Disclaimer: See first chapter
Rating: PG-15
Chapter One: Marshall [Earlier that day]
Marshall Wheeler was NOT having a good day.
As if being twenty minutes late for first period because your roommate forgot to wake you up wasn't bad enough, there hadn't been any warm water left in the showers, reducing Marshall to a shivering ice cube, and then when he'd tried to purchase his all-American breakfast of a banana and a Pepsi from the school store, he'd left his wallet there and had to return to retrieve it.
I really need to buy a new alarm clock. Marshall thought as he ran back to the store through the empty halls. Or three. Yeah, that *might* wake me up next time...
As he rounded the corner and passed the boy's bathroom on the first floor, something huge and hard smacked into him with a resounding 'thud' and knocked Marshall to the ground. Dazed and bemused, the teenager blinked several times until the world was back in order and pushed himself off the ground using the wall.
"Hey, watch where you're going loser." A male voice said roughly. Thoroughly confused now, Marshall stood to see who had spoken. It was Chris Ghent, a boy that he knew from several of his classes. Chris had never been a very talkative person; he kept to himself all the time, writing in his notebook or listening to his CD player and he wore mostly black whenever he wasn't in uniform. Not the friendliest guy to run into in the hall. Right now he wore an angry expression with the black attire... but there was something else there in his façade too, something Marshall couldn't place... but it disappeared before he had time to discern anything and was replaced with a disinterested one.
"Sorry." Marshall replied, still a little out of it. "But you could open the door more slowly next time... You really conked me." He rubbed his forehead where he could feel a lump starting to form.
"Yeah, whatever." Chris replied, pushing past Marshall and walking off down the hall.
"Well, 'I'm sorry, Marshall, that I ran into you so carelessly. Here, let me help you pick up your things!'" Marshall mocked bitterly, leaning down to grab his backpack and books. Under his chemistry text book, Marshall was dismayed to find his banana had been crushed, and reduced to a fine mush. Grimacing, he picked up the repulsive fruit and tossed it in the nearest trash can.
"There goes breakfast." He sighed, then remembered he was still late and continued on to the school store.
It was five minutes later that Marshall slipped into science class and into his seat next to Lucas Randall. Usually he was ecstatic to start the day off with a dose of science class, but he couldn't seem to find that elated mood today, especially with everyone turning to stare at him as he entered late.
"That's it." Lucas muttered to his friend as he sat down on the stool next to him. "I'm buying you the loudest alarm clock I can find for your next birthday... and I'm putting it under your pillow."
"You could always try throwing a bucket of water on my face every morning." Marshall suggested wryly. "But that might not be received well. What are we doing?"
"Photosynthesis lab starts tomorrow, remember? We're going over the packet."
"Oh, right." Marshall grabbed his own copy and studied it as Professor Zachary continued his lecture.
Three hours later, Marshall's mood was not improving. After tripping on a stool in chemistry and having all the students laugh at him, then nearly failing a quiz on Macbeth in English class that he'd forgotten to study for the previous night, Marshall arrived at lunch and waited through the entire line for twenty minutes only to remember that he'd spent his last few dollars on his 'breakfast' that morning and didn't have any more money with him.
Putting his lunch back, Marshall jogged up to his room and grabbed some more money, and was surprised to see a letter on his bed. Lucas must have checked his mail this morning and grabbed this for me, he thought, picking up the letter and opening it, temporarily forgetting that he still hadn't eaten anything today and ignoring the protesting of his stomach.
The letter had been sent by the North American Scholarship Organization. Marshall knew right away that it was in response to the math contest he'd taken last spring in hopes of winning a scholarship. He ripped out the letter and unfolded it quickly. "Dear Mr. Wheeler," Marshall read to himself. He scanned the first few lines of the letter, his eyes widening as it sunk in.
"I got it." He muttered to himself, amazed. "I made it to the top 25." After two rounds of contests involving geometry, algebra and trigonometry, Marshall had qualified to move onto the final round and compete for a $30,000 scholarship to the college of his choice. He'd thought he'd done well on the test, but he never expected to qualify, out of so many other kids.
