by Eli Easton
“Where are you going with this?” I asked. My voice was raw, and I felt the last of my concentration getting frayed. I couldn’t take much more of this stroll down horror lane.
He studied my face for a moment, then sighed. “The music room is empty during Lunch B. But they knew there’d be lots of targets behind that door during Lunch A.”
His fingers trailed down D-Wing. There were several body outlines in the hall. A group of five who’d been trying to escape. Jake had been one of them. Brian’s fingers avoided touching that part of the diagram, lifting to tap the door at the end of D-Wing.
“11:15,” he said, his voice gravelly. “They came out here and had a vehicle waiting. They were gone before the first cop arrived on the scene.”
He drew back and looked at me, his face gray but set with a vengeful expression I’d never seen before.
I nodded slowly. “I get it. You think it was an inside job. But didn’t we figure it was two students?”
“Yeah, but most of the press and people like my dad, they don’t believe that because it went too smoothly, there was too much ‘military precision.’” He made sarcastic air quotes. “Because, you know, teenagers couldn’t possibly make a plan and stay on it. But they have a point. I bet the shooters had it timed down to the minute. How did they not get distracted? Did they have timers or something? Like, ding ding! Time to leave the cafeteria! And it sounds like they had sophisticated weapons. The AR-15s were modified so they could fire like automatics. So that would point to it not being a student. Unless it was, like, a weapon savant or someone whose parents are way into guns. Plus, whoever did it had to have access to admin materials, like class rosters, to know which classes were the largest. And they knew the security cameras were down.”
I thought about that. “They could have just counted heads, couldn’t they? Like in the weeks prior?”
He shrugged. “I suppose they might have stood outside every classroom when the bell rang and counted the people who came out. But that would take forever. A roster would be hella faster.”
“So what are you saying? You think it was a teacher? Or administrator?”
His shoulders slumped. “I don’t know yet. It’s… weird.” He rubbed his forehead, clearly frustrated.
“You’ve done a lot of work on this.” I waved to the folder.
His face scrunched up, and he looked pained. “I just… I want to see those assholes pay. And until they’re caught, I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m freaked out all the time.”
I rubbed his leg sympathetically. “You could go to the police. Tell them what you told me.”
He shrugged. “Maybe when I have something more solid. They wouldn’t listen to me with just this. From the recent press conferences, it sounds like they’re leaning towards thinking the shooters were outsiders.”
I hadn’t been paying that much attention to the investigation, but I’d heard that much. “Maybe everyone who was supposed to be there has a good alibi.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Brian said in a dark, knowing tone.
“Well. They’re not necessarily going to tell the public what they think. Right?”
He frowned. “They’re under a ton of pressure. And when they have press conferences, they seem to be pretty damn sincere about their lack of progress. So I don’t have a lot of faith.”
I was still on my stomach, and he was sitting cross-legged next to me. I put my chin on his leg. “I’m sorry. I know how badly you want them caught. I do too. But it doesn’t make your PTSD worse? Looking at all this stuff?”
He huffed. “That’s what my mom says. As if looking at this stuff makes me remember. But what she doesn’t get is that I never forget, not for a moment. It’s always with me.” He rubbed his chest. “Believe it or not, viewing it as a crime scene, breaking it down into a series of steps, helps a little. It feels more… human that way. It’s hard to explain.”
“Like turning the light on the boogey man?”
“Maybe.” He nodded. “But mostly….” He took a deep, quivering breath. “I can’t stand that they got away with it. I mean… they shot Jake in the back.” His voice hitched, and he had to pause and swallow before he went on. “Someone has to make them pay for that. And they could target us again. A… a basketball game. Or a pep rally. A March for Our Lives event. I’m sure, whoever they are, they really hate people like you who speak out.”
A pain shot through my heart. I cupped my hand around his calf and squeezed. He’d never said a word against my activism, but he’d been clearly uneasy at times. He was trying to protect me.
“And that day… I was a chickenshit coward.” His voice was harsh now, angry. “I hid, and I didn’t do anything. Not a damn thing. I didn’t even look at them. But I can look now. And if there’s anything, anything I can figure out, any way I can help nail them…. Because all those kids died. They all died, Landon, and I didn’t.”
His voice broke. I jerked upright and hugged him. “Jesus, Brian. Don’t do this to yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong that day. You hid and you survived. And I’m selfish enough to want you here. To want us. This isn’t a mistake!”
His body relaxed in my hold, and his head slumped against my shoulder. “No, we aren’t a mistake. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. But….”
“But what?” I pulled back to look at his face.
His eyes were damp. “I feel guilty sometimes when I think… if the shooting had never happened, we wouldn’t be together. It feels wrong that something good came out of that. Like, that I benefited from it. Jake is dead, and I found you. It’s not fair.”
“That’s the way it works, though, isn’t it?” I said, flying by pure instinct. “When something awful happens, there has to be a rebound, a silver lining, some good that comes out of it. Otherwise the whole human race would give up in despair.”
