Reunion (A Psychological Suspense with Murder, Mystery and the Paranormal) (2 page)

“Hey, Tan. What’s going on?” said Kenny. He sat down and plopped his bag into his lap.

“Not much. Did you finish the physics assignment?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too.” Tanner looked back outside.

“You okay?” asked Kenny.

Tanner shrugged his shoulders. “I guess. I just have a weird feeling.”

“A weird feeling? What’s that mean?”

Tanner felt Kenny shift his weight and turn in his direction.

“Not sure. I mean, I’m having a bad hair day as usual and my jeans are too short, but that’s not it.”

“So what is it then?”

Tanner wiped the damp smiley face off the window and said, “I don’t know.”

• • •

At 7:52 a.m. Steve Gardner, the high school English teacher, grabbed his leather satchel and jumped out of his sporty Geo Metro. His first period class started at 8:10 a.m. He had just enough time to pick up a cup of coffee from the faculty lounge and unlock the door by 8:00 a.m., if he hurried.

As he dashed into the school, he thought about David Ray. Steve was worried about him. The day before, David had been acting very strange, worse than usual. He had watched David walk from class to class, head down and mumbling to himself. When he approached David, the young man had looked up, squinted his eyes and let out what he swore was a low-pitched growl. It really frightened him.

Steve had tried to reach out to David numerous times before, but David hid deep within himself. Steve hoped that he’d be able to help David before graduation, which was only a week away, but he was afraid that David was too far gone.

Over the years, Steve Gardner noticed the students who cried out for help. Some were frustrated over their awkward adaptation to high school or their uncaring parents. Sometimes their bodies or spirits had been damaged and they were afraid to tell anyone what had happened. Steve wanted to make a difference in their lives. He hated watching the lost ones waste away, while the system rushed them into adulthood. His heart broke for David, for all of the lost ones. Sometimes his efforts to help paid off. Sometimes they didn’t.

• • •

By 7:55 a.m. David had gathered up all his gear as planned. He knew that timing meant everything, as he had studied others who had gone before him with similar plans. If he wanted to make an impression, his work had to be perfect. He packed the fifteen-round magazines and polished the cold steel firearms. After he’d loaded the guns, he opened a duffle bag at the foot of his bed and placed the guns in the order of their forthcoming appearance. He had a Smith & Wesson 9mm, a Jennings 9mm semiautomatic, his stepfather’s Remington 870 sawed-off shotgun and lots of ammunition.

David had traded his Ibanez electric guitar for the Jennings 9mm when the local pot dealer wanted to start a band. The gun was stolen and the serial number had been ground off. By then, David had already decided that music wasn’t for him. He pawned more items to buy the ammo. The other guns belonged to his stepfather, Bill, who kept them tucked away in the back of his closet. David had sneaked into his room the previous night, stole the guns, and then hid them under his bed. Along with the guns, he kept a cluster of homemade maps and timetables under his mattress.

David looked around his dingy room. A fluorescent black light hung from the ceiling and emitted a continuous low-pitched buzz that resonated in his ears. The purple glow illuminated white papers and poster texts scattered across his room. Drawings of stick figures with knives and blood and piled-up bodies expressed his thought life, revealing the inner workings of his heart. His dark clothing and black hair concealed him from the light. He roamed about like a ghost in the tight quarters where he hid his hatred and black intentions.

He attached two paddle holsters to his black leather belt and shoved the pistols into their new homes. The smell of leather filled his nostrils and gave him a newfound sense of power. Until that moment, he had felt weak and defenseless. In his mind, he had always been a victim. Now, the smell and look of his collection of weapons bolstered his confidence and filled him with a sense of strength.

Fantasies of cinematic heroism rushed through his mind. Thoughts of fixing his world with the click of a trigger gave David an increased sense of freedom. To him, pulling the trigger would be a bold and valiant statement on behalf of all the lost ones like himself. He put both hands on the holster snaps and pushed down until they popped into place. He followed through by throwing his hands up to his mouth, with both thumbs and index fingers pointing in the form of a gun, and then blew on them as if his fleshy pistols were smoking.

