THE LAST SHOT: by

by Matayo, Amy

  She spent her night taking care of me, putting her life on the line for mine. I feel like I owe her…something. My time, if nothing else. As long as we’re in this parking lot, there’s still some left.

  “This way,” the cop says, leading me off to the side. I drag Jane with me, and she doesn’t protest. If she has a boss to check in with, she doesn’t make an effort. So far, she’s kept conversations to her partner and me, otherwise staying silent. There’s a lot going on in Jane’s head, but none of it has made its way out. I keep hold of her hand in case a few words climb to the surface.

  Blue lights from police cars light up the night sky, and people mill through the parking lot in singles and groups alike. Crying victims sit with blankets over their shoulders as ambulances are loaded with the most precarious individuals—some laid out with oxygen masks covering their faces, others stretched flat and lying still, sheets draped across their heads. Like the rest of the country, I’ve seen this on the news a hundred times before. Watching devastation and living it aren’t in the same realm. I look away, not yet willing to let reality grab hold of my insides just yet. I’m at the edge of a cesspool of emotion, but I’m not ready to break. I’ll do that later when I’m home and alone.

  It’s dark and November, but I’ve forgotten how cold it is outside. Even though I’ve changed, my back is still sticky with perspiration from the sweltering closet. Or maybe from nerves. Sweat crystallizes down my spine in the chilly air, and I shiver. Normally, after a concert I’m on edge and high-strung from left-over energy. Now I’m only on-edge. Seven hours might be just another partial rotation on the Earth’s axis, but in those few hours, everything changed.

  All I can think of is Jane. In an unfair handful of minutes, I have to tell her goodbye.

  This is what I’m thinking about when I hear it—the call of my name by a few very familiar voices. A few days ago, the voices made me feel at home. Tonight, I feel both unease and relief. I turn and let go of Jane’s hand. Goodbye is here, whether I like it or not.

  Before I look up, a female form rushes into my arms, followed by two men and another woman on the outskirts of the group.

  “Thank God you’re okay,” my cousin Dillon says, burying her face into my chest. She’s crying and shaking. My roommate Liam gives her a minute before blessedly pulling her off me. Dillon is my best friend, but she can sometimes smother. Right now, I just need a second.

  “Give him some room, Dillon. You’re going to crush him.” Liam says.

  She steps back and looks up at me. “I was so worried. We flew here on the first flight out. It was terrifying, Teddy. No one would tell us what was happening, and the news kept getting everything wrong. The media is a joke.”

  “I’ve been telling you that for years,” I say to the group. “But none of you ever listen.”

  Dillon, Liam, Chad, and his girlfriend Riley laugh a little. The first time I saw Riley, her hair was pink, the second time it was brown, and now it’s fringed in blue. For as conservative and boring Chad almost always is, his girlfriend is cool.

  “I believe you now. If anything had happened to you…”

  “It didn’t.” I kiss Dillon on the forehead and loop my arm over her shoulder. “You still have a maid of honor, but I’m still not wearing a dress.”

  Liam laughs. “She asked you already, did she?”

  I shoot him a look. “Right before I went onstage.” I rub the top of her head with my knuckles. “Worst timing ever, by the way.”

  “Well, I needed to know. So I can decide on the dress color.”

  Liam smiles, but he turns serious when he looks at me. “You okay?”

  I nod. The levity is nice, but my insides are still mangled and sick. I remember Jane then and turn to find her behind me. Reluctance paints her countenance, but I reach for her hand and pull her forward into our group.

  “This one dragged me into a closet under the stage and saved my life. She was hired by the venue to keep the place secure tonight, but she wound up being my temporary bodyguard. Without her…” My voice cracks with emotion. Both Liam and Chad catch it and check me with a look.

  Her, huh? Their eyes communicate meaning in nearly the same way; as brothers, it isn’t surprising. Chad’s smile is so faint that you wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know what to look for. I know, and I narrow my gaze.

