Shot

"Why did you do it?" Henna said into the telephone.

She sat across from Logan Hughes at the Franklin County Jail. A glass window separated them. Just three weeks earlier, Logan had been charged with attempted murder and sentenced to six years in prison.

He didn't answer. He seemed distracted by the news playing on the television behind her.

"Why did you do it?" Henna asked again, this time more frustratedly.

He still didn't answer.

"Dammit, just tell me why you did it!" she yelled.

"I didn't mean to shoot you," he said, keeping his eyes on the television.

"But you did," she paused, "Why?"

He coughed, "I aimed incorrectly."

"Do you care at all that you almost killed an innocent girl?"

No response.

"Do you even feel sorry?" she asked.

"Listen. I need you to do something for me," he said.

"Are you kidding me right now? I'm not going to do anything for you. While I was on the operating table in critical conditioon, I bet you didn't have an ounce of care coursing through your veins. You almost killed me!"

Logan was set on his

"I need you to go to this address," Logan said, handing Henna a piece of paper, "and I need you to tell the woman there that Harrison has killed her husband and is on the run. Tell her that she needs to hide."

"What?" she asks, shoving the paper back to Logan. "Literally shut up! Stop changing the subject. Just tell me why you were planning on shooting someone; or why you even had a gun in the first place!"

He didn't respond.

"You owe me answers!" she yelled.

"Listen to me," he started, "if you aren't going to deliver the message, you need to bail me out."

"Bail you out? Are you crazy? Why on earth would I bail you out?"

"I'm serious. This is serious."

"This is not serious, this is crazy! You are crazy! Maybe that's the reason you shot me - because you're just crazy! Well, I guess I have my answer. Thank you Logan, and enjoy your stay here."

"Listen to me! You either deliver the message or you bail me out!"

"Or I can completely ignore you and live my life while you suffer for the next six years."

"Henna," he said, "You need to do what I say; this has to do with life or death."

"I'm not going to obey the person who tried to kill me."

"Then don't obey me. Just do what I suggest you do out of your own good heart. I can't do anything; I'm stuck behind bars."

Henna sighed and crossed her arms.

"What's the message?" Henna said, taking out her notebook, "say it slowly."

"You need to tell the woman at this address that Harrison has killed her husband and is on the run. Tell her that she needs to hide, for he is most likely after her now."

"Who is Harrison and how do you know all of this?"

Logan pointed at the television behind Henna.

Henna turned around and looked at the television.

An unidentified forty-seven year old man had been shot in the head and killed just forty means earlier. The suspect was on the run.

Henna turned back to Logan. He was still watching the television, his eyes red.

"I'm confused. Is that the man you were aiming for? Did someone else kill him? Is your real name Harrison? Is that Harrison?" she asked.

He didn't respond. He rubbed his eyes nervously. Henna had enough of his foolishness.

"Logan... I don't know if you've realized this, but I have the upper hand right now, and I can control how this all plays out. You better answer me. If it weren't for me you wouldn't even be able to be watching the news right now! If you don't tell me who the hell you were aiming for right now, I'm just going to tell one of the guards over there that I'm done talking to you and that they can take you back to your TV-less cellar!"

He finally looked at her, infuriated.

"You're terribly stubborn," he said.

"I'm stubborn?" Henna asked, "You're the one who won't answer my questions!"

"That man!" he yelled.

She squinted, "What?"

"I was aiming for that man," he said, pointing to the television, "I had to shoot him."

"The forty-seven year old?"

"No."

"Then what does he have to do with anything?"

"I was aiming for Harrison, the man who just killed the forty-seven year old."

"Why?"

"Because I knew he was going to kill the forty-seven year old? I was trying to stop him."

"How did you know he was going to kill the forty-seven year old?"

"Because Harrison is my father. My father is the suspect on the loose."

"Your father?"

Logan nodded.

"Why?"

"Because he's crazy."

"I don't understand."

"It doesn't matter. You don't have to understand. We don't have much time. I can tell you the rest some other day; you need to deliver the message... now. The victim's wife might be my father's second target. His whole family is in danger."

"Okay," Henna said as she stood up and pushed her chair in.

"Wait," Logan said.

"What?" Henna asked.

"Here's the woman's address," he said, handing Henna a paper.

She read it and froze.

"What?" he asked.

"This is my address."

"What?" he asked again.

"This is my address! Why are you giving me my address?"

"I didn't know it was your address; that's the address of the man my father killed."

Henna looked up at the television, remembering that her father is forty-seven years old.

"You're joking, right? That's a really messed up joke."

"No, I'm not."

"You're just a sick person playing a sick game on me, right?"

"No, I'm not!"

"Who did your father kill?"

"I don't remember his name."

"Think! Who did he kill?"

Logan did not respond.

"What is that dead man's name?" Henna yelled, a tear falling from her cheek.

"I think it's Elan."

Henna's heart stopped. Her father's name was Elan.

And her mother was home alone.