Chapter 32 - Do not go gentle, Part I

"Andrew," she whispered.

Bang. Her eyes squeezed tightly, as her eardrums rattled. She quivered in shock and terror, as he fired randomly into the classroom. Bang. Thick wet crimson splattered onto the chairs. An agonized cry, then someone slumped flush onto the floor, motionless. Terrified sobs and whimpers. The gripping jaws of fear paralyzed the room in quaking silence.

Oh, God, Chloe's mind cried, this can't be happening. This can't be happening.

She felt Philip trembling, his heart thundering. Or was it she?

"Oh, Shawn," she heard Belle weakly cry, "Please wake up."

Oh, God, this can't be happening. Chloe covered her head with her hands. Please, let this be a dream. If she could just fight back the oppressive fog of sleep, as she often had to, she'd open her eyes and she'd be at home, safe in her bed. Then, she'd call Philip and tell him about this insane nightmare she'd had…

Come on, Chloe. Fight back. Don't let the demons win. It took all her strength to open her eyes. The tiles were cool and hard, while the shiny metal of chair legs shone pristine and perfect, but for the thick splotches of red oozing sickeningly downward. Then, the unmistakable metallic scent of blood cut through her nostrils. She held back a sob. Oh, God help us, her mind cried.

"Mr. Auerbach… Andrew, isn't it?" asked their weakened teacher, who gripped a desk to drag himself to standing. His other hand gripped his side, blood seeping between the fingers. "Come on, son," he said softly, as much as to put the boy at ease as to reserve his quickly dwindling strength. "Put the gun down."

Praying silently in her head, Chloe raised her eyes, starting from those old sneakers up the scrawny body to look at his face. Those brown eyes, which were normally dull and chary, were now wide and almost frighteningly clear. Then, Andrew inclined his head, as if confused, but his slender fingers, which clasped the weapon, remained firm.

"Andrew," repeated Mr. Woods, "You don't want to do this. Just give me the gun. It'll be alright." He extended his hand, as steadily as he could.

Whimpers broke out once more, when the characteristically taciturn boy raised the gun and pointed it at the teacher. "You understand, right?" his voice like a child's, "You know what it's like. I just can't take it anymore. This is the only way." The safety released with a deadly click. He looked down at the bodies. "See? They'll never mess with me again." He surveyed the thick, lifeless pile of athletes on the floor. Among them were the bullies, who hunted and terrorized him day after excruciating day. He'd known that the seniors would all be here at this period and that the academically hopeless jocks habitually sat in the back row. A chilly smile formed across his lips. For all of their brawn, they were no match for his forethought or firepower. "See?" he said, mesmerized now with the heavy, destructive metal in his hand, "This is all people understand,"

"Andrew," Mr. Woods tried again, coughing as his wound bled profusely, "For as long as you've known me, I've always told you the truth. I've always been on your side. I still am. Please, give me the gun."

But he was no longer hearing him. So lost in his discovery that he couldn't hear the sounds of distant sirens rapidly closing in. He looked from his father's handgun and back across the room of empty bloodstained chairs and shrunken students beneath. Experimentally, he moved his gun in an all-encompassing sweep. His smile spread, as his tormentors cowered before him, whimpering, sobbing for mercy. Puny, pathetic Andrew Auerbach for the first time in his life was in control. "Cool," he awed at his scepter of power. Drunk with this unprecedented feeling of supremacy, he scoured before him for a suitable target of punishment.

"Andrew," their teacher tried once more to reach him, until finally the knees gave and vision blurred. His students gasped, as Mr. Woods collapsed onto the floor.

"Oh," Andrew said with excitement, oblivious, "I missed one. You. Look at me." He waited for the muscular boy, who comforted a shivering girl, to raise his green eyes to meet his. "You," Andrew said with some surprise, "Leaves of Grass guy." He let out a hearty chuckle, when he recognized the guy, whom he'd seen regularly at the public library. "Jock that can read is pretty impressive, much less one that reads Whitman." He shrugged and leveled the gun at Jason. "Oh, what the hell. You're one of them, too." The jock gulped, his eyes helplessly stared into the dark barrel of the gun.

"Andrew," Chloe found her voice finally. Despite the plea in Philip's eyes, she pulled herself up from under his protection and rose on unsteady legs. Her painfully aware senses processed, as Philip raised himself on his knees, his growing panic electrifying the air behind her. "Remember me?" asked Chloe softly, praying for strength. For everyone's sake.

