Innocents

Innocents: Jackson

Jackson McFaul’s POV

 I open the door to the integration room, expecting there to be two cops in there. You know, that classic good cop, bad cop scenario. Instead, Officer Cooper, the man who came to my elementary school to teach us about how drugs aren’t good for you, sits alone at a wooden table. I want to scoff, but my body is already in enough pain as it is. With my whole torso wrapped in bandages and my arm in a sling, I would like to say I got the worst of the shooting, but I can’t. There are far worse victims out there.

 “Hey.” I greet as I sit down in the open seat across from Officer Cooper.

“Never though I see the day that you wouldn’t be in here for not doing anything.” Officer Cooper jokes, and I give a fake smile to make him think that the joke makes this whole thing easier.

But that’s the thing. It doesn’t, and it never will.

“Let’s just get this started, okay?” I say, letting out a soft sigh afterwards. Officer Cooper nods his head, and leans forward in his seat, turning on the tape recorder.

“Now I wasn’t in the gym during the massacre, but I could still hear the gunshots. I was hiding in a janitor’s closet by myself down the hall…”

 *~*~*

January 24th, 9: 53 A.M.

I wanted to scream, but I wasn’t going to risk getting caught. I could just leave the leave and run out of the school for my dear life. But I could hear the never ending gunshots from down the hall. Screams were come past me, or the pounding footsteps of my fleeing classmates. I could be like them. But instead I was huddled in a corner, flicking my silver cigarette opened and closed to find sort of comforting in the small flame.

I found nothing each time.

I could have pulled out a cigarette right then and there. I had a whole pack in my jacket. But I just sat there, watching the flame light up, and then disappear. Another wave of screams passed by, followed by another round of gunshots.

But something was off here. I strained my ears to listen. The gunshots were closer than they were before. That only meant one thing…

The psycho with the gun was near by.

I don’t know what happened to me, but in that moment I felt like I needed to get out of the closest. I rose to my feet, shoving my closed lighter into my pocket. With sweaty hands and legs that felt like jell-o, I took one giant step to reach the door of the closest. I flung open the door, and ran out of there like I had never ran before. Sure, I had run from the cops when a party is busted, but never like this. This was running so fast that your body was moving faster than feet could. I stumbled forward, but caught myself before I went slamming to the floor.

It only took a split second for the gunshots to erupt from behind it. I felt like I was in one of those spy movies where the hero is running from the building that is about to explode from behind them and get away just in time before the thing is up in flames.

But I’m no James Bond. I’m simply me, and in the moment I felt the bullet clip my shoulder, I knew I was going to end up as another victim of this shooting.

My knees buckled out from under me when a bullet cut right through my lower back. My body slammed to the floor, and the pain in my bleeding body was horrible. I screamed as I gripped my bleeding shoulder. Footsteps approached me, and at this point, I was whimpering.

A hand flipped me over, and I felt my blood begin to stain the cool floor beneath me. I blinked my eyes and found myself looking up at the madman behind all this.

“Why?” I breathed out.

“You!” Patrick shouted. He placed the gun against my chest, his finger wavering over the trigger. I gulped and tried to move my body away from the metal death on my body, but Patrick sensed this and pressed the gun harder against my body.

“Why are you doing this Patrick?” I asked softly. I didn’t want to anger the boy with the gun anymore than he already was. One press of that trigger, and I was done for.

“You have to die.” He replied, his finger slowly resting itself on the trigger.

“Before you do that,” I said, trying to collected my senses, “Can you tell me why I need to die?”

“You wouldn’t sell my drugs.” Patrick stated. “You know how bad I need them!”

“Patrick.” I whispered. “You know I don’t sell anymore drugs. Those days are over for me. I stopped selling over a year ago.”

“You shouldn’t have stopped!” Patrick screamed, suddenly pulling away for me. He placed a hand on his head, and began talking to himself. The gun was still pointed at me, so I remained in place.

“I told you I need them!” Patrick yelled, but it wasn’t directed at me. He was hearing voices inside his head.

“Patrick…the drugs I sold you doesn’t help the voices you are hearing.” I said, gaining his attention. “You need doctor prescribed meds. Just stop all this, turn yourself into the police. We can get you the help you-”

I was cut off by a bullet into the stomach.

 *~*~*

“I bled into unconsciousness after that. When I woke up, I was attached to a bunch of I.Vs and my parents were crying.”

Officer Cooper leans forward, shutting off the tape recorder. He lets out a sigh before rubbing his face with his hands. “Thank you for your time Jackson.”

I take this as my signal to leave. I stand up, pushing my chair in. My movements are shaky, and my whole torso is still bandaged up from the bullets. I’m healing physically, as the shooting happened three months ago, but mentally…those scars are always going to be there.

“Was it my fault?” I ask, turning around to look at Officer Cooper. “I stopped selling Patrick the drugs. Those drugs seemed to help the voices in his head. Was all this my fault?”

“No it isn’t Jackson.” Officer Cooper states with a sad shake of his head. “Patrick was an unstable boy who never received the proper medical attention. He found a solace in the drugs you sold him. He may have wanted revenge on you for cutting him off from his supply, but when we did a search of Patrick’s room, we found more drugs. He didn’t stop his drug usage, even after you stopped selling them. None of us ever saw the warning signs that Patrick was displaying.”

“Why do I feel like this is my fault then?” I question.

“You shouldn’t.” He says. “This isn’t your fault.”

I open the door and step outside it, but look over my shoulder at Officer Cooper one more time. “If you ever have an answer to why I feel the way I do, let me know.”

And with that, I leave.