A Job To Do
by Jules
The ringing of the cell phone breaks into Colby's speech and the suffocating tension. I'm standing in a hallway closet of a high school, a dead girl at my feet. To get here, I had to step over seven more bodies. Seven more kids.
"Is that hers?" Colby asks and I take a step back, standing over her--no, not 'her', her name was Becky, Becky Flynn--and lean down to where the phone lies beside her to decipher the display. My worst fears become true.
"It says Dad," I say and throw a quick glance to Megan who's crouching by the door. A quick wince is all I get from her.
Becky almost looks like she's sleeping, with the sheet tucked under her chin. Only the blood slowly seeping through the white cotton over her chest betrays the picture. 20 years ago, school kids usually didn't lose their life to machine gun fire while they tried to hide in janitorial closets. Or were gunned down cold-blooded right in front of their lockers. It's a sorry state our society is in and once again, I'm asking myself where we took the wrong turn.
The cell phone rings again.
"It's gotta go to voice mail," David offers. I look up and meet his eyes, Colby's too. Megan releases a pained moan and turns away. Yeah, voice mail would be the easiest way, wouldn't it? But then, I can't help thinking how I would feel if I were 'Dad', if I'd just turned on the TV or the radio and found out that there'd been a shootout at my daughter's school. If I'd now try to reach my kid and were kept in uncertainty longer than necessary because no one felt they could deal with it. No one asked 'Dad' or 'Mom' or the rest of the family how they were going to deal with it.
I shake my head and release a pent-up breath. There are two approaches, the slow and careful one, trying to inflict as little pain as possible and the fast one, ripping the band-aid off in one quick motion. The pain is actually the same in both, it's just a psychological trick telling us slower is less painful. For Mr. Flynn and the rest of Becky's family, it's not going to be slow, no matter when they're told they've lost a child or sister.
Whatever approach I choose, the benefit would only be my own. And either way, I always favored the fast variant. I bow down and pick up the phone, open it while I move out into the hallway. Neither David nor Colby hold my glance, both avert their eyes after just a moment. I can't even blame them for it.
I turn my back towards them while Mr. Flynn's agitated voice fills my ear.
In the end, it's not as bad as it could have been and yet so much worse. Mr. Flynn is fairly collected, the shock still numbing the wound ripped into his soul that without doubt will hurt like nothing else in a little while. I have a team drive over and promise him to come around in a while as well. It's not the first time, but it never seems to get easier.
Becky actually called her dad before she died. Mr. Flynn didn't learn of the shooting through TV, radio or other parents. His own daughter begged him for help, leaving a frantic message just seconds before she was shot.
I force a huge draw of air into my lungs and release it slowly, measured, trying to expel the rage that seems to take residence in the center of my chest. I turn around and see David and Colby tagging and securing more evidence, still not meeting my eyes. I feel Megan move up beside me and she presses my elbow softly. I just nod.
We have a job to do.
-The End-