Author's notes:
1- I'm a French speaking person. There will surely be some English mistakes in this story so, don't hesitate to mention them to me, I'll correct them :-)
2- "BULLET PROOF" can be read, even if you know nothing about Wrestling. I'll try to make it accessible to everyone. I'll also try to remain as close to reality as I can when mentioning places and towns. If you want to go deeper into the atmosphere, this is the music I was listening while writing this chapter: Leona Lewis – « Hurt ».
3- The next fic I'll update will be one of those thrillers: "WHAT THE BIGGER PICTURE IS FOR" or "FIRE HEART". Go read them and tell me which updates you want to read first. :-)
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BULLETPROOF
Chapter Two - Acceleration
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Forgetting all safety traffic rules, Heath was pedaling at full speed on Pineville's main avenue with laces following Rockcastle Creek. At this time of the day, there were few people on the roads anyway, most were at work or at school; or at the pub. The wind was whistling in his ears and his heart was pounding. He clenched his teeth and half-closed his eyelids to protect his eyes from the wind. From time to time, he looked over his shoulder, expecting to see at any moment a police car emerging behind him, roaring engine and lights flashing. But so far, he was still alone on the road.
He had no idea about what had happened at school, but Longford, the sciences teacher, seemed convinced that he knew something. Heath didn't understand. She had to be aware by now of the constant bullying he was receiving from the "big guys". If someone was responsible of any act of vandalism, it would most likely be one of the loudmouth tormentors rather than the little shy one whom people could barely remember the sound of his voice. But perhaps he had misunderstood her attitude and speech. Maybe she had just meant to explain the cop about the fire caused by the boys who usually attacked him, and had only mentioned him as a witness.
Maybe the fear he had seen in her eyes in the classroom was perhaps the fear that the "gang" would come back to pick on their favorite victim, and that she would be trapped between two fires. Collateral damage.
Yes, it was purely logical; it had to be that! There was no other explanation; no big mystery or conspiracy; nothing to worry about.
Nothing to worry about.
Nevertheless, he gulped with some apprehension. His survival instinct which had awoken when he had seen the charred corridor, hadn't totally gone back to sleep yet. It was merely dozing in the sun like a tiger on a high rock, opening its eyes from time to time in order to observe its territory. Shortly before Topical CNS, Heath slowed down and leant on his left, making almost a 180 degree to take Cherry street. His reduced speed neighborhood; his quiet street; his haven. He took a deep breath and let go of his bicycle handlebars to pass his hands over his face drenched with sweat. He drove by two of his neighbors, old girls laboriously doing their morning jog.
He continued paddling, but more slowly now, a little more relaxed. His concerns were gradually fading under the influence of the endorphins generated by the physical exercise – unusual for him. He hated sports in general. His heart was still pounding in his chest but its pace was beginning to slow down. The wind blew gently against the pale skin of his face as he began to observe the corridor's events with distant eyes, trying to build a rational explanation for everything he had seen and heard.
He was feeling a bit better.
The sight of his house of wooden slats covered with white paint (soon in need of a fresh new layer) brought peace into his heart and he drove without thinking twice on the lawn covered with some leaves. He jumped off just before the steps leading to the brown wooden door and left his bike lying on its side without giving it a second look.
He would never see it again.
He came in and closed the door behind him, leaning against it, closing his eyes, and letting go a long sigh of relief. He was home. Safe. Nothing bad could happen to him now. Long seconds passed during which his heartbeat slowed down to a normal level. A little calmer now, he suddenly realized his stomach was empty and that he was starving. He frowned and checked the old watch he had gotten from his father; he was surprised to see that it was far from noon. He thought about it, then shrugged. Probably all the energy he had burnt. He walked towards the kitchen with the idea of making himself a peanut butter sandwich with a large bowl of milk. People were always thinking better with a full stomach, and he needed to cogitate about the recent events and make sure no one would be able to put the responsibility of damages upon him. He had been attacked. He had done nothing wrong. He had curled up on the floor to shield himself from the assault. He had closed his eyes tightly. And when he had opened them again, he was alone in the middle of a devastated area. He didn't understand. But he knew one thing: he had done nothing wrong.
He had done nothing wrong.
But as he walked through the living room, his ears caught the sound of the TV; his mother had probably forgotten to turn it off before leaving this morning. It was a good thing he had come home early, actually! Heath turned his head in the direction of the noise…
… and froze.
On the small curved cathode screen where colors were not as vivid as in its early days, local news were showing a picture of his school, taken from the outside. Heath paid no attention to the journalist's speech because his focus was rather on the subtitles: "Supernatural incident at local school?"
The whole reassuring logic he had tried to build in his mind exploded into a myriad of pieces while his instinct was straightening up on its rock and started to roar. It was him Mrs Longford had been so afraid of. It was about him she had spoken to the policeman at the entrance of the school.
And even if he had done nothing wrong, it was him that the policeman – and probably some reinforcement – was going to find and arrest, when Longford would put her hands on his school records, name and address.
He had no time to lose. His haven was about to become a trap.
He rushed into his room, grabbed a backpack and hurriedly stuffed it with some random clothes. He just added a jumper, for safety against the cold. The child which was still in him reached out for a small brown teddy bear, worn and one-eyed. A bear he had received when he was 3, and that he treasured as a friend. As his only friend. Sometimes holding it against him, waiting for sleep to finally take him over after a particularly harsh and stressing day.
Just as he seized it, he heard a noise at the front door. Several people. His immediate thought was: the Police. Would they listen to him? Would they believe that he knew nothing about what had happened while he had his eyes closed?
Would they believe that he had done nothing wrong?
He stood up and then saw a shadow passing on the window curtains of his room. A shadow holding a gun.
The answer to his questions was obviously: no.
Heath tucked his small teddy bear into his bag and ran out of his room. The front door was besieged, there was still the back door, admitting that the police hadn't already circled his house. He rushed silently into the kitchen. For a moment, he was tempted to grad some food to last in his escape – regardless where his feet might lead him – but the sound of the Police trying to force the front door made him dismiss this idea with a heavy heart. Every second could mean the difference between life and dead. But at the precise moment he grabbed the handle, he realized that the door leading to the garden was locked.
He cast a panicked look around him but could never lay eyes on the keys. Tears of rage almost appeared. So close to the exit. So close to freedom and life… and stopped dead because his mother had probably took the keys in her purse without thinking. He briefly wondered if she would feel bad about it, later. When she would find out.
He heard the front door open with a crashing sound, and the police burst into the living room. Through a side window, he saw the armed shadow moving towards the read of the house.
Heath felt panic taking over and preventing him from breathing. He closed his eyes tightly.
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Policemen cautiously proceeded from one room to another, weapons drawn. They weren't sure about what they were dealing with, and the unknown could quickly make people edgy. Too edgy. Officer Philips, who had talked to Many Longford at school, had seen with his own eyes the ransacked and burnt corridor. He had half-believed the teacher's words, but he knew when he had to be careful. Either the teacher was just having a nervous crisis and had hallucinated the whole scene, or…
He entered the kitchen at that precise moment, followed by one of his colleagues, and lowered his gun in shock…
Bright daylight was coming through the open door and was almost blinding them, but Philips could still distinguish some disturbing details.
The kitchen wallpaper was of a relatively creamy color… except around the door. The floor had a warm honey color… except near the door.
But on a second look, there was no door.
Just a gaping hole surrounded by a charred area.
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To Be Continued
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