The Four Points: Book 1 (The Four Points Saga)

by J. J. Melvin

  Detective Nixon’s voice came back into focus. He was telling me that I was brave, but he was curious to understand why I would help girls who were known to be mean to me, and how I knew that Trevor wouldn’t just shoot me.

  “Oh my God, I can’t believe you think that just because Joanne and her friends were mean to me that I would want them killed,” I blurted out, not meaning to say the words that escaped my mouth.

  “Erika, I never said that.” Detective Nixon looked at me, his eyes judging my every movement, my every emotion.

  “Yeah, but that’s what you mean, isn’t it? I didn’t know Trevor wouldn’t shoot me. I didn’t think about that. I just ran towards the cheerleaders to help and before I knew it, I was standing in front of Trevor.”

  “Then why did Robert command Trevor not to shoot you?” a younger police officer who was seated to my right asked accusingly.

  “He didn’t command him, he asked him,” I replied angrily, my voice coming out louder than I expected.

  Detective Nixon glared at the other officer, telling him with his eyes to keep quiet. It was clear that Detective Nixon was the boss in that room. It was also clear that I was a suspect.

  “Erika, during our investigation many students told us that Robert left you a message.” Detective Nixon flipped the page of the little black notebook in his hands. “What did it mean when Robert asked you to remember what he told you?”

  Detective Nixon lifted his eyes from the pages in his hand, focusing them on me.

  “Uhhh, I don’t know,” I answered, surprised and confused. The detective had accomplished what he’d set out to do, catch me off guard. I didn’t know anyone except me had heard Robert. Robert was so close to me when he whispered those words.

  The detective studied me cautiously. I knew my answer wasn’t very convincing. I was never very good at lying. I knew Detective Nixon didn’t buy it either, but to his credit he let it go… at least for the moment.

  I had always possessed an uncanny ability to judge someone’s character. I knew Mr. Nixon was a decent, caring man, but this still didn’t make me trust him and it was obvious he didn’t trust me. I could see in his eyes the mistrust he had in people, all people; everyone was guilty until proven innocent. I recognized this trait because it was one that I myself possessed.

  I opened my mouth to explain what Robert meant, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell the story of the crazy psychotic guy and the stupid giggly school girl. It all sounded so silly. I was so foolish; that whole day I couldn’t wait to continue my conversation with Robert. I’d wanted to be near him, with him. What did he want me to remember? That he thought I was beautiful, or that he was my knight in shining armor because he tried to protect me by telling me to stay away from the quad? What was wrong with him? What was wrong with me? Why the hell would I feel all giggly over the fact that some stupid boy said I was pretty? What type of person starts liking someone who does something like this? My thoughts of self-loathing were interrupted.

  “Another thing I am trying to understand, Erika, is how you held Trevor to the ground. He must outweigh you by 100 pounds.” Detective Nixon asked the question like it wasn’t a big deal, but I knew to him it was.

  “I don’t know. Adrenaline, I guess!” It was the only answer that made sense.

  The officers glanced at each other. It was obvious they did not believe me, but I had no other explanation.

  “I don’t know how I did it, I just did!” I shouted.

  I was getting tired of defending myself. Trevor was tall, yes, and it’s true he outweighed me by like a hundred pounds, but it had been easy for me to restrain him. I couldn’t explain it because I didn’t understand it myself. What else could it have been but adrenaline?

  A doctor entered my room, interrupting the awkwardness my yelling had created. The doctor appeared to be of Indian descent and had a slight accent as he spoke.

  “Gentlemen, please, let’s call it a day. I need to examine Ms. Martin.”

  I was relieved that my interrogation was halted and smiled at the doctor to show my appreciation.

  “Erika, we will have to talk to you again soon. If there is anything you want to talk about or anything you remember, please call night or day.” Mr. Nixon reached into his wallet and handed me his business card.

  The doctor waited until all the officers left the room before introducing himself.

  “Hi Erika, my name is Dr. Nanjit. How are you feeling today?”

  Dr. Nanjit wore a long white doctor’s coat with his name embroidered on the top-left corner. The white coat shone brightly against his brown skin.

  “I’m okay, I guess.”

  “Erika, I am going to ask you some questions that may seem a little strange. It is imperative that you answer them as honestly as possible. Can you do that for me?”

  “Okay,” I agreed reluctantly. After talking with the police I was exhausted, and I had no desire to answer more questions.

  “Erika, is it true that you have a birthmark on your neck shaped like a diamond?”

  “Yes.” I rubbed my forehead, wondering why it mattered.

  “And Erika, do you ever feel like you hear voices in your head?”

  “What? Are you a psychiatrist?” I sat up straight, now wondering if I was being assessed for mental problems.

  “No Erika, I am not a psychiatrist, but it is a very important question.”

  Anxiety rippled through my body. I knew if I told the truth people would think I was crazy, but I wanted so badly to tell someone. It had been almost 10 years since I spoke to anyone about the voices, ten years of suffering in silence.

  “Well I—I sometimes, sometimes I think I can hear people talking when they’re not. But when there are a lot of people, it usually just sounds like a lot of noise.” I gritted my teeth. I was trying to tell the doctor that I could hear people’s thoughts, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.

