Reunion (A Psychological Suspense with Murder, Mystery and the Paranormal) (9 page)

“The day that went down in infamy is on the heels of its twentieth anniversary here at Crescent Falls High School in Crescent Falls, Idaho. Good evening. I’m Julie Divulge, and I’m standing in what appears to be a war zone. But this abandoned building was once a thriving and highly rated high school only twenty short years ago. Sadly, it will forever be remembered as the place where David Ray, a troubled eighteen-year-old, shot and killed eight of his classmates and wounded many others, followed by his own suicide. Our viewers were curious about how the town has changed since that day, so I interviewed some of the residents to find out how they have coped over the years.”

The video cut to a clip in downtown Crescent Falls.

“I’m talking with Brenda Day, a local here in Crescent Falls. Brenda, how do you think Crescent Falls has been affected by the massacre twenty years ago?”

“You gotta be kidding me?” Nick protested. “I’m so sick of all the David-Ray-this, David-Ray-that crap!”

Nick tried to shake off the pain. He tried to drink it off. Yet for twenty years his mind and body had been mutinous to his wishes. The visions and flashbacks came regardless of his desires. After hearing the reporter speak David’s name, he went to a dismal place. He immediately flashed back to his most common memory, the memory of his twin brother, Randy, getting shot in the head. He remembered looking around to locate the shooter. When he saw David approaching, he covered Kate’s body and pressed his face close to Kate’s head. When he heard David call out his name, he turned and watched him kill his brother in real time. The memory regularly caused Nick to have a panic attack. In this instance, he jumped off the barstool, reliving the moment, dodging the bullets and blood that peppered his memory, while David continued shooting. Of course it wasn’t really happening, but his mind couldn’t tell the difference, not even twenty years after the fact.

Nick’s drinking buddies had grown accustomed to his hysterics. He felt comfortable hanging out there because they knew and accepted him. He feared going out in most public places. It wasn’t the presence of people that caused the outburst. Rather, it was the
embarrassment
the attack caused that he feared most. There was a long list of sounds, smells and tastes that could potentially set him off. Public activity and large crowds became a recipe for disaster.

At the time of the shooting, Nick’s young brain couldn’t handle holding his faceless brother as he died. He and Randy were close, like most twins. The trauma and impact of that day had left emotional scars that would forever haunt him. As an adult, the anxiety lasted only a moment.

When he realized that he had dropped to the floor, Nick cocked his head, stood up and gathered his pride. The other patrons were turned away as if they hadn’t seen anything. Nick hopped back onto his barstool and continued drinking.

The interview on the television resumed.

“So, Brenda, how long have you lived here in Crescent Falls?” Julie asked.

“Oh, ‘bout thirty years, I guess.”

“What do you remember about that terrible day?”

“Hmmm. Looking back, I remember that I was simply petrified and frightened for my children. They were in high school at the time and I was at work. It just seemed like the whole town was held hostage, not only physically, but emotionally as well.”

Julie nodded her head and pulled the microphone back to her mouth.

“And what does that look like, to be held hostage emotionally?” Julie asked, with compassion in her eyes. Mrs. Day stood still. Her curly grey hair blew in the wind, while other passersby walked behind her.

“Oh, it’s…it’s petrifying! Not knowing whether your child is dead or alive is the worst thing a mother can go through. Our kids were scattered all over the community. They were running for dear life. It was chaos! Some of the children hid in the school and were not found until hours later. Some of the students ran to their friends’ houses and were not accounted for until the next day. You can only imagine the hell we went through as parents.”

“What about you, Brenda? How were you affected, personally?”

Brenda paused. She covered her lips with her hand to hide her quivering chin. Her eyes began to fill up.

“Um, this, this is very difficult for me, to—” Brenda turned away momentarily and took a deep breath. She sniffled and wiped a tear from each eye. Brenda stood there, clearly troubled. Julie had hit a nerve.

Julie gently touched Brenda’s arm and asked, “Are you okay? We can stop if you like.”

Brenda took another deep breath and continued, shaking her head as if to say, no, I’ll be fine.

