Hushed Confessions

Strength

Sajdaa Taha

Hamza squeezed my hands tighter as we heard another gunshot. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the fall of a dead body. The glass cracked, making an eerie noise that brought goosebumps up my arms. Mr. and Mrs. Hollen ran down the stairs, gasping at the sight before them.

Malik was silent. His heavy breathing echoed into the silence of the room. Metal sounds clicked against each other, yet I refused to open my eyes.

I couldn't see Malik dead, I couldn't deal with another death on my hands, all of those victims blood was forever embedded into my mental state, and that was just something I wouldn't allow myself to forget.

The victims were innocent people, they had dreams, they had families, they had friends, and they had love. I managed to take that all away from them because they knew me. That type of guilt stung, it made me feel like dirt, like a prisoner in these twisted games.

"Sajdaa," whispered Hamza.

Slowly, I peeled my eyes open, preparing myself for the worst case scenarios. However, when my eyes adjusted, I saw none of what I imagined.

Malik's brown hair dripped small beads of sweat, glistening his forehead. His breathing was shallow, but the cold look in his hazel eyes never left. He glared at the man behind the window.

Wait a minute, why was no one bleeding to death?

I dropped my gaze to the floor besides Malik's foot. A small cylinder like metal piece laid on the floor, smoke rising from it. It was the bullet. Bringing my gaze back up, I noticed Malik's police attire remained unscathed, only a small black smudge was present. He must have been wearing a bulletproof vest, but that didn't explain why the killer was still alive, unless...

"Holy crap," I said as I turned to the window with wide eyes. "How is he still standing?"

"Vest," muttered Hamza.

The mysterious man moved his gun away from Malik and pointed it at me. I gulped. Under his hoodie, I could see his flashing white teeth, sneering at me. The cracked window made the man look even more dangerous like a villain straight out of a movie.

"Drop the weapon down," said Malik, slowly as he took a step closer. "Drop it."

The man turned his head towards Malik, tilting it to the side. Malik's footsteps were loud against the wooden floor, his steps creaking. The man didn't move, he stayed frozen to his spot.

His hoodie made him blend in with the black canvas, he was just another object in the masterpiece, another danger that lurked beneath the shadows. Cold shivers crawled up my arms.

"No one is going to get hurt, just drop the weapon," Malik insisted. His voice was surprisingly calm, even toned, firm.

The man lowered his weapon, making me release a slight breath of relief. His gloved fingers tightened around the gun. The moon illuminated against the metal in his hands, proving a threat to us when he kept his finger pressed against the trigger, his stiff body preparing to shoot at the most sudden movement.

Then, he ran.

Malik started yelling commands into his radio, shouting at his men to corner the killer. In the blur of the moment, I felt unsafe. The killer could escape again, he was slippery, the night was his friend as he plotted his ways to kill me. I couldn't see his eyes, but I knew that man was ruthless. He would stop at nothing until he saw me dead.

"You two will stay here," commanded Malik. "I'm putting this house on high security."

"What about my parents? Will they be safe at the hospital?" I asked, worried. This killer had me lose so much, I had to go through so much heartache because of one man. I wasn't ready to go through more.

Malik's gaze softened. His hazel eyes were intense on me as he looked deep into my eyes. I felt my lips tremble, so I bit down on it, willing myself to relax. Allah is on your side, I reminded myself. There is no reason to fear when I have Allah.

"I'll keep your family safe, Sajdaa. I promise."

I stayed silent for a while, letting his words sink in. Malik noticed my silence and decided to take his leave. I knew from experience that taking people for granted would lead to lists of regrets in the future, which was not very ideal to me anymore. I had lost my chance with my uncle. For all I knew, this could be the last time I would ever see Malik.

"Malik, wait!" I exclaimed, running after his retreating form.

He paused, his back turned to me.

"Please, be careful," I said, softly.

Looking over his shoulder, he smiled, "Always."

* * * *

"Here," said Mrs. Hollen as she handed me a mug that was steaming. "The hot chocolate will make you two feel better."

