The Legend Read Online Free PDF Page B

storming into the cleaners clinching a semi-automatic sawed-off rifle.  He was followed by two other unarmed men.  All of their identities are concealed by black knitted balaclava ski masks.  They are also sporting dark wool sweaters.
    "WHOA, WHOA!"   I hollered with my trembling hands extended before me trying to ineffectively defuse the situation.  I was greatly concerned about Lolani.
    The gunman glanced at her and she apprehensively lost grip of her cellphone.  It fell onto the white tiled floor as she backed into a wall.  She pressed her palms against it.  I've never seen her so frightened. 
    The gunman suddenly hoisted up the rifle and aimed it at her.  My heart suddenly sunk.  I vaulted over the counter and darted towards Lolani.  Just before I embraced her, three gunshots resonated throughout the room.  She wailed and collapsed into my arms.  I couldn't hold her flimsy body.  We both fell onto the floor.
    Her cries persisted as I held onto her.  I peered at the gunman hoping he was content with just trying to scare us.  Then I felt my hands becoming wet with something warm and thick.  I glanced down and the side of her white dress was quickly turning red.  She'd been shot.
    "LOLANI!"   I bawled as persisted to embrace her.  "PLEASE MAN PLEASE!" I desperately pleaded to the gunman.
    "Hoyt!  Let’s go!"   One of the accomplices blurted out in a remorseful tone as he fled out the door.  The second accomplice ensued.
    "You snitching mutha..."  The gunman uttered while aiming the rifle at my head.  Then I blanked out.
     
    A steady beeping tone awakened me from a deep sleep.  As my blurred vision cleared I noticed Detective Bernhardt sitting in a chair besides my hospital bed.  A familiar looking Asian female, with shoulder length jet black hair, stood next to him.  She was short and slim yet appeared to be athletically built.  She was dressed in business attire.  She had a youthful face; if I had to guess her age it would be in the range of mid to late twenties.  Her badge hung on a beaded chain around her neck. 
    "How long have I been in the hospital for?" I asked Detective Bernhardt.  I glanced into the hallway and saw my parents tensely pacing about. 
    " You've been here for almost a month.  You just finished your second surgery."  He conveyed.
    "Second surgery?   A month?  What?  What happened?"  I was completely oblivious.
    "You got shot.  Don't you remember?" 
    "No, I don't."
    "You were shot in the head.  It's a miracle you're still alive and talking.  The doctors are cautiously optimistic that you'll recover after therapy.  There are no signs of swelling which is a good thing.  Your family wants to talk to you for a second."   Detective Bernhardt stood up and gestured with his hands for my parents to enter.  My mother bustled into the room as if she couldn't wait any longer.  Her eyes saturated with tears.  My father was composed as always.  He sauntered in after her. 
    "How do you feel?"  My mother inquired after embracing me.
    "My head hurts."
    "Besides the headaches Duane, how are you doing?"  The doctor asked as he stepped in.
    "Fine."   I responded.
    "Can you move your feet for me?"   He inquired.  I did.  "How about your arms?"  I moved them too.  "Very good.  Well, first you are very lucky to be alive.  The gunshot wound damaged a section of your brain called the amygdala."  The doctor relayed while hoisting up an x-ray photo towards the fluorescent light. "This part of the brain processes memories of emotional reactions which is probably why you don't remember getting shot in the head.  Without this part of the brain functioning properly you might also start noticing different behavioral patterns."
    "Different behavioral patterns?  Like what?"  My father asked.
    "Well the amygdala's also gives us the ability to be afraid."   The doctor replied.  "Our body responds to fear in several ways: increased heartbeat, sweating, immobility, heavy