“Sorry.” She sniffled and continued. “Okay. Our kids—they survived, but they were never the same. Our oldest wasn’t hurt, but is still suffering emotionally from the whole experience. You know, she has fears and paranoia over things she never had before. Our youngest, a freshman at the time, is still in a wheelchair. He was one of the first to be shot and he didn’t even know David. David shot him in the back, paralyzing him from the neck down. We still have both our children with us, but it’s been hard. It’s been a very long and difficult road for us. We’re fortunate to still have them. Sadly, there are others who lost their children and some of them are still having trouble dealing with that loss. Needless to say, the town is not the same. We’ve changed. I would even go so far as to say that although we were once a positive community, we’re much more cynical and distrustful now. Yet through all of this, somehow, we’re closer.”

Nick laughed, nearly spitting out his drink. “What? Is she on crack?”

He chased his comment down with a double shot of Jack Daniels. The others, who were sitting and playing pool, followed with their own assorted murmurs and personal thoughts under their breaths. The bartender threw his hand towel over his shoulder and clapped his hands in agreement.

“I’ve had enough of this shit!” Nick said. He dropped his shot glass down on the bar.

“Had enough, huh?” the bartender asked.

“Yeah. Time to go home to the old lady; you know how it is.” Nick laughed. He was pretty well inebriated at that point. Two tall beers and two doubles of Jack usually did the trick.

“I hear ya, Nick. I hear, ya.” The bartender chuckled as he served another customer on the other end of the bar. “Be careful out there, Nick.”

Nick raised his hand and offered a silent goodbye. His buddies mumbled their inaudible farewells to him, which included the shuffle of poker chips, beer bottles, and the lip smacking, deep inhalation of cigars. After putting a twenty-dollar bill and some ones on the bar to clear his tab, Nick stumbled out of the smoky dive and awkwardly unlocked his ‘78 Cheyenne. It took several attempts of poking the key at the slot, before he finally unlocked the door, staggered inside, and started the engine. He sat behind the wheel and shook his head, blinking hard to clear his mind and focus his eyes. He put the truck in drive and hit the gas.

No more in touch with his sensibilities than before he started the truck, he began to drive toward the old school. It had become a familiar route over the years. He paid the school a visit whenever he needed to let off some steam or just think about his brother.

Although he took a few wrong turns his truck eventually sputtered into the school parking lot. The front wheels of the truck bumped into the main sidewalk, abruptly stopping the vehicle. Nick’s head violently bobbed forward and back, and he cursed at the curb for being there. But he wasn’t
only
angry at the curb. He was pissed at God, David Ray and himself. Thoughts of what he could have done differently haunted him daily. Visions of tackling David and dreams of self-sacrifice tormented his soul. He would forever question his actions from that fateful day. He felt guilty that Randy had been killed in his place, and tortured himself for his lack of action. Consequently, he had developed a paralyzing habit of overanalyzing decisions he needed to make, causing him to be indecisive and motivationally impotent.

Nick staggered out of the truck, followed by an empty beer bottle that clanged and rattled when it hit the pavement. He reached for the container and picked it up. With the bottle in his hand, he hobbled up the stairs toward the front doors, stumbled on one of the steps, and hit his right knee on the hard concrete.

He shouted a long list of expletives, grunting in pain. Once again, Nick found something to attach his anger to. He glared at the school as if it were a living entity, angrily peering at the offending structure.

Nick rubbed his knee for a moment to ease the pain, even though his heartache persisted. It lingered like a toxic gas, silently eating at his soul. Bitterness, regret and contrition always followed.

“I’m sorry, Randy!” he cried out into the darkness. His throat tightened as he blurted out his remorse.

Nick stared into the starry sky and stumbled closer to the building. His body staggered about, in time with his thoughts.

“I was just a kid, you know that. I wish I could go back…and stop him. You know I would if I could.” His chest tightened and his eyes reddened and his body stiffened until his knuckles grew white with tension. He threw a fist into the air and shouted, “Damn you to hell, David!”

