by Y G Maupin
“If I take it with me, I’ll make it back. If I leave it behind I’ll never see this place again,” she reasoned, hands on her hips. She went to the wall and took down an old family picture that had been taken at Sears for Christmas when her parents were still together. She was five and one of her front teeth was missing but she had the biggest grin sitting between the both of them. They were victims of the nineties grunge craze and her dad sported long wavy hair and a soul patch while her mother’s makeup was heavily focused on her eyeliner and burgundy lipstick. Birdie was so happy when they took that picture that day. Slipping it out of its frame, she folded it and put it in along with her survival gear. She had already showered and threw in her deodorant in her bag when her cell rang. It had been charging for the last forty five minutes so she was surprised that there was any juice in it so quickly. She looked. It was Anesta.
“Please come down to the bookstore. Don’t stop anywhere else, just come here now.”
Twenty
T crouched silently under her desk. Lights low in her classroom, this was the one free class period she had. There were no students thankfully to have to report other than zero on the accountability app. Just herself. She shifted off of her right leg and reached out for her bag that she had never gotten around to putting away. Rummaging inside she found her cell phone. There were a few bars of service available. This side of the school had poor reception. Her classroom was located to the far west of the building. Closer to the theater and band room. The east side was where the gym and the cafeteria were located with the administrative offices in the middle. The shooting had been closer to the east side than hers. She looked at the time on her phone. 11:05. They had been waiting for close to an hour since her free period started at 10:10. The shooting started minutes after that.
Windowless, she was unable to see if the police were already there, which she was sure they were. They had resource officers, a few unarmed patrolmen with some police or military background to help at the school. There was no telling where they had been at the time that it all started. If she tried to scry, she might be able to see what was going on. Looking in her bag again, she pulled out a candle and a bottle of water. She had a small ivy plant on her bookshelf to the right of her desk. Scooting over she brought it with her under the desk, using her chair as a shield to the side where the door to the classroom was. Water, Fire, Earth and her breath would be Air. Using the planter’s water dish, she poured the bottled water inside and lit the candle. Concentrating on keeping herself clear, she blew gently on the water and watched it ripple. Closing her eyes she thought of Sharon. Opening them she looked into the water and again, like the last time she had scryed, she saw rows of desks with smiling children. Anesta in a garden at sunset and Sharon crying. She looked closer to see if she could make out where Sharon was that she was crying. Nothing more revealed itself. Blowing out the candle she poured the water into the plant and sat with her back to the inside of her desk. It wouldn’t be long now and they would be able to leave.
Beryl woke up on the cool floor of her bathroom with a start. If this interaction with spirits invading her home were to continue she was going to need stronger pain relief. The blood on her face had dried and crusted over on her nostrils. Her fingers gently sought out her nose. She didn’t want it to be broken, because she didn’t know when she would have the time to go get it fixed. She already had a broken molar that she kept putting off going to the dentist for. It didn’t feel broken but it hurt like a son of a bitch. Struggling to get up, Beryl was glad to see she was alone in her bathroom. She wasn’t in any condition to go for a round two with that spirit bitch. Sitting up, she rolled her neck around to get the kinks out. She had willed herself to fly up again. She had been practicing for about five years now and she was getting a lot better than when she first started. As exhilarating as it was to fly and spin, it never failed to give her a tension headache after the event.
Her mouth was dry. Looking around, she was glad to see that there was little destruction in this room. She was annoyed that her coffee table was busted. Even more annoyed that she had bruises all over her body like an overripe banana. She moved slowly, easing her joints and limbs back to movement in circular motions, slowly testing out where she was in pain and where her moves were limited. Looking down she was pissed to find blood on her pajama top. That’s gonna stain, she thought. What a pain in the ass. She rolled to her side to get up, but succeeded only in getting to her knees, which didn’t hurt as bad this time. It was more muscle pain than anything else. She looked around. The sunlight was streaming through the window and she could only guess that it was probably close to noon. How long had she been out? When she had floated and spun before she only passed out for about ten minutes. Maybe this time was longer because of the energy she used in spinning and floating so fast. She needed to get going. With a bellow, Beryl stood up all the way, only feeling a little faint but closing her eyes to get her internal bearing going again. She lumbered over to her linen closet for a towel. A hot shower would help. And after the shower some stretching and meds to keep her limber. Then she was getting out of there and looking for the girls. How come they weren’t being targeted, only her? She shook her head at that. These asshole spirits needed to be stopped.
Alice was moving papers and books around the counter, mostly out of nervous habit. Their bookstore was immaculate and comfy, the best place to get lost in a book, which it appeared Sarah already had. She was lounging in an overstuffed leather seat by a rubber tree, reading about reincarnation and sipping tea. Alice came out from behind the counter and paced near the front door.
“We need more brain power on this,” she said, looking out the window every once in a while, waiting for the others to show up.
“They’ll be here,” Sarah replied from her seat.
