Falling Deeper (Falling Series)

by Lucia Grace

  What? That’s not the reception I thought I’d get at all. I expected shock for me just showing up. Maybe some groveling right away, because from what I heard from the girls and Damon, he was broken up about how I left the party. But no, instead he looks angry.

  “Umm, I thought we should talk about the other night. And I have something I need to tell you. Can I come in?” He’s standing at the door, blocking the entry.

  “I really don’t think that’s necessary. I don’t think you’ll be here that long.”

  “What do you mean? We need to talk.” I am so confused right now. Confused and hurt.

  “Yeah, well, we can talk right here. What do you need?” He crosses his arms over his chest. Taking a defensive stance.

  “Kayson, what the hell?”

  “What the hell what, Ember? What the fuck do you need? Spit it out.”

  “I ju-just wanted to talk about what happened the other night at the party. The girls told me it got pretty heated after I left, and I thought we could clear the air.” My eyes start filling with tears. My face starts to burn. I can see the shift in him.

  “Clear the air about what? That I cheated on you?” His eyes grow hard. “Yeah, I did. Did you really think I didn’t do anything with her, Ember? Really?”

  My heart shatters right there at his doorstep.

  Why is he doing this?

  “Yeah, I may have been pretty fucking messed up, but I knew what I was doing. I was high and horny and that slut was there. So I took advantage. It isn’t like you’ve been giving it up lately. So I had to get it elsewhere.”

  If only he knew… Oh my God. How can he be doing this? And now after everything.

  He looks almost like he feels bad. But then the walls slam down and his eyes turn to steel.

  “Wh-why are you doing this to me? T-to us?” I can barely catch my breath. “How could you have done this?”

  I’m frantic. He can’t mean this. He can’t be serious. He wouldn’t do this to me. Would he? Not after everything we’ve been through. Not after all the fighting we’ve done to stay together.

  “I thought you loved me, that you couldn’t live without me, that there would never be anyone else?”

  “Yeah, well you thought wrong, Ember. This clearly isn’t working out. From day one we’ve been toxic. It’s time to call it quits. You couldn’t really have thought we’d last forever?”

  “But you said—”

  “I said a lot of things and things change.”

  He stands there at his open door looking down at me. Vacantly staring at me like I don’t fucking exist, like I’m a stranger. Looking at me as if we didn’t share this amazing year together. Building dreams of a future. A year of fiery passion too intense for our age, but real and ours all the same. All the while I’m shattering and breaking and splintering into a million pieces.

  Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember the good times and how good we were? Too scared to voice my sorrows and pleas aloud for fear of further rejection.

  I can’t help but feel at fault for this. Even though he made every mistake and I kept taking him back, I still feel like I could have prevented this. It was as if I was the catalyst to his downfall. The most popular guy in school turned ultimate bad boy. Captain of the football team turned drug user. Trading in his honor roll report card for a rap sheet. He’s right. We are toxic together. It was as if we were doomed from the beginning. And while I was holding on for dear life, he was letting me go without a fight. An entire year of fighting the odds, of proving people wrong, proving that despite our issues, our love would always pull us through.

  But in the end I guess they were right.

  “Goodbye, Ember.”

  And with one last glance he closes the door, holding the shattered pieces of my heart.

  Part Two

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  -MARCH-

  FOUR YEARS LATER

  EMBER

  Clearing my throat of sadness after yet another memory and thoughts of what could have been claim me, I try to speak up again, “Okay, kids. Settle down please. The next word is….”

  A faint noise has me pausing momentarily.

  The wind must have caught another classroom’s door.

  Shaking my head of that thought, I go to continue when I hear the loud thud of heavy boots and metal clanking. Together, they echo through the hallways.

  That’s odd.

  My classroom is the first room after the front desk and principal’s office so frequent foot traffic passes by. But classes have been in session for almost an hour now, so it’s rare for someone to be wandering the halls at this time. I suppose it could be a visitor, but the incessant chatter of our principal, Mrs. Roberts, is missing, as she usually escorts visitors throughout the halls. So it can’t be her. It’s still too early for the janitor, too. He’s the only person I can think of who would make such a racket with his cleaning supplies.

