Reunion (A Psychological Suspense with Murder, Mystery and the Paranormal) (6 page)

Chad sat down on a white leather love seat.

Maria sat across from him on a matching lounge chair. She picked up her glasses from the mahogany end table and put them on. Then she crossed her legs and picked up a pad of paper and a mechanical pencil, ready to jot down her findings.

“So really, Chad, how’ve you been?” Maria waited patiently for his reply.

Chad seemed to avoid looking directly into her eyes.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He sighed. “I’m having a hard time gettin’ out. You know, I don’t like to leave home so much anymore.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Uh…’cause I’m afraid.” His eyes squinted, communicating his irritation.

“Does it bother you that I asked that question?”

“No. It bothers me that I’m scared! It bothers me that I’m not the same person I was a few weeks ago.” He slouched in his chair.

“Okay. What do you mean you’re not the same person?”

“Well, before this happened, I was the life of the party. I was livin’ large and havin’ a good time. Now, I can’t even bring myself to go out at night. My friends call all the time, but…I’m afraid to just walk out the door. I’m afraid everyone I see has a gun. I’m afraid I’m going to die, like I missed my chance and it’s coming, whether I like it or not. I almost didn’t come today.”

Chad lifted his chin, put his hands behind his head and looked at the ceiling. His eyes filled with tears.

“Chad,” Maria said, looking at him with compassion. “You need to understand that there’s nothing wrong or unusual about how you’re feeling right now. You went through a very traumatic experience. And experiences like yours are hard to deal with and sometimes they change how you relate in daily living.” She jotted down a few notes. “But in time, your mind will acknowledge that life goes on and you’ll feel safer than you do now.” She lifted her head and returned her eyes back to Chad. “Unfortunately, no one can guarantee that you’ll be free from all of your symptoms. And I can’t make your fears disappear over night.”

He threw himself forward, leaning in, hands gripping his knees. “Then why—am—I—here?”

“You’re here because there’s hope for you. And if you let me, I can help you learn to control any lingering symptoms. And, if you remember from our previous conversation, I can help you, because I’ve been there myself. I’ve had to learn how to live a normal life when I don’t feel normal, same as you. And when we find the right treatment, you’ll slowly start to feel more like yourself again.”

At that moment, Maria remembered the look on David Ray’s face when he began shooting. His mouth had contorted with rage. His disheveled hair waved across his dead eyes. She wondered how he actually hit any of his targets with his hair draped over his face like that.

Some of her memories remained extremely vivid, while others had faded over time. The memories still passed through her thoughts on a daily basis, sometimes minute by minute. They came and went, flowing in and out of her mind like a river. Fortunately, she’d learned to keep them brief. In the blink of an eye, she returned to Chad.

“But you’re a counselor,” he said. “You’re not messed up!”

“What did you say?”

“I said you’re not messed up.”

Maria watched his distrust change into embarrassment as he examined his thoughts.

“Not a hundred percent true,” she said. “But you get the point.”

He turned away.

She picked up a blank notebook from a coffee table adjacent to her chair and handed it to him.

“Okay,” she said, tapping her pencil against the notepad. “Here’s what I’d like for you to do. I’d like you to take this notebook and write down all of the things that you do now that you didn’t do before. Make a note of every emotion you have that doesn’t feel right. Write down all the things that scare you and when you’re afraid. Can you do that?”

He turned back and said, “Yeah, I think so,” and nodded his head as he took the notebook from Maria.

“Great. I think you’re going to be fine, Chad. It’s just going to take a little time.”

After suffering the loss of eight of her classmates, including her beloved Darrin, Maria had learned to live with post-traumatic stress disorder. Twenty years later, however, she still suffered from mild anxiety attacks, emotional numbness, evocative memories and flashbacks. Fortunately, time, counseling and her education had contributed to her ability to live a manageable life. Yet her heart never forgot the treasured memories of her soul mate. Accordingly, she had framed her greatest possession—the letter Darrin wrote her the night before he was killed. She had kept it close all those years—a framed centerpiece on her desk. She read it at the end of every day to remind her why she kept going.

