Halloween of '84: You Better Fucking Run

8. Theories, Worries, and... Coffee?

     The questions kept coming. People were writing letters, not just for Randy to 'get well soon', but to the police department and the school. Asking how the school was so unsecure to the point a man with a rifle can just waltz in and shoot a West Marsh High jock. Asking the WMPD if they have any leads or information. Even asking them if the newspapers and the Channel 48 Local News is true or not.

     Randy got home yesterday after they stitched him up, checked his vitals, and made him sit in the hospital all weekend. Turns out all that football had paid off. Him being strong enough to endure the shot most likely saved his life. At least that's what the doctors told him.

    One thing he wasn't fortunate for, however, was the investigation team pestering him. They pulled him out of class and into Principal Fews' office for three periods.

    "They loaded me down, man.", He said to Jack,"Questions on what the shooter looked like, how I think he got in, who might target me of all the students. I couldn't give them much at all."

      We all listened closely while sitting in Corbyn's Spot. Even Corbyn chimed in from time to time absolutely baffled.

     "What did you tell them?" Corbyn asked.

     "Well, I told them that he had short cropped hair. Brown. Like a soldier." Or a prisoner.. I thought. "He had a mad look in his eyes. Bloodshot and furiously delighted. They were dark green. And also the last things I saw before my abs absorbed two bits of lead." Randy explained. This guy had a great memory for someone who just lost a decent amount of blood and sanity.

     "That's it? They better had been happy about that answer, because if they release that information, everyone will be on the lookout." Jack said. He was wired and speaking faster than normal. He had drunk four cappuccinos in the past half hour. He hasn't been sleeping either, I thought.

     "Yeah, that's all I had. They were satisfied. I couldn't tell them why I thought he'd come for me though. Or how I think he got in." Randy said, looking down into his hazelnut coffee.

     "It's going to be alright, Randy. We're all here for you. We're all here for each other. We've got
nine days until Jack's party. We can all just hope and pray that they catch this lunatic before someone gets hurt again or dies." Ally comforted Randy, putting her hand on his shoulder. She visited him over the weekend and apparently confessed her love for him. He felt the same. They agreed they would go on a proper date once Randy was healed and the killer was incarcerated.

     "My dad said they've got patrols out searching. They've got a hotline being printed in the paper for people to report anything they seem to think is suspicious. They're gonna catch him. I know it." Sammy said, holding onto Jack's hand. She's trying to keep him at bay. If my gut feeling is correct, he really is spinning out of control with all this. She's his anchor. My anchor, however, doesn't even know that he is.

     "Well, now that we've had this talk, let's call it a night. We got a science quiz tomorrow, Ally and Sammy have cheer practice for the pep rally, Randy needs rest, and so does Jack. Vickster over here needs to finish up her calculus project, too." Brayden said, standing up and collecting our cups for Corbyn. He was very casual about what he said, but brown eyes never lie. He was getting really nervous. He never liked to show when he was. I didn't say anything until we were getting our bikes.

     "Need to talk? I can tell when you're nervous." I asked him. The moonlight shining in his sandy brown hair. I suppressed the urge to stare too hard.

     "Yeah. I'm nervous. This party that's going on... The girls thinking that they're gonna catch this psycho so soon.. it doesn't feel right. Something is gonna happen. Something bad. Worse than what happened to Randy." Brayden said, tearing up. I wanted to hug him and tell him it'll be fine. But I had to ask.

     "Why? How do you know that? There's no way to be so sure, Bray." I said, starting to get worried. When Brayden was sure of something, rarely was he wrong.

     "I had a dream. And it felt real. Too real. Either my subconscious is being a bitch or that was a warning. Plus, the clues add up." He said, not making eye contact. His voice wavering.

     "Clues? What clues, Brayden?"