The sirens had been quieted, but my head pounded nonetheless. I sat on a stretcher behind one of the several ambulances that had been called to the school, watching the chaos that surrounded me.
There were police officers, including SWAT, EMTs, students, parents, teachers; all seeming to barely hold it together. Nothing like this had ever happened here; not in Angel Grove. I guess the times really are changing. I wonder what it was like before everyone and their mother had a score to settle.
From high schools to government buildings, to movie theaters, to concerts, it seemed that any place could be the target of some nutbar with a screw loose and access to a weapon. I wasn't able to get over how so many people thought it would be a good idea to limit the access of law-abiding citizens to those same weapons. Uncle Rob was always the first to advocate for the fact that a good guy with a gun was usually the best antidote for a bad guy with a gun. The sheer luck of what occurred in the hallway earlier still had me a little dumbfounded.
I used the shooter's own gun against her. If she never dropped her duffel bag then I would probably be little more than brain matter on the wall by now. It was really stupid of Ericka to drop her weapon like that, especially without making sure there was no one behind her that
might pick it up. That stupidity, or carelessness, or whatever it was, ended up being the death of her. I had never been one to spend a lot of time wishing things were different, but just then I couldn't help but feeling empty at the lives lost and at the life I had almost saved. I
wasn't quick enough.
I'd practiced with Rob more times than I could remember. In the years that he had lived with Mom and me, he had taught me far more than I had ever hoped to know. Yet, even with all those hours at
the range, and all the mental preparation, I still wasn't fast enough to save a life. I was fast enough to kill, though. To kill a girl who shouldn't be dead; who had become a murderer.
I don't know how many times I told the story over the next few days. The fact that I had nearly died twice in less than a week wasn't lost on anyone. The police wanted to know exactly what happened
and if it was related to the incident at Demon Lake. The doctor wanted to hear all the gory details as well. The therapist had a lot of questions too. Everyone had questions, but it wasn't personal to them. It was personal to the loved ones of the nine innocent people who had been brutally gunned down in a fucking high school. It was personal to the students whose reality had been shattered by this attack on their lives.
It was personal to me.
I repeated the story, over and over again. I listened to the apologies and the hopes and the "well wishes" and all the time, all I could see was the face of the girl that was shot dead in front of me, a
split second from being rescued. Flashes of that day in the playground, back in sixth grade, continually invaded my mind.
Lisa, the fifth grader with the freckles and the red pigtails had grown to be quite pretty, and she had even skipped eighth grade and was admitted into Angel GroveHigh directly from seventh grade. She had been very intelligent. She'd taken to dying her hair often – this time she had gone blonde. I
couldn't get her face out of my mind. I couldn't forget the blood pooling around her body, mixing with that of her dead murderer. In my memory, the shooter was nothing more than a gray and black blob, but Lisa stood out in stark detail, her once red hair bathed red once more.
The school was closed for the rest of the week. The official reason was that the students needed time to process and to grieve; as if a week was long enough to do that. A candlelight vigil was held on the Wednesday night following the shooting, and I almost couldn't bring myself to go. There had been no time for fully processing what had happened and all I really wanted to do was sleep. Monday night had been sleepless for me, as I knew it would be for many others.
After a full day of being carted around from the police station to the doctor, back to the police station and then to the therapist, Tuesday night had been nearly sleepless as well. I wasn't sure how to get rest with Lisa always at the forefront of my mind.
Walking through the crowd that had gathered on the lawn behind the school, all I could see was pain. It seemed that all it took for a group of rambunctious teenagers to remain quiet was the death of six of their friends and three of their teachers. No one here was grieving for the murderers. The police had arrived at Dylan's house to find his mother dead of an apparent overdose and his father lying next to her in their bed with a butcher knife in his chest.
Ericka's house wasn't much different. Her mother and her mother's girlfriend were both found dead in the living room with multiple gunshot wounds. It seemed like the kind of information that
shouldn't be let out to the public so soon after the shooting, but the 24-hour national news cycle needed fuel for its campaign. The gun control talk had begun immediately all across the country and the internet, and I was sure that it wouldn't end any time soon.
I saw Bradan standing toward the back of the group, candle held forward. I hadn't seen him since he nearly drowned both of us at Demon Lake. I noticed with grim satisfaction that he looked like shit. The voice of some city official on a platform at the edge of the crowd droned on about pain and coming together as a community during this time of great tragedy; he didn't know what he was talking about. I had been growing increasingly resistant to the non-stop speeches about "coming together."