  Just as I’m about to continue on again, terror thrashes through my veins when I hear the distinct sound of a shotgun being fired down the hallway.

  Fear. Ice-cold fear freezes me in place. Fear for what this could mean. Fear for these children who have become my life.

  My first thought is that I need to keep these kids safe. Instinct and training kick in, and I’m shushing the kids as they start to get agitated while I move them to the back of our classroom as quietly as possible. Trying to keep them calm while inside I’m frantic.

  My heart is bursting with terror, my body trembling with fear. I’m trying to hold it all in. My fear. My panic. My desperation. Over the very real possibility that this day could change the rest of our lives forever.

  As soon as I have them all gathered into the back alcove of the room, promising them a promise I may not be able to keep, I turn back around to scan the empty desks to make sure I haven’t missed anyone. Releasing a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, I breathe a deep sigh of relief that I’ve gathered them all.

  All too soon my relief quickly fades, when I hear a smashing sound so fierce it rattles the walls.

  I turn quickly as the door is kicked open, and a towering figure in all black wearing a ski mask busts through the door. “Miss Martinez, I presume?” He questions as he sneers at me, standing in the doorway, lifting the shotgun he’s carrying to aim at me.

  Oh my God, this cannot be happening! Why would anyone want to put children in danger like this? Who is this man anyway? I can’t even fathom why anyone would do this. Think, Ember, think.

  “Who are you?” Stammers out of me, giving away my panic. I’m trying to stay calm, as I hear the kids screaming and crying behind me. Sobbing into their tiny hands while they huddle their tiny bodies together. These kids need me to stay strong, I remind myself. But it’s almost impossible to stop my shaking body and the tears from welling in my eyes.

  “Just hand over my kid and no one else will get hurt,” he barks out his reply. Twitching and scanning the group behind me, looking for his child.

  Steeling my resolve I reply, “You aren’t leaving here with anyone. So let’s just stay calm. We’ll work something out. Nobody needs to get hurt.”

  “I’m either leaving here with my son or in a body bag. The latter isn’t even an option, bitch, so hand him over and we’ll leave without anyone else getting hurt.”

  “What do you mean ‘anyone else’?” I question, but realization soon dawns on me that he somehow had to get by Mrs. Roberts and the school secretary, Mrs. Dillow.

  Another wave of terror washes over me.

  “Stupid bitches up front wouldn’t let me in. Had to take matters into my own fucking hands.” He grunts and twitches. “I want my fucking kid, and then I’ll be gone. No harm done. Just give me my fucking kid,” he roars as he starts to walk closer to me. Causing the kids behind me to cry out even louder. They are wailing and sobbing and screaming, making it hard to think.

  I need to protect them. I need to.

  “Stop fucking delaying and hand over my fucking
kid! He’s mine. Mine. You hear that, you stupid whore? MINE! You ain’t getting in the way of me and my boy. My slut of an ex-wife already tried that, and that’s why I’m here. Handling shit my way.”

  Instinct starts to kick in again and rational thoughts start to penetrate my frazzled mind.

  How can I make it to my desk to my cell phone without causing chaos? Should I just try to take him down myself? But then who will protect the children if I’m not able to?

  These thoughts are buzzing through my head at a rapid rate. I’m trying to determine what would be the best option, but panic and dread finally take hold of my entire body as a little voice speaks up behind me. “Dad?”

  I spin around so fast I swear I get whiplash. Fear unlike anything I’ve felt in a long time crashes over me like a tidal wave when I see little Danny Boyles attempt to step around the group of his huddled, sobbing classmates.

  This man is clearly unstable; he is not taking him.

  I speak up before Danny can take his first step. “Danny, sweetheart, stay where you are.”

  Lifting his ski mask from his face, I get a good look at the agitated Mr. Boyles. “Hey, son. Why don’t you come on over to me so we can get out of here? Huh? How about ice cream and mini golf? I’ve missed you. It could be like old times,” he pleads, his dark, menacing eyes softening a little, but he still raises his gun high. As if he’s going to take aim at anyone who tries to interfere.

