When he left to meet up with Warner, she crawled from behind the back room of the pawn shop. She got up and suddenly knocks off some things off the shelf. There was a videotape on the ground. It was cased up and it wasn’t named or dated. Suddenly, Warner came to search the area and found her.
“Are you Abigail Harrison?” he asked.
She nodded.
“My name is Detective Warner from the Harlem Police Department. I need you to come with me, please.”
They exited out the store and reporters were everywhere. They were calling out to her, wanting to ask questions. He led her to an ambulance and they check her for any injuries. As she sat down, Warner saw the tape.
“What is that?” he asked.
She didn’t know what was on it, but gave him the tape so he would see for himself.
Two weeks later, Abby had to appear in court for questioning. There were no charges against her since she was kidnapped. The judge assumed that the only way she would stay alive was to become involved with the robbery. It turned out that on the tape was a recording of a murder that Richard was involved in. He was charged for murder and robbery, a grand total of over 45 years in a state prison. Abby was glad to see her mother. They left the courthouse and headed home. Their relationship had gotten better since her disappearance.