Subway

Chapter Three

My parents got home late that night. The TV was still on when they came on, and woke up when they turned it off. They said that they went to see an early screening of Unbroken, the story of the guy Louis Zamperini, and dinner. They got me a bag of McDonald's, which they know I love. I don't know why, but I have a weird love for fast-food. Arby's, Wendy's, any place that has a burger, a shake, or salty French fries.

They got me 2 cheeseburgers, a Mountain Dew, a large fries, and, of course, a medium vanilla shake. I scarfed it all down in what seemed like one bite. They looked surprised, but the hospital food was CRAP and I barely ate anything. I turned on the TV, and started to watch Once Upon A Time. I had seen a few episodes, enough to know what was going on. I thought that the episode I was watching made no sense, so I turned off the TV. I wheeled myself over to my parent's TV cabinet. They loved movies, and had filled their TV cabinet with movies, old and new, good and bad. I pulled out my favorite movie, Life Of Pi. I know that it is a kids movie, but everything in it was amazing. The cinematography was just realistic and just awe-striking and made me feel good and make me gasp.

I turned on the TV and got the movie on. I started the movie from the beginning, where he is meeting the author (who was, I assume, Yann Martel, but they never say) who wants to write a story about him. I watched while I gulped down my shake. I paid attention to the movie, and didn't think about what happened. I felt my legs, which still looked raw, and automatically pulled my hand back. My legs were stinging from that brief touch. I remembered that person, who looked at me like I was doing something bad. He walked away, with no care for me. He did this because of that man.

The killer.

He had something out for me. I never knew who he was. I'd never seen him before.

I asked my parents, who were sitting on the couch watching the movie with me, "Have you ever seen a man who had hair sticking up straight, a beard-like mustache and eyes that looked like they could kill?"

My mom looked straight at me. She looked worried. She ran to her room and pulled out an old photo album. It had in huge letters "HIGH SCHOOL." She sat down at the couch and flipped through the pages. She finally found the page she was looking for, because she carefully pulled out a picture. She showed it to me.

I nearly passed out. It was him. He had on a dorky 60's outfit (Yes, that was how old my parents were) with a stupid smile and a greasy Elvis looking haircut. He was holding my mom, and they looked happy. I took it from her, and turned to the back. There was writing, and it said in my mom's hard-to-read cursive:

My first crush, Lucas. He died in 1983 from a car crash.

I thought for a second. How was he dead? He was the man. I saw him. He had the knife in his hands that dreadful day. He was the one to kill those three people.

I decided that I needed to go to Mr. J. D. Tomas, the person who had wrote that article. He knew something about this. He wrote that article as if he knew exactly what had happened.

I said to my mom "I know him. He was the man that had ran into me. The one with the knife."

My mom argued and said "No. He couldn't have been. I was in the car with him that night that he died. He drove into a tree. He pushed me out of the way, and he saved me."

"He is still alive! I saw him go down there! The exact same man! He was the one to kill those people!"

My dad looked confused. He was the only one not involved in this. He asked us about what was going on.

My mom was the one to catch him up. I listened along, listening for something that might help me with what he was doing. She talked about how he sucked at math and he had to tutor him, they fell in love, blah blah blah blah blah. You get the picture.

My dad looked disgusted, interested, and even more disgusted. He nodded once and a while to show that he was paying attention, but it seemed that he didn't want to know or care.

Finally, when she finished, he said one thing.

"I know this man. He works with me. He looks like the one you both were talking about. He does everything for me."

I looked confused. Did my dad tell him to do it?

As if to answer my question, he said "That man was on the edge of death. He joined a gang, and he was on the verge of going crazy. He was fired a few days ago."

My mom was looking really confused. She said in a sort-of happy voice "He isn't dead?"

I nodded. I must have been looking scared, because her happiness disappeared. My dad was looking bad. He ran to the phone, and called 911.

He said into the phone "Help me. My family and I have found the murderer from the train stabbing."

I heard nothing of the person on the other end of the speaker, just my dad nodding. He finally said "His name is Lucas Kramer. He has glasses, dark hair, look for him."

As he said that, I heard gunshots coming from the street. I ran to the window, and saw five people walking in the evening light, holding machetes and guns. I saw one look at me, and I ran. I grabbed my parents, and ran into the other room. Gunshots rang and broke the window where I looked. My dad got up, and ran to the front door. He locked the door, then moved the couch in front of it. He ran back to us, and we moved form the entrance to my parent's closet. We hid behind all the clothes, which surprised me that there was that room behind them.

We all hid as far back as we could go. We heard more gunshots, then a few screams. I heard someone yelling, but not in pain, but in anger. After that, it seemed over. The police came, and they fled.

We came out as slowly as we could. I got up, and walked into the other room.

It was a mess. Glass was all over the floor. The couch had bullet holes in it. Everything was knocked down. It was bad.

I tiptoed to the door, and tried to push the couch, but couldn't because of the glass. It was already starting to cut my skin, so I just sat down.

I don't remember what happened next. I remember hearing people break down the door, and that was it. I just blacked out. Nothing more.

I woke up at my apartment, sprawled all on my bed. I felt great, so I got up, and got dressed.

When I got out of my room, I saw a note on the table. It read:

"Is, something is wrong with Dad. He is in the mental hospital, speaking blabber. I would like for you, after classes, to go to the hospital. Mom."

I felt shocked, but didn't think much about it. I grabbed a pear from the kitchen, got all of my schoolwork and walked out.

I got to the Lexington Avenue station, and sat down immediately. I thought about Dad, about how he was the best person ever, how he was fun, kind, awesome and loving. He cared for me.

The train car pulled up. It was my line. I walked up, and got on with a few other people. I sat down next to the doors, and started to think about what had happened.

Could Dad have gone into shock about what had happened with me? I mean, who ever gets a message saying to die, a hospital visit, and a gun attack in the same week? He probably was there for that.

I pulled up my pant leg to see if I had any marks left on my leg. They were red, still, but felt good, and I could walk.

The train pulled into station, and I stepped out. I walked over to the walls where there was an empty bench. I sat down, and looked at the walls behind me.

I thought God, they need to clean these walls. Spray paint is all over!

The train pulled into the station. It was mine. I didn't want to get on, because I would need to go to the other station. The one where it all began.