He tried to smile at me. I wrapped him in a hug, and he held me painfully tight. There was some shuffling as our legs got rearranged so we could press closer together.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever believe, actually believe, there was nothing I could have done that day,” he said at last. “But I can do something now. I have to. Just like you have to do what you do.”
I nodded and kissed his hair. That day wouldn’t let either of us go until we’d both done all we could possibly do to prevent it from happening to another school, another group of innocents in a crowd.
Never again.
Chapter 20
Brian
SUNDAY NIGHT, Landon dropped me off at my house at seven. It was getting dark early now, so it felt later. My dad was in the living room, and he called out to me as I attempted to go up the stairs.
“Come in here, Brian.”
“I need to study.”
“I said come in here and sit down.”
He was using his “obey me or else” voice. I went in and sat in the armchair, sensing this was going to be very much not good. My mom came in and sat on the couch. She picked up her knitting. Her face told me nothing, but her presence was a bad sign too. Either she was there to side with my dad or to try to soften his temper. Neither was good news.
“You can’t eat with your family anymore?” my dad asked.
I bounced the heels of my Nikes on the carpet. “It’s more convenient for them to drop me off after dinner.”
“Uh-huh. Then maybe you shouldn’t go over there so much, especially after school. Maybe you should take the bus and come home.”
“I work better with a study partner. Is there a problem?” My gut clenched, causing a twinge of pain in the patchwork inside me. I tried to stay calm. I’d had such an incredible weekend with Landon, and this was threatening to drag me down again.
My dad’s face darkened. “The problem is, I don’t want you spending so much time with that arrogant little twerp.”
“What?”
My dad had never said anything bad about Landon. He’d hardly even seen him, since Landon and I spent all
our time at the Hughes’s house. My mom encouraged our friendship, smiling when she asked how he was or if I was going over there. I think she knew it made me feel better to hang out with him. My dad had always been tolerant about it. When he’d gotten on my case in recent weeks, it was always about me. My need to eat more and drink protein shakes, do my PT and work out. Since he’d given up on the football and basketball seasons, me playing baseball in the spring was his idea of What Would Make Brian Marshall Normal Again. As if the shooting was something we could all forget ever happened. But he’d never attacked my friendship with Landon.
“I’ve seen video of him online talking about gun-control laws and wanting kids to vote for Democrats and all of that bullcrap. He’s trying to be like those Parkland kids, trying to make himself out to be important. I don’t like that, Brian. I don’t want you spending time with someone like that.”
I looked at my mom. She kept knitting, her expression slightly worried, her lips pressed tight.
I licked my lips. “Did he make videos? I mean, I know he’s not a big fan of guns. Not since the shooting and all the… the stuff he saw that day. But we don’t talk about that. I don’t like to talk about it.”
I gave my dad an innocent look. Maybe he’d believe I was so traumatized that I wouldn’t even let Landon talk about guns or the shooting when he was around me. Maybe he’d believe I had no clue what Landon was up to. I’d gotten pretty good over the past two years of knowing my dad’s trigger points and lying my way around them. I wasn’t proud of it. I wished we could just talk about things the way we used to. But the way he was now, lying was the only way to keep the peace.
He narrowed his eyes and stared at me for a long moment.
My mom spoke up. “So you don’t know anything about those videos he made. And you’re not into any of that yourself.” She looked at me steadily, her needles click-clacking. She was feeding me a line. Which I gratefully took.
“No.” I shook my head. “Like I said, I don’t like to talk about any of that. We just study for classes when I’m over there. Or play video games. We play a lot of Nascar ’15.”
Or have sex.
Yeah. That probably wasn’t something I should mention.
“I’m glad to hear that, Brian,” my dad said, his voice still angry. “Because otherwise, you and I would have a big problem. A real big problem. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes.” My pulse throbbed in my throat and my gut twisted, causing a jolt of agony. But I stayed slumped in the chair.
“I still don’t like you hanging out with a kid who has those ideas.”
I knew it was useless to argue with my dad. But I couldn’t help myself. Maybe if I just stayed really, really, really calm.
I sat forward, elbows on my knees, and tried to act as low-key and earnest as possible. “Can we talk about that a little? You know that day at school was horrible. Me being shot. And there were so many….” My voice wobbled. So much for being unemotional. I pressed on, keeping my voice soft. “So many dead in the cafeteria and halls. And if Landon is posting about it, I think he just doesn’t want to see anyone else hurt like that. You know? I don’t think anyone’s suggesting we ban all guns. But why do people really need guns like AR-15s?”
My dad’s nostrils flared, but he sounded less angry when he responded, like he was trying to be reasonable too. “Look. You kids are too young to understand the ramifications of these things. There’s a damn good reason why the civilian population needs free and ready access to high-grade weapons, a reason why the Founding Fathers created the Second Amendment in the first place. Citizens need to be able to defend against any threat, up to and including a coup by our own military. The end. Is the system perfect? Of course it’s not perfect. But the solution the liberals want would turn us into mindless cattle!”
I blinked at him, the familiar pressure squeezing my chest. How could he still feel that way? How?
What I wanted to say was this: So some hypothetical future scenario based on paranoia about our government is more important than the lives of me and Lisa, right here and right now?