Smiling to himself that his day had just gotten a little better, Marshall shoved the letter into his pocket, snatched his money and went down to the lunch room to tell his friends.
Unfortunately, the good feeling had vanished by the time he reached the lunch room. A huge crowd of students had gathered near the lunch line and, curiously, Marshall pushed his way through the crowd to see what was going on. He found Vaughn in the center of it all – with Madison practically hanging on his arm – then found Josie and Corrine nearby. Lucas was nowhere to be found.
"Hey, what's going on?" He asked the girls.
"Oh hey, Marshall, you'll never believe it." Josie said excitedly. "Vaughn just got a letter today from the NASO – he got a scholarship for football, for any college he wants.
"Oh." Marshall said, slightly surprised by the coincidence. "Uh, so did I, actually."
"What? I didn't hear you." Corrine asked, raising her voice to be heard above the chattering teenagers all marveling over Vaughn's achievements.
"I said, 'so did I.' I got a scholarship—"He held up the letter for the girls to see.
"For football?" Josie wrinkled her brow.
"No—for that math contest I took in May, remember?" Marshall yelled.
"Oh, well that's cool, Marshall. Congratulations." Corrine patted him on the arm, then turned back to Josie, who was staring at Madison and Vaughn with some kind of abject fury. Vaughn looked briefly at the flirtatiously giggling Madison, laughing nervously to humor her, then turned in the direction of Josie, his embarrassment showing. For a minute it seemed like he was about to slip past Madison and her friends to make it over to Josie but the blonde cheerleader grabbed his elbow and pulled him back, so his back was facing the now-fuming redhead.
"I've got to use the rest room." Josie said and squeezed past the students – including a helpless looking Vaughn – to the hallway.
Corrine looked indecisive for a minute then said, "I should go ... too. I—I need to ask Josie something. I'll be right back—"
"Oh, uh sure... Hey, wait, have you seen Lucas around?" Marshall asked.
"Um, no... I—I think he's still with Professor Z, talking about the lab or something. He said he'd be late to lunch." Corrine was already backing away into the crowd. "See you later, Marshall."
"OK, I'll just—I'll just go sit by myself." He said quietly, making his way over to the lunch line to finally get his lunch. As he waited for his change, Marshall turned back to the crowd several feet away and watched Vaughn and all his admirers, suddenly feeling a pang of jealousy.
Vaughn gets all the attention, he thought bitterly. I beat 100,000 students in a rigorous math contest and make it so far... and all my friends care about it Vaughn's amazing football scholarship. "Not like his dad can't afford to send him wherever he wants anyway." Marshall muttered aloud. A thought suddenly struck him and brought Marshall back to reality. Whoa there, buddy, he warned himself, careful where your thoughts take you. Remember last time you felt ignored? You don't want to go all Invisible Man on yourself again, do you?
Marshall added to his mental notes to just take it easy and roll with the punches, but he was finding that very difficult to do. Today had been nothing but stressful, and his one tiny ray of light had been smothered by Vaughn's own success. His friends hadn't asked him anything about his day, and then had all summarily ditched him to do... he didn't even know *what* they were doing, anyway.
With one last look at Vaughn, who was now glancing around the room like he was looking for someone while pretending to listen to his friends' conversations, Marshall turned to get his change from the lunch lady, but stopped suddenly at the sound of some indistinguishable noise in the distance.
Both he and the lunch lady and about five other students closest to the door looked toward it to see what it is they'd heard. There was more, some sort of noise that resembled small explosions... then the screaming started... Abruptly, the room grew silent as the sounds continued, seeming to come closer. No one spoke... then with a pang, the realization hit them.
Gunfire. It was gunfire. Someone was shooting off a weapon in the school.
Immediately the sounds in the lunch room rose again. Teenagers started murmuring amongst themselves, some shouting to get out of there. The room had rapidly descended into chaos, but Marshall just stood there, not knowing what to do or think. He just stood, rooted to the spot, still holding his lunch tray as students rushed past him to get out of the lunch room.
