CHICAGO – The Windy City’s underbelly of urban terror claimed another innocent soul in the most barbaric way imaginable, and now, as Thanksgiving approaches, the prognosis for 26-year-old Bethany MaGee hangs by a thread thinner than the smoke that still haunts her nightmares. On November 26, 2025—just hours after a deranged subway lurker, Lawrence Reed, 41, doused the aspiring graphic designer in flammable liquid and set her ablaze in a packed Red Line car—the medical team at Northwestern Memorial Hospital dropped a gut-wrenching bomb: MaGee’s burns cover 70% of her body, third-degree in critical areas, with a survival rate doctors bluntly peg at under 20%. “She’s stable for now, but not looking good,” lead surgeon Dr. Elena Vasquez told a swarm of reporters outside the ICU, her scrubs stained with the weight of impossible choices. “Infections are the killer here—sepsis is knocking, and her lungs are compromised from the inhalation. Bethany’s young, she’s a fighter, but these odds… they’re brutal.” As Reed rots in Cook County Jail on attempted murder charges, MaGee’s family clings to prayer and a GoFundMe that’s exploded past $450,000, begging the question: Can this everyday hero beat the statistics in a city that’s failed her?

The attack unfolded like a scene from hell’s rush hour, a stark reminder that Chicago’s CTA tracks aren’t just delayed—they’re deadly. It was 7:42 p.m. on a drizzly Tuesday when MaGee, fresh off a shift at her freelance gig sketching logos for local startups, boarded the northbound Red Line at the bustling 95th/Dan Ryan station. The car was a sardine can of commuters: weary office drones scrolling TikTok, students blasting headphones, a smattering of late-night hustlers eyeing exits. Reed, a disheveled fixture on the platform known to riders as “the mumbler” for his erratic rants about “city demons,” had been lurking since midday, his backpack bulging with a half-gallon jug of what forensics later ID’d as stolen hardware store accelerant. Eyewitnesses say he fixated on MaGee from the jump—her blonde ponytail bobbing as she texted her mom about grabbing Thai takeout. “She was just there, minding her business, beautiful smile on her phone,” passenger Jamal Ortiz, 29, recounted to WGN in a voice still raw. “This freak slides in next to her, starts whispering nonsense. She ignores him, polite as pie. Next thing? He yanks out the jug, splashes her like she’s trash, flicks a Zippo. Boom—flames everywhere.”

Chaos erupted in seconds: Screams pierced the metallic screech of brakes as MaGee, engulfed in a 10-foot inferno, thrashed wildly, her jacket melting into skin. Fellow riders—bless their panicked hearts—tore off coats and belts to smother the blaze, one dad using his toddler’s sippy cup to douse her face. The train lurched to a halt at the Garfield stop, doors hissing open to a stampede of smoke-choked evacuees. MaGee collapsed on the platform, her cries reduced to guttural gasps, as first responders swarmed with extinguishers and oxygen masks. Reed? He bolted like a shadow, melting into the crowd before CPD’s tactical unit nabbed him three blocks away, reeking of fuel and muttering about “purging the impure.” Cops found his rap sheet a mile long: priors for assault, meth possession, and a 2022 restraining order from a South Side shelter. “This wasn’t random—it was targeted madness,” Chicago PD Supt. Larry Snelling growled at a midnight briefing. “Reed fixated on young women; MaGee was in the wrong car at the wrong time. We’re treating this as a hate-fueled attempt, and charges will stack like cordwood.”

MaGee’s path to that fateful ride was the stuff of Chicago dreams deferred. Raised in a tight-knit Rogers Park family—dad a retired CTA mechanic, mom a nurse at Rush University—she’d hustled through Columbia College on scholarships, graduating with a design degree in 2021 amid the pandemic’s gut punch. Freelance gigs kept her afloat: Album covers for indie rappers, murals for Pilsen cafes, even a viral NFT series of “Windy City Ghosts” that netted her $12K last summer. “Bethany was light itself—always sketching in coffee shops, helping strays,” her bestie, Lena Torres, 27, told ABC7 through sobs. “She volunteered at animal shelters, baked for block parties. Who does this to someone so pure?” Now, bandaged head to toe in a hyperbaric chamber to fight tissue death, MaGee faces a marathon of skin grafts, ventilators, and psych evals that could stretch years. Costs? A cool $2 million minimum, per hospital estimates, with Medicaid gaps yawning wide. Her family’s statement, read by brother Tyler MaGee, 30, outside the hospital: “Bethany’s our rock, our artist, our everything. The docs say it’s touch-and-go, but her spirit? Unburnable. Pray for our girl—she’s fighting like hell.”

