Next Chapter 2

Blood doesn’t really look red.



That’s what I thought as I stared at the table at the police station, scratching absentmindedly at the surface with my thumbnail. There were two other people in the room but they were standing near the door, whispering to each other. I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I didn’t care.



All I could think about was that gunshot. How the side of Coach Walburn’s head exploded. How his body immediately went limp and he toppled over, landing near my feet. How the kids, a moment before so joyous and playful, fled to their parents, screaming and crying. How I wished I could have joined them…instead of standing frozen, staring at the body.



That was what got me thinking about blood. It looked more black than red against the snow. Is it different in different parts of the body? When I get a cut, the blood usually looks red and his looked black…Maybe it was everything else. There was other stuff leaking out of his head, some bits of his brain floating in the puddles of blood…



I seized the bucket they had brought in for me and vomited into it. Just thinking about what I saw…My stomach heaved violently and the bile felt like fire in my throat as I heaved dry.



One of the officers, his face a blur to me, turned. “You okay, Jack?”



How did he know my name? I dimly wondered this as I puked again, my hands shaking violently on the rim of the bucket. It hurt like crazy but trying to keep it down just made it worse. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way his body suddenly went limp…crashing at my feet…the snow speckled with splashes of blood…



Oh, God, let me stop thinking about the blood.



I finally emptied what little there was in my stomach and put the bucket down, wiping my mouth with the sleeve of my hoodie. I could feel myself panting and desperately tried to control my breathing. Any more and I felt like I was going to pass out. “I’m…okay,” I managed to gasp. Not exactly true but it’s not like I could just sit here forever.



The officer sat down across the table from me. “Do you remember me?” he asked.



I slowly dragged my eyes up to his face. It was a familiar face, one that took me back to a certain incident at school… “Officer Bennett?” I said slowly.



He smiled and nodded. “Good memory.” He turned and gestured at the second man, who was dressed in plainclothes and carrying a notepad. “This is Dr. Fitzsimmons. He’s here just in case.”



“In case what?” I asked, acknowledging the doctor with a flick of my eyes. My voice sounded hollow and I was aware that my body was completely stiff. My stomach was churning, vomit barely held down.



“Just in case,” Dr. Fitzsimmons said gently, sitting down next to me, “What you saw…isn’t easy to process.” I made a neutral sound.



“I’ve called your parents,” Bennett said gently, “They’re on their way.”



“Okay,” I replied dully.



“Until then, I would like to ask you some questions. Don’t worry,” he said quickly, “This isn’t an interrogation. We just want to get a sense of…what happened.”



“He shot himself.” It was a simple statement. So simple. In the blink of an eye, a life had ended. And I had watched it.



“Did you know him?” Bennett asked, pulling out his notepad.



“He used to be my gym teacher. He got fired a few months ago.”



“What for?”



“He made me and another kid wrestle each other in class.”



Bennett raised an eyebrow and made a note. “And was that the last time you saw him? Heard of him?”



“Yeah.” Robotic responses. That was all I could offer.



“Did he say anything to you? Did he say why or…?”



I remembered everything he said. His words were etched into my brain. Maybe permanently. But I didn’t want to repeat them. If I did…it would just draw me back into the memory, make it more of a reality. “Something about his family,” I muttered, “He lost them or…something.”



Bennett made another note then glanced up at Dr. Fitzsimmons. “Anything to ask, Doc?”



Dr. Fitzsimmons look at me for a second, then leaned in slowly. “How are you feeling, Jack?” he asked simply.



‘Fine’ was the automatic response I wanted to give but my brain wouldn’t allow it. It latched onto the questions and forced me to mull it over. How was I feeling? How…was I feeling…I’d watched a man blow his brains out. A man I had known and respected as one of my teachers. He was dead…I had watched a life end. A life that had been a story. He had grown up, gone to school, gotten married, had a child, watched him grow…Hell, he’d lived the same number of years I had twice. All of that…one pull of the trigger and it stopped.



It was the end…



I looked at Fitzsimmons. “I’m gonna puke,” I said, before grabbing the bucket and vomiting into it again.



Fitzsimmons didn’t scoop back. He just waited until I was done before saying, “You didn’t answer my question.”