  Over my dead body.

  As Danny starts to step around me, I throw my arm out to stop him. To protect him. I need to keep him safe.

  His father gears up to roar another demand when the sound of sirens blares from the open window. My stomach drops.

  Excitement and dread wage a battle within me. But dread wins over when Danny’s father starts pacing. He’s pacing and muttering to himself. Gripping his now visible light blond hair in a tight fist. Pulling it away with clumps falling out.

  The kids behind me start screaming and sobbing even louder. My body starts to visibly shake with the fear that has finally consumed me. If I thought Danny’s father was frantic before, that pales in comparison to the manic state he’s in now.

  “You fucking cunt!” He roars. “You called the police!” He’s jacked up and agitated. A terrible combination, because if he was rational he’d realize I’ve had no time to call the police. My cell phone is at my desk while he’s had me hostage this whole time.

  Before I can even think, he pumps his shotgun and fires off two rounds into the ceiling, causing debris to fall all around us. When he goes to let off another round, a resounding click is heard over the chaotic screams and cries.

  When he realizes that he’s out of ammo, a whole new level of rage consumes him. “Motherfucker!” He throws down his shotgun then picks up the first desk in his reach and all hell breaks loose.

  He begins flinging and tossing desk after desk. Lifting and tossing them as if they weigh no more than a feather. Wood splinters are flying, screws are ricocheting off every surface, and the metal legs land in a heap all over the room. The noises are deafening between the screaming and sobbing, the wailing and panic, the smashing and crashing.

  My only thoughts are to keep these kids safe. I need them to be safe. So I attempt to talk him down again.

  “Mr. Boyles…” I start but am halted when he whips a desk over his head, taking aim at me.

  Thinking of only the kids, I move toward them as the desk is heading for the huddled mass of their tiny, shaking bodies. Thankfully, the desk lands next to me in a crumpled mess, just as I make it in front of the closely packed group. I spin quickly once the desk is settled to see Mr. Boyles unholster his handgun at his side. A gun I didn’t notice he had.

  Oh no.

  A commotion toward the door of the classroom has me swinging my head that way while acting as a shield as best as I can between the gunman and my students.

  “Drop the fucking gun, motherfucker!” Damon roars as he rushes through the door. “Drop the fucking gun and put your hands where I can see them!”

  A sense of security washes over me when I hear the voice of my ex’s best friend turned police officer.

  It’s suddenly shattered when I hear, “I said drop the fucking gun. Keep your hands where I can see them. No!”

  As I hear Damon screaming across the room, I look to Mr. Boyles to see him lift his arm and take aim.

  At me.

  All of a sudden I feel a searing pain rip through my shoulder. Then my stomach. I never even heard the explosion of the bullets as they left the chamber.

  Then I’m down. Black dances around my eyes as I hear another gun go off. Praying for this all to be over.

  Consciousness is slipping away. All I feel now is nothingness.

  Desolation.

  Then flashes of a future I always dreamed of dance behind my heavy eyelids. Dreams of a future with the man I’ll never have. With a child that was taken from me. One who would have been four years old today. Who could have been sitting here in this very room.

  With that last thought I whisper a silent, “Happy Birthday” to the little boy that never had the chance to live and let the darkness take me under.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  KAYSON

  “Is it her?” I shout frantically into the phone. It has to be. How many other Ember Martinezes can there be in Pleasant Beach, South Carolina.

  Damon takes too long to respond. Like one fucking second too long, and I snap.

  “Damon! Listen to me, motherfucker. You need to answer me. ANSWER ME!” I roar into the phone as I pace my small one-bedroom apartment. The TV still flashing the breaking news report of the school shooting. The list of victims, both killed and injured, scrolling across the bottom. Both fear and a burning fucking rage I’ve never felt before, swirl in my veins.