And then there he was. Outside of the lunchroom, blocking the exit was Chris Ghent, holding a rifle with one hand, waving it around. Marshall was transfixed, not knowing what to do or say. Chris was yelling out threats to the other students, screaming obscenities and pointing the gun in people's faces. Kids were screaming but Marshall just stood there... and then Chris lowered the gun at a girl, and shot her in the chest.
A noise that didn't sound human escaped Marshall's throat and he dropped the tray of food. It clattered to the floor loudly but Marshall didn't notice. He was backing up against the lunch counter, hands on the edge and gripping the Formica surface.
He couldn't believe the horror he had just witnessed. He knew that girl. He knew her. He had never been friends with her, since she was a cheerleader and one of Madison's friends... but five minutes earlier she had been alive and well and chatting with her friends on the other side of the room and now she was pale and unmoving, lying on the ground in a puddle of her own blood. Her life was spilling out around her and no one would go forward to help her.
Chris was still yelling threats. There were more gunshots. More people Marshall knew fell to the ground. A teacher rushed forward attempting to remove the gun from Chris's grip, but he fell the ground a moment later, clutching his neck where Chris had shot him...
Tears streamed down Marshall's cheeks, and he turned to look around the room for another escape. It was then that he noticed Vaughn was still in the room. The crowd surrounding him had dispersed. Students were on the floor in huddles, crying and trying to ensconce themselves behind tables or garbage cans. In the middle of it all, there sat Vaughn, kneeling down next to Madison. He was staring at her in shock. There was blood pouring from her thigh where Chris had shot her and she was crying hysterically for the pain to go away, for everything to stop.
"Shut her up!" Chris yelled, waving the gun still. "I said SHUT HER THE FUCK UP!" Chris pointed the gun at her again.
"No, NO! Wait, don't do it!" Vaughn pleaded in a shaky voice. "I'll get her to be quiet." He pulled Madison closer to himself, putting his arms around her. She heaved a sob into his shoulder, but still would not stop screaming. "Madison! Madison, shh, shh, it's OK. You have to be quiet, Madison. Do you understand me? You have to shut up now – please!"
"No, no," Madison sobbed, pounding her fist on his shoulder. "Not until he goes away. Make him go away, please Vaughn. I don't want to be here, I don't want – I just want to be home with my daddy. I don't want to be here—"
"You spoiled, rich kids are all the same." Chris muttered. "Just run to daddy and he'll make everything better. You really don't care about the consequences of your actions, you NEVER DO." He yelled. "You think you can just push people around all you want because you think you're better than them and you'll never have to pay for it because they'll never act on their pain. They're too much in fear of you to respond.
"Well, I'm going to make sure you all pay for the things you do!" Chris screamed, his voice hoarse now. "Daddy can't help you right now. I'm sorry, Madison. You committed yourself to this fate every time you acted the way you always do to people you're 'superior' to. Goodbye." With that, he cocked the gun, aimed it at her chest and pulled the trigger.
Madison's body jerked involuntarily and she slumped down to Vaughn's lap. The latter jolted back, too shocked to think rationally, and jumped to his feet. "STOP IT, STOP IT, GOD, PLEASE JUST STOP THIS!" He screamed, his voice cracking. "You can't do this, Chris. You can't just assume the role of God and choose who gets to live and die! This is insanity – you just killed a person, Chris! You killed people today! Do you even realize that?"
"Wow, the illustrious Vaughn Pearson actually knows my name." Chris said, sounding impressed. "I never would have figured it. Didn't think you'd have time for 'social outcasts' like me. Too busy with your football and your cheerleader friends to ever notice me when I'm not holding a gun. Three years. THREE YEARS that we've gone to school together, Vaughn Pearson, and you've never once said hello to me. Not *once*."
Vaughn dropped his arms to his sides dejectedly, then shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry." He said sincerely. "I'm sorry for not noticing you more, Chris." He seemed to have nothing else to say, Marshall noticed. His energies were spent, but his eyes were eager. He truly, honestly meant what he said, Marshall realized.
"You deserve to die." Chris said fiercely, his dark eyes flashing. "If people are allowed to go through their lives treating others the way they do and not be punished for it, then they shouldn't be allowed to live in this world." He raised the gun and pointed it directly at Vaughn. The latter flinched, but remained in the spot, unmoving.
