Margo's Lullaby

by Groves, B.

  “By the look on your face, I’d say you’re lying to yourself.”

  “Dude, her sister almost killed me. She killed my best friend.”

  “Yeah, but you may have to talk to her, anyway. I think it would put a lot of your demons to rest,” William said.

  Dean was about to speak when another figure popped his head around the doorway.

  Michael McConnell, the principal of Seven Hills High School, stood in the doorway.

  He was promoted to the principal about two years ago and was a teacher of chemistry for twenty years before that. He was once Dean’s teacher.

  Dean never liked Michael, and that continued into his career here when he accepted his position. He always found Michael to be slimy in his handling of teacher’s issues with the school board and superintendent.

  William tensed in his seat when he spotted the principal. William wasn’t crazy about him either.

  The day of the Seven Hills shooting Michael tried to pass himself off as some kind of hero though none of the kids remember him helping anyone. Dean didn’t know how true that was, but after Dean watched news footage; it was Michael who was first to get in front of the cameras for pictures and interviews.

  Michael stood around six feet tall. Even at fifty, his face was smooth and youthful looking.

  His hair was naturally gray, but always professionally styled.

  A former wide receiver for Seven Hills in his time at the school, he still favored the jocks over any other student. He was always going around to the jocks, especially the football team, to tell them how wonderful they were.

  He came from a background of old money around the area, and Dean could’ve sworn he drove a brand new car every year, most of the time a Mercedes, while most teachers struggled to keep up with their own car payments.

  Dean remembered when he was a student, and thought he was having a nice conversation about baseball with Michael, until Michael suddenly said, “Baseball and other sports are for pussies. Football is where the real men are made.”

  Dean avoided him as much as possible.

  “Hey, guys! I was walking around with security to see who was still here. I heard the roads are getting bad,” Michael said. His tone cheerful, but Dean and William knew better.

  “We’re going in a few minutes,” William answered.

  Dean stood and packed his bag. He could work from home on his laptop.

  William followed suit, and stood from the chair, grabbing his briefcase.

  Michael smiled with his perfect white teeth. Michael’s eyes always followed William when he stood, and that made Dean laugh. It was obvious Michael feared William’s size but tried his best to hide it.

  “I’m sorry if I was eavesdropping, but I heard something about someone coming back to town?” Dean and William exchanged looks, and Dean shifted on his feet. How long was he standing in the doorway listening? The guy was a total douchebag.

  William spoke up first. “Gabrielle Ryan came back to town.”

  Dean looked up and wasn’t sure but thought he saw a certain flicker in Michael’s eyes. Usually, Michael was very good at masking his real emotions, but that one little look slipped from beneath the mask.

  Dean was wary of that look but didn’t know what to make of it.

  Michael then rubbed his chin in thought and tried to plaster a slight smile on his face.

  “Well, I am sure she’s back for the memorial,” Michael said. “Even though that might not be such a great idea.”

  Dean noticed Michael standing stiffly and wondered what the reaction was all about. Terrifying memories? Didn’t all the survivors have those?

  “No, she moved back into town,” Dean said.

  Michael’s dark eyebrows rose in surprise. “What could she possibly need here anymore?”

  “I don’t know,” Dean answered.

  He didn’t know because he didn’t stand around long enough to find out.

  “Well, we’ll see what happens. Have a good day guys,” Michael said, and he left the room to make sure the school emptied.

  William and Dean exchanged looks, and William said, “He tried to at least act traumatized.”

  “I don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling anymore. I know when he was still a teacher, he embellished a lot of stories,” Dean said.

  William shook his head and looked at his watch. “I better go before the roads get worse. I’ll catch you later.”

  “All right.”

  He grabbed his jacket from the hook and looked out of the window. A good six inches was on the ground now. He’d better get moving. His drive would normally take him about fifteen minutes, but in the snow, he was looking at a good hour.

  He thought about grabbing takeout but decided not to chance it. He’d figure something out when he got home.

  He walked out of the classroom and locked the door. He turned and waved to the security guard still roaming the halls looking for any stragglers.

  The school was a “P” shape with some trailers around the outside of the school for extra classes they couldn’t fit into any classroom for scheduling.

  When Dean was assigned to the trailers, he loved it out there because they had air conditioning.

  The school direly needed remodeling, but as usual denied by the taxpayers of the county.

  Not that he could blame them, New Jersey wasn’t the greatest for taxing its residents.

  Dean walked the empty hallway, and turned the corner passing the gym first, and could see the double doors locked down for the day, and the lights out.

  He passed through the halls, and all the lockers were color-coded according to the level of the students. His classroom was located in the green hall for the freshman.

  He loved teaching the freshman. Their mixture of excitement and nervousness in their first year of high school reminded him so much of himself at that age.

  Most were eager to begin high school, their minds wrought with romantic notions of what high school was like.