His eyes flickered, as his attention shifted to the pretty female voice. "Chloe?"

"Yes," she encouraged, "Chloe." Ordering herself to not look at that frightening weapon in his possession, she locked eyes with Andrew. "H-How are you, Andrew?" she managed, having no idea what to say, only desperate to keep him distracted, so he wouldn't hurt anyone else.

Andrew smiled. She'd talked to him. She was nice. She was not one of them. "I'm better. Now. See?" he asked, like a child looking for approval for his prized mud pie. Or like a big old barn cat, who'd brought home a raccoon to his master.

"Andrew-"

"I showed them, didn't I, Chloe? Nobody's gonna mess with me anymore," he said with such eerie serenity.

"That's right, Andrew. You've shown them," she heard herself say, "Now, it's done. You can relax now. You've shown them."

His head tilted again. "Yeah, I have, haven't I?" He grinned, proud of himself. Now, people respected him. The persecution was over, because Andrew Auerbach was victim no more. From this moment on, it'd be a new world for him.

"Yes, you have," said Chloe in a shaken, but reasonably casual voice, "Now, you can put down the gun."

Satisfaction settling in, Andrew gradually began to lower his handgun.

Outside, tires screeched and sirens wailed. Sounds of doors slamming shut reverberated like endless doomed domino into the room. Chloe kept eye to eye with Andrew, even as her mind screamed for the alarming sounds to stop. The gun paused, only partially lowered.

"What's that?" he asked curiously.

Before she could attempt to respond, an authoritative voice came on the megaphone, "Auerbach. Andrew Auerbach. This is Captain Brady of the police."

Andrew's face creased in confusion, the gun in his hands wavering uncertainly. "Chloe, what's going on?" Then came the thunder of a helicopter overhead.

Frantic, Chloe tried to calm him, "Andy-"

"Andrew," the policeman's voice came harsh through the windows, "Come on out, son. We can talk about this."

Andrew shook visibly. "What's going on?" he repeated. He jerked his gun and aimed it at Chloe's chest, when she took a step toward him. "What's going on, Chloe?"

She stood frozen. Her voice, it seemed, barely audible over the pounding of her own heart. "Andrew, listen to my voice. Listen only to my voice. I'm your friend-"

"Andrew," came again the abrasive voice from outside, "Your father is on his way, son. It doesn't have to be this way."

"What?" the boy squawked, waving his gun erratically, the sound of the chopper and megaphone deafening, "They're here for me. Me? I didn't do anything wrong!"

"Andrew," gulped Chloe, cursing fate, "I'm your friend. Please, Andy, put down the gun." His eyes moved frenetically about, overwhelmed. Confusion and fear now raced dangerously parallel with delusion. Chloe kept her eyes on his. "Please, Andy. Give me the gun. This isn't you."

His heartbreaking brown eyes fluttered. Then, his face crumpled. "How would you know?" he demanded, his vision blurring from the onslaught of tears, but his grip on the gun tightened nonetheless. "How would you know? You're the duckling that turned into a swan," he sobbed, "You got out. You made it. Your boyfriend practically owns this school. Your best friends are the most popular kids. So, everyone loves you now, while the rest of us…" His body wracked by despair.

So frightened yet so sad for him, she took another step toward him. "Andrew-"

"You walked around," he cried now, barely coherent, "In your baggy clothes and thick glasses, when the whole time underneath, you were so pretty and perfect. Me?" he wept, "No matter what I wear or how I change myself, I'll always be the ugly duckling. I'll always be the dork, the nerd, the fucking fag. I just can't take it anymore."

"Andy," she spoke softly, her heart aching for him, "I've spent time with you. I know you're a good person. You're a nice guy with people, who care about you-"

He scoffed, the tears of hopelessness falling endless down his sunken cheeks. "Shows what you know. My mom is back at home with her new boyfriend. She's forgotten all about me. And my dad, I hardly see him, always working like he is. He doesn't give a shit about me. So," he cried angrily, re-aiming the gun at her, "Don't try to act like you know anything about me."

She bit down on her lip that threatened to tremble and played her final card. "What about Annie?"

The mention of her name brought a fresh bout of weeping, his hands shook uncontrollably. "Annie?"

"And her family in Virginia. They love you. Would they want this for you, Andy?" Chloe took another hesitant step toward him, the adrenaline spiked with each beat of her heart. Goosebumps shivered across her skin.

