In The Blood

What Happened?

(Adam)

When Kelsey came back with a grin on her face, I knew she'd heard something good. We all leaned forward, eager to hear what she had to say.

"Well?" Austin prompted her, an expectant look on his face.

"Out from under the anesthesia," she reported happily. "Doing OK. They are putting him on a sedative now so the ventilator and tubes don't bother him."

For about the first time all night, I allowed myself a grin. Rob was out of the surgery with all particles out of his chest, out from under anesthesia, and he would be OK. I could deal with sedation a hell of a lot better than I could with general anesthesia for surgery. Less risks. Rob was going to be OK; by the grace of God, he was going to be OK. The knot in my stomach that had begun when the bitch had first shot him was finally starting to loosen. My breakfast, which had just sat in my gut like a heavy brick, began moving. I don't think I've ever been conscious of food moving into my intestines before, but I felt it right then. I leaned backwards in my chair, the others talking excitedly to each other.

Ericha leaned backwards with me rubbing at my head reassuringly, carefully staying away from my ears. Ohhh, my ears. I swear they still burned, that I could still feel the cold hard metal digging into it, the way the barrel had felt, pushed hard and definitively to the opening into my ear canal. It wouldn't fit neatly in but it seemed like she was trying to make it. Just the nuances of the way it balanced in and out of the canal, digging in. And when she cocked the gun, I could hear the bullet move into position, ready to fire, moving down the barrel. Next step would be out of the pistol and into my head via my ear. An instantaneous death, so instantaneous that I wouldn't even feel it or have time to process the pain. All it would be was a very loud bang that I wouldn't even finish hearing before I'd collapse over dead, leaving behind friends, including those that had just witnessed my abrupt death and my last moment alive the trauma of seeing me be killed forever etched into their brains, devastation that could never be overcome, and family, who'd mourn for a long time. Tris'd get over it in a few months. Mom and Dad would take a few years, but it'd be a scar Chris would bear for the rest of his life and never get over. He always has been very protective of me. As if I couldn't protect myself. Well, for the most part, I could, even though ninety-nine percent of the time I'd just verbally assert myself. I am physically fit and strong, but the one time my life was most endangered I could do nothing to save myself. If I did a damn thing I would be shot, Mitch would be shot, then Tim would be shot. Three people would be dead if I so much as breathed wrong. All I could do was stand there as my captor ordered and pray silently that December 31, 2016, would not be the day I died. Adam Henry Rupp, April 23, 1982-December 31, 2016. Thirty-four years old. Shot and killed in a senseless act of violence, nothing anyone could do. In one night, ten lives changed forever, exponentially due to families and friends. A million anxieties, a thousand fears, all triggered at even a touch of a finger, a benign touch to my ear. A finger now felt like the gun, poised to kill. I was painfully aware of every breath I took, certain it would be my last. She didn't think Tim deserved to live and she had been ready to gun down every last one of us to get to him, had pitted us against each other to inaction. No one dared to move because it would end with at least three of us dead. I had been a certain casualty. Every word spoken by any one of us had made my heart pound and it had taken everything I had to keep my breathing steady lest it startle Linda into discharging they bullet into my brain. I was a dead man who never knew how many minutes, seconds, or breaths I had left. Trying to hold it in, trying not to let the others know how scared I really was. Had to be strong, had to keep the five of us together, had to, had to push it all inside, bottle it, be the calm, cool, and collected Adam they all knew me to be. Outward appearances can be deceiving... how long can a strong person hold it together? How long can I just push aside emotions and fear that I'd kept a tight lid on for years? For nearly as long as I could remember? One of my very first childhood memories was one of my very first traumatic injuries. To this day, I had no idea what he had done to have earned such ire rom Dad, the anger and fear pouring off of Mom. I remember sitting in the living room, Dad yelling at him and going off on him as though he'd tried to kill someone, his arms crossed as all three of them yelled at each other. I had clamped my hands to my ears to try to block out the yelling and the screams from our baby sister's playpen. And when Dad's belt came off and he sent Chris to his room, I knew he was done for. I was terrified that he was going to string him up and hang him by that belt. I was legitimately terrified of our parents, of what he was going to do to my best friend and big brother. Mom had grabbed me and run me down the hall, returning me to my bedroom where I could see nothing. I screamed and I threw the entire contents of my toy box and bookcase all over the room; I struggled to open the locked door to let myself out. I could still hear yelling from across the hall, from Chris' room. Then I'd heard Chris scream, only once but a bloodcurdling one at that. I'd opened my bedroom window and climbed out, falling with a small kerthunk into the bush. I'd run around the house and clambered up to the first branch of an oak tree, trying desperately to see if my brother was still alive. I'd seen him sprawled out across his bed on his stomach with his pants on the floor, Dad with that belt, Chris with his face buried in his pillow trying to muffle his cries of pain. I had scrambled down that oak tree and ran to the neighbor's house, yelling at Mrs. Glenn that Dad was spanking Chris. She'd just laughed and told me it'd be all right, that Chris would learn his lesson and not get in trouble again. She'd offered me a cookie and told me Sam would be home from soccer practice soon and we could play together. Afraid I'd be the next one spanked with that belt, I'd declined and raced back, afraid of the repercussions of having escaped. I had run back into that bush, bounced off a basketball under it, propelled myself onto a ledge about halfway up, and heaved myself back inside. I had just picked up a book when the door opened and Mom told me to come and help her with the potatoes. I stirred and mashed sullenly, staring at her eye and wondering if Dad had hit her too. Dinner had been a very quiet affair, Tris with her finger foods and Chris barely eating any of his. I'd tried to talk to him about it that evening, but he'd shut me out completely, just telling me to play by myself. He was around a lot that week. I'd go play with Sam or Mike or the Jackson twins by myself, but Chris seemed forbidden to leave the house. Eventually, the week was over and things returned to normal... but some things can never be erased from a young boy's mind.