by Chris Taylor
A heightened level of fear now shadowed Mrs Munro’s eyes. Brady compressed his lips in a moment of regret. He hadn’t gone out of his way to scare her, but the fact was, he was there for just one purpose and nothing she said or did was going to deter him.
“Ian!” he screamed. Get your fucking, chicken-livered, gutless self out here right now! In a moment, I’m going to start shooting and it will be your fault if anyone dies.”
A second passed and then another. Brady looked wildly about. No one looked at him, no one moved. And then he saw it—or more accurately, saw him. Ian Little.
The gutless wonder was on the floor, crawling on his hands and knees between the desks, doing his best to escape undetected. Brady scoffed. As if. There was only one way Ian Little was leaving this room and it wasn’t on his hands and knees.
With long strides, Brady ate up the distance between him and the boy he hated above all others. Mrs Munro cried out to him, trying to get him to stop. He ignored her pleas and the screaming of the class. His vision narrowed to Ian. The cocksucker was a matter of feet away from the door.
Brady halted and looked down the scope of the rifle and then carefully took aim. His heart thudded hard. It was like a movie playing out in slow motion. The moment he’d dreamed of had arrived and he would savor every second of it. This was the moment Ian would pay for every insult, every blow he’d ever inflicted. Let him feel the pain for a change and the uncertainty of what was yet to come. Yes, Brady might toy with him a bit then deliver the final blow. It was do or die, just like on GTA.
As if sensing the game was up, Ian turned around and faced him. Spying the barrel of the rifle only inches away from his head, Brady’s lifelong enemy screamed and scrambled and stumbled, trying hard to get out of the way. He slithered and slipped and stumbled until he’d almost made it to Mrs Munro’s desk.
Brady advanced upon him, knowing how this was all going to end. There was no escape. Ian should know that. The end was close. So close. He took aim again. This was it.
His finger squeezed the trigger just as Mrs Munro threw herself in front of the gun. She reached out for it and dislodged it, knocking it out of his hands. At the same time, a puff of smoke came from the end of the barrel and a bright red stain appeared low on his teacher’s front. The fear on her face turned to shock and then she slowly slid to the floor.
The classroom erupted into screaming and kids knocked him this way and that in their haste to get out of the way. He stared at Mrs Munro. Just like when he played GTA, she lay still and silent in a pool of blood. The gun lay abandoned on the floor.
He bit his lip against the tears that threatened to choke him when he realized what he’d done. A howling started way down deep inside him and a moment later, his own cries of distress and disbelief joined the chaos in the room. He slid to his knees beside his teacher and used his hand to try and stem the blood. It oozed, warm and sticky, between his fingers. It felt nothing like he expected.
Shouting and the pounding of feet from outside in the corridor drew his attention and it was like he was in the middle of a PlayStation game when a barrage of officers dressed in combat gear poured in through the door. With guns drawn, they screamed at him to put his hands in the air. Trembling violently now, he did his best to comply.
With his gaze lowered, he stared past his teacher and then spied the figure of Ian Little. The boy was huddled beneath Mrs Munro’s desk, shaking from the force of his tears. An overwhelming sense of failure surged through him and he moaned. It had all been for nothing. He hadn’t shot Ian at all. Ian was alive and well. It was Mrs Munro who lay so still and pale, bleeding all over the floor and just like in GTA, the game had come to an end.
* * *
Lily tried to put her hand over the hole in her stomach and stem the flow of blood. Fire raged through her, radiating from the center of her wound. She’d been shot. She couldn’t believe it. The pain was like nothing she’d ever felt before. Not even the agony of childbirth could compare to this torment. She only hoped the paramedics arrived before it was too late.
Blood seeped through her fingers, staining her skin red. She looked at it distantly, as if observing it from afar. In some part of her mind, she registered the slow and steady seepage with relief. It wasn’t spurting out. The bullet hadn’t hit an artery. That was good.
She was still at a complete loss to explain what had happened. One minute she’d been going through the C major scale on the electric keyboard with her fifth grade music class and the next, all hell had broken loose. Brady Sutton had appeared in the doorway brandishing some kind of rifle.
The wooden stock was old and worn, but had been polished to a high sheen. Someone had taken care of it over the years. The long barrel was black and also shiny. She registered these minute details in the seconds it took to realize her eleven-year-old student had walked into the classroom with a gun. A moment later, it became clear he wasn’t bringing it in for show-and-tell.
His eyes were wild and unfocused. He was sweating like he’d just run a mile. And then he started shouting obscenities and screaming for Ian Little. Shocked and more than a little concerned, Lily had done her best to distract Brady. She’d known Ian was in the class. She’d called the roll not more than twenty minutes earlier, but she didn’t know where he was at that exact moment and she hoped Brady didn’t either.
And then, he’d spied him, crawling low across the floor. Lily still couldn’t believe how Brady had turned on Ian and hunted him down, like a wild animal scenting its prey. The memory of it shocked her, almost as much as the knowledge she’d taken a bullet.
A swarm of police officers dressed in combat gear, and two paramedics wearing dark blue overalls, suddenly surrounded her and she breathed a sigh of relief. Help had arrived. She’d be okay. She was sure of it. As if to confirm it, a female paramedic reached over and put an oxygen mask over Lily’s face.