Philip whispered desperately from behind, "Chloe…"

Taking an imperceptible breath, she took another step, now only an arm's length away. "I'm your friend, Andy. I'll talk to the police for you. I'll make them understand. You're a good person. They'll listen to me."

"Annie," he wept, his gun wavering.

"She's waiting to hear from you. Andy, please put down the gun, and I'll go outside with you right now to talk to them."

His tear-ravaged, sleep-deprived eyes looked into hers. And found compassion and the glimmer of the impossible. Acceptance.

Chloe slowly extended a hand. "I'm your friend, Andy."

He looked from those kind eyes to that outstretched palm. With a trembling hand, he reached out to take it. And with the other, lowered the gun.

The students remained hunched on the floor, holding their breath, still too afraid to hope.

Gently, Chloe closed her fingers over Andy's. She nodded. "Come on, Andy. Let's go, and I promise, I'll talk to them for you." She needed to get him somewhere with less disruptions and fewer targets. There she could convince him to give her the gun. So, step by step, she guided him to the door. Still dazed he seemed, but she took no chances, as she carefully opened the classroom door and led him calmly into the hall.

Behind her, Philip stood, his complexion paling in skyrocketing hysteria. "Chloe…"

She looked back behind her and gazed into those deep blue eyes. And mouthed, "I love you."

Helpless, he whispered her name once more.

Reigning her riotous emotions, she turned and walked down the hall with a quivering Andrew.

"Sharpshooters are in position, Captain Brady."

Nodding, Roman let out a long breath and studied the blueprints laid out before him on the hood of the squad car. Dammit, how the hell did this happen? he thought. In little Midwest Salem. In his hometown. Where parents took comfort that their children would be safe from the shocking, sometimes day-to-day violence, associated usually with the inner-city.

Another car screeched to a halt at the police perimeter. Then, a scuffle came from that very direction.

"Dammit, let me through. Here, see it now?" the angry man barked.

"Sorry, Detective Brady. Go on through."

Roman looked up to see his brother Bo tuck his badge back into the back pocket of his trousers and quickly closed the distance between them.

"Roman. I heard over the radio. About some crazed gunman in the school. I wanna know what's going on and I wanna know now."

"Bo," his elder brother sighed. "The situation's bad enough, as it is. I don't need you charging in here-"

"Dammit, man, my boy's in there," shouted an agitated Bo.

Roman ran a hand over his hair. God knew he could use a smoke right now. What a shit time to quit. "I know, Bo. I'm worried about him, too. But he needs you to stay calm and let us do our job. Swat's already penetrated the building. You know we're in constant radio contact and last we had them in the adjacent stairwells," he indicated on the school's blueprints.

His radio screeched. "Approaching east corridor. Clear. Go…"

"Principal told us, shots came from the second level, history department," updated Roman to Bo. Maybe with some information, his hot-headed brother would calm down. "Our men on the roof made visual contact with the gunman in this room," he pointed to the corner box at the end of the east-most corridor, "We know at least four people were hit in the classroom, including the teacher. The assailant's name is Andrew Auerbach, Caucasian, approximately five foot four, about one twenty-five, freshman, age fourteen."

"Jesus," exclaimed Bo, rubbing a hand over his face.

"I know," agreed Roman, "According to some pretty scared kids, gunman started firing in the boys bathroom at the start of first period, then moved to the hallway, and finally opened fire in the classroom."

Bo shook his head in dismay. This was just a kid. Just a freaking kid. "What the hell started-"

The radio screeched, "Made visual with perp. Repeat. Made visual. Put down your weapon. Let the girl go."

"Oh, fuck," managed Roman.

"Put down your weapon and let the girl go," ordered the men in military black, who flooded in from the stairwell and intersecting corridors, firearms at the ready.

The teens stood in the middle of the hall, eyes wide, faced with what should have existed only in fiction. Chloe closed her other hand on Andrew's arm in support. For all her blessings, she would return the favor and prove to Andrew that he was not alone.

She raised her chin and faced the armed squad. "Andrew is my friend. I've come with him, so he can to turn himself in, peacefully. Please…"

She continued, but Andrew ceased to hear. Her voice faded away. Instead, he stared into the sea of cold, unfamiliar faces, eyes unsympathetic and unfeeling. Their weapons were bigger and more numerous, all trained on him. Their postures poised to pounce.

