A/N: I know, I know, the bad guy introduced in this chapter is pretty unbelievable, but I needed someone with a grudge, and I figured she has a pretty good one lol. Also, my computer came down with a plethora of viruses over the weekend so it is currently at Geek Squad. My next few updates will be some time from now, so I apologize in advance. Anyways, read and review! I love your feedback!

Chapter Two:

To give up on your hopes and dreams

There are some things in life that just don't go together, no matter how much you want them to. For example, cats and dogs don't mix well at all and neither do lions and antelopes or hamsters and cars. Molly Shuester and class repel each other like two skunks, a lot like Sue Sylvester and sanity or Finn Hudson and ugly. There are just some words or characteristics that you don't associate with a certain object and that's just the way it will always be.

Sushi and mayonnaise.

Antarctica and Global Warming.

Howard Bamboo and intelligence.

Ross and no Rachel.

Terri Schuester and the McKinley High Glee Club.

Terri Schuester and Emma Pillsbury.

Terri Schuester and husbands who don't believe that she is, in fact, an important person and someone who he cares deeply about and so therefore shouldn't be able to divorce because of another woman, let alone a group of bitchy, spoiled children.

Will leaving was the last straw. Something inside her died that day, and she thinks it might have been her heart. So she is completely confident in what she is doing now. For her therapist said that she needs to eliminate the stress in her life, or focus on overcoming the things that tore apart her marriage.

She figures the gun in her hand will help her accomplish both.

Honestly, she doesn't think she would have had the guts to do this if it had been her own idea. But that Jacob Israel kid is one persuasive human being. It seemed like he'd mulled over the thought of shooting up his school for some time. He even had two others joining him before he found her. So this would solve all her problems and she wouldn't be alone. Because being alone is the one thing that has pushed her to doing something like this.

So Terri Shuester takes a deep breath and slides back the hammer on her GP 35. She stands in silence for a moment, wondering if Will ever knew that she had bought a handgun. Right after she found out that she was 'pregnant'. After all, you have to be prepared for anything. A home invasion. A damn good sale at Pottery Barn.

A gunshot that is not her own splits through the silence. Screams follow almost instantly.

It has begun.

With fierce eyes, Terri Shuester strides out of the girls bathroom and decides that Terri Shuester and a livable life being together is looking more and more likely by the minute.

She just has to get rid of a certain red head.

-XxX-

Emma Pillsbury had lost twice before in her life. The first time was when she was eight-years-old and her parents had taken her and her brother to an exclusive Dairy Farm. There were elaborate maze there; built with metal fences and the farmers had boasted that it was the largest holding facility for cows on the East Coast. At the time, Emma had scoffed. Around four hours later, after her brother had pushed her into the runoff lagoon, the scoffing had stopped and as she found herself lost in someone else's world, covered in God knows what, she'd started to cry. It really wasn't the fact that she was lost as in misplaced, but more of the fact that she had lost as in being defeated. And by a runoff lagoon, by germs, of all things. She cried the entire way back home and insisted that every cousin in the car be covered in plastic wrap. Even after her three showers, she hadn't felt clean.

The second time she lost was two weeks ago. The loss of Will Shuester hit her hard and it wasn't because he was a slut. Emma could've lived with all of that. She had lived with it. She had let him explain and had found out the details, which were less promiscuous than she had originally thought. It was just the fact that she'd lost. That, for only the second time in her life, she could not get what she wanted.

And on March the 24th, Emma Pillsbury got that feeling again as she heard gunshots rock through the halls of William McKinley High School. That deep pit in her stomach, which she sometimes got when she ate a grape that wasn't sufficiently cleaned, the feeling that just expanded until her chest felt like a black hole, was present again. Today, that huge well of horror in her abdomen wasn't germs or any other excess self imagination.

She knows.

As soon as the six tone lockdown procedure sounds from her walkie-talkie, as soon as she hears the screams of her students, as soon as she starts to breathe through her mouth so she can't smell the coppery sent of blood mixed with musty gunpowder, Emma Pillsbury knows.

They've lost.

Except this time, it isn't just Emma Pillsbury singular.

They've lost. William McKinley plural.

They've lost students. Human beings. Friends. Family. Wolves.

They've lost their school. Once a place of just life and youth, turned into something from a nightmare.

They've lost heart.

They've lost life.

And the one thing that Emma Pillsbury cannot bear, the one thing she cannot bear to lose, is hope.

And as more gunshots pierce the chaos, the hope she has in her heart is gradually being devoured by the growing pit of despair in her stomach. In this moment she feels something inside of her die out.

This isn't High School. This isn't a maze inside Carlie and Marlie's house of Fun.

This is death, and with a sinking realization, Emma Pillsbury knows that they've lost everything.

Quickly, without thinking, she shoots from her seat and goes to the door. Students are flying past her office, horror etched across each and every face. There is no time to catch a coherent sentence, call a familiar face to ask what exactly is going on. Emma knows what is happening. Her mind just doesn't want to process it.

In seconds, the number of students flying past seems to grow less and less, until there is nothing. Faintly, Emma hears the sound of her own deep breaths, but is too preoccupied with the distant gunshots to worry about her own wellbeing. She has been told that, in case of emergencies—emergencies like this—she is to stay in her room. To lock the door and hide under the desk.

