Somewhere In The Middle

by Lucas Coon

  “So you startled her and she dropped the gun?”

  “If she was preparing to defend herself, why would she be startled by the door opening? No, that's not how it works. If she was watching and waiting to shoot anything that was going to burst through that door and attack her or Lilly, she would have been ready and expecting it to open.” Darren had a point.

  “OK, fair enough. I don't think that constitutes an assumption that she was about to do what you said and honestly--”

  “It was the look in her eye.” Darren sighed. “I've seen it before.”

  “What do you mean Darren?” Mitchell was confused how this man could have ever have seen the look of a murderer.

  “It was a long time ago. Before we lived here and way before we had Lilly. After a few months of us being together I had decided that I needed to find a career. Kayla had been going to school, but I dropped out pretty quickly, so I needed to find something to do. Being a small town and being that nothing ever seemed to happen the whole time I had lived there, I decided that best career in the city was to be a police officer. I went through the training and their idea of an academy. I actually went through the motions and became a rookie police officer.” He chuckled again. “It was incredibly boring at first. When you start out as a cop in a small town they apparently shove you in a small room and tell you to do clerical work and janitorial duties.”

  “I'm guessing it didn't stay boring.” Mitchell felt the need to say something in response.

  “If it had I'd probably still be there. But of course, it didn't.” He looked around for a moment. Nothing caught his eye so he looked down and continued. “It was literally my first day on the street. I was riding with a senior officer and we got a call to a domestic disturbance. The dispatcher said that it was a house that had called in the past a few times and the guy had been arrested in the past for doing stupid things like this. It was supposed to be a quick call; we were just going to go and arrest him, it was going to be cut and dry.” He paused a moment to clear his throat. “We pulled up. We could hear the screaming and we saw the neighbors all standing around, so there was no question as to whether or not we were at the right place. We stepped out of the car and one of the neighbors ran up to us telling us that there were two young children in the house. Of course dispatch didn't tell us this, but they may not have known either.” He paused to clear his throat again, this time it was a little harsher than the last.

  “Are you feeling alright Darren? You sound like you might be getting sick.” Mitchell looked him over as best he could; his face was slightly flush, but other than that he looked alright.

  “I probably am. Haven't been eating well, running all over the place; not exactly good for your health. I guess it's a good thing we're in a hospital, huh?” He laughed. Mitchell grinned back at him. “Anyways, the neighbor told us that, so we walked with a little more haste towards the front door. Officer Daniels looks at me and tells me that I should knock, this being my first call and whatnot. I pounded my fist on the door, you know, in the way that the movies show you how to do.” He scratched the back of his hand and folded them back on his lap. “It was at this point that I had realized the yelling had stopped. I remember thinking that it was odd and I couldn't remember at what point it had stopped. After I knocked the man yelled back asking who it was. The only thing I could think to say was that it was the police and that he needed to open the door. The minute I finished the sentence there were two gun shots, one right after the other.”

  “Oh...” Mitchell knew what was coming.

  “Yeah. We stepped in and were greeted with his wife on the floor with her throat cut. I stopped to check her, you know, protocol. Had to see if there was still a pulse. Daniels on the other hand ran towards the back of the house to find the man. Right as I looked up from the wife, I saw the man coming out of one of the other side rooms and lift his gun. I tried to yell to Daniels to get out of the way, but the next thing I knew he was on the ground.” He stopped to think. Mitchell could only imagine how hard this must have been for him. “The next few moments are fuzzy. I remember pulling my gun and shooting him twice. Well, hitting him twice, I shot four times, but we won't get into that. The next thing I remember is backup arriving and taking me out of the house and me in my superior's office.” He coughed. “Dammit, I think I am getting sick.”

  “Here.” Mitchel pulled a bottle of water out of his bag and tossed it over to Darren. Darren had a look of protest as he caught it. “Don't worry, I've got plenty.”

