The Gunman

Chapter Thirty-Four: Mary

I had followed the cart they had placed the black bag that held Max on it. There was no possible way that my messed up mind knew where we were going, but I followed anyways. Then, we reached the front doors.

The light from the sun seemed fake, like a light bulb that was so dull, it wasn't even like it was there at all. But that was silly, the sun was brighter than ever, but it just didn't seem like it to my eyes. It looked as if it was paying its respect to the lost victims of the school.

Then I saw the people. They were swarming over each other like ants, and my breath caught in my throat. I couldn't go out there, it was too overwhelming. My legs bent, and threw me back into the hallways, which seemed much more real. It might have felt more dangerous and deadly, but it also seemed like what I deserved.

I had let Max die, when he got shot I just let him. I hadn't jumped in front of him, taken the bullet. Maybe I deserved to just sit down in the school and let the guilt take over. It would only be fair to Max, who I had watched die just minutes before.

But as I went to sit, a hand grabbed ahold of my wrist. I expected to look up and see Max, glowing smile and angel wings, but it was just a police officer. "Excuse me, but you have to leave the building. We are vacating the first floor." He pointed back towards the front door, "People will be waiting for you out there." As he spoke, his black moustache moved around with his upper lip.

"I don't want to go." I said quietly, and the officer gave me a puzzled look which reminded me of the look my dog would give me when I made a funny noise.

"Excuse me?" Said the officer, and he barked a soft laugh, "You are the first, and probably only person who has or will probably say that today. Why don't you want to go?" He took a seat on the side of the hall where I was going to sit, and I sat next to him.

"Have you ever believed that you should die? That you had done something so horrible that your death was the only way to fix it?" I looked at him, and he gave me a slow, steady smile. Like one that he must have practiced for many years on the job.

"Yes and no. Once, I had shot a guy. Granted, he was not a good man, and he was coming after me, but it still made me feel horrible. I had been depressed for months; I had killed a man so I deserved to die too. But at the same time, me dying couldn't have fixed anything. He wouldn't come back to life if I died. So I figured maybe it was just his time. And I was meant to be the one to kill him. It's the way life goes sometimes. It throws curveballs. You just gotta learn a new way to swing." Then he paused, "Did I really just use baseball to help explain moving on from death? My wife is right, I need a life." He pushed himself up, a gleam of happiness in his eyes, and I think it was just for me. "You okay?" He asked.

I smiled and nodded, "Yeah, I guess I'll be fine." He gave me his hand and I accepted it gratefully, and then he pulled me up onto my wobbly feet. We walked to the front door together, as he patted my back. "Wait," I asked before he walked away, "What's your name, in case I need to ask for you."

He smiled at me, his moustache folding up with his lip, "My name's Gene." Then he walked back into the halls, and I walked into the crowd of terrified people.