Yes, that seems like the most plausible action…to save her own skin. Her students are being attacked from within and somewhere beneath the despair and horror in her stomach, there is anger bubbling.

Squaring her shoulders and flattening her skirt, Emma Pillsbury takes a step towards the distant gunfire—and comes face to face with Quinn Fabray. She doesn't think she's ever screamed so loud before in her life.

After a moment of deep breaths, she calms the rabbit-like beating of her heart. She directs her gaze towards the girl that has terrified her. Instantly, the guidance counselor knows something is wrong. The ex-cheerios captain is too pale, and her brow is creased in beads of sweat. Granted, escaping a life and death situation with a child in your stomach is no small feat, but Quinn Fabray is completely and utterly drained.

Then Emma notices the blood. And she doesn't think she's ever seen a color so red.

Before she can voice a question, she is catching the swaying teen and helping her slide to the ground. It is there, in that close proximity, that she finds the source of the red substance.

Though Quinn has tied her sweater around her right calm, the limb is still producing blood. Emma swallows, and just for good measure asks: "Is that blood?" Because, you know, she could be hallucinating. God, she hopes she's hallucinating.

Quinn rolls her head to look at the guidance counselor and does not answer. She doesn't have to. Emma knows if the teen had had the strength too, she would have rolled her eyes at such a stupid question. Because that's all it was. A stupid question. Yes, Emma Pillsbury, this really is happening.

Emma licks her suddenly dry lips. "Uh, right. Stupid question. Sorry." She tries to will her hands to the girls' wounded leg, but they won't budge.

"It's okay," Quinn says in a shallow pant. "I know this kind of stuff…gets under your skin."

Emma shudders. Because the thought of anything under her skin honestly freaks her out. "No," she says firmly. She clenches her hands into fists and then releases. Slowly, she places her palm over Quinn's leg and pushes.

The teen's head jerks slightly, but there is no other reaction. "I appreciate your help," she whispers, "but can we do this somewhere…that isn't out in the open?"

Emma blinks and for a second doesn't answer. She's too transfixed on the sticky wetness growing against her palms. She doesn't think she'll ever get the blood off.

"Miss. Pillsbury!" Quinn snaps suddenly, and her eyes light up with weak urgency.

"Right, right." Emma flicks her head up and looks around. Because of her position, she has keys to almost all of the rooms in the school; so really, they just had to pick one to hide in. "There's an unused classroom just around the corner. Can you stand?"

Quinn nods and is suddenly trying to get to her feet. But she's weaker than she anticipated and reaches out for help. Automatically, Emma places an arm across her back and slips another over her head. She's only faintly aware of Quinn's bloody hand hovering by her face.

"Sorry," the teen says.

"It's okay," Emma replies. "We just need to get you safe. After that, I can go home and take all the showers I want."

To her surprise, Quinn lets out a soft laugh. "So I guess…I won't be seeing you around…for a few days after this then?"

Emma lets out a laugh as well, because her nerves needed it. "I'll be back sometime next week."

It is an awkward walk to the abandoned English classroom, mostly because she has to rest Quinn against the wall so that she can retrieve her keys for her room. When she returns, the blond is sitting on the floor, resting her head back against the wall.

"They're still shooting," Quinn says absently.

Emma's hand freezes inches from the lock. She had let her mind block out the gunshots, but now, they return with booming force. "I can't believe anyone would—" She shakes her head and sticks the key into the lock. "I can't believe anyone would do something like this."

"We know him. The shooter…" Quinn pauses after her confession, scrunching her eyes like she's trying to remember something, but it's slipping through her fingers.

"We know him?" Emma kneels next to the teen. "You mean…?"

"It's Jacob Israel." Quinn answers the hanging question. "He walked out of…the boy's restroom and just…raised the gun. Hit Karofsky first. Don't know if he's…" she trails off and swallows furiously. "He just started firing…" she shrugs weakly. "I ducked, but wasn't fast enough."

"Oh sweety…" Emma doesn't know what to say. None of her pamphlets cover consoling a student after a near death experience.

Quinn swallows and wipes at her eyes. Suddenly, her face lights up and she turns to the guidance counselor. "He asked me something."

Emma shakes her head. "Why would he—?"

"I don't know," Quinn says through shaking lips. "But when I was on the ground…he walked up to me. He looked," she pauses to catch her breath and try to find the right word. "Sad," she says finally. "Like he regretted…what he was doing…Then he pointed the gun…at me and asked me where Rachel Berry was."

"What?" Emma stammers. "He's looking for Rachel?"

"Who's looking for me?"

The two snap their heads around so fast, their world spins. But no matter how many times they blinked, the person behind them doesn't go away.

Rachel Berry is crouched a few feet away, recent tear stains on her cheeks. "What the hell is going on?" she demands in a shaking voice.

Emma Pillsbury can't answer that. She doesn't know everything there is to know about Jacob Israel, or why he thinks life is bad enough to do something like this. But if there is one thing she does know—that she is certain of—it is that she is not going to lose another one of her students. She will not lose again today.