Public outrage boiled over faster than the accelerant itself. #JusticeForBethany detonated on X, racking 2.1 million posts by dawn, a digital inferno of fury and fundraisers. Vigils lit up the Red Line platforms from 95th to Howard—hundreds clutching candles and MaGee’s sketched flyers, chanting “No more monsters on the rails!” Celebrities piled on: Chance the Rapper, a South Side son, pledged $50K to her GoFundMe and tweeted, “Chicago’s veins run red with too much blood—protect our sisters.” Alyssa Milano amplified the call: “Subways shouldn’t be slaughterhouses. Fund the fight, demand safer cars.” Even pols waded in: Mayor Brandon Johnson vowed $5 million in CTA security upgrades—more cameras, panic buttons, K-9 sweeps—while Gov. JB Pritzker blasted Reed as “a symptom of our broken mental health net.” Stats back the sob story: Chicago’s transit violence spiked 28% in 2025, per CPD logs, with 142 assaults reported on the L system alone. Advocates like the Chicago Coalition for the Homeless decry Reed’s untreated schizophrenia, screaming for more psych beds over jail cells.

But amid the melee, glimmers of grit: MaGee’s ICU doodle pad—smuggled in by nurses—holds her first post-attack sketch: A phoenix rising from subway tracks, captioned “Odds? I eat ’em for breakfast.” Friends launched “Bethany’s Burned But Unbowed,” a merch drop of her designs (tees at $25, proceeds to medical), selling out in hours. Reed’s arraignment looms Monday, with feds eyeing hate crime enhancements if his “demon purge” rants prove bias. Vasquez, the doc, hedges hope: “She’s young, resilient—lungs are iffy, but her will? Iron. We’ve seen miracles, but this… pray hard.”

Chicago’s scars run deep—from the 2023 Magnificent Mile melee to last summer’s Loop stabbings—but MaGee’s blaze etches a fresh wound. As families gather for turkey tomorrow, hers huddles in a waiting room, swapping stories of her laugh, her lines, her light. “Bethany didn’t deserve flames,” Tyler choked out. “She deserves flight.” Reed’s in isolation, MaGee in isolation—two cells, one city’s soul-searching. Can she beat the odds? History says slim, but heroes? They rewrite the book. Chicago holds its breath, hands clasped in half-empty cars: For Bethany, the innocent, the unburned. Tip lines hum (312-745-5055 for sightings, though Reed’s caged); prayers flood ICUs. In the city’s roar, one whisper rises: Fight on, phoenix. The rails await your return—not in ashes, but applause.

Yet the probe churns: Forensics comb Reed’s backpack for accomplices (a burner phone pings to a West Side flophouse); psych evals flag his “visions” as untreated delusions, not terror plots. MaGee’s grafts start Friday—pig skin first, her own cultured later. Torres, her pal, vows: “She’ll design her comeback—tattoos over scars, murals over memories.” GoFundMe swells to $500K; vigils evolve to walks, demanding “MaGee Measures”: Metal detectors at turnstiles, AI alerts for lurkers. Johnson’s budget earmarks $1M; Pritzker floats state psych grants. Echoes of Kendra James, the 2024 Blue Line victim, fuel the fire—#NoMoreSubwaySlaughters trends global, 1.5M strong.

For MaGee’s clan—mom Rosa wiping tears with a nurse’s cap, dad Hank fixing phantom brakes—the holiday’s hollow. “We’ll Zoom her in,” Rosa whispers. “Tell her about the turkey that fought back.” Reed’s court date? A circus of chants. But in the burn unit’s hush, Bethany breathes—shallow, sure, but unbroken. Odds be damned: Warriors don’t read stats; they shred ’em. Chicago’s monster made flames; her fire? Eternal.