As she caught her breath, and her senses returned, the emptiness of the street registered. Streetlights and traffic signals reflected on the empty pavement; an occasional taxi or car disrupted the surreal landscape. St. Clare Ave. sent shivers through her small frame; all the businesses, even the bars, were closed, their usually bright neon signs dead. A sense of urgency forced her on from the respite of the small footbath. She traveled a few more blocks before calling another halt. A bit more lucid, she investigated the sticky substance she suddenly felt on her skin. The foggy glow of a streetlamp highlighted the blood on her hands and arms. Red, all she could see was red! Her stomach pitched with the realization that she was covered in it, except for her clean, bare feet. She was losing the battle against her rebelling tummy when the strobes atop a CPD black and white added to her red nightmare. Jax lost what little food she'd eaten prior to the beginning of that night's ordeal. Clothed only in a huge, oversized, blood-soaked T-shirt and baggy shorts, Jax collapsed on the soggy tree lawn, beneath the revealing light.
She vaguely remembered the Cleveland police officers asking her, "Are you hurt? Have you been in an accident?" Even foggier was the memory of the trip in the ambulance summoned by the two concerned officers.
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