Knots

Now is not the time.

"Yes?" He asked.

"Just do it."

So he did.

GRACE YOUNG

Grace wondered if she was being too loud.

Even now, sitting on top of a toilet seat in the fetal position as quiet as a church mouse, every labored breath felt just as loud as if she were screaming from the rooftops. This was chaos, this was tragedy, and every ounce of happiness she had felt in the moments leading up to, was gone. She wondered, internally of course, if she would get the opportunity to have closure with Riley. This situation didn't allow for much sympathy, much time to think about relationships, but she couldn't help it. Every moment, every conversation, every touch, and every kiss was replaying in her mind like some cheesy V.H.S tape. She figured that it must have been just as equally as bad for the others, most likely cowering in some corner waiting for help like she was.

Was this how her patients felt?

Was this how a parent felt?

What could she do to make this fear, this hopelessness, go away?

"Please, oh God please, somebody help me!" A woman's voice screamed as she came rushing through the door. Grace instinctively clutched her hands over her mouth when she heard an almost inhuman growl follow in after her. She watched as shadows danced across the floor, blood pooling beneath her feet. For a couple of moments, there was a noticeable struggle between the two before another, piercing, gunshot followed; and all was quiet. The shooter's heavy breathing, along with her own heartbeat, was all that Grace could hear from her side of the bathroom stall; and she prayed that whatever God was out there kept it that way.

The heavy breathing was almost immediately followed by whistling from the shooter, as well as the sound of running water.

"Shut up," the man groaned, "Shut up, they deserve it, they were laughing at me; trying to show me up."

Grace had assumed that the man was insane before, but the conversation he seemed to be having with himself only confirmed her suspicions. There was no way in hell this was going to end well.

"Please," the woman mumbled from across the room, Grace could just barely see her nimble form; but felt just as close as ever when the man made his way back over towards her.

"I told you to shut up!" He exclaimed, before firing another round, assuredly silencing her entirely.

Grace let out a low moan, and immediately clasped her hands together even more tightly when she realized her mistake. Agonizingly slow steps approached the stalls, one after another, the shooter began slamming the doors open. Grace, being along the middle part of the stalls, decided to use the opportunity to slowly lower herself onto the floor and bear crawl towards the exit.

"Where are you God damn it?" The shooter asked, now moving at a more rapid pace as Grace moved with as much agility as she could produce.

Three stalls.

Two stalls.

One stall.

The home stretch, and she knew it. She was almost there, she could see Riley again, she could live another day, this hell wouldn't be hers.

"Stop or I'll shoot!"

She froze.

She turned around.

She saw the shooter, a man in his mid-fifties, bloodshot eyes, frayed and grey hair.

She knew her anatomy, if she moved to the left or right, he might hit a lung. If she rushed him she'd be a goner for sure. If she turned, pushed out of the bathroom door, and took a hard left swing to his face; it just might buy her a few minutes. Regardless, none of her hell's seemed particularly pleasing, but nothing about this moment really did. She turned and floored it, but he grabbed her hair, a variable she didn't account for, before yanking her back and sending her head slamming against the cold tile.