  “I see, and when you hear these people talking, is it because you feel like you can hear what they are thinking? That you can maybe read their minds?”

  Oh my God, how does he know that?

  “Doctor Nanjit, are you trying to figure out if I’m crazy? I know it’s never a good idea to admit you hear voices.” I stared at the doctor, trying to figure out how he was so close to uncovering my secret.

  “Erika, I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you may be… well, you may be gifted. I think I can help you. I’d like you to answer me honestly, please.”

  “I… I know this sounds silly, but I know I can hear people’s thoughts. That’s why I like to be alone. I don’t want to hear them; some things…. well… some things are meant to be private. It doesn’t happen all the time though, but it’s been happening a lot more again, ever since… well, ever since the shooting.”

  It was a relief to finally tell someone. Even if I was crazy, it felt good to speak about it.

  Doctor Nanjit smiled at me reassuringly, telling me with his eyes that he was glad I’d told him the truth. “And Erika, do you ever do things you can’t explain, or get from one place to another without knowing how you got there?”

  It was weird that this doctor seemed to know so much about me. Maybe I had a condition I didn’t know about. Maybe he could finally have answers for me. Maybe he could stop the voices, stop the confusion. I continued to be honest, desiring an explanation.

  “I call those my blackout times. Sometimes I’ll be in one place then the next second I’m somewhere else. Doctor Nanjit, do you know what’s wrong with me?”

  “Erika, I don’t think anything is wrong with you. I think you are a very special girl.”

  I was confused and disappointed. I wasn’t gifted or special. I wanted to know what was wrong with me. But before I could ask the doctor why I was afflicted with voices and blackouts, a tall doctor with blond hair walked in.

  “Dr. Nanjit!” the man exclaimed as he walked into my room patting Dr. Nanjit on the shoulder. He shook his hand. “Are you a friend of my new h
ero patient?”

  “No Dr. Neal, just visiting Riverton’s newest celebrity to give my thanks. I have kids at Riverton, and thanks to Erika they came home safe.”

  I wondered why Dr. Nanjit lied. I was confused; I’d thought he was my doctor, but obviously I was wrong. Dr. Neal was my doctor. I wondered if Dr. Nanjit even had kids at Riverton.

  “Erika,” Dr. Nanjit said, his hand extended to shake mine. “Thank you. It was my sincerest pleasure to meet you.”

  If Dr. Nanjit wasn’t my doctor, who was he, and why was he asking me all these questions?

  I took his extended hand in mine and noticed that on the cuff of his sleeve he had a diamond symbol with an eye on each side. He seemed to smile with satisfaction when he saw me notice the symbol on his sleeve. My eyes followed him in confusion as I watched him walk away from my room.

  Chapter 4

  STRANGERS

  The rest of the day I stayed in bed. Valerie and I talked a little. We became friendly, but most of the time I slept. My mom came to visit shortly after lunch. When Valerie saw her she decided to take a walk to give us some privacy.

  “Erika,” my mom said as she stood at the foot of my bed. Her voice quivered and her normally smooth brow wrinkled as she searched for her words.

  “I’m sorry for the way I reacted yesterday. You know, when the school called, they didn’t tell me there was a shooting. I was just told that you were involved in some trouble and you were being held for observation. When I got to the hospital I was only told that you were involved in a scuffle but not to worry because you weren’t hurt. I didn’t know… what happened. I guess I misunderstood and thought you caused some trouble at your school. I never would have yelled at you had I known.”

  “It’s okay, Mom, it’s not a big deal.” I fidgeted with my fingers, picking at the nonexistent dirt under my nails. It was weird seeing my mom so uncomfortable.

  “And when Valerie mentioned how you stopped the shooter. The shooting didn’t even connect with me. I was upset because I was called out of work; I thought I might get fired. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t know what really happened until the doctor explained it all to me yesterday. But then they wouldn’t let me go back in your room because I had upset you. I’m so sorry Erika, I really didn’t know.” My mother’s mouth quivered and a sob threatened her voice. She tried hard to hold back her tears but one escaped anyways, trailing down her tired face. She caught it with a crumpled tissue she had hidden in her hand. My mom often didn’t pay attention to my words, so I understood when she explained that Valerie’s words yesterday went in one ear and out the other. My mom worked two jobs to support us and I felt bad that she was concerned she might get fired. My dad left when I was seven followed by my mom’s second husband who was gone right after his son was born when I was nine.

  “Mom, it’s okay.”

  “But it’s not, Erika. I made you cry. I haven’t seen you cry since you were a baby.”

  “I was just tired, Mom. I’m okay. Really.” My voice was the one quivering now.

  My mom came over and hugged me. She hadn’t done that since I was little. I tried in vain not to cry, but the tears fell anyway.

  “I love you, Erika. I don’t know what I would have done if anything happened to you.” My mom wiped away her tears.

  “Nothing happened, Mom. I’m okay.”

  “I still can’t believe you single-handedly stopped the shooting. I am so proud of you.” My mom used the crumpled-up tissue to wipe away the remaining traces of emotion as her tone changed to one of celebration and pride.

