"Theo, you're next! Did you remember to bring something?"
The young girl, dark curls bouncing, jumped up with an excitement that only children possess, a red plastic bag in her hand. She waddled to the front of the class and stuck her hand in, procuring a worn pocket compass.
"Can you teach the class what that is, Theo?" Alexander asked, although he recognized the compass, having seen it in her father's possession years ago.
"It's a compass!" The girl responded, beaming at her peers, "If you're lost it can help you find your way!"
Alexander smiled, brow knitted as he thought of the compass's original owner. He swallowed nervously, knowing he would have to ask Theodosia the same questions as all the other children. "Where is it that you got that compass?"
"My daddy gave it to me for my birthday," she answered. "He said that somebody really special gave it to him when he was fighting so I should give it to somebody I love a lot one day too!"
Trying not to let his nerves show, Alexander nodded. "That is lovely, Theo. I'm sure you're excited to find 'the one.'" He laughed a bit to himself for the girl was very young and surely had little chance of finding "the one" at such an early age. Then he blanched. If this girl found love before he did, what would that mean for him? He shook his head of such ridiculous thoughts. It didn't matter anyway. "Is-is that all you wanted to share?"
Theodosia opened her mouth, but never had a chance to answer. A sudden sharp sound exploded in the room. Alexander experienced war; he knew what gunfire sounded like. But here, in an elementary school of all places, it was beyond wrong.
The instant, frozen stillness of the room was interrupted by the large wooden door swinging open, pushed by the weight of the school's largest administrator, Hercules Mulligan.
"It's a shooter, Hamilton!" He was breathless, in more of a panic than Alexander had ever seen him, "In the library. We have to lockdown!"
Just as he'd said it, Principal Washington's voice boomed through the intercom. "Attention students and staff; Code Red, Code Red. " He managed to speak steadily for the sake of staying calm, but Alexander could hear the slight shake in his voice, even through the speaker. "This is not a drill."
"Okay guys," Alexander turned back to the class, his heart already doubling its speed in his chest, "We all know the Code Red drill right?" The children nodded dumbly, and Alexander could already see the beginning of tears in a few eyes, "You all have to hide in the cubby, and we're going to play the quiet game, but it'll be alright, I promise." He smiled at the group, "I'll tell you what. If you stay silent until this drill is over, you can get a candy bar as a prize."
When he finished coaxing the children into their cubbies, he rushed to lock the door, fumbling with his staff keys until he secured the latch. Then, he turned and flipped the light switch before striding towards the windows, locking them and tugging down the shades with shaking hands.
He retreated back to his desk, and took a seat. As his heart drummed in his ears his eyes flickered back and forth between the door and the where the children were hiding. His nerves getting the better of him, his leg started shaking. A distant gunshot startled him into a near panic. In need of some relief, he pulled a scrap piece of paper and a pen from his drawer. Throwing caution to the wind, he turned on his desk lamp and began to write.
"Hamilton, what are you doing?" hissed Mulligan from the cubbies.
"It doesn't matter," Alexander whispered. His hands were still shaking, and his handwriting was not as legible as usual. He held himself back from cursing in front of the students, "I'm writing. It'll only take a minute." Another gunshot. A few words slashed over in Alexander's flinching reaction. He was already on the back of the page. How long is a goodbye letter supposed to be?
Alexander cringed when Mulligan cursed under his breath. Had the children heard? Trembling fit to fly apart, he continued, laying down words as if his life depended on it. And it did. No, this letter wouldn't stop a bullet from passing through his chest, but he depended on this letter, in this moment, to live on after him, so that Burr would know all that had never been said.
It was almost funny, how traditional these last writings had become to him. At twelve, when he was so sick that he could hardly speak without falling into a fit. At fourteen, he was tempted to follow in his cousin's footsteps. When he was seventeen, he was surrounded by the destruction and death in the aftermath of a hurricane. He had gone through years of battles and hardships, outrunning death by nothing more than blind luck. His writing had given him and his small island attention, and allowed him to persevere through a hard life.
Alexander Hamilton had cheated death since he was twelve years old. Maybe it was time that fate caught up to him. The gun sounded in the fourth grade hallway. A child screamed.
With all the speed that could carry him, he raced toward the cubbies, against Mulligan's hushed protests, and knelt down by where Theo was hiding. Tear tracks already stained her cheek, and Alexander gently pulled her fisted hands away from her eyes. "Hey, Theo," he whispered. "Look at me."
She blinked up at him with big, round eyes, shining with fear. He shushed her as he cupped her face and wiped her tears away with his thumb. "I need you to do me a big favor." She nodded, unable to speak. "Give this to your dad for me, will you?" He passed her the folded paper, smiling softly as he ruffled her hair. "And tell him that his 'talk less, smile more' philosophy is stupid. I wouldn't have listened to him anyway." Sirens sounded in the distance.
Theodosia reached above her head to place the letter in her own cubbyhole while Alexander turned to Mulligan. "I don't know how many people are hurt," he whispered, "and I don't know how long we have until help comes. I think I can buy us some time. Keep the kids quiet if he gets in. I might need focus." Mulligan's confused expression was broken by a glare.
"Alexander, you are not," he hissed. "You have to know how stupid that is. Even if you do buy us time-" Bam! The two men spun to the sound of another shot, followed by the clatter of the door handle on the floor and the cries of children. Mulligan looked back at the students in alarm as Alexander paled. He'd heard the shooter pass countless rooms before his, so why did he stop here?