I wanted to say that. It was on the tip of my tongue. I was becoming more vocal about my opinions, and more sure of them. But if I expressed any agreement with the gun-control movement whatsoever, it would be the fastest way to get Landon banned from my life.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “Right. See, this stuff really isn’t my thing.”
“You don’t need to worry about that at your age anyway,” my mom put in. Click-clack. “Just focus on your studies and getting your health back. That’s all any of us need to worry about right now, thank the Lord.”
My dad’s eyes got that crazy sheen. “What most people don’t get is that a lot of these so-called ‘student victims’—they’re being paid by George Soros and the Clintons. And tell me how banning semiautomatics would have stopped what happened at The Wall when it was obviously the military that executed that attack anyway? Bull says—”
Aaannd it all went downhill from there.
I listened to my dad rant and felt my insides shrivel up and die. He was no longer aiming his anger at me or at Landon, which was good. But it was still hard to take. I couldn’t believe how far apart we were now and how unlikely it was that I could ever reach him again. When I thought about the pro ball games we used to go to in St. Louis, sitting in the bleachers with our hot dogs and dorky foam fingers, or the times we went bowling together, “just us boys,” or the way he used to sit in the rickety little bleachers at all my Little League games and call out to me that’s my boy! and then take me for ice cream afterward… when I remembered that guy, my father, I wanted to cry.
I didn’t. Instead I “bucked up” and sat back, pretending to listen and nodding. I did it for Landon’s sake. If my dad said I couldn’t see him anymore, it would be unbearable.
I finally escaped to my room, where I brought up the calendar on my phone. I was a junior, so I still had a whole year and a half left in high school. There were exactly six hundred twenty-nine days until August 15, 2020. I figured that was the earliest day I could move out to go to college.
Six hundred twenty-nine days. I’d survived two masked shooters at The Wall. Surely I could survive at home ’til then.
Chapter 21
Early December
Landon
“HEY.” BRIAN opened the passenger door and jumped in.
“Hey!” I was grinning, just stupidly happy to see him. But I didn’t pause for a proper greeting. Instead I glanced over my shoulder and backed up my car, heading for the exit as fast as I could safely go. We had our escape route down to a science—me waiting in the less-crowded south parking lot when the bell rang at three, and Brian running for the exit from his last class so we could avoid the worst of the traffic jam. The faster we could get out of the school, the more time we had together.
“How was your afternoon?” I asked when I was forced to wait in line at the exit. It was a Friday, so we weren’t the only ones trying to make a quick getaway.
“Eh. It happened.” He was clearly not interested in talking about it. His hand landed on my thigh. “Horny?”
“Always.” I smiled and waggled my eyebrows as I pulled onto the road.
The drive to my place took fifteen minutes, which was torture since Brian loved to touch me while I was driving—my shoulder, my arm, my thigh—and I was limited to touching his leg or grabbing his hand and holding it when his wandering fingers threatened to make me crash.
I pulled into my driveway with a minisqueal of tires. We were out of the car and unlocking the front door of my house before the engine stopped ticking. Up the stairs, four feet pounding on the steps. In my room, I shut the door, drew the curtains, and turned to find Brian already mostly undressed. I hurried to catch up. Wearing only our underwear, we slipped into my bed.
With a sigh of relief, we came together, not even kissing, not yet. Just feeling the press of skin on skin and the electric anticipation of two full hours to our
selves.
This was the best time of day. Brian’s dad now insisted he be home for dinner. So this was the time we had—a space between school and when my mom got home around five thirty. The slam of the door as she came in was the signal that it was time to drive Brian home, so he could be there before his dad came home from work at six.
It was freaking cold outside. Coming back to my place and crawling under the comforter felt like wrapping up in a cozy cocoon. We stretched out on the sheets like indulgent hedonists. We loosely held each other at first, chest to chest, while we gazed at each other’s faces. We stared as if we hadn’t seen each other in years instead of parting at lunch.
“Your afternoon really was okay?” I asked Brian, warming my palms on the small of his back.
“Don’t wanna think about school right now,” he said with an edge to his voice. Then he kissed me.
We kissed while our nest warmed up to body temperature, then grew too hot, making us push the covers away. We rolled around and pressed together and touched everything we could reach. We kissed and kissed until, with my eyes closed, I was so fogged with the taste and feel of him, I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began, or where we might be separate and where we were fused.
Finally, after a long time of making out, limbs tangling, hips thrusting lazily, his hand made its way down my briefs, and mine down his. We jerked each other, lying side by side, not kissing now, but watching each other’s expression.
I’d watched online porn. What teenager hadn’t? But nothing I’d ever seen was as sexy as watching Brian’s face as I touched him—the tensing of his jaw, the way his lips parted and quivered so slightly you’d think you imagined it, the way his eyes became slightly unfocused as he stared at me. He seemed to get ramped up as much from my expression as I did from his. When he came, a look of pain crossed his face, but his blue eyes melted. I was getting better at timing it, gauging the subtle changes in him, so we came at the same time. Watching him come made my own eruption more intense.