With the guns firmly packed in place, David thought back to the day he told his mother, Sheila, that Bill had given him marijuana. He was only nine years old. It started when he told Bill that he thought he had been carried out of his room by a group of men in the night, but he wasn’t sure if it was a dream. Bill responded by handing him a pipe stuffed with weed.

“Here ya go, Davey,” said Bill. “Suck some of this in and you’ll forget all about it.”

David inhaled as commanded and, just like Bill said, he forgot all about it. When he told his mother, she screamed at Bill, shouting all sorts of profanities. Bill turned red with rage and yanked him outside by his ear and clobbered him for telling.

He remembered similar episodes, memories that made him feel weak and afraid. Yet that morning, he stood in his room pretending to be something he was not: confident and strong. His remembrances were intentional. He wanted to become angry. He wanted to stir up the demons. He wanted to give them reason to sin.

David left his thoughts and picked up the shotgun. He breathed deep, held it close to his chest and said, “Ahhh. Come to Papa.” The seventeen-year-old lovingly stroked the barrel of his gun because he had special plans for it. Since he had never experienced love, he had become fixated on death. He stood next to his bed, adorned with superhero bed sheets, and imagined the carnage the heavy firearm would bring. He gripped the gun and pointed it at the musical demigods plastered across the walls of his small bedroom. “Boom! Boom! Boom!” he aggressively whispered so as not to awaken his lethargic and unemployed stepfather sleeping in the next room. The guns took away his insecurity and made him feel complete and in control.

David carefully arranged the ammunition and shotgun into the duffle bag and zipped it closed. When he lifted his head, he caught a glimpse of himself in a small mirror above his desk, and for a brief moment, saw the boy deep inside who was afraid. He quickly pushed him back into the depths of his subconscious where he belonged.

• • •

Tanner’s bus arrived at the school at 8:00 a.m. He stepped down from the bus and squinted as he entered the bright daylight, wondering what was troubling him. Everything seems pretty normal, he thought. Yet something in his gut twisted with nervousness. Noah Berkley stepped out of bus number three holding Lana Jones’s hand. That was normal. Nick Tooley and his twin brother Randy hopped out of their 1983 Silverado apparently arguing about something. That was normal.

Tanner tapped on Kenny’s arm. “Hey. Look at the Tooleys.” He pointed toward the scuffling brothers. Kenny glanced at the twins and laughed.

Nick grabbed Randy by the neck, put him in a headlock and rubbed his knuckles deep into Randy’s skull. Their books fell to the pavement. Randy responded by landing a solid blow to Nick’s kidney. Nick let go and grimaced.

“Ah. Whew!” said Nick, arching his back and rubbing his side. “The next time you won’t be so lucky!”

Randy smirked at his boisterous twin. “You’re just a big slab of meat, Nick. All talk. That’s all you are! All talk.”

Randy picked up his books, walked toward the school entrance and saluted the American flag as a group of eighth graders hoisted it heavenward.

Tanner had always loved school. He loved the sounds and excitement of the beginning of a new school day, but he couldn’t shake off the dark feeling. What’s wrong with me, he silently questioned.

Kenny popped Tanner in the back of his head with the palm of his hand. Tanner’s head jetted forward.

“I gotta go, Tan. See ya later.” Kenny threw his duffle bag over his shoulder and hurried away.

Tanner forced himself to smile. “See ya.”

Tanner followed the crowd of students who were walking up the concrete steps toward the large glass doorway at the front of the building. His dusty blond hair waved across his forehead. As he approached the door, he noticed his reflection looking back at him, worried, scared.

The cool air rushed across his face. He turned his head in all directions, looking at the junior and senior high students laughing and teasing as usual. He watched some of the teenagers make a desperate attempt to complete their assignments, while a few couples grabbed last-minute kisses before class began. An unrecognizable heaviness pressed down on him. Tanner warred within himself. Something wasn’t right; he just knew it.

• • •

By 8:02 a.m., students were flooding into the school. David plopped down on his bed and threw his hands behind his head, locking his fingers tight. His thin frame barely made a dent in the mattress. He looked up at his ceiling and studied the glowing galaxies that he’d stuck to the drywall a few years back. The stars and planets represented the hope of something else—a new frontier. When he was younger, he had dreamed that someday he would blast off into a world where he was the superhero. As he grew older, the dream faded, crashing like the Challenger space shuttle. He closed his eyes and began the recurring process of placing blame.