“You’re going to be all right, okay? Just hold on and we’ll get you to the hospital. You’ve lost a little blood, but we’re going to get you to the hospital very soon. Do you understand?”
Lily nodded.
“We’re going to give you something for the pain, okay? Just sit tight. It won’t be long.”
The other paramedic moved Lily’s arm off her stomach and unbuttoned the buttons on her blouse. Lily looked down and grimaced. She’d probably never get the stain out of it. Scrap that, the blouse had a bullet hole in it. It was fit for nothing but the trash. What a waste. It was one of her favorites.
The irrational thoughts went back and forth in her head while she did her best to breathe through the pain. A wad of padding was pressed against her wound and then bandaged tightly around her stomach. She closed her eyes, exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to drift into sleep.
“Lily? Lily, can you hear me?”
Lily frowned and opened her eyes. It was one of the paramedics. She forced herself to nod through the haze of pain and narcotics.
“We’re going to move you now, Lily. We’re going to lift you onto the stretcher and get you into the ambulance. We’re taking you to the Royal North Shore Hospital.”
It was the female paramedic who spoke to her again and Lily thought she acknowledged the woman’s words with a nod, but in the end, she couldn’t be sure. The morphine they’d given her was taking effect. She could barely keep her eyes open.
“She’s losing consciousness. Quick, we need to get her to the hospital.”
The words echoed across the vastness of Lily’s brain. She fought against the blackness with everything she had, but still it wasn’t enough. The murmur of voices above her receded.
Tom. She had to tell Tom. He’d have heard it over the police radio. He’d be worried sick. He’d know straight away she could be involved, even injured. She had to talk to him. She had to make sure he knew she was okay.
And Cassie and Joe. She didn’t want them finding out on Facebook. Cassie was always watching live news feeds on her phone. It fascinated her that she could be watch
ing a drama unfolding in real time. Lily found it a little unsettling, if she was honest.
Another hospital mask came down over her face, replacing the first one. It smelled different. She tried to struggle against it, but it was useless. Her limbs were leaden, her head was dull.
And there was Tom. She breathed a sigh of relief, but then realized it wasn’t the Tom she’d kissed good-bye that morning. Had it really only been that morning?
It was Tom as he was when she’d first met him, more than seventeen years ago. His hair was thick and blond and curling up a little across the back of his neck. He’d worn it longer in those days. Not that he still didn’t look hot. He’d always looked hot. From the moment she’d spied him across the room at that party, he’d had the ability to weaken her knees…
She smiled at the memory, suddenly yearning to have him close. She needed him to reassure her that everything was going to be all right, to give her a wink and to toss her a cheeky grin. But more than anything, she needed him to hold her hand and keep the fear at bay. She needed to tell him she loved him. She needed to hear it from him, too. She needed… And then, there was nothing.
* * *
The paramedics hurried across the front of the school yard, pushing a gurney. Tom could see a woman strapped to it. The patient was tall, but petite and sported a sleek crop of golden blond hair. His heart lurched in an agony of disbelief. He howled in shock and despair.
It was Lily. Even from a distance, he could tell it was her. The fact that she was the first one brought out was also telling. The most urgent cases were always treated first. As the paramedics moved closer, he could make out the large patch of blood that stained the front of his wife’s shirt.
Oh, Christ. She’d been shot. She’d been shot! His heart stopped cold and then took off faster than the speed of light. She was hurt. She could even be dead.
No, not dead. The urgency in every motion of the paramedics’ bodies and the tension on their faces gave him confidence that she was still alive. No one rushed for a corpse. It was just the way it was.
As they drew nearer, he raced toward them and then growled out his frustration when two of his colleagues held him back.
“Give them some space, Tom,” Andy muttered close to Tom’s ear. “Let them do their job. You know how it works.”
“But, it’s Lily! She’s hurt. I need to be with her.”
“Of course you do and you will be, but just give them a minute, okay? They need to do their stuff. I’ll go and have a word with them and let them know you’re here, all right?”
Andy stared hard at him, his eyes just inches away. A moment later, with a heavy sigh, Tom’s shoulders slumped and the tension left his body.
“You’re right, I’ll let them do what they need to do.” He snatched at Andy’s sleeve. “But tell them I’m here, all right? Tell them as soon as they’re finished, I need to see her. She’s my wife. She’s… She’s my everything…”
His voice cracked and he had to turn away, embarrassed to have his colleagues witness him in such bad shape. The Tom Munro they knew was cool and calm and collected. Never did he let the drama and tension of a high stakes situation get the better of him. It’s what made him one of the best negotiators in the state.
But with Lily, it was different. She was his wife, the love of his life, the mother of his children. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t.
“Tom, I’ve just had a word with the paramedics. She’s injured pretty badly mate. They need to get her to the hospital ASAP.”
Andy’s words came to him from a distance, through the wall of panic in his brain. Finally, they registered and with it his panic flew into overdrive. He grabbed Andy with both arms and shook him.