“No, I mean, we need to get more people involved,” Alice stressed. “I think we should get in touch with some people from Austin or downtown. Little Elm, maybe even Houston.”
Sarah looked up from her book. “And say what exactly? Come help us, the veil has a tear in it and spirits are streaming in killing our neighbors?” she huffed. “Tell me what you’ll say after they stop laughing at you if they haven’t already hung up the phone.”
Alice threw her hands up in the air. “What then? What are we to do? We can’t do it alone, we don’t have the power, knowledge or strength to one, determine what the problem is and two, fix it.” Walking over to Sarah she draped herself behind her on the chair. “What would you do if one of those spirits killed me?” she asked innocently.
Sarah chuckled. “I dare them to try! Alice, darling you know that there is nothing in the world that I wouldn’t do to save your life. Besides, you have too much spirit yourself to be taken by anyone.” Turning to look over her shoulder at her, Sarah pecked her on the lips. “The situation is dire, I give you that, but our troops are coming! Now sit down and read. Read, woman and help me search for a solution!”
Alice trudged over to the stack of books they had picked out the night before. Reviewing them all she muttered “No. No. Not this one. Maybe. Maybe. I don’t know.” Frustrated, she began to walk toward the back of the bookstore. Calliope’s Sister was kept with low enough light to read comfortably, but cozily cool and dark to feel the mystery of the adventure of reading. They had a good enough number of clientele, many traveled in from the bigger cities, but Sarah and Alice weren’t in it for the money. Money was not the motivation. They loved to read and collect rare books. Of course, they carried a few copies of the national best sellers for those people that still preferred to cuddle up with an actual book, but their main focus was out of print and rare books and journals. She slowly walked among the shelves, thinking and rearranging books as she went. When she made it back to the front where Sarah was sitting, she still didn’t have a clue and started back again. As she turned around, the bell above the door chimed as someone stepped in. It was Anesta, worried and alone.
“What happened with Anjolie
?” Sarah asked, looking up.
Anesta walked in and set her purse on the counter. “She still doesn’t feel comfortable to show herself to everyone. She, uh,” Anesta hesitated, looking down. “When she appears she looks like a little girl that drowned, if you can imagine how horrific and sad that could be. And in a sad way, although she is a spirit, she is still conscious of her appearance to others. She knows what she looks like.”
Alice stepped forward for a quick hug. “That is horrible that even in death the constraints of society press into our self-worth. But we understand. I’m hoping she changes her mind very soon, we need her help.” With that the little girl appeared at Anesta’s side. Alice stepped back. Anesta wasn’t exaggerating when she said the little girl looked as she had the afternoon they found her floating face down in the pool. There was a grey cast to her skin and her lips were tinged purple and mottled blue. Her hair which hung past her shoulders in wavy ringlets gave the appearance of being heavy with water, but she did not drip.
Sarah was the first to speak as she peered from around the dumbstruck Alice. “Why hello, Anjolie. We are so lucky to finally be able to meet you.” Looking up at Anesta. “From what your little sister Anesta has said, you have so much to share with us. I think that we won’t be able to win this battle without you.” Anjolie’s mouth tugged with a little smile playing on her lips.
“I’m older by one minute.” She smiled and walked forward to take Sarah’s hand.
“Us older sister’s need to stick together,” Sarah replied, leading her over to the couch.
The school had been successfully evacuated by one that afternoon. Worried parents and the news media hung back in the parking lot of the football stadium across the street as the students were marched over to be searched and then released to their grateful and worried parents. Exhausted, T finally located Sharon, who was sitting in the front seat of Randall’s cruiser, wrapped in a blanket. They greeted each other with grateful cries and held each other tight.
“I knew you were ok. Are you ok? How are you feeling?” T asked, looking into Sharon’s strained face. The older woman looked as if she had been sitting in a hospital waiting room for days, with only fluorescent light and bad coffee. Tired and depleted of spirit.
“I was so scared. The shots were down the hallway. I keep hearing that it was near the teachers’ lounge and that there weren’t any students involved, but I just don’t know. They’re refusing to say anything. Even Randall won’t tell me,” Sharon started to whimper and cry again. T held her tighter.
“All I know is two ambulances left. I tried to scry but nothing was coming up.” T wiped her hair from her face. The wind had begun to pick up. “So tell me what you know about Olive. No one was really talking about it today after we came in and I was going to look it up on my break but then all this happened.”
Sharon grew serious. “Oh, well they found her and Gerald shot to death in their home. Yeah, at first they thought it was a home invasion the way the house was all messed up. Holes in the walls, broken furniture , stuff moved, Yeah. But they ruled it out when they determined all the doors had been locked. No sign of entry or anyone else having been there. So, you know what that means...” Sharon left off. T nodded.