I took a deep, shuddering breath and said, “I feel like shit. What can I say? I just watched a guy his brains out. Not many other ways to feel about that.”



He nodded. “Understandable. What do you think about that?”



The hell? “Think about it? What, suicide? His suicide?”



“Yes.”



“I…” What the hell did I say to that? “I don’t think…I…It sucks. I mean, it shouldn’t have happened. I don’t…what do I think about him committing suicide?”



“Do you think you could have helped him?”



Again…how do I answer that? “I tried,” I replied, scratching the tabletop harder, “I told him I could take him somewhere. He wouldn’t let me.”



“Do you think that would have helped?”



“It would have been something. Why are you asking me this stuff?”



His gaze was steady. “What do you mean?”



“Like…it’s like you’re trying to make me feel worse. What do you want to ask? If I’m thinking about suicide too?”



“Are you?”



“No.” Feeling was starting to flood back into me. I was feeling angry. “Why should I? Did you see him? All that blood and his brains and…Those kids…Doc, I’ve got a family! A girlfriend! Why the hell would I want to leave all that?”



“Many people who have done it said the exact same thing.”



His calm attitude was really getting to me. I glared at him. “Well, I’m not them, okay? I’m not them. I’ve never thought about it.”



He nodded slowly. Understandingly. “What are you feeling right now?”



I looked over at Bennett. “Isn’t this supposed to be confidential stuff?” I asked, “Doctor-patient whatever?”



Fitzsimmons looked at me for a second, then turned to Bennett. “I think he’s clear.” Bennett nodded.



“Clear for what?” I demanded.



“Clear to go,” Bennett said with a small smile, “Just as soon as your family gets here.”



“I am…so confused.”



Fitzsimmons stood. “Trauma is very common after seeing something like that. Everyone reacts differently.” He turned to Bennett again. “Would you like me to stick around?”



“Just until the family arrives,” Bennett replied.



Fitzsimmons smiled at me and held out a card. “If you want to talk about it…or about anything, let me know.”



“Okay,” I muttered, taking the card. He nodded to Bennett, then left. “What’s up with him?” I asked.



Bennett leaned back and scratched his scalp. “Just an odd duck. He’s good, though. If you want to talk to someone…” He jabbed his finger at Fitzsimmons’ retreating back.



“Mhm.”



Back to silence. I didn’t like it. At least when they were talking to me, I had something to focus on. Now all I could think about was Bennett’s uniform. How it was like the uniforms of the other cops at the scene…the ones who put a hand on my shoulder and led me away from the…from the…



My stomach heaved and I gagged into the bucket. Nothing came out. It was just an extra painful heave that felt like my stomach was trying to crush itself. I had to gasp for air afterwards.



“Do you want something?” Bennett asked, frowning in sympathy, “We got a vending machine and there’s probably some leftover breakfast stuff lying around.”



I shook my head, still panting and clutching at my stomach. I’ve never been kicked by a horse but I’d say the feeling was pretty close.



“I’m serious,” Bennett said, gesturing out the door, “If you want something…”



I shook my head again. “Thanks,” I managed to get out. My head was pounding. I put my head on my arms, trying to will the headache to go away. If only it was so understanding. My brain thumped against my skull, the reverberations running all the way down to my feet. Again, I hadn’t felt it yet, but I was pretty sure this was what a hangover was like.



It didn’t feel good. Was drinking really so good that it was worth this feeling? Well…maybe college will provide the answer.



The door opened. “Bennett,” a voice said somewhere in the dark above my head, “The family is here.”



“Good,” Bennett replied and I heard the scrape of his chair against the ground. He put a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, Jack.”



I let myself be led out. I just about willing to do anything right now, as long as there was someone else there. To be left alone…I’d have to start thinking about it. I mean, I’d probably have to…eventually. But not now. Not yet. I felt Dr. Fitzsimmons’ card in my hand and shoved it in my pocket.



I’d never been inside a police station before and I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect. It’s not like on TV, with cops bustling back and forth everywhere in half-lit rooms. If anything, it reminded me more of an office building: the crisp white tables, computers, and freshly-painted walls all gave the impression of courteous professionalism. I guess you could argue that’s exactly what cops are but, well…tell that to the media and see how interested they are.



