Ok. So after Scott was shot there was muffled comotion (the gunman was behind the kitchen, in the office) and then it happend, more gunshots and screams. I knew Al had been hit because I heard him when he yelled "oh god" in pain, but I didn't know at the time that our new dishwasher (his first night, father of four), had been shot too and was dying. The next thing I know, the door behind me bursts open and I hear the woman customer scream again - I had forgotten that there were other people around me, I had become so focused on the kitchen. The killer grabs me by my arm and yanks me to my unsteady feet and in a voice that sounds far away (even though it is painfully close) yells for everyone to get in the kitchen. I am so afraid that my feet won't obey me and I will feel the pain of the gun but I practically run into the kitchen to escape the killers grasp. As I enter the kitchen, I see Al and he is pale and holding his stomach. The blood on his head doesn't compare to the blood that I now see on the floor. There is a terrible mess of crunched up tortillia chips mixed in the pool of blood that surrounds Scotts body, the sight of it horrified me so badly, I looked away before I knew if he was still moving or not.

I'm done for now, I think the hardest part of the whole experience for me was when I saw Scott and I knew that he was going to die. I still live with the guilt that I didn't help him, that I didn't drop to the floor and make his last moments filled with love and comfort, instead I let him lie on the filthy floor in his own blood and chips, choking on his fear and knowledge of death.