At Shay's House

At Shay’s House

By Heather Ann Martinez

The air was filled with the scent of burnt coffee, wet newspaper and tobacco. We couldn’t wait for all of this to be over. Shay, I think, most of all. The after-graduation party was at Shay’s house. We all saw on the news three men escaped from prison. We didn’t know that the prison was so close to Shay’s house and the prisoners had a plan, not only to escape, but not to get caught again. It started out as a great party. We ordered from our favorite pizzeria on the bay. Shay’s parents owned a motor boat that was docked several feet from their house. We hadn’t planned on using the boat, but we also weren’t planning on meeting the convicts either. Now, we are at the police station waiting to give our statements to the FBI agents that came in from Boston. The fugitives were originally from Massachusetts. The original crimes they committed took place in Boston. No one suspected that their nights of terror would continue in New York. Shay was in the interview room. She was sobbing. I could hear here as I am sitting in the waiting room in my blood stained dress. My left knee is scraped and bruised and my head is still throbbing. The emergency medic gave me something for the pain, but it hasn’t kicked in.

What is starting to settle in is the look on their faces when the fugitives crashed our party. At first, Shay thought someone hired them to play some sort of practical joke. We didn’t have any adults at the party. All of our parents were at the house across the bay. Someone had brought wine spritzers, but we weren’t drunk. Once we realized the fugitives were hijacking our party and we weren’t allowed to leave, all of us became very concerned for our safety. Duke and Brad were on the wrestling team. They were circling the fugitives in the living room. I was trying to back my way into the kitchen. I had left my cell phone on the counter. I was trying not to be noticed. Some of the other kids were in the backyard. One of the fugitives rounded them up waving a gun in their faces. I managed to grab my cell phone and called 9-1-1. The operator thought I was lying when I told her we were being held at gunpoint. She hung up on me. I called a second time and put the phone on speaker. I knew it would be a while before anyone could get help to us. Shay’s house was so far away from the main roads. She and her family lived on a beautiful piece of property. The only problem was it was so remote that emergency services were more than fifteen minutes away.

I was contemplating how this was going to end when it happened. One of the fugitives pistol whipped Brad and shot Duke in the leg. Their attempt to wrestle the guns away from the fugitives failed. There was blood all over the floor. Duke was trying to stifle the pain he was in. Then one of the fugitives turned over the food table. He dared anyone to try to come at him again. The others shook their heads and told him they were willing to accept his instructions. He moved everyone to the dining room with the exception of Brad and Duke who were nursing their wounds in the kitchen sink. I was paralyzed on the kitchen floor. I didn’t think any of the fugitives had actually seen me or thought I would be a threat to their plans. As I was sitting on the kitchen floor with the phone line open. The 9-1-1 operator assured me she was recording everything this time. I knew I had to do something more than wait for the police to arrive. One of the fugitives eventually got sloppy. He set his gun down on the leg of the dining room table. He had everyone sitting on the floor in the dining room against the wall. I don’t know exactly how many of us had actually attended the party. If I had to make an estimate, I would say there were thirty of us and three desperate fugitives that were holding us at gunpoint.

My heart was racing. I didn’t know how many more bullets his gun had and the other two fugitives had shotguns. I remembered hunting deer with a shotgun on a trip with my great-grandfather the summer before last. Shotguns take longer to reload. In the moment, I didn’t intend to harm anyone. I saw the gun. I saw an opportunity to help my friends and move away from this disappointing turn of events. I remembered helping Shay put up the balloons, the streamers, the stringed lights and putting out the votive candles and all the food which was either spilled on the floor or sticking to the ceiling or someone’s shoe. I was barefoot. I crawled into the dining room and slowly made my way to the turned over dining room table. I scraped my knee on a broken glass and bit my tongue as a reached for the gun. The fugitives had their backs toward me. They had lined my friends against the wall opposite me. A couple of my friends saw me. One of the fugitives turned his head to see what they were looking at.

He turned his head and saw me. He smiled and noticed my knee was scraped and he was reaching for the gun that was no longer on the leg of the overturned table. I was holding the gun. He scoffed. He said I didn’t have it in me to pull the trigger. I thought he might be right, but he made a mistake. He underestimated me. The gun went off. The other fugitives took aim in my direction. The gun went off three more times. The fugitives were alive but closer to heaven’s gates than here. My dress was stained with their blood. My hands were shaking all the way to the police station. My friends thanked me for saving them, but I didn’t want their praise. I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. To this day, Brad cannot talk out of one side of his mouth. The doctors said he may never feel anything just above his chin again. Duke postponed going to college for a year. It took months for his leg to make a full recovery. I shared all of this with the police and FBI agents. They were stunned at the bravery of such a young accomplished woman. I assumed they would arrest me, but they sent me home with my parents. My parents wanted to put the whole event behind us, but I never forgot what happened at Shay’s house.