"I think we shall start at the beginning of the day," Lucy concluded, eyes wandering over to him for approval. She didn't need it but he was listening. It was best to get the questions out now. "Yes?"
"Yes," Harry agreed, choking on his word, unable to breathe with his spinning thoughts.
Only shaking her head slightly, the truth went: Lucy arrived early at school that morning, on November twelfth, while the snow started to flutter down. It wasn't cold enough yet for the snow to stick to the ground but it was surely getting there. She decided in the morning to wear her boots with the heels, the ones that clicked against the floor, before the snow really came and made everything icy. Lucy arrived early so that she would be able to work more upon the school's literature magazine, focusing on the authors' names, which she worked on before class began. She checked in with her parents. Her mom had brought lunch in for her. Lucy saw Andy briefly through the windows that led into the gym, working on shooting the ball. This was his final year of high school, and he wanted a scholarship.
The first period of her day was math, where she drew lines of slope across her graphs, connecting the dots. The second period of her day was world history, where they were currently working on the Dark Ages. Her teacher was so excited for the Renaissance that he would've had no problem skipping over the Dark Ages. They were to start the Renaissance the next day, rebirth. The third period of her day was English, and she continued to work on her paper about the European Union. During the class period, Lucy excused herself to go the restroom. While she was walking back from class, at ten:thirty-two in the morning, the first gunshot rang out.
Lucy was paralyzed in her steps, stopping to wonder what the sound was. Maybe, she decided, it was a teacher who played the movie too loud in a classroom. Yes, she decided. The school bell rang, allowing people to move around, allowing the students to go to their next class. Voices echoed down the hallway. She put one foot forward, and then many gunshots rang out. The world trembled and Lucy stopped in place. She couldn't count how many rang out, the sound overlapped. The sound was close but it reached to somewhere off in the distance. She realized that she must be scared, but her heartbeat was strong and her head hurt from the pain of blood rushing. Adrenaline pushed through her. She waited.
It was funny, Lucy noticed, she had been trained year after year of her schooling how to handle a gunman in the school. She was supposed to hide. But she had only been trained if she was within the classroom: the teacher was to lock the door and turn off the lights, while the students hid, usually stacking the desks on top of another; the desks were so good that they could be used for shields. But she was out of class now, all alone, with no voices around. She was supposed to run and hide, but when she looked around, she had nowhere to go. She couldn't go back to the restroom, hide in their with the door locked, because she would be going back to the gunman. But her parents were that way, so was her brother. Her feet wouldn't allow her to go back. There were only locker bays around her, and she wouldn't be able to hide well there.
The screams from her peers shook Lucy awake. Their voices, neither male or female, bounced off the walls, smacking her in the face. The mixture of voices yelled for help if they weren't killed instantly. Sobs flowed down the hallway. Blood was coming. Her feet clamored against the ground as she ducked behind the bay of lockers, pulling her body into her, pressing her knees to her chest. Her arms curled around her legs. Her chin rested on her knees. Gunshots rang out, closer.
In her pocket, Lucy's phone vibrated, calling for her attention. She knew someone was trying to contact her, whether her brother or her parents. She knew she shouldn't pick it up in case someone heard her, in case the gunman heard her. But what if it was her parents? She had to tell them she was okay. Then the thought hit her, the police were coming. Someone called the police, but what if they didn't? She needed to call them; they needed to help her. Carefully, Lucy slid her phone out of her pocket and saw who was calling her: Jake. She accepted the call, pressing it to her ear.
"Lucy," he whispered, "where are you?" They had been class together, before she left, but he left right after her to go to the restroom. "Lucy, where are you? Lucy?"
Calm footsteps stopped nearby. Lucy's breath caught in her throat, unable to answer her. Curling more into herself, she thought about looking around the corner. What if it was a cop? What if it was Jake? He was close by. What if it was the gunman? Her feet threatened to deceive her, to make a run for it. She held herself tighter.
"Lucy?" the phone asked, Jake asked.
There was a click. She froze. A voice came in the distance, a voice she heard much throughout her life here at school. She had known him since fifth grade, and he wasn't Jake. She knew he was the gunman. "Come out, come out wherever you are. I promise to make it quick."
Lucy didn't want to die. She didn't want to let go. Her feet threatened to make a run for it, or worse, walk toward her death so that it may be quick.
There was a pounding sound against the floor, followed by some grunts, a few swear words echoed across the concrete white hallway, and then there were three gunshots. Lucy counted them in her head. Something heavy fell to the ground. Someone choked, wheezing. Then the spurt of the gunshots punched into the red metal lockers, threatening to hurt Lucy, but the large metal containers protected her. The calm footsteps returned briefly before they rushed away, going off down the hallway.
