The Morning Of

by S. B. Cody

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Well, pardon me for saying this, but it seems as though she may have had some trouble earlier this year.”

  Brenda stared off into nothingness, simply nodding her head, knowing what Connor referred to. “Natalie was diagnosed as manic depressive. She went through phases where she wouldn’t do a thing. Took everything in our power to even get her out of bed. Her grades would always suffer then. But then they’d pick up. And later on they’d slip again. Such a shame too. She was so smart. Genius level IQ, believe it or not.”

  “Yes. I saw some of the classes she was in. Impressive.”

  “She could have done great things.”

  “May I ask about the trouble she had with the vandalism?” With the end of each question, Connor half expected to get screamed out of the house.

  “That wasn’t like her. She just… With her moods, Natalie had such a hard time fitting in. So when someone welcomed her in, they could talk her into just about anything. Just so desperate to be included. Feel loved.”

  “What about Richard?”

  “Who?”

  “Richard Lowe. Her boyfriend.”

  Brenda’s eyes narrowed and looked inward. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know who that is.”

  “He’s a student at West. He said they had been going out. From what he says, I assumed it was pretty serious.”

  “Well, I’ve never met any Richard. But then again, Natalie did keep an awful lot from us.”

  “I see. Well, I don’t want to…” Connor began, ready to make his exit.

  “Would you like to see her room?” Brenda interjected.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Would you like to see her room? Hasn’t been touched since. My husband and I haven’t been able to bring ourselves to step foot in there.”

  “Sure,” Connor found himself saying, and immediately regretting it. He wanted out of here. And then he wanted a CAT scan for having ever come in the first place, but still he stood and followed Brenda up the stairs. The walls along the stairs had been adorned with various family photographs, allowing Connor to chart Natalie’s growth through the years. One picture showed a puffy coat, with dark hair spilling out, playing in the snow. Another showed a gap-toothed girl with a grin like the Cheshire Cat holding her backpack tight. As the girl got older the grin seemed to get smaller and smaller until at last he got to one where an upturned corner of the mouth was all that constituted a smile.

  At the top of the stairs a closed door awaited them. Brenda reached for the knob, but as soon as she touched it, her hand jumped back quicker than if it had been a hot iron. Somewhere in the back of her head she imagined that Natalie could be on the other side, alive. As long as the door remained closed she could continue believing it. But the moment the door opened and all that greeted her was an empty room, then Natalie truly would be gone. Brenda would have lost her daughter all over again. Still, she knew she couldn’t keep the room, or herself, shut off to the world. She reached forward and opened it up.

  Connor looked into the room finding that Natalie seemed to have embraced minimalism. Not a single picture, poster, or painting adorned the wall. There was nothing but white. All that occupied the space was a bed, dresser, and desk, not a single thing out of place.

  “She was never much of one for decorating,” Brenda said. “Please go in.”

  Connor stepped in, the room feeling like an entirely different world than the rest of the house. He craned his neck as he walked around. He went to the desk where a few textbooks and notebooks were all stacked. Inching open the drawers revealed nothing but some pens and Post-its.

  “She’d often spend hours in here, without us ever seeing her. Wouldn’t hear a thing from her,” Brenda said, standing only just inside the threshold.

  Connor headed over to the closet and peeked inside. “Can I ask… did she seem out of sorts at all leading up to the…” Connor stopped, reticent to actually say the word, shooting.

  “Why?” Brenda quipped. Her typically genial tone suddenly had bite in it.

  “I…” Connor could think of nothing to justify such a ludicrous question. He eyed the window and door, wondering which one would allow for a cleaner exit. Connor went to shut the door, when Brenda reached out and kept it from closing. Her eyes were trained on the top shelf. She reached up and pulled a small leather case down, bringing a notebook tumbling down with it. She unzipped the case the tiniest bit and that proved to be enough. Brenda clutched it to her chest and shut her eyes, desperate to hold back her tears, but still they came.

  “Is it… what’s…?” Connor didn’t know what to say. His eyes darted to every corner of the room, not knowing where to look.

  “We thought she had stopped,” she cried out, her voice shattering.

  “What’s that?”

  “These are bandages and razor blades. Natalie used to cut herself. But she had stopped that!”

  “I see.”

  “God. I can still see her arms. Rough cuts up and down. Oh God!” With that Brenda took off out of the room, dropping the case back to the ground. Connor watched her go, wondering if he should go after her. What was the social protocol for this kind of situation? What an asinine question. There were no situations like this. Connor bent down and picked up the case and notebook, figuring it would be best if they were out of sight when Brenda returned. As he picked up the notebook, it slung open to the first page. Connor glanced down at the page to see a couple lines written down in black, swooping letters: With all beings there must be much fortuitous destruction. His eyebrows raised at this, the line seeming cryptic and banal at the same time. With nothing else written, it meant nothing.

  Connor stacked the case and notebook back in the closet and then headed out of the room. At the bottom of the stairs, Brenda sat, her face submerged in her hands. Not a sound came from her.