  “Dude, calm the fuck down. Now!” Damon speaks harshly but quietly as he replies. “Yes, it is Ember. She’s in surgery now—”

  I cut him off before he can even finish. “Surgery? What the fuck for?” I’m trembling now, and even I can’t hide the hitch in my voice. I stop pacing as I wait for his response.

  “Kase, man, she was shot.” I can hear him trying to hold back the sympathy, rage, and sorrow that are clogging his throat.

  I resume my pacing.

  “You saw the list of victims, that’s why you called. Now, let me finish before you explode again, okay?” he asks, but continues on before I can respond. “She was shot. Twice. One to the shoulder and one to the abdomen.”

  “Jesus Christ,” I mutter. If only I was there, if only I had returned home like I should have years ago. I could have been there to help her, save her, maybe even protect her. I’m an EMT for Christ’s sake, but I was a fucking coward and waited.

  Well no fucking more.

  Damon breaks through my thoughts and continues. “Fucker didn’t listen when I stormed through the open doorway. He was going batshit-fucking crazy destroying the room. But as soon as he saw me something shifted in his eyes…” He trails off, seeming to get lost in his head, in the memories from earlier in the day. He takes a deep breath through the line. “I’m sorry, Kayson. I tried to stop him. I did. But he pulled his gun so fast I couldn’t get him down in time.”

  This time he lets his emotions take over. Lets me hear his voice break.

  I blow out a deep breath, trying to rein in my emotions. “I know, Damon. I know,” I say quietly. “I know you did the best you could because that’s who you are.”

  “Yeah, well, my best wasn’t enough.” I hear the defeat in his voice, spiking my anger even more. Because even though I left my entire life behind in Pleasant Beach, he never stopped being my brother. Two years ago, when my addiction almost took my life and I woke up wanting to change it, Damon helped me. No questions asked. Even after two years of minimal contact. I know the type of man he is, a damn good one.

  Before I can tell him exactly that he cuts in, “Look, I want to check in with the front desk once more before I leave. I have a
shit-ton of paperwork to do still so I need to get going. As soon as I hear anything I will call you.”

  I almost pull my phone away to check I’m still talking to Damon. No way did he say that. Call me? “No need. I’m coming tonight.” Fucking outraged he’d think otherwise.

  “Kase, man…” He sounds exasperated. “That’s not a good idea. You haven’t seen Ember in four years. Four. Years.” He stresses the last two words before continuing. “You did not end on good terms, she’s finally moving on and healing, and now she’s going to have this to recover from.”

  Ignoring the comment about finally moving on and healing, my blood pressure spikes and I lay into him. “Damon, listen to me and listen to me good. I don’t give a fuck if it’s been four minutes, days, or years. My girl was fucking mauled down and shot today. Fucking shot. So I’m done fucking waiting. I’ve finally gotten my life under control and no one is telling me I can’t drive down and see her. She may not want to see me, but I’ll cross that fucking bridge when I get to it.” Yeah, calling her my girl may be a far stretch, but she’s always been mine. And fuck him for thinking I’d just sit idle and not do a fucking thing. I’m only three hours from Pleasant Beach; nothing is stopping me from making the drive to see Ember.

  “I’m too fucking tired, too fed up with the day, and have too much fucking work to do still to worry about you storming in guns blazing. I’m telling you this isn’t a good idea. I know you’ll do whatever the fuck you want, but know I’m telling you, I don’t think you should do this. You got me?”

  “Yeah, I got you and you’re right.” I take a pause.

  “Oh, thank fuck, you’re actually going to—”

  I cut him off. “I am going to do whatever the fuck I want, and what I want is to get to Ember. So I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  “Fuck!” He mutters under his breath. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, see you in a few hours.” He hangs up before even saying goodbye.

  I toss my cell to the kitchen table, blow out a deep breath, and brace my hands on the flat surface. I hang my head as memories start to haunt me. Ember’s beautiful smiling face. The tears tracking down her face the day of our first fight. The first time we made love. The day I broke her down when I ended our future. The two years I let the booze and coke and pills consume me, almost kill me.