The Gunman

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Mrs. Donnel

Many children came out of the school, but most came out in black bags. I watched the parents who looked at the children who walked out, and weren't wheeled out. Some saw their child, and they cried with joy and reached out. They knew they were lucky, and others just waited, hoping their child was on the second floor and just hadn't been released.

There hadn't been gunshots in a while, which was good. It gave parents hope, and happiness. But it didn't help me. I knew Austin was dead; it was just a feeling in my gut. My child was dead, and I felt numb. It was one forty-two in the warm afternoon. And a woman with a small child sat next to me.

It was silent for a while, then the woman spoke and grief could be heard in her words, "It's horrible, that this could happen in a place that was supposed to be safe. Just this morning my kids were home, safe, laughing and teasing each other in my kitchen before they climbed on the bus. It's shocking that it was just less than five hours ago." She held her face in her small hands and her body shook with sobs.

I didn't know what to do, I just sat there. Then, her child said, "It's okay mommy. I promise that it's all okay, just open your eyes and stop crying. When you cry it makes things sad, just stop crying. You'll feel better mommy." The little kid's brown eyes glistened when the sun hit them. It was that which made everything hit me so hard.

The little boy looked so much like my Austin had, so young and innocent. It was something my young boy had lost when his father died. I, too, began to sob. Much like the mother. We sobbed for quite some time, until the little boy gave us each a hug. It warmed my heart that such a little boy was trying to cheer us up. I smiled at him, as did his mother.

The little boy seemed satisfied, and he said, "Hi! I'm Dean, and this is my mommy." He smiled at me, and I nodded, reaching my hand out to grasp his. His small hand was enclosed by mine as we shook.

"I'm Linda Donnel." I said, and looked to his mom who just looked like she had seen the worst thing possible. But she still tried to smile at me, like I couldn't see through her mask.

"I'm Fern Foster, nice to meet you." She gave me a slight nod as a hello, and I nodded back. It was an awkward silence until she said, "Who do you have in there?" Like it was the most casual thing to say in the world. When I was quiet for a bit she sucked in a breath, "Was that over stepping my bounds? I'm sorry I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's alright. I had my son, Austin, in there. He was a freshman here." My bottom lip shook, and more tears rolled down my red face. The pain would never stop, I had failed my son. It was horrible.

"I'm sorry." Fern said, and then added, "Why do you speak of him in the past tense? You don't believe he's still alive?" I shook my head, "Why not?"

"I called; he didn't answer my call. I guess it sounds stupid, but it's just a feeling I guess." I sighed, "Who do you have in there?"

She shivered, "I had a son and a daughter, twins. Both were juniors, and they were friends to one another." I noticed she, too spoke of them in the past tense. But I didn't say anything, I just let it stay that way.

"Mommy," Dean said, "I think that's Daddy's car. Shouldn't we go see him?" He looked to me and said, "See you later!" Then began to pull Fern along before she could answer him.

She looked back at me and said, "I hope your child comes out alright. You may feel he's not alive, but I feel that you may be wrong." Then, she turned and walked back towards a rusty truck with her little boy.

I looked after them, and whispered, "Me too." Then turned back to face the room which the lots of scared children walked out of. There was always a possibility that Austin would be next. I just had to wait.