by S. B. Cody
Connor still huddled away. From the halls, Richard’s footsteps rang clearly. It sounded as though he walked directly over him. Connor would hold his breath until he could feel his lungs burn. Every few minutes a shadow would fall across his little alcove as Richard made another pass.
As much as Richard enjoyed the chase, his patience quickly wore thin. And then he recalled the memorial service at the park, where Connor had been considerate enough to offer his phone number to a grieving child. A number that still resided inside Richard’s phone. He took it out and sent the call. From where he was, Connor’s thoughts finally returned to Brandy. What would her last memories of him be? As someone who would barely talk to her? And why? What did he hope for? That given time everything would just work itself out? That eventually she would let go of everything she wanted out of their marriage, out of life? All the years he had spent on the sidelines, never thinking about how he had put her there too.
Then his pocket lit up as his phone started to sing, acting like a homing beacon. He scrambled, shoving his hand in his pocket to silence it, but at that point, it had served its purpose. Darkness fell over Connor’s hole as Richard approached.
“Thank God. This was getting annoying,” Richard said with a chuckle as he closed the distance. Connor felt like trapped prey as he saw Richard’s head come into view. Knowing he had few options left to him, he grabbed a hold of the trash can and charged out with it straight into Richard. It did little to deter him, but bought Connor enough time to spring onto him, grabbing for the gun. Connor pinned Richard against a wall and attempted to point the gun anywhere that he wasn’t. It discharged, a spit of fire and plume of smoke coming out of the barrel. Connor felt like his head had been plunged underwater, all sound being drowned out.
A quick knee to the groin caused Connor to double over and gave complete control back to Richard as he wrenched Connor by the hair and threw his head back, bringing the gun right to his forehead.
“Just couldn’t leave well enough alone. No one was gonna miss Clements. And you saw what a mess Natalie’s mother is. You gonna drag her dead daughter’s name through the mud? You’re no hero, Connor. Just another hapless fuck.”
“What do you think is gonna happen now?” Connor squeaked, his voice sounding as though he had a muzzle on. “You can kill me, but eventually it’ll catch up with you. If some hapless fuck like me sniffed out your bullshit, someone much smarter will too.”
“Then I’ll kill them too.”
“You already lost. You trying to prove that you were better than everyone else? But I found you out, so maybe you’re not so fucking superior after all.”
“Why don’t we let history decide that?”
As Richard and Connor wrestled, Kara walked up to the school, calling Connor’s phone. It simply rang and rang as it had recently slid into a corner where Connor and Richard couldn’t hear it over their scuffle. Kara went to leave a message when a sound like a firecracker went off, ringing through the halls and making its way out the doors and to her ears. She had heard enough gunshots to know it even when muffled like that. Snapping into action, she began rattling the doors in a fruitless attempt to force them open, but each one was solid. Not wanting to waste another second, Kara withdrew her sidearm and leveled it at the glass of the door. A couple quick shots brought the glass shattering down. She jumped inside, her gun clearing away the next door that stood in her path. As she hustled down the hallway she pulled her phone out and called the situation in, all the while praying that Brody had gotten her messages and was already on his way.
Brody stood over his sink, a bottle of Scotch right beside him. The standoff had finally come to an end, Brody coming out on top. His time at Mandy’s grave was what he had needed. A reminder of who he could be when he was at his best.
Next to him, his phone chirped, letting him know that he had gotten yet another message. Kara had gotten something up her ass today and wouldn’t leave him alone.
With the last of the liquor having snaked its way down the drain, Brody headed away, desperate to get some rest. Desperate to drift off where perhaps he wouldn’t be haunted by all of this. As he turned, his phone began to buzz once more. Out of habit, he looked down at it, ready to ignore Kara’s call. Looking at the screen, however, he saw that this call came from the station. This, he couldn’t just send to voicemail.
“Morgan,” he whispered into the phone.
“Morgan,” Barron barked out. “Just got a call in from Smalls. She’s at West High School. Shots have been fired. Get your ass out there now!”
Brody froze in place. He had ignored Kara all day. If she ended up leaving that place in a body bag that would be two people that he’d left to die. It seemed that that’s what he did. He drove people away… Mandy, Christine, Kara… and then they paid the price.
“Did you hear me?!” Barron growled.
“Yes, sir.” Brody rushed. Gathering up his gun, badge, and keys, Brody sprinted to his car, moving faster than he thought his body would allow. He only had about a five-minute drive to the school. He prayed that it wouldn’t be too long.
Connor braced himself and Richard hovered over him. The gun stood a couple inches above, but Connor would swear that he could feel the barrel pressed right against his head. The hot steel searing his skin. The smoke wafting up his nose. He clenched his eyes shut, wondering if he would actually see his life pass before his eyes. Each moment from first memory to last playing out like some kind of home movie. He would have a chance now to relive each and every one of his failures, his biggest one happening right now. But he saw none of that. All he saw was Brandy. Sitting alone at home right now, wondering when her husband would bother to walk in the door. Wondering when he would start acting like a husband again. Once the bullet shattered his skull, would she know? Would she feel it?
