Take Mine

Winifred Collins was always meant to die. She was an orphan and an only child, so to even an unfamiliar eye, it was obvious few people would care There was a typically easy diminutive of her name; the ever-innocent “Winnie” that could be a wide-eyed eight-year-old or a jaded twenty-something with a teaching job trying to revive her childhood sense of whimsy. Winnie’s eyes were blue and her hair the pale yellow of corn silk, a bashful beauty who had never done anything wrong. Every literary analysis book would say the same thing: she was innocent, warm in spite of her cold features, a hero in her own right regardless of her humble beginnings. Winnie would see a woman on the street struggling to make ends meet and give her half the groceries she had just bought on an entry-level teacher’s salary, because what made one person deserve food more than another? Winifred Collins had the heart and soul of a martyr. Even with her youth, she had the look of the wife shown in the beginning of a sad movie taking pictures on film when you knew a terminal illness would take her.

Petra Green was a survivor. An orphan too, she bonded with Winnie based on sheer determination to be alone no longer. Her name was colder, reminiscent of an unforgiving tundra, but also a peek of spring amongst the snow. The two could be mistaken for siblings if not for Petra’s muddier hair and greyer eyes ruining the illusion. She chose to become a financial consultant not for a love of numbers, but rather a fear of her adult life becoming like her childhood. She pitied the less fortunate as she walked past, but Petra could do nothing besides save her pennies out of a compulsive need to change her fortune.

Few would expect the two women to be walking side by side. Despite their appearances seeming similar, Winnie radiated light while Petra gave off only waves of discontent. A brilliant white smile next to dull teeth stained by coffee and unrest. The pair spent every minute together even being opposites in personality as they argued over few topics besides their most obvious differences and enjoyed some of the same little pleasures: books, crochet, and a crackling fire. Winnie made every attempt to stick by Petra’s side, and cries of, “You should join my bank so we can make withdrawals together,” and, “I’ll switch to your coffee place so it’s one more trip we can take,” were as frequent as they were wildly unnecessary. Petra had more money, but Winnie still had more to give, which created a sort of balance between them.

Winnie: Bank time?

Petra sighed. She loved her friend, but the messages were incessant. They saw each other with every outing as Winnie had moved into an apartment across the street from hers (She had nearly stopped the process when a single mother tried to get the room, but Petra insisted that she at least apply for her own sake).

Petra: I don’t need anything, but I can come with?

Winnie: :)

Spontaneity. The enemy of order and arriving at work on time. Petra often rained on her friend’s parade more than anything else; she was unwilling to give up her own bank of sprawling white marble and ionic pillars framing a carpeted entry, but Winnie was usually quick to come around to the idea of switching her own habits anyways. However, it was easier day-to-day to go along with her silly wishes for companionship and watch her tell strangers to, “take mine,” when they were two dollars short for a pair of shoes than deal with her quivering upper lip the next time they saw each other after Petra declined an invitation. At least their bank was pretty.

“Are you ready?” Winnie bounced on the tips of her toes as Petra finished tying her “leisure” sneakers ten minutes later. Why did she have a key again? Ah, a sleepover at her request six months before and a plea including the detail that real friends, sisters even, have unfettered access to each other’s apartments. It didn’t matter much to Petra since her favorite snacks were always in Winnie’s pantry.

“All good. We’re walking this time? Who's it for today, Mother Earth herself?”

“Can’t it be for our health? I’ll even do it for your health, too.” The two exchanged a grin. Winnie was aware on some level that she was always the one to make a sacrifice, but she refused to quit.

◦◦◦

The bank was quiet in the morning. Winnie insisted they caused less foot traffic when the sun was barely up, so naturally, that was the time to leave. A few suited executives chatted in hushed tones by a pillar while a frail old woman and her companion spoke to a teller louder than Petra would ever dare to when voices echoed so easily off the harsh stone of the room.

“We’ve been saving for months! How do we not have enough?” The first woman started shaking. “Rosie donated plasma for this money, how could you lose it?” A tear dripped down her wrinkled cheek. The second elder interjected while navigating a similar state.

“She was supposed to retire a decade ago and now we can’t withdraw her hard-earned money– what the hell happens at this bank?” It was hard for Petra to take the elderly women seriously with the age in their voices juxtaposing their fierce, desperate words, but even she had a little sympathy showing on her face. Winnie, meanwhile, had dropped the smile previously composed of pearly white teeth and looked angry more than anything else. Thousands of words about why anyone should deserve hardship more than another flashed in her mind before Petra grabbed the arm of her friend and pulled her back towards the entrance of the bank. Injustice sparked a fire in Winnie’s veins too powerful to extinguish easily, and it wasn’t one that the other woman could tolerate so early, even if she was labeled as selfish. Winnie tried to rip her arm back, but settled for dragging Petra to the side of the circulation desk opposite the teller.