Amidst his outrage, there remained a brooding notion, one he dreaded more than any other. It was my fault, he thought. If I hadn’t treated David that way…maybe none of this would’ve hap—. He could never completely articulate his internal accusations. Such an indictment would hasten his long and drawn out self-destruction. At the end of the day, his survival instincts required him to place the blame squarely on David.

Lost in the moment, Nick glanced at the large glass entrance doors, where for a brief moment he thought he saw a human image. His heart pounded with fear, erupting his breathing into a rapid expression of terror. He quickly turned back to look again. It had disappeared.

His mind filled with a rush of negativity and psychological discontent. The thoughts, however, were not his. They seemed to be from somewhere else.

Confused and dizzy, Nick hurled the beer bottle at the glass entrance door. It shattered into a thousand pieces, leaving a splintered dent in the thick glass. Emotionally exhausted, Nick slumped to the concrete and sat with his legs crossed. He cried and sobbed, and mumbled words of self-pity.

“It shoulda been me! It shoulda been me, Randy. You were always the good one…always better, always smarter, always nicer.”

• • •

Kate stood behind the picture window in the living room, gripping a glass of red wine. She pulled the blinds open and stared outside, wondering, worrying, and waiting. A draft wafted through the window. Her insides shivered. She snuggled her robe and took a sip of her drink. Kate had hoped to hear the roar of Nick’s truck; instead, she went to bed, cold and alone, again.

M
aria waited for Lana at the JFK airport in New York, flipping through a medical journal. The two women had agreed to meet in New York City to discuss the reunion. Maria hadn’t fully bought into the idea yet, because she feared the consequences of stirring up the past. Nonetheless, she felt compelled to go on.

Her dark-brown eyes occasionally glanced off the page to forage through the oncoming passengers. Her reading glasses rested on the edge of her nose. She watched happy couples holding hands and hugging as they greeted one another. Oh, whatever, she thought. She turned away to avoid their bliss and her pain.

• • •

Lana had other business to attend to with her agent and publisher in New York, so the meeting couldn’t have happened at a better time. She had contracts to fulfill and a hectic speaking schedule. Her agent loved her upbeat presentations and heartfelt message. It wasn’t difficult keeping Lana booked. Her story as a survivor of one of the worst high school massacres was in high demand. People wanted to understand what had happened, the consequences of such a calamity and how the survivors were dealing with the emotional scars.

Many inquiries were the result of fear. Students, parents and school administrators feared the same thing could happen in their school. As a result, Lana remained busy year after year. Best of all, her occupation allowed her to travel with Zoe. On this occasion, however, she needed to go alone.

The flight for Lana rustled up high-altitude emotions. Although she had found a constructive and engaging occupation, she too had loose ends. While flying, her mind marinated over the process of organizing the reunion. She considered the consequences. She considered what it might bring into Zoe’s life and that she would be forced to reckon with the one memory she kept tucked away—her memory of Noah Berkley.

• • •

The jet landed. Maria dog-eared her page, closed her book and readied herself to welcome her old classmate. She wasn’t sure if she’d recognize Lana, so she displayed a small sign with Lana’s name on it. As it turned out, it wasn’t necessary. She recognized her right away.

Maria watched the beautiful woman step out of the tunnel. She had a stunning figure, crisp business attire, matching heels, a cane, and a tidy red suitcase on wheels, the type with a pullout handle.

Maria smiled. “Lana?”

Lana limped off the ramp. “Hi, Maria!” Her eyes stretched wide open and she waved her free hand with excitement. She dropped her bag and took several short, high-heeled steps toward Maria. The two women opened their arms and embraced.

“It’s so good to see you!” said Lana as she squeezed.

“Thank you,” replied Maria. “But my goodness—” Maria backed away to get a better look at Lana. “Wow! The last twenty years have been extremely good to you, girl.”

Lana curtsied, displaying her usual dramatics. “Thank you. And you look lovely as always.”

Maria grinned. Her cheeks turned red.

Lana grabbed the handle on her suitcase again. “Listen, I hate to be blunt, but I’ve got to get something to eat or I’m going to shrivel up and die! I’m starving! I can’t eat on airplanes. Peanuts and juice tear up my abdominal system. IBS.” Lana’s eyes wrinkled. “You know what I mean?”