  No, not her. Probably. Shut up.

  Chad’s hand comes out to shake Jane’s. “Thank you for taking care of him. He can be a bit of a diva, but we couldn’t live without him.” A chorus of murmured thank yous follow.

  “He wasn’t too bad,” Jane says shyly. “A little demanding at times, but not awful.” She smiles, a faint blush creeping up her neck. I’m struck once again by her looks, beautiful to match the personality I pieced together in the dark. She looks pointedly at Dillon. “But, I’m thinking red.”

  Three sets of eyes frown at her, four if you count mine. Only Dillon laughs. She gets the comment immediately.

  “Red! That’s perfect. And it gives me an idea…”

  I’m still lost…until I’m not. Give me a break. “I am not wearing a red dress,” I protest, looping my other arm around Jane. “And no one asked you anyway.” Both women laugh like they’ve been best friends for years, and I resent it and like it at the same time. I’m not ready to share her yet. Jane’s mine, even if she isn’t.

  The thought startles me in its directness. Jane’s mine?

  “Jane?”

  A voice I don’t recognize calls from behind us. I’m looking at her when the smile drops off her face, and I turn to see who’s calling for her. A man. My age, maybe a bit older. Red hair. Stubble lining his chin. Nice looking enough, but I’ve never met him before. It takes a minute, but when Jane ducks from under my arm and takes a step away, I know.

  “Ben,” she says, moving close enough to let him pull her into a hug.

  She never mentioned a Ben.

  When he kisses her, everything sinks. She can’t be mine when she so clearly belongs to someone else, even if she never thought to bring him up. No wonder her head turned during that kiss. It confused me then, but suddenly it makes sense. Ben. The fourth person in the room, even if I didn’t know he existed.

  I’m gawking before I realize everyone notices. Conscious of the stares of way too many people aimed at me, I clear my throat and step forward, extending my hand. I’m casual, that’s me. I could not care less.

  “Ben, I’ve heard all about you.” A lie that surprises Jane, judging by the look in her eyes. He tucks Jane underneath his arm—the guy’s a head taller than me, which I don’t appreciate—and she plasters on what looks like an insincere smile. I’ve only seen her real smile twice, so I can’t be completely sure.

  “Yes, he’s heard stories. You run out of things to talk about when you’re locked up together.”

  You don’t, but no one else needs to know that.

  “Wow, how lucky were you that you got to be the one to save Teddy Hayes. It’s already all over the news.”

  My neck snaps back before I can stop it. Is he kidding? “I wouldn’t call it luck, but I am thankful she was there.”

  “Not much feels lucky when there’s a gunman in the room,” Jane agrees.

  Ben stammers a bit on the backtrack. “I just meant I’m glad you got to save him. Everyone’s talking about my cool girlfriend.”

  I don’t point out that he should be talking about her.

  “She is pretty cool,” I agree, and decide to leave it at that.

  I glance at Jane, but she’s looking everywhere but at me. I catch her gaze on a sweep-by and see a raincloud—dark and stormy, with a little moisture behind the folds. She stares at me, tilts her head in question, then turns her gaze toward her boyfriend, who’s moved on to complimenting me on my fabulous career, voice, and latest album. It’s entirely possible I’m having a visceral reaction to the guy because I’m jealous. But sue me, I don’t like him. I also have no idea what to say until Jane’s voice cuts into his monolog
ue.

  “We should probably let Teddy get back to his friends, Ben. Besides, I’m tired and need to talk to the police before I can leave.”

  “Alright, I’ll come with you. But give them the short and sweet version so we can get out of here.” He still hasn’t asked about her state of mind, so I make it my business to ask her myself.

  “You sure you’re okay, Jane? I can arrange a driver to get you home, order you some food, whatever you want.”

  She smiles, but it’s small. Nothing like the smile she gave when laughing with Dillon about red dresses. Megawatt and powerful then, now it’s reminiscent of the closet: dim and hard to see, even if you search for it.