  My mom and I had two firsts that day. One, it was the first time she ever apologized to me, and two, it was the first time she ever said she was proud of me. My mom never showed much emotion, a trait she passed down to me. We weren’t the kind of people to say I love you, or to give hugs and kisses, nor were we ever ones for friendly conversation. We not only acted alike, but we looked a little alike as well. I got my dark hair from her, but my pale freckled easily burned skin came from my father. My mom had more of a yellowish tinge to her skin. My eyes were a mix of her brown eyes and my father’s green, giving me, as she would say, “cat’s eyes”, a hazel mix of green, brown, and yellow. One thing I definitely got from her was my stubbornness and tendency to push people away.

  After a few minutes of sitting quietly together, I broke the awkward silence.

  “Where are Kai and Alyssa?”

  Kai was my cute little game-obsessed seven-year-old brother and Alyssa was my perfect straight-A student, class president, older sister. I was… well, I don’t know what I was. I wasn’t the cute little one and I wasn’t the beautiful smart one. I guess I was just the middle one. Middle of the road in every way.

  “They’re at home. Alyssa’s watching Kai. I’m trying to keep him away from, well you know, all this shooting stuff. They both want me to tell you that they can’t wait to see you. They are going to come with me to pick you up when you get released.”

  “Tell them I can’t wait to go home.”

  Our conversation felt awkward, forced. We never talked normally to each other. Our talks usually consisted of, “What’s for dinner?”, “Clean your room!”, and “Watch your brother.” This was definitely weird. My mom felt it too, and after my reassurance that it was okay for her to leave she did.

  I listened to my mom’s footsteps as she walked away down the hall. Her heels made a clicking noise with every step as they touched the cold hard sanitized tile of the hospital floor. I smiled at the fact that my mom always wore heels to make her taller. I listened as the sound of her shoes got fainter and fainter until they were gone. I didn’t need anyone to look after me; after all, nothing was really wrong with me other than the fact that I was crazy enough to tackle a six-foot giant with a gun.

  Mrs. Wong, the principal, was the next visitor. She came to visit me and Valerie. She brought us beautiful white flowers and two big fluffy teddy bears. Mrs. Wong was a plump short lady, hair always in a tight bun, clothes always pressed and neat, always serious and never the type to show any emotion. We got to know each other well during my time at Riverton High. She saw me as the smart student who wouldn’t apply herself. A student with unlimited potential, as she would say. We spent hours together with her trying to unlock that potential through lectures and speeches about how someone with such high test and IQ scores should be doing so much better in her classes.

  Today, I stared at a different Mrs. Wong. She was slightly disheveled—dark black hairs stuck out from her usually perfect bun, and her pressed white shirt was partially untucked from her long grey skirt. She told me that I was the town hero. She cried as she expressed how proud she was of me.

  “Erika, I shudder to think how many more people would have been hurt, had you not intervened. I am so glad you were not injured.”

  “Me too,” I laughed, raising my eyebrows.

  After staying for a little bit longer and going on about how amazing it was for such a little girl to be so strong, Mrs. Wong finally wrapped up her visit. I hated being called little. I wasn’t that short. I was about five-two and a half, five-three on a good shoe day. I was taller than my mom and about half an inch taller than my sister, but I only weighed about 95 pounds, which I guess made me appear younger and smaller than I was.

  “Well, I will let you girls get your rest, and I will see you back at school soon,” Mrs. Wong said as she exited our room.

  “School?” Valerie whined. “Is she kidding me? Uggggh. I wonder when they’ll make us go back. I was hoping we could at least get a month off. After all, we were almost killed.”

  I had to agree. School was the last thing I wanted to think about. Valerie and I bonded over not wanting to go back to school. We wondered how many people were hurt in the shooting and who they were. Everyone tried to keep the details of the shooting from us. We weren’t allowed to watch the news and we were encouraged not to dwell on the past. The psychologist we saw said it was better this way, and that all the details would be gi
ven to us when we were ready. Valerie and I weren’t immediate best friends, but we became closer as we complained about how unfair it was that everyone was withholding information from us.

  I was sad when Valerie went home the next morning. They told me I had to stay another night for observation, but I knew they didn’t mean medical observation. I was a suspect and from the constant eyes on me I couldn’t help but feel the police wanted me watched.

  I had the room all to myself now. I stayed in bed all day watching movies. I didn’t bother to take a shower or get cleaned up. Around two pm I started to regret that decision. I looked out my window into the nurse’s station across the hall and spotted two men speaking to Nurse Michelle.

  One man was in his 40’s, handsome, well put together, and wearing a brown suit. He wore glasses and looked very distinguished. The other was a boy that appeared to be a couple years older than me. He was absolutely gorgeous. He was about 5’9”, thin, with medium-brown hair, pale clear skin, and long well-manicured sideburns. He wore jeans and a white V-neck that hung down to where he had his thumbs hooked into the pocket of his jeans. He looked like a model from the fifties, a throwback to James Dean. I could see Nurse Michelle blush as she talked to him. He was mesmerizing! I watched as he swayed back and forth on his heels to his toes while flaunting a mischievous grin.