None of these people understood the reality of the situation. Sure, they knew kids had been murdered in a rather gruesome fashion, but they didn't, couldn't, understand what it felt like to be in that hall, in that hell, feeling certain that the end was only seconds away.
It didn't take long for me to find the reason that I went to the vigil: Oliver. He was standing with the twins Arya and Kara, each of them holding a candle before them, listening to the speaker. He had
called over and over again, as had everyone else. As much as I'd already talked about what happened, I didn't want to spend any more time explaining it, not even for my friends. Hell, I didn't even want to be at the damn vigil…
Oliver noticed me before I got close enough to say anything without disturbing the solemn mood, but he had no qualms about disturbing it himself.
"Jamie!" Everyone in hearing distance turned to look at the noise, prompting Oliver to apologize profusely as I made my way to where he and the twins were standing. "What the hell man! Where
have you been? I've called like 10,000 times!" Oliver's not so subtle whispering caught a few more warning looks as he punched me in the shoulder.
"Ah! What the fuck!" I nearly shouted the words as pain spread from my shoulder down my arm and across my chest. Oliver's eyes widened dramatically as he realized what he'd done.
"Oh shit! I'm sorry man! I didn't mean to do that. Crap. Are you okay?"
"Jeez man, calm down. I'd appreciate it if you didn't punch me in my recently dislocated shoulder again if you don't mind," I said, eyes narrowed. "Look, I'm sorry I haven't called or whatever. As you
undoubtedly already know, there hasn't been a lot of time for me to do much of anything."
Two people appeared next to Oliver just then. "Hey Jamie, you okay?" The look of concern on Kara's face sent a sharp pain stabbing through my chest, one that had nothing to do with the punch I'd just gotten from Oliver.
"Oliver, what did you do?" Kara asked, smacking him on the arm.
"Hey! It was an accident!"
"Yeah, like I'm going to believe that. You know, you should really pay more attention to people's emotional cues, don't you think?"
"What do you mean?" Oliver asked, dumbfounded.
"Look at Jamie! He obviously shouldn't be here right now," said Kara.
It was strange to watch people talk about me as if I were a rat in a cage.
Ollie's gaze turned quizzical.
"God, Oliver, do I really have to say it? He had to kill someone in an attempt to save someone else's life. That someone else died anyway! And now he's here, two days later, because you wouldn't stop calling him!"
Her volume had been rising steadily with each word and now those nearby were staring openly in frustration. Oliver looked at me as his eyes began watering. Everyone had been on edge since Monday.
"Look, bro, it's okay. I'm just trying not to think about it right now. I came out here because I've done nothing but relive those moments since it happened. I just want it all to stop before I break
down." It was all that I could say. If I let them in any further I really would have broken down right then and there. Kara folded her arms, still staring at Oliver.
"I'm sorry, Jamie." He was on the verge of tears.
"Look, guys, let's get out of here," Arya said. I had almost forgotten that she was there, as silent as she was. Kara and Arya were twin sisters, and their matching brunette hair and blue eyes looked
darker than normal in the dim candlelight.
The speaker on the platform was just stepping down as a woman with strawberry blonde hair, held back in a ponytail, stepped up onto it. She was trailed by a dark-skinned man wearing a fedora
and a bow tie and carrying a light-colored acoustic guitar. Each of my friends was silent as they waited for me to say something. A soft melody spread over the crowd as the man strummed his guitar and the woman sang. The song reminded me of my childhood, of better, easier times. It began happy, with words of joy and promises of hope.
It didn't take long for the melody to shift from a song of hope to one of mourning. The singer expertly crafted her beautiful voice into an arrow, which was then plunged into my heart. I could not withstand the all-out emotional assault and soon I found myself on my knees.
Tears rolled freely down my cheeks as the torrent of emotions, of pain, took over. My friends wasted no time in coming to my aid. Kara and Arya wrapped me in their arms while Oliver dropped down in front of me.
"Jamie, are you okay bro?" The pain was almost too much to bear.
"It's okay Jamie! We're here!" It was Arya.
"We're here for you Jaime…" Kara added.
Oh, God, what have I done?