This can't be happening, Marshall thought to himself. I just watched people I know get shot, friends, some of them... Now I'm about to watch another one die, and I just can't handle this. Vaughn doesn't deserve to die, no one here does. He didn't do anything wrong... he didn't do *anything*...
"Chris." Marshall found his voice, and was not surprised to hear how shaky it was, though he was surprised that he was able to get any sounds out. Chris Ghent turned to look at Marshall, and so did Vaughn reluctantly, though he was still aware of the gun trained on him.
"What do you want?" Chris snarled.
Marshall shook his head, disbelieving. "Chris, you can't do this. You can't go around shooting people who wronged you in life. You won't solve any of your problems this way, believe me." He said steadily.
"Oh, no? Well, I'd say I'm solving quite a few of my problems just fine." He said roughly.
"No, you don't understand. Whatever it is that made you do this today, whatever problems you have that possessed you to take these horrible actions... they're not going to go away because of this. Things will only get worse for you."
"Things have been at their worst for a long time. You don't know anything about me. You've got friends, Marshall. I don't have any friends, I don't have a family that loves me, or money or anything. I've got absolutely NOTHING to lose."
Without realizing what he was doing, Marshall was taking a few steps forward, toward Chris. The teenager with the weapon seemed to realize this but he didn't move at all, keeping the gun focused on Vaughn. "Chris, I know what it's like to have people not notice you!" Marshall pleaded. "I get where you're coming from, I really do. I've been there myself, but you know what you've got to do?" Another step. "You've got to just accept these things and move on." Another step. Now there were only a about five feet separating them.
"Things might have been better for you if you'd done it earlier. I'm sorry that can't happen now, Chris. But you can still walk away from this without killing anyone else. You don't have to resort to this to solve your problems." Marshall snuck a glance at Vaughn who was breathing heavily now, looking very much like he wanted to run, or try to grab the gun. Marshall hoped he didn't have to do either. He looked back at Chris, who had a timid look on his face. "You don't need to do this, Chris."
A small sigh escaped the boy's face. The gun in his left hand lowered slightly, but not completely. For a brief moment, it looked like he might release the weapon and give in... but then his face got fierce again. "That's where you're wrong. I will NOT let you people get away with the things you've done."
It all happened so abruptly, that Marshall didn't have time to act. The only thing he knew in that moment was that Vaughn did not deserve to die, and that he – Marshall – was not going to let him. In a flash he had pushed Vaughn out of the way and heard the sound of a single gunshot going off, then pain exploded in his abdomen.
Marshall faltered, suddenly very dizzy, and started falling to the ground. Still shocked at the events that had transpired, Vaughn caught his arms and lowered him to the ground, collapsing with him. Mouth agape and eyes wide, Vaughn sat with his legs crossed on the ground, his friend's head in his lap. Marshall was dimly aware of someone smoothing the hair out on his forehead, someone else calling for help, someone else groaning in pain... It took a full minute for him to realize that the last one had been from him. He was so disoriented now... he could barely tell what was going on around him.
Even Chris was too shocked to move for a few moments. He hadn't meant to shoot Marshall. He had been aiming for Vaughn Pearson... but Marshall had taken the bullet for no reason. Why had he done that? Why would anyone do something like that for someone they barely knew? With these thoughts mulling over in his mind, each fighting for supremacy, Chris backed away from the crowd, breathing deeply.
"Now look what you've done." Vaughn breathed, looking up at Chris with tears in his eyes. "Why did you have to do that? Why? Why couldn't you have shot me instead?"
"I—I didn't mean—"Chris regained his composure, straightening up and holding his head high with false confidence. "It's his own fault. He shouldn't have gotten in the way." He said coldly. "This is the end now, Vaughn. I'm almost finished." Vaughn looked at the boy, blinking back tears, clutching Marshall's shoulder. Chris had a far off look in his eyes now.
"You got lucky today, Vaughn Pearson. You were saved." To Vaughn's surprise, Chris raised the gun to his own head. "But no one will save me."
Chris Ghent pulled the trigger.