  “Thanks.” He took a drink and cleared his throat out one last time. “I think that actually helped. So, yeah, that standard domestic disturbance call turned into a huge mess. My first call was supposed to be a quick arrest and that was it. Instead it turned into finding a man that had killed his wife, two young sons, then killed the senior officer that was supposed to be showing me how to be a street cop. That day became huge news within the small town. It was the first murder in over fifteen years and the first murder of a police officer. Come to find out, that man had a list of mental problems. He apparently went off his medication and became belligerent with his wife. He said that when she told him to take his pills, he firmly believed that she was working for the government to kill him. He said that he had faked taking his meds for a week and when she found where he was storing them it became an argument which only furthered his belief that she was a government assassin. He claimed that his kids were in on it too, so he killed all three of them. My partner was just collateral damage.” He stopped and looked up at Mitchell. “It was that day that I learned what the face of a murderer was. He had a certain dead look on his face, like life meant nothing to him. It's a look of internal contemplation on whether or not the life of another is worth anything to you.”

  “Hang on, you said you shot him.” Mitchell recalled this detail and was curious.

  “I'm not a good shot with a handgun. Never have been. I shot him twice and hit him in the shoulder, then the arm. He lost use of his left arm because of it, which I feel was a small punishment for what he did.”

  “So, was he not convicted?” Mitchell assumed the man was doing life in prison.

  “Because he had mental problems, he entered a plea of insanity and got locked up in a mental hospital for the rest of his life. He was cognitive enough to know that he had cut his wife's throat and shot his four and two year old sons, as well as knowing that he killed Daniels, but got out of being executed by saying he was crazy. I agree that he was crazy, but it hurts me every time I think about the fact that he killed four people and then said he was insane so he got out of doing hard time. I guess it helps knowing he'll die locked in a room, but it would've been better if he'd gone to prison.” He rubbed his legs with his hands in a manner that caused warmth through friction. “That was also the last day I was an officer. I had to stick around through the short trial, but as soon as we could, Kayla and I packed up and moved out here.”

  “OK, so, the question I have to ask; you're saying that Kayla had the same look as a man that killed two children, his wife and a police officer?” Mitchell wanted to get on point.

  “Not his exact look, but something similar. I don't know how to explain it.” Darren shrugged.

  “I'm not saying that you're wrong, I'm just wanting to make sure you understand the weight of the accusation that you're about to place on your wife. I want to make sure that you get that this kind of thing will ruin your family and honestly, now is not the time to have a broken family if it's avoidable. I understand if you're worried, but the best I can say to do is just watch her. Watch her and prove to yourself that you were mistaken. Based on what you've told me, she's had a traumatic past, so she could just be in a weird place right now with what's going on and that going through her head.” Mitchell tried to explain himself as best as could.

  “Yeah, we're both messed up. You're right though, I'm probably just going crazy with how things are. I'll go back and just watch out for anything suspicious. Thanks Mitchell.”
Darren stood up.

  “No problem. You've made me realize that I should have gone to school to be a therapist not a teacher.” Mitchell stood up as well and opened the door for Darren.

  “Oh don't worry, this won't be the last time I ask you for advice. At least, I'm assuming it won't, wouldn't want to disappoint.” Darren stepped out and pulled the door behind him. Mitchell locked the door and walked back to his examination bed. He paused for a moment, then unzipped his backpack and removed his notebook. He flipped back to the last page. This last page was split in half with a line horizontally down the middle. The top half had the name Darren scribbled on the top and the bottom had the name Kayla. Mitchell grabbed his pen and clicked the button. He scribbled a small circle under Darren's name and wrote “Potentially Paranoid”. He then did the same circle under Kayla and wrote “Potentially suicidal/homicidal”. He looked over his new entries under his friend's names. The words really didn't fit right under the names that they were attached to. Darren wasn't the paranoid type and Kayla was a happy mother, there was no reason for her to want to kill herself or anyone else. Was it possible that Darren was going crazy?