Lucy had her hands to her mouth, shoving them inside so she didn't scream. She didn't breathe either. Her eyes burned, but she pushed them down. She needed to be silent. He would come back for her if he heard her. She stayed put, but the coughing got louder, calling to her. The person was dying, and she couldn't let them die alone. Her eyes looked around the corner, and Lucy almost screamed at the top of her lungs. Before her very own eyes lied Jake, bleeding from his stomach, coughing red blood into the air. Her body didn't move for a minute, unable to comprehend that she was supposed to go to her, but when Jake's eyes found her, she had no choice. She didn't care about being quiet.
Looking both ways from her hiding spot, she crawled across the floor into the empty hallway. Lucy's face hovered over Jake's as he gasped for air. Lucy had seen TV, she was supposed to stop the bleeding. She couldn't, but she tried, pressing her hands down on Jake's stomach, trying to put all of her weight on top of his gushing wound. The blood still came out, and Jake groaned in pain.
"Please, Lucy," he whispered. Her tears dripped onto Jake's tongue. "Tell my mom I love her. Tell her thank you."
Lucy nodded.
"Thank you." His eyes settled back as he tried to survive. "Lucy, please don't leave me."
She shook her head. She wouldn't leave him.
"I'm scared, Lucy. I don't want to die." Slowly, Jake's bloody right hand reached up, pressing to his wound. Lucy wasn't strong enough to stop the bleeding. "I don't want to die." He shuddered. "I should've been a better Christian. I should've prayed more. Do you think God will let me into Heaven?"
Lucy didn't know. She couldn't think about God at this time. Jake was dying in front of her! Why would God let that happen? She wasn't sure if she could believe in Him anymore after this.
Jake's eyes settled back for the last time, finding a panel on the ceiling to stare at as he died. The blood went slowly, caking Lucy's lower body in his gushing wound. Lucy's face was covered in blood from his spit, wanting to survive. He died. She pressed her hands more into the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but he wasn't coming back alive.
With a shaking body, Lucy let go of him. More gunshots rang out, which she jumped at every pop that stacked on top of another. Her trembling hand closed his eyes, smearing his handsome-enough face with his own blood. His red stained her skin and she wanted to scream. Lucy had never seen so much blood, never been on her skin so much. It never burned like this.
More gunshots echoed, somewhere off in the distance.
Wherever she went, the gunman would be able to follow with the Jake's blood. Still, she stood up and moved, running away from the gunfire, further into the school. Her feet pounded against the floor like bombs, too loud, and she allowed the thought the gunman probably hurt her. She allowed the thought the gunman was coming after her. She ran, blood and all.
Skidding to a stop, Lucy hid again, behind more lockers. She was stuck when the gunshots rang out. The gunman was below her, coming for her from the stairs. Lucy turned on her heels to run again, but the gunshots came.
The police were supposed to save her. The police were supposed to save all of them. Where were the police? Why wasn't she saved? Why did Jake die? Who else was dead? What about Andy? What about her parents?
When was Lucy going to wake up from this nightmare?
Lucy slid into another hiding place. The gunman's rushed steps were scared now, hectic without purpose. He knew this was ending soon, but he would take out whoever he could. There were more steps, not the gunman's, someone else's. The gunman was chasing someone, his prey. Gunshots rang out: one... two... three... four.... A heap fell to the ground. The gunman looked around and then he ran.
Lucy slunk back into her hiding place, but what about the person? What if the person was still alive? She wouldn't let them die like Jake in fear. She wouldn't let them die alone. As silent as possible, she made her way across the floor to the person who laid on their stomach, shot in the back. Lucy pushed the body over to see the face, but she couldn't tell you the name. The person was dead. His eyes were still open. She didn't tremble this time as she closed his eyelids.
There was a click and Lucy's head snapped up. Her eyes met the gunman's. He pointed his massive weapon at her. Gear was slung across his body with extra rounds, like he was going to take on terrorists by himself, like he was going into war by himself. He was his own army. His name stuck into her mind, but she refused to speak it then and now. He was nothing to her, always.
He smiled, playing with his food. He enjoyed this too much. He cocked an eyebrow, deciding how to kill her. He wanted her to be in pain, to scream, but she wouldn't survive. No one would survive.