The lamp.
His own expectations of death had brought danger to them all, and now he faced the consequences. Putting trust in Mulligan to keep the children safe, he turned to the door, now hanging open. He wouldn't allow his own negligence to be the cause of his students' injury.
The man was all sharp edges and hollow features. Alexander recognized the long bridge of his nose, high cheekbones and hollow cheeks. There was a hardness in his eyes just managing to hide a vacant emptiness held by so many Alexander had seen in the war.
It took longer than it should have to remember the exact face. Just a few years ago, in New York harbour, in the head of 32,000 troops. Alexander had been the one to take the infamous General Howe down, had brought him into custody.
"I knew I would find you here," the man spat out, adjusting his grip on the gun.
Alexander couldn't help but stare down at it. Strange how he could admire the weapon threatening to take his life. There was delicate craftsmanship in the Colt's design; small and quaint, yet deadly.
Alexander gulped. "I . . . I wasn't expecting you here . . ." After years of talking his way out of anything and everything, for once in his life, Alexander was at a loss for words. He was always praised for what he had to say, but now, he had nothing.
Howe's eyes narrowed, "I doubted you would. This time, Alexander Hamilton, I won't let you forget me."
"Yeah…" Alexander closed his eyes and took a breath. Something inside of him screamed that he was wasting time. Talk Alexander. You better start using that miracle brain of yours and get everybody out of this mess. "I've hardly forgotten you, though. I was wondering, do you still have the same beliefs in the British empire? It's been a while. I'd love to catch up. Obviously, you've seen that the British are losing more and more of their wars. Do you think there's a reason for the sudden downfall, or is it just that your King has gone beyond insanity?"
"You watch your mouth or I'll put a bullet in it right now, Hamilton. Your words may have gotten you far, but one slip of the tongue could be your undoing."
"Please," Alexander scoffed, despite having to fight to keep his voice from cracking. "As if you intend to let me leave this room alive. I doubt I have a choice. May as well use my mouth whilst I've still got the brains to work it."
Howe's face heated rapidly, hollow cheeks growing cherry red. He opened his mouth to spit fiery words back at the man, but was interrupted by the whimper of a small child. He looked over Alexander's shoulder to find Mulligan, futilely trying to keep the students quiet and hidden. Howe quirked an eyebrow, an idea growing behind crazed eyes.
"No," Alexander was not stupid, he could see Howe's new focus, the way his gun slowly levelled itself to point over his shoulder.
"The children, they mean a lot to you, don't they Hamilton?" Howe smiled cruelly.
Without a second thought, Alexander lunged forward, grabbing for Howe's right arm. One shot fired into the air, shaking dust loose from the ceiling. Then the two were face to face and chest to chest, struggling to gain possession of the weapon.
Alexander's ears flooded with his own heartbeat. He only felt the breath of his adversary against his cheek. For a moment, Howe was able to push away, but Hamilton brought him back again, crushing him in his grasp, unwilling to let Howe shoot at his kids. Every part of Alexander was tense as he held onto his opponent, both of them shaking and flushed as Mulligan's shouting buzzed in the air around them, unheard.
Then, with a startling realization, Alexander's eyes widened. He didn't know where the gun was.
Alexander's breath caught in his throat, suddenly hyperaware of his environment. A girl behind him screamed, voice shattering the world around him. He couldn't see her, couldn't tell how much damage had been done, how badly she had been hurt. He needed to get to her.
The surge of strength was sudden, Alexander's complete focus on the cold metal between their bodies. He gripped it and pulled, stumbling backwards with the gun held between his hands. It was easy to disassemble, Alexander had done it a million times.
He dropped everything to the ground and kicked it across the floor and out of reach. The room fell dangerously silent save for the weighted sound of heavy breaths and muffled sirens in the schoolyard. Alexander spun around to find the child that had screamed, but all eyes were on Alexander. An amused scoff brought his attention back to Howe, who looked away a smile on his lips. Howe shook his head at the heroic fool.
Mulligan shook with fear and fury and shouted; shouted at Howe for shooting, shouted at Hamilton to stay alive, but Alexander heard none of it.
He felt numb. Everything around him seemed to disappear into an inky fog. The thrum of footsteps stamping into the room aligned with his heart beat, irregular and gradually slowing as the the paramedics approached. He sighed as he realized he had fallen to the floor, warm blood contrasting against the chill of his body.
Unable to hear the questions that were directed at him, Alexander looked past the cloud of bodies hovering over him at the girl huddled in the corner, a man in uniform by her side. He kept his eyes on Theodosia and the letter she had clasped in her hands. As his vision faded, he watched the officer hold out a hand to the girl. and smiled when she shook her head and held the letter close to her chest.
Funny, he thought, once there was nothing left for him to see. Here I thought that history was in the past. Now, it seems to have followed at my heels. To think I'd beaten Howe in the war, where there was death and pain and mourning at every corner, but lose to him now in this place of learning. I suppose the battle was never truly over. History must be out to get me.
A short laugh spurted blood through his lips, he felt his body lifted, heaved onto a new surface and heard Theodosia crying, somewhere nearby. He hated to see her cry -, she had her father's eyes. Alexander felt nothing. He gave himself up to the darkness.