I closed my eyes in an attempt to ward off the demons of death. Everything hit me at once. The reality of what I'd done was no longer buried beneath the shroud of shock that had been protecting me thus far. I killed someone. Why did it have to hurt so much?
"Jamie? Jamie!" Oliver sounded worried. I hoped that he was okay. I sat back on my heels, racked with sobs. I heard the sounds escape my throat, but they sounded a thousand miles away. I felt my
muscles strain as I leaned forward and punched the ground with my good hand. The sadness within was being matched equally by rage, now. Rage at the shooters; rage at the death of my friend; rage at my inability to protect her.
Just then I knew only one thing: if Bradan had never messed with me that night I wouldn't have broken my hand or dislocated my shoulder. I would have been faster to the gun. I should have been
faster. A second faster and Lisa would still be here. The irony of the situation stood out in stark contrast to the sadness and rage swirling inside of me. I had protected Lisa from Bradan three years ago, yet he was still responsible for harming her; he was responsible for her death.
I opened my eyes and dried my face with my t-shirt. Kara and Arya still sat on either side of me, crying and hugging me. Oliver sat on his heels a couple of feet in front of me. Not even he had been able to withhold the waterworks once I'd broken down.
The girls withdrew as I made to stand. My three friends stood with me. I searched the crowd, looking for that mop of unruly red hair that I'd grown to loathe.
There.
I spotted him walking toward the parking lot. I shoved my way through the not-too densely packed group of mourners, making quick work of the path between Bradan and me. Mere moments passed, and I stood before him. I heard the questions of my friends, but I had no
mind to listen.
"Jamie, what are you doing man?" The worry hadn't left Oliver's voice.
"You fucking piece of SHIT! You remember what happened back in sixth grade? That was nothing compared to what I'm going to do to you for this!" My rage grew unchecked.
I had no desire to stop.
It felt good.
A spark of fear flickered in Bradan's eyes, but before his expression could fully set I swung my good fist. The result was a mirror image of the scene that had played out three years ago, down to the
contortion of his face, except this time he didn't go down. He stumbled back a couple of steps, but I was on him. I felt hands pulling at me from behind, but nothing would stop me now.
Bradan was dead; a life for a life. I'd already killed once, what was once more? Bradan was no less to blame for Lisa's death than was the girl who pulled the trigger; no less to blame than me. It felt like a righteous, rage-fueled dance of death. I was stepping in time with Bradan's fumbling movements, pounding my fist into his face over and over again. I was surprised that he was still on his feet, however precariously. My anger would not be stifled.
Bradan would pay, now.
I could hear screams behind me, yet they were all but drowned out by the fury within. The hands pulled me harder, but I shook them off. One more bone-crushing punch and Bradan fell. As quick as the fire compelled me I was on top of him, bouncing his head off the concrete. My fist was covered in both his blood and mine.
He wasn't fighting back.
Why wasn't he fighting back?
"Jamie…"
For one second I faltered in my resolve and I felt the full force of my friends pulling on me. We all landed in a heap as his voice filled my mind.
Uncle Rob.
My heart was still beating intensely and I had yet to catch my breath but all I could think of was him. What had that been? It sounded like he was right there beside me. I could just imagine the
look of disappointment in his eyes and the sound of it in his words.
I climbed clumsily to my feet, feeling the ache in my left fist and noting that my sling had somehow fallen completely off and was now lying on the parking lot pavement nearby. My right arm felt as if it was newly injured. I turned to see my friends already standing, looking distraught and disheveled.
Bradan's quiet groans sounded from somewhere behind me. I couldn't turn, though, and see the damage I'd done. I couldn't turn away from the pain so clearly dominating the faces of my friends. It seemed that I had once again managed to fuck it all up.
Again, the tears came. Cold hands grasped my face as my focus was brought to Arya's eyes. She was beautiful. Her cheeks were lined with tears too.
"Jamie, why…did you…do that?" She spoke softly and it was clear that she had been sobbing.
Why had I done it? The hollow feeling inside of me made it all too clear that it had been something more than just my dislike of Bradan. I knew that I couldn't really blame him for Lisa's death.
So what was it? Why had I lost it? I didn't want that blame. I didn't want the pain of knowing that
I'd failed to save her when she needed me most. Arya's tear-laden eyes seemed to bore right through me. There was nothing that I could hide from her.
"I killed someone, Arya… I killed someone."