The explosion of a bullet sounded out, but it came from much further than if Richard had fired it. Another came right after it. A few seconds later, one more came. Connor opened his eyes, only daring to do it about a millimeter at a time. Once he had pried them open enough for images to actually dribble in, he saw that Richard still stood above him. The gun no longer leveled straight at him, now sagging a bit from its original height. Richard looked around like a dog wondering where the barking had come from. In doing so he had taken his eyes from his victim below. Connor took his brief stay of execution and wrapped his arms around Richard’s legs and wrenched them as hard as he could. The young man went tumbling, Connor rolling over on top of him, his elbow driving right into Richard’s eye.
One floor above, Kara heard the scuffle and took off towards it. In two leaps, Kara cleared one flight of stairs, rounded the corner and began down the other, coming upon the two men wrestling on the ground, Connor beating Richard’s hand against the floor, praying that he would finally lose his grip on the gun.
Kara didn’t waste a second, pointing her gun forward, opening her mouth, and screaming, “Police! Freeze!” The two men stopped in a second, looking like someone had paused a movie.
“Mr. Sullivan, move away,” Kara ordered, her voice dropping only a single octave. “You,” she continued, aiming her gun at Richard. “Let go of your gun.” Richard’s palm opened, and the gun slid out onto the floor. Connor relinquished his grip and began to inch away, worried that if he moved too fast something would go wrong. He stood and hustled his way over behind Kara, trying not to cry from relief. Once he reached her, Kara made the rest of the way down the stairs, her gun never once losing its mark.
“On your knees,” she ordered. “Slowly.” Richard obeyed as he hoisted himself into position. Connor looked on, watching every move Richard made, noting that before putting his arms up, his hand seemed to have spent a few seconds too long at his ankle. As Kara approached, he soon found out why. Once she came within striking distance, Richard shot out his hand with a switchblade, jamming it right into her arm. Globs of blood flung out as she screamed in pain. Richard jumped to his feet, seized hold of the detective and
with one hard shove, drove her into the wall, her head colliding with it, sending her sinking to the ground.
Connor looked on, forgetting how to move, forgetting how to breathe. That is until he saw Richard retrieve his and Kara’s gun, and take control yet again. Kara’s gun slid into his waistline, as his finger flirted with the trigger of his own. The sight of that gave Connor authority of his faculties again, and he spun himself around and made his retreat. Knowing that the detective could wait, Richard gave chase.
The two of them zoomed down the main hall. Up ahead, Connor could see the shattered glass from Kara’s entrance, his exit. He gathered the last bit of speed he had and charged his way there. Richard came so close he could almost feel breath on the back of his neck. Glass popped beneath his feet as he reached the first set of broken doors. Once he stepped into the foyer, the breath on his neck became a full body on his back. Richard had caught up and with a leap brought both of them to the ground. Connor scrambled forward, desperate to see the outside, convinced that he would then be safe. Shards of glass stung his hands like thousands of bees.
From the safety of the outdoors, the black of night lit up with the flash of sirens. The silence being broken by their beeps and whistles. As a team of officers sprang into action, Brody led the way having gotten there just as the rest had arrived. All caution had been thrown to the wind as he raced to save his partner. Connor increased his rate of crawl, feeling like he may actually have a chance now. A blow to the side of his head from Richard’s gun quickly expelled such ridiculous notions. Connor collapsed, his head feeling as though it had been gripped in a vice. Richard forced his face even further into the glass-strewn floor. Small cuts began to pop up all over Connor’s cheek, joining the blood that now trickled out from his temple.
Richard hung the gun lazily, all strength having been taken from him. Before he could finally give Connor the bullet that had been waiting for him all night, Brody approached, lifting his sidearm at the sight of the mess that lay before him. Richard didn’t waste a second, moving his gun from Connor’s head to Brody and letting off a quick shot, the bullet landing on the right side of Brody’s chest and forcing him to the ground.
Connor looked as the cop tumbled. At his hand laid a shard of glass. He realized that he had used up all of his lives tonight, and that he wouldn’t get another chance. Gripping the shard, drawing more blood from his hand, Connor rocked his body around while driving the glass right into Richard’s gut. The stabbing stole Richard’s voice, only allowing him to open his mouth in shock as he reached for his wound, finally surrendering the gun. He fell back on his heels, allowing Connor the freedom to clamber away. Connor sank into a corner, blood covering his hands and one side of his face. The rest of the cavalry had arrived now. Half descended on Richard, working away at his bleeding gut and calling for paramedics. Others headed into the building looking to see what else lay in store for them. A few others came upon Connor, beginning to treat him. The entire time, his eyes never left Richard as he writhed around on the ground. This student that he had watch grow. Connor kept waiting for the nightmare to end.
42
Stanford’s emergency room received five patients all at the same time that evening, the seriousness of their injuries varying greatly. The first had been a janitor who had awoken to the sound of the police sweeping the building. A quick evaluation showed nothing more than a mild concussion.