His whole life he'd been tormented by predators. And he, he'd been only a guppy in shark-infested waters. Within and without were the scars of each nip, rip, and tear, leaving his soul in tatters. Because might was right.

He looked into the countless barrels of firearm, aimed at his heart. He couldn't feel Chloe squeeze his hand in comfort, as she continued to speak on his behalf. With the sharks. He could see those jaws open wide before him, exposing the razor sharp teeth, ready to consume him.

Fate had come for him. For where could a freak like him really fit in? He had no family. He had no friends. Everything that he loved had been torn from him. He had nothing. He was nothing.

The buzzing in his ears was deafening, as his surroundings blurred. His hands, his limbs, his body no longer belonged to him. Nothing seemed real anymore.

"Andrew," a voice called, "Andrew…"

He looked up, his eyes blank and devoid of light, dimly registering a pair of azure blue eyes. Angel eyes.

"Andy, please," she pleaded softly, "Give me the gun."

He looked from those eyes to the dark faces of the sharks and their merciless teeth. Then, his eyes shifted down to the heavy object in his hand. This was all people understood. It didn't matter, if he won first place in the science fair and had dreams of becoming an engineer for NASA. Or if he sang foolish ditties for his Alzheimer grandmother in the nursing home, whom he missed dearly. Or if he'd always wanted a chocolate Labrador puppy, a genuine mitt autographed by Jose Conseco, and someone to love and for that person to love him unconditionally in return. No one cared, if he was a good person at heart and had something special to offer to the world. This, he thought numbly, as his eyes focused on the dark weapon in his hand, this was the only thing people cared about. This was all people understood.

"Andy," she said again.

He looked up into those depthless blue eyes, searching vainly for the things, which should have been so simple and were unfailingly taken for granted by those who possessed them. Things, which he knew now were beyond his reach. And with the softest and saddest of voices, he said, "Not everyone gets a fairy tale."

And raised the gun.

"Oh, Shawn," cried Belle with his head in her lap. She used a classmate's handkerchief to staunch the bleeding on his temple and another on the base of his skull. Her tears streamed endlessly, falling onto his unresponsive face. "I love you so much, Shawn. Please, don't die."

"Here, Belle," said a shaky Mimi, who handed her another cloth to replace the blood-soaked handkerchief.

"Oh, God, Mimi. He's not waking up," sobbed Belle, running her hands desperately over his beloved face, "He's not waking up…"

Her own tears falling, Mimi squeezed her friend's shoulder. "The ambulance is in front. They just need some time to-to get in," she stuttered, worried now about what exactly was preventing the medical unit from entering the building to save the injured. She looked down at the blood on her jeans and shoes. None of it was hers, but the gory sight left her bereft and frightened. Other classmates were tending as best they could to Mr. Woods and fellow students. She gulped, when she looked over at the wide puddle of blood under the back row of chairs. Some were beyond saving.

"Goddamnit, let me go!" screamed Philip against Jason's hold, locked around his friend's arms and chest.

"Phil, buddy, you can't go out there. There's nothing we can do. We don't know what that dude is gonna do." Jason grunted, as his friend struggled like a mad man. Jason would concentrate on keeping his buddy safe and not on what could be happening outside.

"Oh, God, Chloe," cried Philip, tears coursing down his face, "Chloe's out there. I gotta get to her." I can't lose her, his heart screamed.

Mimi watched, her heart breaking for her friends, and prayed, "Please, God, look after them."

The class stilled, as they heard authoritative voices from down the hall. Their muscles were immobilized by fear, as they listened.

"Put the weapon down and let the girl go."

A spine-chilling silence followed.

Belle rocked and prayed.

Even Philip settled down and focused intently on the voices in the hall.

But they only heard the commands from what could only be the police.

"We won't hurt you. Just put the weapon down on the ground and step away from the girl."

Despite all efforts, Philip couldn't hear any response. His palms dampened in a cold sweat, while his classmates huddled together, as tension mounted.

Belle began to whisper a prayer, "Oh, Heavenly Father-"

Suddenly, a single shot rang out. Time stood still, as sound and warmth ceased to exist.

Then, the class jolted, as Philip screamed, "Chloe!"

His face fell deathly ashen, his heart died inside of him. Driven by desperation, he used every last drop of his strength and terror to break free and pounded out into the hall, screaming her name.