  “I’m fine.” She takes a deliberate step back and hugs her arms to her chest. “A little shaken up, but fine. I don’t think I could eat anything now anyway.” She makes a show of messing with her jacket, her holster, her belt, but her eyes keep flicking my direction when she thinks I’m not looking. I haven’t stopped, so I catch every one.

  With Jane, I’m catching everything.

  “I could eat something,” Ben says, ripping me from my thoughts. “And a ride would be great. I took a cab to get here.”

  It’s all I can do to stop an eye roll. How come he gets to go with her while I stay here? Jealousy is ugly, and it plays guitar.

  “Yeah, okay.” I raise a finger to summon Jack, our driver.

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “When they’re ready, could you run these two wherever they need to go? And take them somewhere to get food? I’ll still be here for quite a while, so however long it takes is fine.”

  “Teddy, please don’t—”

  I cut Jane off after three words. “It’s the least I can do. And here.” I pull my wallet from my back pocket and slip out a fifty, nonchalantly folding it around a business card that contains my cell phone number, email, and home address. Nothing subtle about it, but I’m suddenly desperate for a way to get in touch with her, even if it means being reliant on her to make the first move.

  “I’m not taking your money,” she says.

  “Don’t fight me on this,” I say back. “You might have been in charge in the closet, but I’m in charge out here.”

  Dillon laughs once, but covers it with a cough. She stops when I shoot her a look.

  “I wouldn’t test him if I were you,” she sings.

  “Fine,” Jane reluctantly agrees, flashing an embarrassed but beautiful smile when she meets my eyes. She takes the money. A little thrill runs through me when she spots the card and tucks it into her back pocket, though the move almost certainly means nothing.

  “You’re welcome.” I take a deep breath. It’s the moment of truth. “Alright, you’ll call me if you need anything?”

  She nods, then hesitates. Goodbyes are hard under normal circumstances, but this one is different. Threads between Jane and I were woven and tangled inside that closet, and I have no idea how to undo the knots. It’s almost painful, like I’m letting go of half my insides, breaking free from a bond glued tight and unrelenting. My breath catches, and at the same time, my heart constricts. I’m awkward and hesitant, wanting to stake my claim while being unable to. Her boyfriend is watching, and any claim is imaginary.

  I pull her into a hug that surprises us both, hearing it on her intake of breath. “Take care, Jane,” I whisper into her ear, hoping she can hear the emotion around it. If it wasn’t for her, I might not be alive. And that’s the sobering truth of the situation. I owe her everything, and I’m sending her off with fifty bucks, a phone number, and a guy who still hasn’t asked how she’s doing.

  She nods and I let go, watching as she links her hand through his, and they walk off together. It aches…my chest. Another side-effect of a terribly effed-up night.

  “Oh no,” Liam says next to me. I snap out of my pity party and glance at him.

  “What?”

  “Someone’s got it bad. What, my friend, are we going to do about this?”

  I want to tell him to shut up, but I don’t.

  How do you argue with someone who knows what he’s talking about?

  Chapter Twelve

  Jane

  In four days, I’ve gone from a girl who slept at least nine hours a night, lest the inner black-winged demons reveal themselves the next morning, to a compulsive insomniac. I haven’t slept since the arena. Exhaustion is continuously at the forefront of my brain, at the heavy joints in my limbs, but I can’t make myself settle down long enough to drift into anything more than a light nap that lasts no more than fifteen minutes a stretch.

  I lay down, I think of Teddy.

  I get up, I think of Teddy.

  I shower, I think of Teddy.

  I have a boyfriend.

  A boyfriend who has left me three texts in the past five minutes.

  Do these thoughts make me a cheater?

  Why didn’t I tell Teddy about him in the closet?

  I know why. Because I never thought of Ben. In what could have been my last moments on earth, I didn’t give him a thought. Isn’t that when you’re supposed to quickly reflect on everything important in life?