John Ray. Don’t even wanna say his name. Wish I could kill him, but he’s back in jail. Son of a bitch. Bill and Sheila—I hate ‘em both. A match made in heaven is what they are. And those damn cheerleaders, what a bunch of sluts. Ask one out and they give you crap for the rest of your life. Think I’m some kind of nerd they can laugh at behind my back, huh? And that fat ass, Nick Tooley. God I hate him! Can’t wait to blow his brains out! Who else? Stupid-ass jocks. I’m sure I’ll know ‘em when I see ‘em. Bryan Jacobs? Nah. He’s all right. He stood up for me. And his dad gave me a summer job last year. He’s gonna be a doctor someday. Well they’re gonna need him when I’m finished. I don’t remember him givin’ me problems. Yeah. He’s okay.

David remembered when Bryan had helped him out earlier in the school year. Nick Tooley had flicked his sock cap off his head and tossed it back and forth with some of his football buddies. David had stood in the middle of the jocks, humiliated, grabbing for his cap while they laughed and poked fun at him. When he turned to one of his abusers, the one behind him swatted him in the back of his head. They’d pushed him around as if he were human waste, grabbing his long hair and tugging until his head jerked backward and his body joggled like a pinball. He had felt powerless, humiliated, and exposed—a weakling to the core.

“Come on, you little pansy!” Nick Tooley said. “Can’t you reach your hat? It’s right here! Too high for you?”

The others laughed as Nick dangled David’s hat in the air. David awkwardly jumped up to grab it, but fell to the ground. Nick’s twin, Randy, stood at a distance, looking torn, but remaining silent.

“Come on! Give it back, Nick!” David had yelled.

Finally, out of utter despair and nearly in tears, he had shot his fist at Nick and, surprisingly, hit him square in the jaw. Shocked and embarrassed, Nick stood still, his cheeks turning as red as boiling lava. The students nearby held their breath, waiting to see what Nick would do. His large blue sweatshirt expanded and his fists tightened.

“You little prick!” Nick gritted his teeth and tightened his thick jaw. “I’m gonna kick—your—ass!”

David turned to run away, but Nick grabbed him by his T-shirt and slammed him against one of the lockers that lined the hallway. David’s small frame was no match for the girth of the thick athlete. His head crashed against a steel locker door, followed by the rest of his bony frame. He grunted. Nick reached his fist back to finish him off. David closed his eyes and waited for his lashing. It never came. Bryan Jacobs stopped Nick’s fist in midair.

“He’s had enough!” Bryan said. “Let him go.”

Bryan glared at the others, asserting his authority. “Come on, guys! Can’t you just leave him alone for once?”

Nick reluctantly lowered his fist. Bryan confiscated the hat from one of the athletes and handed it to David, who grabbed it and backed away from Nick.

“You okay?” Bryan asked. He extended his hand toward David.

David nodded his head and scuttled away.

Nick rubbed his jaw and watched David escape. “Better run, you fricken loser!”

David remembered faces and names. He kept a list of all his abusers. He cleared Bryan because of his valiant behavior, but the others remained in his mental inventory. From that day on, David fell deeper and deeper into the depths of despair, cementing his homicidal plans.

He opened his eyes and reached for his cassette player. Bill and Sheila were sound asleep. They usually slept until 11:00 a.m. or later. He put his headphones on and readied himself for the big show.

T
anner entered the school and hurried toward his locker in the senior hallway. He awkwardly balanced his many textbooks and spiral-bound folders, weaving his way through the roaring crowd of students. Just get to the locker without getting noticed—quickly and quietly, he thought.

A nameless voice shouted, “Nice floods, Tanner!”

“Ha-ha!” said Tanner, artificially chuckling along with the other voices, which he dared not identify. He kept his shy eyes locked on the polished tile work, pushed down on his pants and continued walking.

The hallway bristled with energized seniors and a few underclassmen. Some stopped to stare at the trophy case on the senior wall, and some played cat and mouse with each other on their way to first period. Tanner stopped at his locker and began turning the combination at precisely the same moment that a new figure entered his peripheral vision. He lifted his head, turned to the left, and his heart revved up, full throttle.