  Mitchell shook his head. 'No. No one's going crazy.' He stared at the page with their names and traits that he deemed important. The words were written boldly with black pen ink. His writing wasn't pretty, it lacked quality and the letters would probably only be legible to him. While this was great to prevent people reading what he was writing, it sometimes prevented him from being able to read what he was writing. The words on the current page were legible, but barely so. They were written as if penned by a man that was lacking proper nourishment and sound sleep. He stared at the scratchings that he had printed onto the paper. Paranoid. Suicidal. These weren't words describing the people he had grown so attached to over the past few days. These were words describing the people they'd encountered, mostly paranoid and mostly Denver. He read over the other things he'd written; loving, happy, intelligent, false-bravado. All of it was who they were, not the last two.

  “Maybe I'm going crazy. Maybe I'm the one through all of this that is actually going nuts.” He thought for a moment. “Or maybe it's all of us. Is it just the natural insanity, or is this true, pure, Denver Grant style, insanity. Is that where we're heading? Down a path to becoming uncaring homicidal maniacs? He kept talking about how his fans were out there and needed him. I keep talking about how Aria is out there and needs me. Am I becoming him? I haven't killed anyone out of anything other than protection. On the other hand, I've still killed innocent people. They had no idea they were trying to kill me, at least, I don't think they knew.” Mitchell stood and looked at the mirror hanging on the wall. He was looking a little pale, his eyes were dark. In looking at himself he looked like he'd lost a little weight. Overall not much had changed since the last time he stared at himself, but he still didn't like what he was looking at. It'd been a week. A single week had changed so much, caused so much pain, and destroyed so many lives.

  Mitchell looked up at the clock again. The last time he checked was eight-thirty, the numbers now showed a quarter after ten. He looked at where he would be resting for the night; it didn't look inviting. While it was better than sleeping on carpet with his shirt balled up under his head, it still appeared unpleasant. Considering these beds weren't supposed to be used for overnight stays, comfort and stability weren't exactly what the manufacturer had in mind. The size alone told Mitchell that any rolling over, something Aria complained that he did a lot, would lead to him falling the three to four feet straight to the floor. It really didn't matter if the bed was comfortable in the end, Mitchell knew he wouldn't sleep soundly anyways. He looked at the door directly to his right.

  “Would I die if I went out and walked around for a bit? Is it really that crazy out there? Since we got here, well, at least inside, we've only run into one infected. Madison said that the west wing was full of them, so that's out of the picture.” The quarantine system was still active so, even if he had wanted to swim in the infected, getting in would be next to impossible. The east wing was still a possibility, or even the central building. He thought about it for a few moments. Was risking his life worth a comforting walk through the west wing, probably filled to the brim with parasite-infected monsters wanting to rip his skin off?

  He grabbed the handle and pulled the door open. His decision felt selfish, but a comforting walk, even if it ended with death, was something he needed. Sitting in his room alone and sulking over not having Aria with him, or contemplating the sanity of the group wasn't going to get him any closer to finding her, or scheduling a therapy session for the three of them, so it was a solid waste of his time. If he got out there and died, then at least he wouldn't have to worry about anything anymore. He wanted to live and he wanted to find Aria, but with recent revelations he didn't know if that even a possibility anymore. He wasn't sure if it was worth going wherever they took her to see if she was still there, or if that was just as much a dead zone as this place was. Mitchell wasn't one to normally just give up, but he was starting to think that may be the route to go. All of his thoughts of staying alive for Aria were being overtaken by the thoughts of how much failing would hurt, or worse, succeeding and finding her dead. The only scenario he refused to even consider anymore was the possibility of finding her infected. That first nightmare was the one scenario that played in his sleep for the longest time and it was the only one he was certain wasn't a reality.