Everything seemed fairly calm, for the most part. Day before Christmas…that’s surprising. I kinda figured things would be crazy, what with the heightened emotions and stress of the holiday, but no. Fairly calm and quiet. There were even decorations hung on the walls. Never imagined cops as the most festive people but, again, the news is more interested when they blow someone’s head off.



Blow someone’s…



Fuck…



I shook my head, trying to clear it of the image, but it stayed latched on. All these people…one gunshot and everything they were doing would end. Everything they could be…over in an instant. And what if they didn’t see it coming? What if…



Every breath was pressing against a weight that had lodged right under my neck, squeezing painfully against my chest bone. The same sort of feeling I got right before I told Kayla what had happened with Tara. Was I afraid? Maybe…but of what? I’d already seen it happen. It was done. Now I just…



Had to deal with it.



I stopped. Bennett stopped as well and turned to me, a frown on his face. “What’s up?” he asked.



I put a hand against the wall to steady myself. I would have to face it…I’d seen someone shoot themselves. Seen their life leave. Gone. Oh my God…



The shot echoed in my head and I saw the side of Walburn’s head explode, snapping to the side before he crumpled over, his arm slamming down with no more strength to hold it up.



I couldn’t get it out…couldn’t stop seeing it…



Couldn’t breathe…



“I need some help!” I heard Bennett shout, somewhere beyond the haze that had clouded my vision.



I felt strong hands on my arms. Why? I was standing…wasn’t I? I couldn’t feel my legs.



Couldn’t breathe…



My throat was closed. Shit. I tried to force myself to breathe but every breath hit that knot and wouldn’t go past it. Shit shit shit! My arms, until then limp and lifeless, suddenly sprung to life as I flailed for air, feeling my hands strike walls and bodies as the panic set in.



I couldn’t breathe…Help me…



Hands grabbed my arms and I felt something being placed over my mouth. What was that? Paper? Someone was speaking to me, talking directly into my ear. Blood was rushing through my head, turning the words to static, but I could hear the tone…calm…reassuring. I latched onto it, desperate for something to cool down the panic that had me as terrified as when the gun had come out.



The knot in my chest loosened and some air exploded out. I tried to gasp for air, desperate to fill my lungs again, but the intake was restricted. My lungs felt only half full and, for a moment, the panic set in again. I heaved in and out as the hands held me tight, the voice continuing to speak calmly in my ear. I wish I could make out what they were saying. If it was calm, I needed it.



Gradually my breathing slowed, my lungs no longer screaming for air and accepting what they got. The world swam back into focus, the haze in front of my eyes lifting away so I could see, to my embarrassment, that at least a dozen people were hovering over me with expressions of concern. I tried to speak but my throat immediately closed up again and the panicking came back.



“Relax,” said a familiar voice by my ear, “Just breathe. Don’t think about anything else. Just breathe.”



Breathe…Just think about breathing. Okay. I can do that.



My throat relaxed and I could breathe again, fighting hard to make sure I didn’t start huffing and puffing again. I heard a crinkling sound and glanced down to see that one of the officers was holding a paper bag against my mouth. Well, that would explain the rationed air. It filled and deflated with my breaths, the frequency slowing as I fought to get control of myself. My heart was still thudding like crazy and the pressure in my head felt like someone was trying to physically shove a bullet through it…but I was calming.



Slowly, very slowly, my breaths returned to normal and the officer removed the bag from my mouth. The first intake of free air was a little overwhelming but I rationed it right. Not too much. Thank God. The officers around me helped me to my feet and leaned me against the wall.



“Good job.”



It was that voice that had been speaking in my ear. I looked up to see Dr. Fitzsimmons looking down at me with a concerned expression I didn’t think he had been capable of having. He’d been so robotic before…The pressure in my head twinged and I dropped my head into my palm.



“Hey…hey,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder, “It’s going to be okay. This is normal. Don’t try to fight it.”



Fight what? “Fight what?” I managed to mutter.



“Feeling something. The harder you fight, the harder it will fight back to break free. If you have to shout, then shout. If you have to cry, then cry. Whatever you have to do.”



I took several shuddering breaths. “But…I don’t want to do anything.”



“You can if you have to.”



“I know I can.” Obviously. What the hell was he talking about?