“What are you trying to say? Is she alive? Please fucking Christ don’t tell me she’s not alive…”
Andy drew in a deep breath and eased it out. His expression more grave than Tom had ever seen it.
“She’s alive, Tom, but only just. She was shot in the abdomen. She’s lost a lot of blood. The bullet seems to have missed the arteries, but they don’t know what kind of damage it’s done inside. They need to get her to the hospital as soon as possible.”
“I need to see her.” Tom didn’t wait for Andy’s response. Instead, he pushed away from his partner and ran to the ambulance. Two paramedics worked over his wife, their expressions grim. Tom stared at Lily, so still and silent and pale on the gurney.
“Lily, please, babe, hang in there. You’ve gotta hang in there. Please don’t die on me. Please.”
One of the paramedics glanced over at him and her lips compressed with understanding.
“Tom, is it? I’m Crystal and my partner here is Bob. Your wife’s been seriously injured. She’s lost a lot of blood. She’s going to need a transfusion. Do you know what her blood type is?”
Tom gulped in a breath and nodded. “Yes, it’s O positive.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. I remember from when she gave birth to Joe, fourteen years ago. It was a long and difficult labor. He was a big baby and in the wrong position. She-she hemorrhaged afterwards. She needed a transfusion then, too.”
“Where did that happen, Tom? What hospital was she at?”
“The Royal North Shore. It’s where both of our children were born.”
The paramedic nodded in relief. “Great. That means her records will be easy to locate. We’re taking her there now. Would you like to ride with her?”
Tom nodded, still in a daze and then turned to look at Andy who hovered nearby.
“It’s fine. Go with her, mate and when she wakes up, tell her we’re all here barracking for her,” Andy urged. “Call me, okay?”
Tom nodded and then closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath before slowly blowing the air out again. He needed to be strong and calm for Lily. It wouldn’t do for her to see him looking so stressed when she woke. When, not if. He had to stay positive. The alternative was just too much to bear.
He glanced around him and his heart fell. He’d been oblivious to the growing number of cars that had parked along the road outside the school fence, but now that he took the time to look around him, he noticed the swelling crowd. Word had gotten out.
Lane’s partner Jett and a couple of uniforms were holding them back from the school gates. So far, most of them were no more than a little anxious, but that could change in an instant.
Some of them held phones with the cameras pointed toward the ambulance. Anger surged through him, but he forced himself to keep it in check. What was the point in shouting at them? He’d only give them something more to film. It would make their thirty seconds of YouTube fame even more exciting to have a decorated Sydney police officer and the husband of the victim spewing forth tirades at the curious spectators. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
Instead, he turned his back on them and climbed up into the ambulance. He sat down on a seat beside the gurney and reached out for his wife’s hand. It was cool and limp and lifeless and sudden tears burned behind his eyes.
He thought of their kids and then glanced at his watch. It was ten o’clock. Soon, they’d be coming out for their morning break. If he was lucky, it hadn’t yet made the pages of social media. If he wasn’t and they read something…
Both of them were enrolled in a local high school only a few miles away. He needed to call someone to collect them and tell them what was going on. He pulled out his phone and dialed Brandon. As briefly as he could manage, he filled his brother in on the recent events and asked if he’d collect the kids. Finally, the doors of the van closed, blocking the outside world and he sighed raggedly with relief.
* * *
Hannah Sutton pressed her hand against her mouth in an effort to contain her cry of distress. Two heavily armed officers dressed in full combat gear stood on either side of her son and marched him down the corridor toward her office at the front of the school. His hands were fastened behind his back with handcuffs. Another officer followed behind them, ca
rrying what looked like her husband’s old gun.
They were still a few yards away from her when she ran toward them, unable to contain her anguish a second longer.
“Brady! Oh, my goodness! Brady! Honey, what have you done?” She took hold of the lapels of his shirt and tried to draw him close. It was then that she noticed the blood. A fine spattering of it covered his clothes and a little of it was on his bare arms. Shock rendered her mute.
He’d shot someone! He’d actually shot someone! The thought spun madly around in her head, but she refused to comprehend its meaning. It couldn’t be true. He couldn’t have shot a real person. It was ludicrous to even think it. There must be some mistake. There must be some other explanation.
“I’m sorry, Ms Sutton, you’re going to have to stand back from the prisoner.”
A detective who had introduced himself earlier as Lane Black spoke to her, his expression grave. She spied a flash of sympathy in his eyes, but a moment later, it was gone.
“P-prisoner? But… But he’s my son!”
The same officer spoke again. “So you said, but right now, he’s under arrest for the attempted murder of Lily Munro. We’re taking him back to Chatswood Police Station. I suggest you meet us there.”
* * *
Tom paced up and down the corridor outside the operating theaters and waited for news of his wife. She’d been rushed to surgery upon their arrival and he had yet to talk to whoever it was who now held her life in their hands. It had been more than four hours since she’d been whisked away and still there was no news. The waiting and not knowing was killing him. He’d never felt more helpless. He spun on his heel and began another lap of the corridor.
“Can I get you a coffee, Tom? Or a Coke?”
Tom looked across at his brother Clayton and shook his head. Brandon sat up from where he was slouched across the hard plastic seats.