Well, they arrested the fellow that shot my sister point blank in the chest, twice in the back as she tried to run back into her house, and then pistol whipped her so badly that she could not see for five minutes, and breaking her hand so badly that she possibly will never be able to work again. (She loved to work.) He is 14. Lived right down the street. The authorities think it is probably gang related. And, there is a real possibility that this could be proven to be a hate crime. If so, it becomes Federal, and the stakes change considerably. He is charged with assault with a deadly weapon with intent to kill, bodily injury, and other charges. And, before we get too concerned about this poor boy being only 14, allow me to write the conversation my sister and I had in her protected room at UNC Hospital today, when they finally took her out of intensive care. They have her in a protected room,by the way, because they were afraid the person who obviously tried to kill her might sneak in to finish the job. I walk in...I recognize my sister immedietly! Do you know how I recognized her? Her voice. I recognized her voice. Her ex-husband told me she was so covered in blood when he first saw her that he did not know it was her. But...I recognized her voice. The only part of her body that does not have a suction tube, a bandage, a cast, or other tubes running in and out are her feet. I try to be funny. You cannot stay out of trouble. She opens her eyes. My sister always had bright and beautiful eyes. These are not the same eyes. That young criminal shot the light out of my sisters eyes. Her voice is different. Flat. Haunted. He hit me so hard...he hit me so hard...he hit me so hard... This is my sisters new mantra. Then I came around the garage, and he was crouched down, like a soldier, already ready to shoot. I said Put the gun down. He shot me in the chest. I turned back to run into the house. he shot me again in the back...he shot me again in the back...he shot me again in the back...(My sisters other new mantra)...then he pistol whipped my sister so hard that she could not see for five minutes. She crawled around her back yard, terrified and blind, convinced he was re-loading to finish her life. When she could finally see, she staggered across the street and finally got help. She will most likely never work again. She will be physically reminded of her morning of terror every time she sees the bullet scars when she undresses to shower...or tries to use her useless hand...or tries to do anything that she used to do with such ease...and here is my sisters last new mantra, as I left the room...I never did him any harm...I loved that house...I never did him any harm...I loved that house...I never did him any harm...I loved that house...
Posted on: Thu, 10 Jul 2014 00:32:28 +0000
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