But, strangely enough, the pressure started to recede, like someone slowly pulling off a bandage. My heart slowed, leaving a good-sized bruise on my breastbone behind. I took my hand off my face and looked up into his crisp, professional face, which looked very odd with the small smile creasing the mouth. “Good,” he replied, nodding, “Remember…you can call me if you need to talk.”



Then, without saying anything else, he turned and walked away. Weird guy.



Bennett put a hand on my shoulder and said, “You okay to go, Jack?”



“Yeah,” I replied, wondering why his question sounded so odd. It was straightforward but something about it felt…alien.



“Good. Come on.”



He led me down a couple more hallways until we reached the reception area that I only dimly remembered from when we first came in. Mom, dad, and Alan were all sitting together on one of the benches and they flew at me as soon as I came into view. Mom and dad had me squished between them in a second, pressing against me so hard I could feel the kinks in my back crackling like firecrackers. It felt good. Hell, it felt like something…a change from the last couple of hours.



I don’t know how long they held me but every moment I was between them, I felt safe. It was like I was removed from everything and I was a little kid again with my parents to protect me. As long as they were holding me, I was protected from all the bad and the pain and everything I’d been going through in the past day. But they had to let go. Very slowly, they pulled away from me and everything that had been held at bay came rushing back.



Alan, who had been standing in the background, stepped forward and gave me a big hug. Weird…I don’t remember the last time he did that. I mean, yeah, we’re teenage guys…brothers, and stuff, so we probably wouldn’t, but…



I put my arms around him too and hugged him tight.



I could hear our parents talking to Officer Bennett in the background but my ears didn’t register words. Frankly, registering anything was still kind of difficult. Even though I knew I was hugging Alan, my entire consciousness seemed isolated to a tiny spot in my eye while the rest of my body operated on its own. I was isolated even in my own body.



What the hell…



He slowly pulled back and tried to smile but could only manage a grimace. “I’m sorry, Jack,” he said, his voice muffled in my ears.



“Mmm,” I replied, looking around, “Where are the girls?”



“Amanda went to get Tara from Kayla’s house after we got the call. Tara was…” He paused and took a deep breath. “She was going a little crazy so Amanda stayed home to calm her down.”



I frowned. “Why was she going crazy? I didn’t get hurt.”



“Well, we got the call that you had seen someone get shot and…well, when mom told me I thought that…well…” He sucked in his lips and looked down. “I thought you had gotten shot.”



They thought I…had gotten shot. The cops must have explained that one poorly. I mean, how do you get across the idea that I was shot when you’re trying to say that I saw a guy get shot? How do you make that mistake? Or…no, wait, he said he got that idea from mom. Well then how did mom say it? Did she say…



Alan looked up at me and my thoughts stopped dead. I saw in his eyes that he really did think, however briefly, that I had been shot. It was a look that broke my heart and I pulled him in again, holding him tight. Jesus Christ, I couldn’t even imagine what that must have been like. If something happened to him…it would fucking break me.



And Amanda…how had she reacted? Did she think the same thing? I know Tara…oh my God, Tara must have been in pieces. Especially after what happened.



And Kayla…What did she think? Did she think I’d been…well, what did she think? Her last memory of me would have been me on her porch, telling her that I had kissed another girl. What a way to go.



Fuck.



Mom and dad finished speaking with Bennett and they turned to me with forced smiles. “You’re all good, Jack,” dad said.



“We’ll let you know if we need anything else,” Bennett said, nodding to me, “Take care of yourself, Jack. If you get on a first-name basis with me, we might have a problem.”



I tried to smile. Key word being ‘tried’. “Thanks.”



Mom put her arm around me and held me close the entire walk to the car. Nobody said anything. I’m sure they thought silence was what I wanted, so I could collect my thoughts, but as soon as the car door closed and I was rooted once again, the memories started coming back.



The gunshot…the screams of the kids…the blood on the snow…



I felt like I was going to puke again. I couldn’t think about that right now. I didn’t want to think about it ever. I turned to Alan. “Say something,” I muttered, the sour taste in my mouth preventing me from opening it wider.



“About what?” he asked, noticing my discomfort.



“Anything, just…I need noise, okay?”



He frowned but, thankfully, didn’t ask anything else. “Umm…can I have your room when you go to college?”