Chad left her office and several more patients came and went. When her last appointment ended, she pulled the framed letter close and stroked the glass. She imagined Darrin writing and his hands, touching the paper, pouring out his heart. Springtime always made the memory more difficult. She lifted the frame and read the words penned by her true love.

Maria,

I can’t sleep for some reason, so I’d remind you that you’re on my mind whenever I’m awake. I think about the early days and I think about our future. When we’re apart, I picture your face close to mine. I see snapshots of your smile and the look of your eyes when they’re gazing deep into my soul.

I love you, Maria, and I want to grow old with you. I want to know everything about you: how you breathe at night, what you look like in the morning and what you need from me when you’re sad. I know those days are far into the future, but the closer we get to that time, the more I want to be with you, to know you, and experience the life that we are meant to share.

I know we’re young and marriage should be the last thing on our minds, but I want you to understand my commitment to you. I guess I want you to know that I’m chasing you, hoping for more than just a date, more than a girlfriend. I will always love you, now and forever.

Darrin

With tears in her eyes, Maria gently laid the frame back on her desk. She wiped her mascara-blackened cheeks with the Kleenex she kept near the note and took a slow, quivering breath. She had never married. No one, she believed, could ever love her like Darrin. Although she’d tried to enter into a few relationships, not one of her suitors could compare. Her passion for Darrin never subsided. She simply moved it to another place, where she could help others going through the same gut-wrenching pain that she had experienced twenty years before.

After her daily ritual, she packed her satchel with her recent case files and headed upstairs to the apartment. However, something seemed different. Something ached within her heart, releasing unfamiliar emotions. A longing, a screaming for satisfaction interrupted her routine, a need—to go home!

As she walked up the stairs, each step brought her back to the cafeteria in Crescent Falls. Each squeak from the steps reminded her of the shrill cries for help. She gripped the railing in preparation for another flashback, closed her eyes and stood still.

She remembered the screams that had come from the table of ninth-grade boys, who sat closest to David when he entered the room and began firing. From across the cafeteria, she heard their chairs sliding backward and watched them cower under the table. When David shot the first couple rounds of bullets, he killed one of the boys and seriously injured another. The freshman cried out in pain, but everyone else held his or her breath for fear of being next. Maria hid behind a table that someone overturned. She tried to make room for Darrin, but there wasn’t enough room to provide adequate cover. Several other students worked their way behind the table as well, pressing him to the outside. Another shot. More screaming. Her body convulsed. She shrieked with each bang, but Darrin held his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.

The memory faded.

Maria returned to her present consciousness, crouched down, protecting her body from the bullets. She took a deep breath and sat on the hardwood staircase, thrown off by the intensity of the memory. It was a stronger-than-normal relapse. She shuffled through her purse frantically searching for her cigarettes. She grabbed the pack and a lighter and popped out a smoke. The deep inhalations calmed her nerves. She closed her eyes, escaping the tension with each lingering puff. Her eyes wrinkled from two decades of misery and hard memories. She held the cigarette inches from her face and studied her stained fingers. The discoloration served as a reminder of how the murders had changed the course of her life, filling her with a bitterness as sour as vinegar, discoloring her fingers and her heart. She exhaled out of the side of her mouth, pressed the remaining cigarette butt out on the wooden step, and headed up to her apartment.

As she walked up the stairs, she felt a strong desire to leave New York. A voice echoed in her head.
Go back. Go back to Crescent Falls. Organize a reunion. Visit Mama.
Where did that come from? she wondered. Her mind filled with anxiety. Why would I go? I don’t ever want to see that town again!

Maria entered her apartment, and meandered toward her bedroom. She dropped her purse and keys on a semicircular lampstand near the door. The jingle of the keys announced her presence. She walked straight through the bookshelf-laden apartment, took off her shoes, and lay down on her bed to rest.

Her limbs trembled and her heart beat rapidly. She pulled her quilted comforter over her shoulders and assessed her emotions, still shaking. Her obese yellow cat pawed its way onto the bed and snuggled beside her, purring, warming himself against her body. It had been a while since she’d had such an intense experience. She felt a chill down her spine. She curled up and shivered.