  “Ms. Leonard,” Connor offered with some trepidation. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to cause you any more pain.”

  No response came.

  “If there’s anything I can do…”

  “Just please go,” came the muffled sound of her voice.

  “Of course. Please forgive me.” Connor crept past her and headed towards the door. He gave her one last look. Those twenty-eight people may have been the ones who stopped breathing that day, but they certainly weren’t the only ones that died.

  He trotted to his car, the image of Natalie’s mother sobbing searing itself into his mind. Even as he climbed behind the wheel, the cries and sharp breaths still rang in his ears. He got ready to start up the engine when something else began to ring in his ears as well: I can still see her arms. Rough cuts up and down. And with that a memory crashed back to him like a truck hitting him head-on. He hadn’t thought of it since, not even when recounting everything to the police, but now it had become so clear. He could practically feel it underneath his fingertips. Whoever it had been in that mask that tried getting into his room had had rough patches up and down his arm. Or maybe it had been her arm.

  39

  Kara sat awake at 2:00 in the morning, the glow from her computer screen the only light in her bedroom. She had watched through the entirety of the security footage about half a dozen times. Her bed was littered with notes from the case. Every time she went through the footage, she scoured her notes, making sure she had marked off every single person who passed through the frame. Each time she went through it, something felt off to her, and she needed to know what it was.

  The clock read 2:30 and the timestamp read 8:15 when something finally jumped out to her. Out of the stairwell, a figure shrouded in a hood ducked into a classroom. A quick perusal of her notes made it clear that they hadn’t identified this person. Somehow, they had slipped through the cracks. Kara fast-forwarded the tape to when the first responders cleared the building. When they came to that room, they opened it up, but no one emerged. Where had they gone? She supposed they could have climbed outside, but where had they come from to b
egin with? Kara rewound the tape to find the figure’s point of origin. The same hood didn’t show up anywhere else on the tape until 8:10. She noticed the same person come forth from a room, the hoodie being pulled over his head right as he exited. Making sure his face didn’t appear at all. Going to a different clip she saw the room number. Room 10. They had no record of anyone exiting that room.

  By the time the alarm started to sing, Kara had been asleep for all of one and a half hours. Still she didn’t feel any exhaustion. She had been waiting for some kind of breakthrough and last night had finally given it to her. She hurriedly threw on some clothes. Typically, she prided herself on her professionalism, but today a pair of jeans and a pullover was all she felt she had time for. She needed to follow through on this, and had no time to waste.

  She ended up getting plenty of strange looks when she headed into the main office of West. Every person stopped what they were doing, some even stood as if they mistook her for president. Eyes shifted left and right as everyone wondered who would be the first to speak. Undeterred, Kara marched to the front desk and didn’t wait for anyone to greet her.

  “I’d like to see Principal Devin,” she said as though she were ordering a cup of coffee. The secretary directly in front of her opened her mouth to reply but froze, as though she couldn’t comprehend the request. And then to save her, Devin walked out of his office, perhaps troubled by the sudden drop in noise.

  “Detective Smalls. How can I help you?” he asked, staggering to a stop and almost tripping over his own feet.

  “May we have a word?” Kara said.

  Devin looked around at his staff almost as if he wanted their permission. When it became clear that no one would grant it, he just nodded and motioned for Kara to follow him. Once inside the office, Kara immediately took a seat.

  “So what can I do for you? We weren’t expecting you to be by again any time soon,” he said, taking a seat. We were hoping to never see you again, his tone indicated.

  “I’ve discovered some new evidence that may be essential to the case,” Kara said, fishing out her laptop which still held the security footage.

  Devin’s face dropped in disappointment. Disappointment that comes from not being able to take any more. “What evidence is that?” he forced out, almost choking on the words. Part of him didn’t want to know what it was. The school had finally begun to return to a sense of normalcy, but one that could fall apart at any moment. Her presence had probably already spread through half the building. And it threatened to be that extra bit of weight that brought everything crashing down.

  “Please look at this footage,” Kara said, paying no attention to Devin’s hesitation. She pulled up the clip of the hooded figure entering the empty classroom.

  “What am I looking at?” Devin asked.

  “That student heads into that classroom, but doesn’t come back out.”

  “And?”

  “And if you go back with the tape,” which she began to do, “you can see him coming out of Room 10, putting on that hoodie.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “We didn’t have any record of anyone having left Room 10. But here we have someone doing just that, and we never see them again after the shooting.”

  “So you think that that must be the second shooter?” Devin asked.

  Kara nodded with a hint of unwillingness. After all, she wasn’t convinced that they had caught the first one.

  “So what would you like from me?”

  “First, can you tell me which room it is that he heads into?”

  “What is that? Room 15? That’s a computer lab.”

  “Would it have been empty at that time?”

  “Well, I would need to check the sign-up sheet, but most days it is empty.” Devin scanned her eyes, hoping he was giving her what she needed. “Is that all?”

  “Well, if this individual left Room 10, then I’ll need to speak with that teacher.”