Rating: PG-15
Chapter One: Marshall [Earlier that day]
Marshall Wheeler was NOT having a good day.
As if being twenty minutes late for first period because your roommate forgot to wake you up wasn't bad enough, there hadn't been any warm water left in the showers, reducing Marshall to a shivering ice cube, and then when he'd tried to purchase his all-American breakfast of a banana and a Pepsi from the school store, he'd left his wallet there and had to return to retrieve it.
I really need to buy a new alarm clock. Marshall thought as he ran back to the store through the empty halls. Or three. Yeah, that *might* wake me up next time...
As he rounded the corner and passed the boy's bathroom on the first floor, something huge and hard smacked into him with a resounding 'thud' and knocked Marshall to the ground. Dazed and bemused, the teenager blinked several times until the world was back in order and pushed himself off the ground using the wall.
"Hey, watch where you're going loser." A male voice said roughly. Thoroughly confused now, Marshall stood to see who had spoken. It was Chris Ghent, a boy that he knew from several of his classes. Chris had never been a very talkative person; he kept to himself all the time, writing in his notebook or listening to his CD player and he wore mostly black whenever he wasn't in uniform. Not the friendliest guy to run into in the hall. Right now he wore an angry expression with the black attire... but there was something else there in his façade too, something Marshall couldn't place... but it disappeared before he had time to discern anything and was replaced with a disinterested one.
"Sorry." Marshall replied, still a little out of it. "But you could open the door more slowly next time... You really conked me." He rubbed his forehead where he could feel a lump starting to form.
"Yeah, whatever." Chris replied, pushing past Marshall and walking off down the hall.
"Well, 'I'm sorry, Marshall, that I ran into you so carelessly. Here, let me help you pick up your things!'" Marshall mocked bitterly, leaning down to grab his backpack and books. Under his chemistry text book, Marshall was dismayed to find his banana had been crushed, and reduced to a fine mush. Grimacing, he picked up the repulsive fruit and tossed it in the nearest trash can.
"There goes breakfast." He sighed, then remembered he was still late and continued on to the school store.
It was five minutes later that Marshall slipped into science class and into his seat next to Lucas Randall. Usually he was ecstatic to start the day off with a dose of science class, but he couldn't seem to find that elated mood today, especially with everyone turning to stare at him as he entered late.
"That's it." Lucas muttered to his friend as he sat down on the stool next to him. "I'm buying you the loudest alarm clock I can find for your next birthday... and I'm putting it under your pillow."
"You could always try throwing a bucket of water on my face every morning." Marshall suggested wryly. "But that might not be received well. What are we doing?"
"Photosynthesis lab starts tomorrow, remember? We're going over the packet."
"Oh, right." Marshall grabbed his own copy and studied it as Professor Zachary continued his lecture.
Three hours later, Marshall's mood was not improving. After tripping on a stool in chemistry and having all the students laugh at him, then nearly failing a quiz on Macbeth in English class that he'd forgotten to study for the previous night, Marshall arrived at lunch and waited through the entire line for twenty minutes only to remember that he'd spent his last few dollars on his 'breakfast' that morning and didn't have any more money with him.
Putting his lunch back, Marshall jogged up to his room and grabbed some more money, and was surprised to see a letter on his bed. Lucas must have checked his mail this morning and grabbed this for me, he thought, picking up the letter and opening it, temporarily forgetting that he still hadn't eaten anything today and ignoring the protesting of his stomach.
The letter had been sent by the North American Scholarship Organization. Marshall knew right away that it was in response to the math contest he'd taken last spring in hopes of winning a scholarship. He ripped out the letter and unfolded it quickly. "Dear Mr. Wheeler," Marshall read to himself. He scanned the first few lines of the letter, his eyes widening as it sunk in.
"I got it." He muttered to himself, amazed. "I made it to the top 25." After two rounds of contests involving geometry, algebra and trigonometry, Marshall had qualified to move onto the final round and compete for a $30,000 scholarship to the college of his choice. He'd thought he'd done well on the test, but he never expected to qualify, out of so many other kids.