“Wait…what?”



“Not like you’re going to need it.”



“That’s two years away.”



“Enough time for me to look at modifications.”



I frowned at him. “What? My room isn’t good enough right now?”



“Besides smelling like you? Of course not!”



“I smell?”



“Everything smells, Jack. Way of nature and all that happy horseshit.”



“Alan!” mom barked, turning around and glaring at him.



“Sorry,” Alan replied, giving me a small grin, “Way of nature and all that joyful horseshit.”



Mom slapped his knee. “Alan…” she growled between her teeth, flicking her eyes at me.



“He asked me to!”



“I did,” I acknowledged.



Mom looked at me for a second, then seemed to catch on. “No more swearing,” she said, pointing a sharp finger at Alan before turning around. Dad looked like he wanted to say something but mom just shook her head.



Alan, bless his heart, tried his best to make small talk the whole way home. To his credit, it kept my mind off…the stuff I didn’t want to think about. But I could also tell that it was wearing on him to, since he was doing it for me. He was trying to stop me from thinking about what had happened. I was trading out my discomfort for his.



I stared out the window the entire time. If I looked at him, I knew I’d see his distress and I’d stop him. Then I’d have to remember…



I had to be selfish.



It was a great relief to everyone when our house came into sight. We’d hardly pulled into the garage when the door to the house flung open and Tara came charging out, her face red and eyes glassy. She wrenched open my car door and dragged me out, squeezing me tighter than I thought I could stand. Her face was buried in my shoulder and I would have loved to return her hug…had she not be pinning my arms at my side.



She was still holding onto me as everyone else got out of the car. “Let him breathe, Tara,” dad said, trying to keep a light tone. She didn’t respond. “Am I going to need to get the crowbar?”



Tara still refused to let go, holding me with almost painful tightness. “Tara,” I said softly, “I’m okay. Please let go.”



She shifted and slowly let her grip slacken, though she kept her face buried in my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around her and briefly pressed her to me before following my parents into the house.



Amanda was waiting inside and, in a move that I had become used to in the past hour or so, squeezed me in a hug that put fresh bruises on top of the old ones. Love hurts. What can I say?



Thankfully her hug was brief and she let go slowly, looking at me with almost adult concern, searching beyond my face for any sign of pain or distress. “I’m okay,” I said, trying to smile. It was a lie but I think we’re kind of expected to say it after…well, anything really.



She shook her head and bit her lip. I put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it briefly before walking past her. Right now, all I could think about was lying on my bed and just…nothing. Just doing nothing. If I could switch off my brain, I would. Think about school, that would probably help.



“Jack…”



I turned. Everyone was looking at me like they were afraid I was going to melt. “What?” I asked evenly.



They all glanced at each other. Well, all except for Tara. She was looking at the ground, her long hair hiding her face. I wished she would look up so I could give her a smile but her gaze stayed resolutely downwards.



Nobody else seemed like they wanted to speak so I turned back and headed towards the stairs. I knew they wanted to talk about it. Or, more accurately, they wanted me to talk about it. Fat chance. I was feeling sick enough as it was without remembering this morning. God, please don’t let them bring it up.



God held that promise until halfway up the stairs. Thanks, Big Guy. “Jack…”



“What, mom?” I asked, not stopping.



I felt her take my hand. “Look, I know that—”



“No, mom,” I said, “You don’t. Please, just leave me alone.”



She pulled back, looking hurt, and dad stepped in to take her place. “Jack, you need to talk about this.”



“No, I don’t.”



“Jack…look, let’s just go to my office and sit down…”



There it was. In one sentence, I realized why Officer Bennett asking me if I was okay sounded so weird. It was because, for the last day, not a single person really asked me that. They demanded that I sit down, that I talk to them, that I get everything out in the open. Not a single one asked me if I was okay. They didn’t want to know how I was feeling; they just assumed that I needed to get it out. Well, even if I did, I should decide that, not them.



Normally, this might have just mildly irritated me. The way I was feeling… “No,” I said harshly, my forehead crinkling into a frown that must have been really scary, judging by the way mom and dad took a step backwards, “Leave me alone.”



“Jack!”