  I barely dwell on that revelation, because when I reach for coffee…I’m back to thinking of Teddy.

  I think of Teddy until I remember the bodies inside the arena. Until I remember the kid in the closet, who did, in fact, make it, though his eyesight is missing on one side. He wasn’t the only one to walk away changed.

  One woman lost her leg.

  Six people remain in intensive care, clinging to life through feeding tubes and heart monitors.

  One man is brain-dead, but his daughter refuses to let him go.

  Five people were killed, two of them children. I’ll never get the image of the aftermath out of my mind, no matter how long I live.

  The gunman was a forty-nine-year-old ex-college professor of physics who thought shooting up a concert would be, “different.” His word, delivered casually with a shrug. He had no history of violence, no past trouble at the school. Norman wouldn’t hurt a fly. It’s always the nice quiet ones, isn’t it? He’s currently being held in the state prison, awaiting a trial date. His female lawyer is all over the news screaming for prisoner’s rights and the fair treatment of the mentally ill. To be clear, there’s no indication of mental illness in his past. So to her claims, I say he should have the same rights as the rest of us who never asked for any of this.

  Maybe that’s cruel of me, but it’s only been four days.

  Give me a year, and maybe I’ll feel differently.

  The good news is, except for one jerk on social media whose entire feed is dedicated to taking celebrities down, no one is blaming Teddy. Except, I suspect, Teddy himself. He canceled a concert in Chicago three nights ago and isn’t expected to appear in Denver tonight. The “flu” was the official statement given this time. I’m fairly certain the only thing currently sick about Teddy is his mind. My own mind is a shredded mess. It’s witnessed too much in the last few days; things it may never heal from completely.

  Death is a hard thing to shoulder—a grandparent’s death, a coworker’s death, the idea of my own death. But a child’s? Nothing prepares you for the grim finality of witnessing the end of a life that barely got a chance to start, even if you’re technically trained for it.

  Even if you’ve absolutely seen it.

  The clock beside my bed won’t stop playing some cheesy eighties song, so I slap it in frustration and sit up, rubbing my eyes. Stupid alarm and its knack for terrible timing. I have a work meeting in an hour and zero desire to go. Another briefing, another timeline, another day spent accounting for every second spent in that closet because the police want answers and lawyers are working to build a case. I briefly consider claiming the flu as well, but I can’t afford to take more time off. I read the texts from Ben; three successive texts asking for favors.

  Hey, I forgot to pick up the dry cleaning. Can you do that before you come into work? The store opens at 8:00.

 
Great. It’s seven already. That doesn’t give me much time.

  Hey, remember it’s Wednesday. The guys are coming to my place to watch the game tonight.

  Good. I could use a night to myself.

  Hey, can you grab some coffee on your way in? I need another cup. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.

  I could use four, but suddenly I have lots of errands.

  I throw back the covers with a growl and walk to the bathroom, locking the door behind me, a new habit I’ve developed in the last few days. A girl can never be too safe. I have one foot inside the shower when I hear the knock at the door, which just figures because why should life be easy?

  I reach for a towel and wrap it around me when I hear the rattle of a key, the turn of a doorknob. My heartbeat accelerates a bit before it hits me; I don’t have to step outside this bathroom to know who just walked in. She’s called every hour of every day for four days, but of course, she chooses now to finally show up. I have errands to run. I have a job to get to. I have jittery co-workers to deal with. I have post-traumatic stress anxiety, I think. The list of grievances keep piling up.

  “Allison Jane, what do you think you’re doing?” Only my mother would call me this. Only my mother would dare.

  “I’m trying not to be naked when you walk in here, Mom.” Hearing footsteps quickly approaching, I tuck the towel into itself and crack the door open. My mother's eyes meet me in the narrow space right before she bursts all the way into the room. I make a growling noise that doesn’t deter her in the slightest. “Do you mind? Some of us like to be fully clothed when guests show up.”