  In a few months the cold, hard reality would slap them in the faces, and they realized that high school wasn’t romantic at all.

  Dean passed the new library with the small memorial atrium beside it.

  He stopped in his tracks and turned to stare at the memorial.

  The one thing the taxpayers could agree on was remodeling the library. The whole thing hadn’t been torn down. Only the half that had been damaged by Margo’s rage had been remodeled to remember the victims of that day.

  The new library now extended into the property of the school and had a second floor.

  Dean lowered his head and looked over at the memorial.

  The atrium was plain with white tiled flooring, and the Killer Bees logo painted on the floor with the mascot holding a lily in memory of the victims.

  The saying “Bee Strong, Bee Courageous” painted above the mascot in gold, and embedded in the tile.

  Dean thought it was corny, but it drew in school spirit when they needed it the most.

  Behind the mascot and on the white walls were five trees that were hand-painted for the five victims that didn’t survive that day.

  On the side of each tree was a plaque with the victim’s names and a small biography engraved into the plaque.

  Jake’s was on the left wall, and there were many days Dean gazed at it, grieving his lost friend.

  Dean smiled knowing Jake would have hated the biography his parents submitted for the plaque.

  He loved baseball and working in his father’s garage on cars. The reality was Jake hated working with his dad, Randy since he was a notorious alcoholic and a mean one at that. Sometimes Jake’s parents had knockdown, drag-out fights, and Jake was caught in the middle of his parent’s drunken wars. Jake’s only goal was to get out of that house forever.

  Jake’s father was the most outspoken of all the families of the victims. He took every opportunity to interview with various news stations and denounce the Ryans’ for not speaking about the tragedy.

 
; One of Margo’s friends erected a cross in honor of her too, and it was Randy White who tore the cross down and called Margo the devil on live television.

  Dean felt compelled to look at the other victims today, and he didn’t know if it was from seeing Gabby this morning or not.

  He walked over to Jake’s tree but decided not to read it today.

  All of Margo’s victims were random targets. The investigation closed with no clear answers.

  They were random acts of violence on her part after the investigation came to an end.

  Everyone in the town thought the Ryans would be prosecuted on weapons charges, but nothing ever came of that, and almost a year later the Ryans packed up and left town.

  From what Dean heard in the rumor mill, Gabby finished her diploma and left first. Her brother was already in the military at the time. Gabby never attended graduation or any other senior ceremony.

  Dean remembered hearing they left no stone unturned investigating Margo Ryan. They checked social media sites, Internet forums, gaming sites, and anywhere else a young girl of fifteen would leave a digital footprint. Anything and everything that would give the investigators a clue on why Margo Ryan snapped that day on March 20.

  She had no other drugs in her system except marijuana. Dean remembered reading over news articles from Margo’s family that she’d been having problems with friends at school, but nothing she insisted she couldn’t handle.

  He heard Gabby confronted football players who were teasing Margo about a party, but Margo pushed her sister away telling her to mind her own business.

  Gabby’s parents said Margo never came home some nights, and they searched her room for any signs of heavy drug use, or something that could hurt her, and found nothing.

  She never indicated she was one of those that idolized past school shooters and wanted to copycat them.

  Her parents insisted no past mental issues were diagnosed and thought she was going through a rebellious streak, and it would pass.

  No diaries, no unusual writings, nothing to set this girl off claiming the lives of five students, injuring ten others including two teachers, and killing herself in the end.

  No signs whatsoever.

  Then what was Gabrielle Ryan doing back in town?

  Margo entered the school with her father’s Beretta Nano 9mm and Glock pistols, shot a teacher in the hallway, and entered the library picking off people randomly.

  Everyone scratched their head and wondered why Margo Ryan took five lives and left behind a legacy that still sent ripples of fear throughout the school to this day.

  Dean moved to the next victim. Her name was Kelly Daily. She was a junior who loved field hockey, poetry and helping her grandmother crochet. She wanted to become a nurse like her mother after she graduated.

  Dean had no recollection of her.

  He moved to the next tree and studied the name. Ben Carson. A senior who loved fishing in the open waters, and off the jetties. He was dedicated to his church and involved with summer camps. He looked forward to joining the Marines and had been recruited before Margo gunned him down.

  Dean was a casual friend with Ben. He was a great guy and very dedicated to his classes.

  David Cooper’s name was on the next tree. A freshman that loved ice hockey, and the Philadelphia Flyers hockey team. He was a super fan that had his room decorated with The Flyers logo from his walls to his bedding. Though Seven Hills didn’t offer hockey as a sport in the school, David was involved in independent junior leagues around the state.

  Dean had no recollection of him either.

  Jenny Smith was the last victim. She was also a senior and shy from what Dean remembered of her. She went to the library every day since she didn’t have many friends.

  Her plaque indicated she was her mother’s caretaker and loved her little brothers and sisters.