I graciously took her offer, sipping the warm liquid. The hot taste of chocolate trailed down my throat, a welcoming feeling to the coldness my heart was feeling. My body felt numb and I wondered how the rest of family was doing. I knew I had to stay strong for Hamza, but it was just so hard.

I was a teen, a premature adult. I was just a kid, I wasn't some super human that could handle things so gracefully. Other kids my age had the biggest worry of their next test or their crushes. My biggest worry was whether or not another person I knew would live to see another day. I sighed, gazing through the broken window.

The stars were covered by dark gray clouds. The leaves rustled in the wind, flying past one another in a silent race. Owls continued to hoot their little tunes, crickets chirped into the silence of the night. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, in fact, life outside this house seemed perfect.

"Hey, Sajdaa?"

I snapped my attention back to my little brother. "Yeah?"

He sighed. "What's going to happen to us?"

"Whatever Allah has planned for us."

"I hate to be the type that goes into deep stuff, but so much has happened," he said. "It feels like time is just leaving us and not giving us the luxury to cope."

Mr. Hollen took a seat besides Hamza. "Hey, kiddo. You and your sister are the strongest people we know," he smiled.

"I don't feel so strong."

Mrs. Hollen softly laughed as she sat besides me, pulling me into her arms. "Being strong does not mean chasing after bad guys or winning physical fights," she said as she gently touched my forehead. "It means being able to handle the impossible right here."

I clutched onto Mrs. Hollen, feeling the mental wall I built come crumbling down. Her arms went around me, her frail fingers lightly patting my back. Small tears slipped past my eyelids, my body shaking. Mrs. Hollen's motherly comfort was hitting me harder than it should have.

"There, there," she soothed.

I sniffled, pulling back as I rubbed at my eyes. "T-Thank you," I whispered.

"For what?"

"For helping us when our family was in a crisis. You didn't have to show us your hospitality or kindness, yet you both did. Thank you for being good neighbors despite our differences in beliefs," I said.

Mr. Hollen chuckled. "We aren't that different, Sajdaa. Yes, you are a Muslim and we are Jewish, but we are all still creations of one God. We're still humans that strive for a good afterlife."

Hamza gave an exaggerated sigh. "If only the rest of the world thought that."

"One day they will. Attacking Muslims is a scapegoat for people. We are a country that likes to argue problems, but we never know how to fix them," shrugged Mr. Hollen. "It's quite sad."

"Mr. Hollen, you should be our president," joked Hamza.

"Dear boy, that would be a terrible idea. I'd get attacked by everyone for having a solution," he said, laughing.

My lips cracked a grin at the turn of the conversation. Staring at the clock on the wall, I realized it was time for Hamza and I to pray Isha (night prayer). I detached myself from Mrs. Hollen.

"Is there a room we could pray in?" I asked.

"Of course, dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Hollen as she stood up. "You two pray here, we'll go get the cushions for you to sleep on."

Mrs. Hollen helped her husband stand, and the two of them went up the stairs together, engaging in small talk about the serial killer. I gestured for Hamza to lead the prayer, which he reluctantly agreed to. He stood in front of me with his arms raised to his ears, calling the iqamah (call to start prayer).

I focused my attention to the Quranic verses that my brother recited, the words flew effortlessly off his tongue in a perfect rhythm. I felt my heart lurch in pride at hearing the perfect recitation. The remembrance of Allah filled the quiet room. A feeling of ease came upon me as I listened, Allah would help us.

Muslims went through so much thousands of years ago and in the end they prevailed. They still stood strong because they were defending their beliefs. Allah never abandoned them. As Hamza continued to recite, I felt myself fully put my trust in Allah. I started to really believe the words he was reciting, understanding them, soaking them into my mind for eternity.

True strength was being able to overcome mental challenges, to be able to withstand struggles and keep one's faith when everyone else was telling us down. That was a trial that Allah had given the Muslims and other minority groups. It tested our mental and sometimes even our physical capability. One thing was certain though, Allah would never abandon us.

I was going to be okay.