Kara had been adamant that she didn’t even need to see the doctor, but Barron insisted once he got to the scene. A quick exam of her arm revealed that no veins or arteries had been cut. The whole time that stitches were put in, Barron stood over her shoulder, making her recount the story from beginning to end no less than three times.
“Why the hell did this teacher call you?” Barron asked, trying to sniff out some bullshit.
“We’ve spoken to each other a couple times concerning the case,” Kara answered, choosing to follow the thread and needle through her skin rather than her boss’s stares.
“What does that mean? If you shared any evidence with him…”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I didn’t. I interviewed him during our first round. Then he took me around the school while I scouted a few things out.”
“Was Morgan with you when you did this?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I was…” Kara hesitated, unsure how this next part would come across.
“What?”
“I was trying to chase down anything to show that Clements could be innocent. Mr. Sullivan happened to be at the school at the time. That is all.”
“Jesus. Still chasing down that fantasy of yours.”
“Fantasy? I was right.”
“For Christ’s sake. This Lowe kid being guilty doesn’t prove Clements is innocent.”
“He told Sullivan as much.”
“Well, until we get the full story, Clements stays right where he is, as far as I’m concerned. Anyway, your penchant for chasing down hunches almost got two cops and a civilian killed tonight. Good going.” Having had the final word, he left the room.
Kara listened to his exit, watching as the last of the stitches were put in place and a bandage got wrapped around her arm. She didn’t like the son of a bitch, but she had to admit that he was right. She wanted this win and wanted it bad. The Llewellyn case had rocked her, and she needed to be right. Not only that, she needed everyone else to be wrong. She wondered, did she really believe that whole time that Clements hadn’t done it, or did she just need to show up Barron and the rest of the department? Maybe she would’ve rebelled against any suspect they brought in. Either way, Brody lay with a bullet in his chest now because she needed to play super cop.
Connor was relieved to hear that his injuries weren’t as bad as he had assumed. But he still despised every moment he had to spend in the hospital. Dozens of small cuts had opened on the right side of his face, prompting the doctor to tell him he looked like Two-Face. Typically, Connor would appreciate such a reference, but he could just barely get a sense of where he was at the moment, the whole thing in the school feeling more like a movie he had just watched play out. He kept waiting to be presented with his Oscar.
The deeper cuts came on his hand from where he’d palmed the shard of glass. The doctor assured him he’d end up with one hell of a scar after it had healed, saying it as though it was something to wear with pride. Connor gave that a polite chuckle with no life behind it.
As the stitches sewed up the gash in Connor’s hand, Kara walked into the room and took a seat, rubbing the spot where her own stitches resided. For a moment, only silence existed between the two of them.
“Is this a bad time?” Kara finally asked.
“Guess not,” Connor answered.
“So, can you tell me what happened tonight?”
Connor relayed the story back to her from his and Kara’s tour of the school to Connor being left a bleeding mess.
“Why would you do all that?” Kara asked, desperate to keep any judgment out of her tone, knowing she was in little position to judge.
“I don’t know. I was stupid. And now look at us,” Connor said, motioning to his hand and Kara’s arm. “And what’s going on with the other cop. The one who got shot?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“I made everything worse, didn’t I?”
“Hardly.”
“How did I not?”
“Well for one, if everything you said pans out, then a sixteen-year-old kid gets to go home. That’s not nothing.”
“I just couldn’t believe it was him. I needed it to not be him. I needed to know that I knew my students.”
“I know how you feel.”
“But…”
“But what?”
“No matter how you look at it, I got it wrong. Again…”
Kara looked on quizzically, unsure what the “again” was in reference to. “How so?” she asked.
“Maybe it wasn’t Dennis, but if it was Ric
hard… Well, then either way I was wrong about somebody. No matter how you slice it, I didn’t see it.”
Kara shook her head. Suddenly she found herself speaking, unsure if she was directing her words at Connor or herself. “As much as we want to think that we know how the world works, you can never really be sure. You can never really know. Sometimes until it’s too late. So while in the midst of it, you just have to do the best with what you’re given. And I’d say you did that tonight. Hold your head high.”
Connor wanted to believe her and only hoped that one day he would. In that moment, Brandy stepped into the room. The sight of her finally broke Connor. Broke him of all of it. The shooting. The hero worship. Dennis being arrested. And now almost getting killed. The forlorn look that she’d been giving him for the last couple months (last couple years actually). They all collided and a squall emerged from Connor, bringing him down to his knees. The doctor jumped back and Brandy bolted to Connor’s side, cradling his head in her arms. He laid like that until he didn’t have a drop of water left in his body to cry. Kara watched the whole thing unfold and then extricated herself from the situation.
Once he had regained control, Connor laid back and allowed the doctor to finish cleaning him up, a bandage the size of a winter glove going around his hand. Once the doctor left the room, he recounted the entire story to Brandy. She looked on as though he spoke an alien language. After all, this kind of thing didn’t happen to people like them. She couldn’t even find the words to respond when he had finished his tale.
The two sat like that for a full five minutes before Connor finally said, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. You did what you had to. And you’re gonna be okay, so…”
“I don’t just mean tonight,” Connor continued.