“Spirits.” With a grim face she looked around the parking lot. “What are the chances that we’re dealing with the same thing with this today?” she said. The media circus was just beginning. They would have to wait a few more hours before they were allowed back again to get anything other than their purses, that they were able to take out with them and they were searched.
“Is your phone working?” T asked. “Mines dead.”
Sharon looked down and said, “It’s at five percent. Are you calling them?” Squinting against the bright midday sun.
“I don’t know if we can leave here but more work needs to be done. Ask Randall if it’s ok for us to leave.” She urged Sharon.
T walked over to where some office staff and an assistant principal stood. Heidi Corker was crying into a handkerchief while others consoled her. The assistant principal, Nate McDonald turned at her approach.
“Hey, how are you? Are you ok?” he consoled her. T nodded. “Well, we got a good count on all the students and most of the faculty.”
“What happened?” T asked.
Nate’s face crinkled up but there were no tears. He seemed flabbergasted and sought the words to explain what he saw. He just shook his head. Terry French, the school nurse stepped forward and put her arm on Nate.
“I wasn’t in the staff room that morning, even though I normally get coffee. There was a fist fight in the lunchroom and three girls were in with bloody lips and noses, laying on cots until their parents showed up. Cathy and Heidi.”
At this, the nurse caught her breath and covered her mouth to stop a sob. Taking a deep breath she began again. “Cathy..” voice trembling, “and Heidi had gone to the staff room right off the main offices and from what Heidi said, Coach Russell came in and just started shooting. The first person he caught was Martin Fry, you know, the U.S. History substitute. He was standing next to Cathy. He shot her next. Then everyone said that Mr. Hanks the custodian happened to come in and started wrestling the gun away from Coach. Coach tried to shoot him but missed and the shot went through the door and hit a student walking by to go to the counselor’s office.” Nurse French took a deep breath. “She ran to my door and I dragged her in in time to see that Coach was starting down the hall. I saw a student walking straight towards him. I screamed for him to go back, it was that new kid, the baseball player. I shut the door and didn’t look out again. Then we heard a few more shots and then nothing until I believe the police made it inside.”
Looking straight at T she added, “I swear to you, Coach was not himself. They always say that about mass shooters. That when they walk in to do what they have decided to do, there’s no other thought but finishing. That’s how he looked for the most part, like he was determined but possessed. He kept making these weird faces and jerking around, like he was fighting the urge but at the same time like he had to do what he had to do. And that was just looking at him for ten seconds. I don’t know how he was the rest of the time.”
T was silent. That poor man had committed atrocities all for a spirit's desire to return to earth. People had lost lives and been scarred from the event. And he had lost his life too or so she thought.
“It’s a good thing he was taken alive. I mean he got shot a couple of times, but he’s not going to die. At least someone is going to be able to find out why. Why would he do this to a school he loves?” Terry French said, turning around and crying into Nate’s shoulder.
“What about the student, Clay?” T turned around to see that Sharon had been standing there listening.
“I don’t know. I think he’s the one they’re saying was saved by a miracle because shots went towards him but nothing happened. No scratches, no bleeding,” Terry replied. Nate nodded.
“It’s true, God placed his hands on him and protected him from the bullets of a mad man.” He suddenly turned to Terry and they began to pray, Heidi and a few other bystanders joined them as T and Sharon slipped away from the circle of prayer.
“Wow, did you hear that, T? Protected from the bullets. I wonder if he was wearing the hoodie I gave him.” Sharon asked wide-eyed. She might have created a hoodie that worked as well enough to save the young boys life.
T shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to wait and hear what his statement is going to be. So, did you find out if we can go?” Sharon shook her head and frowned, her happy celebration cut short by reality. “Well, you find out and I’ll see what Nate says.”
Walking over to the prayer circle an older woman caught T by the arm. “I’m sorry to stop you but do you know my husband Jeb Hanks? Do you know if he’s ok? I just got here and I’ve been trying his cell…” she tapered off.
“Let’s confirm what hospital he’s going to, Mrs. Hanks.” To which the older woman cried out. “It’s gonna be
ok,” T patted the older woman’s arm as she steered her in the same direction. “From what I hear, it sounds like he may have been a hero.”
Randall Webster was too busy to be tired. The state highway patrol had come in to assist and the FBI was already there. Reporters, parents, teachers were all pulling him in several directions, so he made his way back inside the school to see the scene of the crime. Yellow tab markers, numbered, were scattered in the teachers’ lounge. Kimmy was taking photographs from different angles while Brent was measuring from one marker to another. The tiny town's department was beyond stressed in terms of officers. Brent wasn’t even supposed to be there, but he insisted because he had a little sister that worked in the cafeteria. There wasn’t anything more he could really help with in there, but he didn’t want to be out there. They were overwhelming him. Asking questions and wanting to know motives, number of victims, did the assailant have a troubled past. He couldn’t wait for someone else to take the reins and start making the decisions and announcements so that he could be left alone. Turning out of the room, he ran into Sharon.