Smiling to himself that his day had just gotten a little better, Marshall shoved the letter into his pocket, snatched his money and went down to the lunch room to tell his friends.
Unfortunately, the good feeling had vanished by the time he reached the lunch room. A huge crowd of students had gathered near the lunch line and, curiously, Marshall pushed his way through the crowd to see what was going on. He found Vaughn in the center of it all – with Madison practically hanging on his arm – then found Josie and Corrine nearby. Lucas was nowhere to be found.
"Hey, what's going on?" He asked the girls.
"Oh hey, Marshall, you'll never believe it." Josie said excitedly. "Vaughn just got a letter today from the NASO – he got a scholarship for football, for any college he wants.
"Oh." Marshall said, slightly surprised by the coincidence. "Uh, so did I, actually."
"What? I didn't hear you." Corrine asked, raising her voice to be heard above the chattering teenagers all marveling over Vaughn's achievements.
"I said, 'so did I.' I got a scholarship—"He held up the letter for the girls to see.
"For football?" Josie wrinkled her brow.
"No—for that math contest I took in May, remember?" Marshall yelled.
"Oh, well that's cool, Marshall. Congratulations." Corrine patted him on the arm, then turned back to Josie, who was staring at Madison and Vaughn with some kind of abject fury. Vaughn looked briefly at the flirtatiously giggling Madison, laughing nervously to humor her, then turned in the direction of Josie, his embarrassment showing. For a minute it seemed like he was about to slip past Madison and her friends to make it over to Josie but the blonde cheerleader grabbed his elbow and pulled him back, so his back was facing the now-fuming redhead.
"I've got to use the rest room." Josie said and squeezed past the students – including a helpless looking Vaughn – to the hallway.
Corrine looked indecisive for a minute then said, "I should go ... too. I—I need to ask Josie something. I'll be right back—"
"Oh, uh sure... Hey, wait, have you seen Lucas around?" Marshall asked.
"Um, no... I—I think he's still with Professor Z, talking about the lab or something. He said he'd be late to lunch." Corrine was already backing away into the crowd. "See you later, Marshall."
"OK, I'll just—I'll just go sit by myself." He said quietly, making his way over to the lunch line to finally get his lunch. As he waited for his change, Marshall turned back to the crowd several feet away and watched Vaughn and all his admirers, suddenly feeling a pang of jealousy.
Vaughn gets all the attention, he thought bitterly. I beat 100,000 students in a rigorous math contest and make it so far... and all my friends care about it Vaughn's amazing football scholarship. "Not like his dad can't afford to send him wherever he wants anyway." Marshall muttered aloud. A thought suddenly struck him and brought Marshall back to reality. Whoa there, buddy, he warned himself, careful where your thoughts take you. Remember last time you felt ignored? You don't want to go all Invisible Man on yourself again, do you?
Marshall added to his mental notes to just take it easy and roll with the punches, but he was finding that very difficult to do. Today had been nothing but stressful, and his one tiny ray of light had been smothered by Vaughn's own success. His friends hadn't asked him anything about his day, and then had all summarily ditched him to do... he didn't even know *what* they were doing, anyway.
With one last look at Vaughn, who was now glancing around the room like he was looking for someone while pretending to listen to his friends' conversations, Marshall turned to get his change from the lunch lady, but stopped suddenly at the sound of some indistinguishable noise in the distance.
Both he and the lunch lady and about five other students closest to the door looked toward it to see what it is they'd heard. There was more, some sort of noise that resembled small explosions... then the screaming started... Abruptly, the room grew silent as the sounds continued, seeming to come closer. No one spoke... then with a pang, the realization hit them.
Gunfire. It was gunfire. Someone was shooting off a weapon in the school.
Immediately the sounds in the lunch room rose again. Teenagers started murmuring amongst themselves, some shouting to get out of there. The room had rapidly descended into chaos, but Marshall just stood there, not knowing what to do or think. He just stood, rooted to the spot, still holding his lunch tray as students rushed past him to get out of the lunch room.