“You can’t give everyone around you everything, Win.” An uncommon glare was sent her way for that one. Petra huffed in response, but before she could continue, a sound by the door had everyone turn. The businessmen had attempted to leave only to be stopped by three masked men, which even through their thick black jackets could be labeled as muscular and armed to the teeth.

Chills broke out over Petra’s body and cold sweat started to form on her neck. Early in the morning in an extravagant, usually impenetrable building wasn’t the ideal time and place for a police rescue. The teller reached under her desk, presumably for an emergency call button, but before anyone could tell her to proceed with caution, a crack sounded and the woman’s head was thrown back with the force of a bullet.

The men stalked forward, the footsteps from their thick, black boots somehow traveling even more than Rosie and her companion’s shouts. Now, the only sounds from the elderly women were whimpers as the men stalked towards them. Petra saw another bank employee approaching from where she knew the vaults were, but a hand gesture did nothing to dissuade the younger man who clearly couldn’t see the threat. One of the robbers darted forward, grabbing one of the older women, not Rosie but the other one, by the neck. The banker came to an abrupt halt, eyes wide with terror and realization. Winnie had Petra by a death grip now, her perfectly-manicured nails providing a grounding bite in the other’s soft skin. Her face was twisted with fear and conflict rather than the righteous unrest of before.

Petra couldn’t allow the ultimate martyr herself to get any nearer. There was no telling what she would try to do, who she would try to save. She let go and pushed her back, sliding on the polished floor in her attempt to get closer to the gunmen. One was holding a pistol to the woman’s head while the others crept in a loose circle, giving menacing glances towards anyone who moved, but all three turned to Petra at her intrusion.

“Look at me, look at my friend. Her clothes, her shoes… we clearly have nothing. Let us go,” she pleaded. It was a long shot, but saving Winnie and herself was an irresistible prospect even if it meant the others die. Winnie the Selfless only needed to keep her mouth shut, to finally go along with her friend’s wishes and do something for herself for once. But instead, she looked even more horrified than before, pale eyebrows scrunching up in some combination of anger and terror.

“You want them to hurt that old woman?” Winnie jabbed a thin finger towards the man and his captive. “How could you be so horrible, so selfish?” Guilt washed over Petra, but she couldn’t stop then. She turned back to the men to resume her appeal, but Winnie continued with a fearsome note in her voice.

“I can’t anymore. You want to murder someone? You want to kill this poor old woman’s friend for some money? You haven’t even made a threat, but I have one you can use. Don’t take Rosie’s friend’s life. Take mine,” Winnie finished. Petra could imagine the grin of pride on her face, an attempt to make the ultimate offer, and she spun around to confront the woman who had provided so much companionship and love in years past. But Winnie’s slender finger from before wasn’t pointed in at her own chest now. Its path was out at her friend’s.

So many words rose in Petra’s throat, most of all a why. The men had said nothing, asked for nothing. They might as well have been mutes to the people in the reception area of the bank, but Winnie, ever willing to make a sacrifice, had chosen to give up… her? Petra was supposed to survive. She had done everything right to be a success, and Winnie had mucked up her life with her egregious whimsy and smiles. There was no way she could do this.

“I don’t give a damn as long as I get into the vault. We need this money for our family,” a deep voice from the gun-wielder responded. Winnie’s eyes shined bright with tears, but Petra had a sinking sensation that it wasn’t out of sympathy for herself or her friend. She always had a bleeding heart.

“Give me a gun. I can help your family.” She had been expecting it on some level, but she still couldn’t believe what she was hearing. In a split second, Winnie had somehow convinced an armed robber to let her join with only a smile and empathy, both weaponized instead of being used to help those around her. Now, the gun was pointed at Petra. Another crack like only minutes before killed the silence, and a splitting pain broke out below her knee. She sank to the ground as muffled voices told her the vault was being opened and the thieves and Winnie were taking all they needed.

“Don’t worry, honey,” a familiar voice whispered in Petra’s ear, “I can help you.” Hours could have passed for all she knew, but it was clear in the back of her mind they would never linger that long. Half the battle was the shock she was experiencing, but she would do anything for the pain to stop. Winnie was beyond her, even her own name was beyond her, but she tried to open her eyes. Brilliantly light hair reflected brighter than the sun, but her eyes that usually shone seemed darker than ever in spite of the clear blue.

“I’m going to help so many people, they’ve told me.” Winnie was breathless, hot air hitting Petra’s ear with every statement. “I’ve got a killer instinct they said, I could help their family and more. This is my calling, and you’ll never understand. You’d try to stop me, stop me from bettering the lives of others just because I’m, ‘ruining my own,’ but you can’t stop me now. And I’m going to help you first.”

Somehow, she knew exactly what that meant. How could Winnie leave her dearest friend on the floor, crippled? She would make the sacrifice, live with the guilt, so she could make Petra comfortable. Cool metal touched her temple, the beginnings of a bang reached her ears, and she could see nothing as Petra swore she heard a laugh and saw the same white teeth as she drifted off.