A Voice in Her Room

Chapter: One

Mary Wattkins stood, wringing her hands, drawing blood as she bit her lip. She hardly noticed. Streaks of tears flowed from her bloodshot eyes as she whimpered, tensing her body in quick bursts. Don Wattkins, her husband, was to the left, screaming at a police officer. She hardly noticed. It had been five hours. Five hours, since she heard. Five long, painful hours. She hardly noticed.

She hardly noticed anything happening around her. The wailing of police sirens, and other distressed mothers. The constant scrambling of paramedics, officers, firefighters, FBI, it's as if they called everyone. It was dark, and all the flashing lights seemed all the more blinding. There were crowds of people behind her, all curious onlookers, pretending to share the grief. But they didn't understand. They didn't know what it was like. But it didn't matter. Because she hardly noticed.

The only thing she did notice, the only thing that didn't blur from her mind, was the large yellow-bricked building with the sign that read 'Baker Elementary School'.

Her daughter was in that building. Trapped in that building. For more than five hours. Five long, painful hours. Mary Wattkins would not relax, her mind would not be at peace until her only daughter emerged, safe, from the yellow bricked walls.

A madman, they said, broke into the school earlier that day. He had a gun. Not just a simple little gun that normal people carried around for protection, but one of those machine guns, or rifles that could mow down a crowd. Or so she heard. But it didn't matter the gun. Her daughter was still trapped in there.

"We're doing everything we can" they said. "We have the situation under control." Under control. Her daughter was still trapped in there. Trapped with a madman carrying a gun. Under control. Mary wanted to scream at them, scream at them to save her daughter, that they were doing nothing but runniing around like confused monkeys. But that wouldn't change anything. There was nothing she could do.

So, Mary Wattkins stood, wringing her hands, drawing blood as she bit her lip, and tensing her body in quick bursts. That's all she could do.

She heard something, and jumped at the sound. It came from inside the yellow-bricked building. It was muffled, but still as loud as a jet engine. It was a sound Mary only hoped to hear in action movies. Gunfire. Rapid gunfire.

Everything slowed down ten times more than it already was for her. She didn't remember a rescue team entering a building. She didn't remember being shaken by her husband. She didn't remember more gunfire. All she could do was stare at the yellow-bricked building, not comprehending the horrible reality around her.

When the clouds started to clear, and time came back into meaning, Mary was still staring at the yellow-bricked building. But something was different. People were coming out of the building. Children were coming out from the building.

Mary blinked a few times, and allowed reality to snap back into her clouded mind. Children were coming out of the building. Her daughter could be one of them.

She gasped, and pushed her way through a crowd of officers, getting as close as she could to the building before they stopped her. She scanned the faces of the children, much like she had before when the majority of students emerged at the start of this whole mess. Only, these children looked much more horrified. Each face she looked at she became more disappointed, and more worried. She didn't see her daughter.

"Don." Mary said, reaching for her husband without taking her eyes off the children. "Don, I don't see her. I don't see Maebe."

"She'll come." He said, gripping her hand in response. "She has to."

"I don't see her."

"She'll come."

"I don't see her-" The air caught in her throat, and she practically choked on it. But she hardly noticed. The only thing she did notice was the face of her daughter emerging, safe, from the yellow-bricked building.

Mary immediately broke through the officers holding her back, running toward the child.

"Maebe!"

"Mom!"

She ran, and crashed to her knees, scooping the child into her arms in a tight embrace.

"Oh-h my baby!" She breathed, clutching her daughter in a constricting, but loving hold. She loosened her grip on the girl, and cupped her small face in her shaking hands. And that's when she noticed the blood.

"Oh, sweetheart! Are you hurt?"

"It isn't mine."

The girl's eyes were wide, and hollow. Her face was pale, and streaked with tears. Blood splatters covered her freckles, and soiled her dress while her pigtails hung loose in a tangle of brown.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" Mary kept asking, running her hands over every inch of her daughter's face and body, making sure there were no injuries, and that she was really there. Don did the same, asking her if she was okay, and hugging her closely.

The girl didn't get a chance to answer as a pair of paramedics came, and swept her away to an ambulance, her mom never letting go of her blood soaked arm, and her dad close behind.

In all the confusion the girl couldn't fully register what has happening. First, they examined her, and asked her a lot of questions. Then she had to sit with her mom holding her in her lap. Then a lady in a long coat talked to her, and asked her a lot of different questions. Then they went to the hospital. She was examined again, and they asked all the same questions. And then they went home.

Every time someone asked her a question she really didn't know how she answered them, and when her parents talked to her she either wouldn't answer, or really didn't know what she said. She just felt tired. All she wanted to do was sleep, but they wouldn't let her. Not even when they got home. She had to take a bath, and eat, although she really wasn't hungry, and change her clothes. Her parents kept showering her with hugs, and tears, and "I love you"s. She let her mom do everything for her, she was too tired to do any of this herself. She was just too tired. All she wanted to do was sleep. Eventually her parents let her, and she slept between them in their bed. It was warm, and cozy, and she felt safe. And tired.

But she hadn't noticed, from the moment she first ran to her mom to when she drifted to sleep, that she was crying the whole time.