And then there he was. Outside of the lunchroom, blocking the exit was Chris Ghent, holding a rifle with one hand, waving it around. Marshall was transfixed, not knowing what to do or say. Chris was yelling out threats to the other students, screaming obscenities and pointing the gun in people's faces. Kids were screaming but Marshall just stood there... and then Chris lowered the gun at a girl, and shot her in the chest.
A noise that didn't sound human escaped Marshall's throat and he dropped the tray of food. It clattered to the floor loudly but Marshall didn't notice. He was backing up against the lunch counter, hands on the edge and gripping the Formica surface.
He couldn't believe the horror he had just witnessed. He knew that girl. He knew her. He had never been friends with her, since she was a cheerleader and one of Madison's friends... but five minutes earlier she had been alive and well and chatting with her friends on the other side of the room and now she was pale and unmoving, lying on the ground in a puddle of her own blood. Her life was spilling out around her and no one would go forward to help her.
Chris was still yelling threats. There were more gunshots. More people Marshall knew fell to the ground. A teacher rushed forward attempting to remove the gun from Chris's grip, but he fell the ground a moment later, clutching his neck where Chris had shot him...
Tears streamed down Marshall's cheeks, and he turned to look around the room for another escape. It was then that he noticed Vaughn was still in the room. The crowd surrounding him had dispersed. Students were on the floor in huddles, crying and trying to ensconce themselves behind tables or garbage cans. In the middle of it all, there sat Vaughn, kneeling down next to Madison. He was staring at her in shock. There was blood pouring from her thigh where Chris had shot her and she was crying hysterically for the pain to go away, for everything to stop.
"Shut her up!" Chris yelled, waving the gun still. "I said SHUT HER THE FUCK UP!" Chris pointed the gun at her again.
"No, NO! Wait, don't do it!" Vaughn pleaded in a shaky voice. "I'll get her to be quiet." He pulled Madison closer to himself, putting his arms around her. She heaved a sob into his shoulder, but still would not stop screaming. "Madison! Madison, shh, shh, it's OK. You have to be quiet, Madison. Do you understand me? You have to shut up now – please!"
"No, no," Madison sobbed, pounding her fist on his shoulder. "Not until he goes away. Make him go away, please Vaughn. I don't want to be here, I don't want – I just want to be home with my daddy. I don't want to be here—"
"You spoiled, rich kids are all the same." Chris muttered. "Just run to daddy and he'll make everything better. You really don't care about the consequences of your actions, you NEVER DO." He yelled. "You think you can just push people around all you want because you think you're better than them and you'll never have to pay for it because they'll never act on their pain. They're too much in fear of you to respond.
"Well, I'm going to make sure you all pay for the things you do!" Chris screamed, his voice hoarse now. "Daddy can't help you right now. I'm sorry, Madison. You committed yourself to this fate every time you acted the way you always do to people you're 'superior' to. Goodbye." With that, he cocked the gun, aimed it at her chest and pulled the trigger.
Madison's body jerked involuntarily and she slumped down to Vaughn's lap. The latter jolted back, too shocked to think rationally, and jumped to his feet. "STOP IT, STOP IT, GOD, PLEASE JUST STOP THIS!" He screamed, his voice cracking. "You can't do this, Chris. You can't just assume the role of God and choose who gets to live and die! This is insanity – you just killed a person, Chris! You killed people today! Do you even realize that?"
"Wow, the illustrious Vaughn Pearson actually knows my name." Chris said, sounding impressed. "I never would have figured it. Didn't think you'd have time for 'social outcasts' like me. Too busy with your football and your cheerleader friends to ever notice me when I'm not holding a gun. Three years. THREE YEARS that we've gone to school together, Vaughn Pearson, and you've never once said hello to me. Not *once*."
Vaughn dropped his arms to his sides dejectedly, then shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry." He said sincerely. "I'm sorry for not noticing you more, Chris." He seemed to have nothing else to say, Marshall noticed. His energies were spent, but his eyes were eager. He truly, honestly meant what he said, Marshall realized.
"You deserve to die." Chris said fiercely, his dark eyes flashing. "If people are allowed to go through their lives treating others the way they do and not be punished for it, then they shouldn't be allowed to live in this world." He raised the gun and pointed it directly at Vaughn. The latter flinched, but remained in the spot, unmoving.