  “Of course. That would be… That would be Mr. Milton’s classroom. I’ll go get him.”

  “Great,” Kara said, standing up.

  “Actually,” Devin started while shrinking away a little. “I think it would be best if you remained here. It’s just that…”

  Kara had been on the force long enough to know the look of anxious fear at the presence of a cop, and everyone in this building had had it since she walked in. “Of course. I’ll wait,” she told him.

  Five minutes later, Devin returned with Lance Milton in tow. His gut, which had before just spilled over his belt, had extended a couple of inches over the past couple months. His eyes hung half closed. As he sat, he took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose.

  “Mr. Milton,” Kara said, standing and extending her hand. “Detective Smalls. Thank you for coming to see me. I hope I’m not taking you away from anything too important.”

  “No problem. A TA is covering my class right now. What can I do for you?” Milton had to take a deep breath after every sentence.

  Kara went back to her computer and brought up the image of the student leaving Milton’s classroom. “Mr. Milton, we’ve noticed this student leaving your classroom shortly before the shooting began.”

  Milton said nothing. He just looked on.

  “Now we see this person enter a classroom, but he doesn’t come out again. And we have no record of anyone having left your classroom at that time.”

  Milton crossed his arms, wrapping himself in a deep hug. His bottom lip quivered as he tried to find the words. “I… I don’t always have students fill in the sign-out sheet.” Devin looked down on him, biting his lip and suppressing a grimace.

  “Why not?” Kara asked, leaving the judgment to Devin.

  “Just seems like a waste of time. Didn’t find it necessary,” Milton replied, his eyes transfixed on his shoes.

  “What would you say is necessary, Mr. Milton?” Devin growled at him. But a quick look from Kara forced him to shut up again.

  “Well, can you tell me if you know who this student is?” Kara asked, pushing the laptop towards Milton. He leaned in, peering through his thick lenses.

  “Sorry. I couldn’t tell you. Not that good of an image.”

  “Do you remember anyone leaving your class that day?”

  “I don’t remember much from that day. It’s all kind of cloudy in my head. I couldn’t even tell you what I had taught that period.”

  “Well, what did you do when the lockdown came?”

  “We’re right near an exit, so we took off and headed towards the rally point.”

  “And you really don’t remember someone leaving?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t.”

  “Anyone in that class behaving strangely that day?”

  “Again, I…”

  “I understand.”

  “Anyone in that class that you could imagine being…”

  “Jesus no. That’s a Pre-Advanced Placement class. Kids are great. I barely even need to write any of them up for that matter.”

  “Well, I’d like to see a class list all the same.”

  “We’ll get you that,” Devin said, staring down the barrel at Milton the whole time.

  “Thank you. That’s all I need.”

  With that, Milton looked between Kara and Devin, with a visage of guilt, wondering if he had done something to aid the shooter.

  “Thank you, Mr. Milton,” Devin said, his voice laced with disdain. Milton’s only response was a half-smile, as he slithered out of the chair and then the room. “So…” Devin said, looking over at Kara, shifting around on his feet. He looked like he had to pee, but actually he was just hoping that Kara would vacate the premises.

  “I’ll take that class list,” Kara said, settling into her chair.

  While Kara made her line of inquiry upstairs, Connor circled his class as they worked in groups. All the while his mind lay elsewhere, thinking over what he had found at Natalie’s home. He couldn’t get the feeling of those rough marks on the shooter
’s arms out his head, wondering if they had belonged to Natalie. But how the hell could it? She was dead for God’s sake. Of course, she wouldn’t be the first shooter who saved themself as the final victim. And that would explain why that classroom was the last one. She blended in with the victims and everyone was none the wiser.

  A voice from the back of his head said that he should call the cops, tell them what he’d found. But what would he tell them? One of the girls who died, well it turns out that she was prone to cutting herself. And I vaguely remember that one of the shooters had something on their arm which may or may not have been cut marks. He felt like an idiot even thinking it, so he could only imagine what the police would think if he actually dared to say it.

  The bell rang, signaling the end of the class. Like dogs, the kids all jumped from their seats and were out the door in less than a minute. Connor went about making the class look semi-presentable as the next group ushered in. The process repeated along with his obsessive string of thoughts. They would continue all day, only to be interrupted when Milton dragged his feet into the classroom after the final bell, looking like he’d just had the shit kicked out of him.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Connor said, looking up from his computer.

  “I got called into the principal’s office today,” Milton replied, trying to make a joke, but his cracking voice giving away the true nature of his feelings.

  “What happened?”

  “That uh… that cop came by.”

  Connor perked up at this. “What’s going on?”

  “They have video of someone leaving my room at the end of first period the day of the shooting. Apparently this guy ducked into one of the computer labs and was never seen again.”

  “And…” Connor egged him on, thinking he knew where this was headed.

  “I don’t know. I guess they think he was the other shooter.”

  “Well, who was it?”

  “Don’t know. They put on a hoodie right as he left the room. And I didn’t have him sign out, so…”