Slowly, Lucy stood up, and she towered over him even in the space between them. She had more than eight inches on him, and she was double his weight. If he didn't have the guns, it would've been a fair fight. She could take him, but it wasn't even. The gun was pointed at her face. He would kill her, all in all. She would just be another nameless victim. Her name wouldn't be spoken by any reporter. She wouldn't be remembered. But his name would be spoken forever. That was what he wanted: to be remembered, to be known.
"My name is Lucy. It's short for Lucille," she said curtly. He held the trigger a little tighter, ready to pull it. "I've known you since fifth grade. I've never been mean to you. I'm not popular. I'm not what you think I am. But you're killing anyone anyway. I've lived in this city since I was born. My parents are teachers here, English and math. I want to be an English teacher. I like to read and write. My favorite author is Margret Atwood. I love the book The Handmaid's Tale. I want to travel the world. I want to go to the United Kingdom because I like history and castles and Prince Harry. I have a crush on Chris Hemsworth, because he's Thor and he saves the world. My favorite color is green but I don't eat anything green. I'm sixteen years old."
"Shut up," he spat. His hand started to shake.
"I want to get married someday, but not too soon. I want to travel the world. I want to date people. I want to go to college and get a degree in English, and I want to get in trouble for partying. I want to laugh too hard that I pee my pants. I want to fall in and out of love. And then I want to meet a guy, and I want to date him for at least two years before it really grows serious. I want someone who will laugh with me, and I want him to respect me. I want him to care about the things I care about. I want him to never scream. I don't want to argue with him. I want him to love me, and I so badly want to love him."
"Shut up."
"I want someone who will love me for me, all my flaws because I have a lot of them. And then I want to get married to him. I want to marry him in a library, because he has to love to read too or we'll never work out. And our reception will be in a history museum, and we will dance all night long. He has to love and respect history. He can't take himself too seriously, because I don't take life too seriously." She probably should've. "He needs to be able to not care, never care about the little things. If he always complains, it's not worth it. And he'll have to apologize a lot because I'm not great at it."
"Shut up!"
"Then for our honeymoon, we'll travel around Europe, taking only what we need and seeing all the sights. That's how you know if you can be with someone for long, if you don't constantly yell at each other. If you get lost and no one blames each other, you know you'll be together forever. I want to get lost with him somewhere, just for a day, and we don't have to worry about it. We can laugh and walk around the city, and at night time, we'll finally care. But we won't say one bad thing about each other. And when we come back, we'll be married for a bit, and after two years, we'll have a kid, and it'll go well."
"Shut up!"
"The kid will be loved and cherished. Every day I will tell the kid that I love them, and so will their father. They'll never have to beg for attention, and they'll never have to fight. The kid will get a job at sixteen and they'll go to college and have a nice life. And the kid will have siblings, as many as we want. Our house will be full with them. No one will ever be alone. They'll go to college and I'll have many grandchildren. My husband and I will die three weeks apart after old age because our hearts break when the other dies. My children will be at my side when I die. But I will have a long and happy life. I won't die now."
He finally pulled the trigger, falling back slightly. The bullet came toward her, hitting Lucy in the left arm, but she propelled myself forward. Her body slammed into his, and they went down together. Lucy's fist slammed into his face, and his gun aimed at her. He pulled the trigger over and over again. More and more bullets pushed into her body, which pain started to blur her vision. She fell back against the ground, barely able to breathe.
The gunman got up slowly, blood rushing out of a wound in his stomach, a wound made by Lucy's heel after she slammed into him. Pausing, he pressed his hand to the wound, feeling the amount of blood that came from it. His hand fell as he raised his other arm at the slowly dying Lucy, and he shot her many more times, aiming across her body, starting at her feet and moving toward her head. And then when he finished, he still had enough bullets in his gun to continue, which he did.
He appeared above her, finally tall enough, and he smiled at his work. The gun pressed against her skull, ready to fire, and a bullet did come but not for her.
The gunman screamed in pain, grabbing for his back. He fell forward as another bullet pushed into his body. He collapsed beside her, and she stared him in the eyes as she slowly died. Black boots stormed them, kicking his weapons away, and then strong arms covered in black hit her, pressing to her chest. Her eyes watched his, before they were ripped away to meet the ceiling. Someone called to her.
"Harry," Lucy asked when she finished the tale, "do you want to guess how long the shooting lasted?"
Harry chewed on his bottom lip gently, considering what came next. "How long did it take?"
"Twelve minutes." Lucy's gaze met his, and her eyes weren't even wet, even after the long truth. "It took him twelve minutes to kill fifty-six people."