This can't be happening, Marshall thought to himself. I just watched people I know get shot, friends, some of them... Now I'm about to watch another one die, and I just can't handle this. Vaughn doesn't deserve to die, no one here does. He didn't do anything wrong... he didn't do *anything*...
"Chris." Marshall found his voice, and was not surprised to hear how shaky it was, though he was surprised that he was able to get any sounds out. Chris Ghent turned to look at Marshall, and so did Vaughn reluctantly, though he was still aware of the gun trained on him.
"What do you want?" Chris snarled.
Marshall shook his head, disbelieving. "Chris, you can't do this. You can't go around shooting people who wronged you in life. You won't solve any of your problems this way, believe me." He said steadily.
"Oh, no? Well, I'd say I'm solving quite a few of my problems just fine." He said roughly.
"No, you don't understand. Whatever it is that made you do this today, whatever problems you have that possessed you to take these horrible actions... they're not going to go away because of this. Things will only get worse for you."
"Things have been at their worst for a long time. You don't know anything about me. You've got friends, Marshall. I don't have any friends, I don't have a family that loves me, or money or anything. I've got absolutely NOTHING to lose."
Without realizing what he was doing, Marshall was taking a few steps forward, toward Chris. The teenager with the weapon seemed to realize this but he didn't move at all, keeping the gun focused on Vaughn. "Chris, I know what it's like to have people not notice you!" Marshall pleaded. "I get where you're coming from, I really do. I've been there myself, but you know what you've got to do?" Another step. "You've got to just accept these things and move on." Another step. Now there were only a about five feet separating them.
"Things might have been better for you if you'd done it earlier. I'm sorry that can't happen now, Chris. But you can still walk away from this without killing anyone else. You don't have to resort to this to solve your problems." Marshall snuck a glance at Vaughn who was breathing heavily now, looking very much like he wanted to run, or try to grab the gun. Marshall hoped he didn't have to do either. He looked back at Chris, who had a timid look on his face. "You don't need to do this, Chris."
A small sigh escaped the boy's face. The gun in his left hand lowered slightly, but not completely. For a brief moment, it looked like he might release the weapon and give in... but then his face got fierce again. "That's where you're wrong. I will NOT let you people get away with the things you've done."
It all happened so abruptly, that Marshall didn't have time to act. The only thing he knew in that moment was that Vaughn did not deserve to die, and that he – Marshall – was not going to let him. In a flash he had pushed Vaughn out of the way and heard the sound of a single gunshot going off, then pain exploded in his abdomen.
Marshall faltered, suddenly very dizzy, and started falling to the ground. Still shocked at the events that had transpired, Vaughn caught his arms and lowered him to the ground, collapsing with him. Mouth agape and eyes wide, Vaughn sat with his legs crossed on the ground, his friend's head in his lap. Marshall was dimly aware of someone smoothing the hair out on his forehead, someone else calling for help, someone else groaning in pain... It took a full minute for him to realize that the last one had been from him. He was so disoriented now... he could barely tell what was going on around him.
Even Chris was too shocked to move for a few moments. He hadn't meant to shoot Marshall. He had been aiming for Vaughn Pearson... but Marshall had taken the bullet for no reason. Why had he done that? Why would anyone do something like that for someone they barely knew? With these thoughts mulling over in his mind, each fighting for supremacy, Chris backed away from the crowd, breathing deeply.
"Now look what you've done." Vaughn breathed, looking up at Chris with tears in his eyes. "Why did you have to do that? Why? Why couldn't you have shot me instead?"
"I—I didn't mean—"Chris regained his composure, straightening up and holding his head high with false confidence. "It's his own fault. He shouldn't have gotten in the way." He said coldly. "This is the end now, Vaughn. I'm almost finished." Vaughn looked at the boy, blinking back tears, clutching Marshall's shoulder. Chris had a far off look in his eyes now.
"You got lucky today, Vaughn Pearson. You were saved." To Vaughn's surprise, Chris raised the gun to his own head. "But no one will save me."
Chris Ghent pulled the trigger.