  He took a step and quietly shut the door behind him. He turned and looked at the sign by the door. 'Exam room seven', he could remember that, it was his lucky number, as well as the lucky number of what he assumed to be billions of other people. He looked down the hallway into the common area, it was empty. That wasn't a surprise, Darren and Kayla were in the room next to him, Brynn and Madison were one past them. He walked past their rooms and down the hallway. The hospital felt like a maze, the hallways twisted and turned, but he eventually found the signs for the main lobby. He walked down until he reached the open area. To his right was the entrance to the west wing. He turned left and walked to the door that split the buildings. When he grabbed the cold steel handle he paused.

  “Is this really what I want to do?” He considered this as the point of no return. If he went through that door it was just him, no one would save him this time if he were attacked. He took a deep breath in. The air was a bit moist, almost humid, and tasted like copper. He couldn't tell if the copper taste was the air or just his mouth. He hadn't brushed his teeth or eaten anything that would help his breath for over a week. This was the only point in Mitchell's life where he wished he had carried gum with him. He pulled the door open and walked in to the connection between the central and east buildings. Any other time, Mitchell would have been ecstatic to walk down the hallway. The walls were small panes of hexagonal glass reinforced by metal frames. The glass was all bullet-proof and, he assumed, the framing was incredibly thick. As he considered the structure of the connection, this was probably one of the safest places in the hospital.

  He looked down way and saw the infected on the outside walking around the glass hallway, then he saw what they were attracted to. The dimly lit hallway didn't reveal much in way of details, but he knew who was on the other end.

  “Hey Madison.” He walked down and stood next to her. “What's going on?”

  “I'm guessing the same thing that's going on with you, I can't sleep. I haven't slept in the week I've been stuck here.” She turned towards him with her arms crossed. “What's keeping you awake?”

  “Heh, everything, honestly.” He crossed his arms as well. He heard that this was a psychological thing, if you were talking to someone with their arms crossed and you cared what they had to say, you would subconsciously cross your arms as well. “Worrying about what's next. Worrying about Aria. Worrying about what comes next for us. Worrying about whether or not we'll all survive this.” He kept his gaze on the infected that was staring at them. It was interesting to watch them when the
re was no threat of being killed. It felt eerily like the zoo.

  “You don't worry about yourself much do you?” She looked up at him with a slight smirk. “You can't worry about everyone else all the time you know? You have to look out for yourself every now and then. Otherwise you end up trapped in a hospital with people you barely know.” Her smirk turned into a smile. She turned to look back at the window.

  “But sometimes the people become good company, even if you barely know them.” He returned her sarcastic smirk. “Not to mention the fact that those people you barely know may end up saving your life.” He chuckled.

  “Oh please, I didn't need you guys to save me. I could've taken him.” She moved her arm to flex. “No, I'm more than thankful that you guys saved us. It's horrible to think about what would've happened if you guys hadn't showed up and gotten us out of there.” She sighed. “All of this has been insane.” They both continued staring out the window at the single infected that continued his attempt to get into the hallway. Mitchell assumed that he would eventually give up and move on to something else. The light continued its dim glow into the hallway and the two survivors sat silent for several moments. Mitchell wanted to talk to her about several things, but couldn't think of what to actually say.

  “Hey, uh, could you do me a favor?” He felt awkward asking her.

  “What kind of favor are we talking?” She raised her eyebrow and looked over at him. “I have my limits you know and I don't think you have the cash on you.”

  “Oh hush, you know that's not at all what I was going for.” He laughed. “I actually want you to check my, um...” He laughed again, this time it was a direct reaction to the awkward feeling. “Just check my mouth.”

  “You're afraid you're infected aren't you? Because of what Brynn said?” She pulled a small pen out of her pocket and clicked the button, causing the light on the tip to illuminate. “Open up.” She stepped forward towards him. Mitchell opened his mouth and leaned down to give her a better view. She shined the light in his mouth for a few moments and then turned it off. Mitchell assumed that, since she didn't freak out or even look scared, he was in the clear. “Yeah, you're infected.”