“No!” I roared, storming away and slamming my door with an impact that must have shook the house. I quickly locked my door and slid to the floor, my head in my hands. Yeah, maybe I was being a child, throwing a tantrum and stomping away but honestly, who gives a shit? Why the fuck should I care what it looks like?



I could hear them knocking on the door, imploring me to let them in, but I just clamped my hands to my ears and squeezed my eyes shut. Darkness. Silence. Everything else shut out and I was alone. I needed to be.



I could feel the door hammering against my back. I leaned forward until my head touched the ground, my hands still clamped over my ears, pressing my head so hard into the wood it hurt. Everything hurt. My hands on my ears hurt. My eyelids screamed in agony as I squeezed them together. Everything was in pain.



God…help…



I don’t know how long I stayed like that. All I was aware of was the constant pain, the drawn-out stretch of agony that I was holding as long as I could. At least I could deal with that. Physical pain? No problem. I had worse when I fought Brad. Besides…I was truly alone here. No one to bother me, to tell me I needed to listen, to talk, to do whatever they wanted because it would help them feel better.



My breath echoed in my head, the only sound besides my beating heart into the void of pain that I had drawn myself into. I didn’t have to think about anything, didn’t have to remember anything, didn’t have to feel anything aside from the pain that was keeping me here. I needed to stay here. I didn’t want to deal with my parents, with my siblings, with anyone. I’d had enough of it in the past day and look where it fucking got me. Curled up in a ball on the floor of my room like a…



Fuck! Knock it off! Stop thinking about it! Otherwise, I was going to think about…



I was back at the bench, watching the gun travel up to Coach Walburn’s head, that last unreadable look he gave me, the side of his head exploding, the life leaving his eyes…



A chill ran down my spine. I had watched someone die. All that spark and life that came with being alive had flicked out of his eyes in a moment. I had watched it happen.



Slowly, painfully, I dropped my hands from my ears and rolled over onto my side. My heartbeat was no longer a sound but a physical force pounding throughout my body. My brain felt swollen against my skull so each heartbeat made it swell harder against the bone but the world was coming back. Slowly. The pounding of my heart was the only pounding now; my parents had evidently given up.



I gingerly picked myself up off the floor and climbed into my bed, curling up on top of the blanket. I didn’t have the energy or will to draw it back and slide under. I just lay on top of it, facing the wall, feeling as remote from everything around me as if I had been in a parallel dimension. I could see, feel, smell everything, but that’s not where I was. I was in my head.



But I wasn’t exactly thinking. I was…experiencing. That’s the only way I can describe it. I was experiencing the confusing, liquid consistency of wet rubber as my mind failed to seize onto anything to think about. I felt the foamy quality of cotton whenever I tried to ground myself and think about where I was. People’s faces may as well have been ink blots. I couldn’t recall any of them, no matter how hard I tried.



Well…I could remember one. And every time I saw his face, I saw what the gunshot did next.



How does a bullet do that? I always thought it made a hole on the other side. Clean through-and-through. I guess not. And all that blood…were some of his brains in there too? Did I miss that?



My hand slid up my blanket to the side of my head. I ran it through my thick hair down to the scalp, reassuringly solid and whole. If I did that…shot myself…would I feel it? Or would it be lights-out right away? What was it like the second he pulled the trigger? What was…



My stomach gave a huge heave and I doubled up, my hands clutching my belly. Don’t throw up…don’t throw up. Bile swam sourly in my mouth but I managed to bed down my nausea. Bed down. I was on a bed. Ha ha.



Time slipped by slowly as I lay on my bed, wishing I could just block out the memory. I knew it wasn’t just the memory; I’d liked Coach Walburn and losing him was going to cause scars that I’d carry for the rest of my life. But…maybe I could have those scars but not remember it? Just have those few minutes blocked from my memory? For God’s sake, I was happy before it happened and now I couldn’t imagine being happy ever…



No. No, I wasn’t happy. Because Kayla still wasn’t talking to me. How had she reacted to all this? Tara had been distraught but Kayla…I instinctively reached for my phone but it wasn’t in my pocket. Where was it?



Oh, that’s right. Tara had it. Great.



My mind went blank after that. Usually I could tell how much time was passing by the shadows on the wall but it was an overcast day so shadows were minimal. Even if they weren’t, I wasn’t exactly trying to notice.