  Dean shook his head at Jenny’s plaque. She was the one with the hardest life and would have turned out the best out of all of them. She never had a chance to live her life with her caring for her ailing mother. She was the one who had to grow up too fast and never enjoyed her time as a teenager.

  He never appreciated kids like Jenny when he was in school, but now he understood their plights from becoming a teacher himself.

  Dean shook his head again and breezed past the plaque of the injured, which included his name. He had students ask him about it. He answered politely, knowing the truth was better than denying the dangers of school shootings in the modern world.

  He made his way down the empty hallways, and exited the side door, knowing the security guard would keep the alarms off till everyone went home.

  The parking lot was devoid of vehicles, and the buses pulled away.

  He could see Michael’s Mercedes still in the parking lot along with the assistant principal, and some administration.

  The silence of the outside world hit Dean in the face as he walked through the parking lot to his car.

  When it snowed in this part of New Jersey, the town of Seven Hills always turned off like a light switch.

  He cleaned off his car, with the only noise around him being the ice scraper clearing off the snow.

  He sat in the car for a moment, and the flash of blonde hair and blue eyes played in his mind. He tried to resist seeing her in his mind, but he couldn’t deny she was still beautiful. Yet, there was a moment where he caught the infinite sorrow that took over her features, and as he looked back over the morning at the gym, it was obvious in her voice too.

  Dean listened to the weather and found out the snow would change to rain during the night.

  He groaned. Typical New Jersey weather. Spastic, and unpredictable with these kinds of storms, and that meant a mess driving to work the next day. He couldn’t wait for spring.

  Dean decided to pick up takeout after all when he found the little hole in the wall Chinese place open in the strip mall near his house. He loved that place. Probably too much. The shrimp and broccoli meal was his favorite. He always promised himself he would cook more, but that never happened.

  Besides, after an hour drive in what should have taken fifteen minutes, he was hungry.

  Dean pulled up in front of his house and looked around to find most cars in their driveways since the weathermen were telling people to stay home.

  He lived a few houses from Pamela Monroe’s summer rental and was surprised to see a car in the driveway, and the lights on inside the house. The house stood empty for most of the winter until Pam’s family rented the house for the season.

  Dean exited the car and looked over at the car in the driveway.

  He hadn’t even seen the movers there or maybe he hadn’t paid attention, but he should have known.

  The car in the driveway had Florida license plates, and those plates were attached to the car owned by Gabrielle Ryan.

  Chapter 5

  The rain came in the early evening and turned the beautiful falling snow into a slushy, icy mess during the night.

  Dismal weather reports didn’t keep Gabby from walking on the trail near her house the next morning.

  The walking trail was installed and boarded in most places like the boardwalk near the beaches long after the Ryan family moved away. There were entrances near every part of the neighborhood for the locals to use, and most of the trails were a few miles long that led to the county park in the area that became a huge zoo from what Gabby heard from Pamela.

  Gabby hated exercise. She’d never been a sports person, but she forced herself to do it.

  For one to two hours her mind would clear without the help of the drugs the doctor offered her, and for that time she would be blissfully at peace with the world. All the visions she held deep within her mind would fade as she walked or even ran whether on a treadmill or on a trail near her home.

  All those screams inside her head, the gunshots, and watching her sister stand there in front of her would sink into a pool of darkness, and out of it would come a shining light from within her bru
ised soul.

  That was why she exercised, and that was why she painted. It was the same way as she stroked the brush against the canvas. Her mind concentrating on the picture she created that she couldn’t nor did she have time to think of the horror.

  These were the times her mind was at ease, and she could focus on her life.

  Gabby refused to take their path. She refused to run away from it anymore.

  She did this so her life would not become numb through drugs like her mother. Her mother had been on medication for many years after the day, and her father, since he was retired military, shut down his emotions except for one time where he went off the deep end with a bottle of vodka, and threw it at Margo’s last school picture, shattering the frame and ruining the picture. Her brother married young and left the country to take a post in Japan so he wouldn’t have to face his own pain.

  She’d lost a family member that day too, and in front of her own eyes, but she refused to dull the memories because she wanted to know why.

  Why?

  It was such a simple question. It had no easy answers. Now, after ten years Gabrielle Ryan would find out, so she could be at peace, and her sister Margo could rest.

  Gabby put on her sneakers, and her new winter workout clothing.

  The cold sliced through her body when she opened the front door to the house, but she ignored it reveling in the numbness it brought her.

  The clouds were clearing from the sky, and she could look forward to a beautiful winter sunrise as she walked.

  The one entrance to the trail was on the other side of her house, and the wooden marker for the entrance was piled with snow.

  Her breath puffy in the air, she skipped around patches of ice. The trail was muddy with some snow still dotting the boards. Gabby almost changed her mind about continuing further after she slipped on the boardwalk a fourth time.

  The trees were bare, and empty now. The cold breeze whipped her ponytail around her head.