Her roommate, Connie, a short, heavy, redhead, followed Maria and stood in the doorway.

“You okay?” asked Connie.

“I’m…not…sure.” The words came out thick as molasses. “I just had a real doozy of a flashback.”

Maria stared at a picture of Darrin that sat on her nightstand.

“Is there anything I can do?” asked Connie.

Maria gritted her teeth. “Sure. Bring Darrin back. That would be nice.”

Maria watched Connie through her vanity mirror. Connie opened her mouth but nothing came out. As she looked down at Maria, her frizzy red hair drooped over her shoulders. She sighed and sat on the bed and rubbed Maria’s shoulder.

“I don’t understand.” Maria sobbed, gripping her pillow. “More than anyone, I know I need to move on. But it’s so hard to live without thinking about him, and what life could have been—”

She burst into more sobs.

Connie continued her gentle rubbing. “Maybe if you put him away for just a little while and focused more on the here and now…I don’t know, maybe you’d have an easier time…going forward?”

Maria sat up, abruptly pushing Connie with her sudden movement. “Really? I’m glad you think it’s so easy!”

“It’s been twenty years, Maria. Let—him—go.”

“No!” Maria’s eyes twisted with fear. “He’s all that’s left of who I was—who I am. Without him, I’m nothing!” Her tears interrupted her words. “Without him—this is all a joke—the clinic—my work. It’s all worthless!” Shaking her head, she continued. “I can’t. Not yet.” Maria laid her head back on her pillow and cried. Her body shook under the blanket.

“Besides…” Her voice muffled under the sheets. “I’ve tried the dating scene, new hair
and
new shoes!” She closed her eyes. “Nothing seems to work.”

Curled up with her eyes shut tight, Maria recalled the thoughts that had entered her mind on the steps. Go home? Why go back? Why now? Had it been that long? Her eyes blinked hard. Had it really been twenty years?

The answers to her questions came to her in a dream—a dream about going back to Crescent Falls. She dreamed about a reunion. She dreamed of organizing and making phone calls. The vision energized her so much that when she woke up hungry a couple hours later, she felt compelled to contact her classmates. Until then, there had never been motivation to celebrate a fifth—or even a tenth—anniversary. The media had taken it upon themselves to broadcast the grim reminders of what had happened, and that sickened Maria. Like many of the survivors, Maria left Crescent Falls intent on never returning.

As she lay on her bed, she wondered, is this what I need? A diversion? She stood up and headed to the kitchen to fix a bite to eat. Maria found a note that Connie had left on the counter, saying she had gone out for the evening. Maybe Connie’s right, she thought. Maybe I need to get away from here and start ov—.

Maria couldn’t even say it, let alone think it. Yet, something pressed her to act, to move forward. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she felt something nudging her back to where, for her, it all ended.

D
eputy Bryan Jacobs sat in his patrol car, watching over Crescent Falls. After several lawsuits, the high school had closed and consolidated with a neighboring district. The buildings had been abandoned ever since.

Bryan had given up his dream of going to medical school. He couldn’t handle the pressure or the environment—not after the shooting anyway. He couldn’t stay focused on his schoolwork, and the persistent effects of his PTSD made it next to impossible to live the college life. He experienced far too many reminders of the massacre: the classrooms, the hallways, and the crowds. Instead, he turned to law enforcement to prevent the next generation from experiencing the same hell he had gone through.

Bryan knew there were more suitable candidates, but his father had connections in the sheriff’s department and pulled a few strings on his behalf. They gave Bryan a badge and he had served as a token hero to the community. He maintained that status for eighteen years, becoming, in time, a good officer.

Although the years were filled with difficulties, he had earned his stripes regardless of his inability to cope with the sound of gunfire. A trip to the shooting range could send him into a relapse, lasting days at a time. It took a while for the other deputies to understand, but they came around. He no longer carried the passions from his first life. He hadn’t become worse or better—he just changed.