Chapter 5: The Day that the Ghost Became Visible

a/n: This is a longer than usual chapter, but the next one will be longer. Please read and review with nice things. I'm quite proud of this chapter, even though it almost made me cry. Despite my wishes, I still own nothing. Enjoy!

Life for fourteen year old Gilbert Grissom hadn't changed much in the last three years. He was now a freshman in high school. That meant a bigger school, and harder classes. Gil didn't really see the difference. School was basically the same, no mater your age.

He was still great friends with Eugene, for which he was very grateful. Eugene was always there to talk with him about the things he was very obsessively interested, like science. Eugene was in none of his classes, though, so the only time he got to see him was lunch time. In his classes, Gil was labeled "the smart from" from the first time he had set foot in them. That was one thing he hated about high school; the labels.

Gil was very observant when it came to people. He hadn't forgotten his first love of bugs. What people did, and why they did it, was very fascinating to him. Eugene didn't understand what was so interesting. To Gil, what his classmate did was the biggest scientific puzzle of them all. People were the greatest scientific anomaly, and Gil thrived on challenge.

By the end of the first week of high school, Gil had noticed the groups the ninth graders had subconsciously formed. These groups came into play mostly in the cafeteria. If you sat outside your group, it was considered a violation of some unwritten law. In the center of the room were the three most influential groups of them all; the cheerleaders, the jocks, and the other miscellaneous popular people.

You didn't have to be a cheerleader or jock to be popular, but with cheerleaders and jocks, it was sort of automatic. Other people had to work for popularity, but once they got it, they had some sort of unwritten power. They always had the best lunch tables, the best parties…pretty much the best of everything. The popular people could also make or break someone with a single word.

There were other groups, seated around the popular tables. They were the artistic people, a group of giggling girls who were pretty, but didn't quit make popular. There was also the druggies, and the punk/Goth kids. Those kids weren't exactly cool, but they had a semi decent status within the school. They stayed within their own group, rarely mingling. For the freshmen, the groups had been decided during the first two weeks of school, and they were difficult to change.

Finally, there were the groups on the outside, the ones who were considered the most "un cool". They were mostly nerds and weirdoes. People who were different then what was considered normal. Gil didn't live in a large city. It wasn't a small town either, but most people knew most people, and everything was extremely stereotypical. People, not just in high school tended to be friends with people like the, and high school was no exception.

Gil wasn't really sure about where he fit in this school ruled by labels. Eugene was his only real friend, the only one he could talk to. He couldn't even tell Eugene everything. Gil had friendly acquaintances, but they weren't really friends. In the cafeteria he sat with the science nerds, but even among them, he didn't fit in. Science didn't really rule his life as it did theirs. He had other interests, where they did not. It was as if no one but Eugene could actually see him if he wasn't exactly like him.

He was invisible. That's what Gil finally decided he was. He was a ghost in a high school of stereotypes. Very few of his classmates saw him, and most of the time Gil preferred it that way. Sometimes, though, it got a little lonely with only Eugene for company. Eugene wasn't even there today. He had been home with the flu for the past three days. When Gil felt alone like this, his mind tended to wander.

There was one way that he was a bit obviously different from the science nerds with which he sat. While they were immersed in their science, he seemed to be the only one who had noticed the opposite sex. Since sixth grade, girls had become more than just the opposite of boys. Gil noticed how they looked, how the giggled. He had had his crushes, that was sure, but not since he was 11 had he ever acted on any of them.

Melinda was the first and last girl that he liked who he had talked to. What Melinda had said all those years ago had deeply affected him. When it came to girls, Gil was painfully shy. Any time he like a girl, he feared talking to her, in case she were to say something like what Melinda had said. It had taken him weeks to convince himself that it wasn't true.

Melinda still went to the same school as him. Gil still made sure he knew where she was from time to time. He had taken to avoiding her, incase she decided to say something as embarrassingly horrible or as horribly embarrassing ever again. The last time she had spoken to him was grade 8 graduation where he had accidentally bumped into her. She had angrily hissed, don't touch me freak. That was the end of that.

He always tried his best not to focus on Melinda, or all of the other pretty girls who would never talk to him. It seemed better that way. Today, he had something much more important to focus on. Gil tended to notice things that other people didn't. He felt his eyes drawn to the table where the druggies sat. Gil looked around the cafeteria, and no one seemed to notice.

One of the largest and most frightening of the druggie guys was looking menacingly at a scrawny, twitchy looking boy. The smaller boy looked terrified, and he looked like he was begging. The large muscular boy stood up, and the rest of the druggies clapped. That's when the other groups noticed, but they almost immediately went back to their own lives.

Gil, however, watched the scene unfold. The large guy grabbed the twitchy guy by the shirt. They were walking towards the back door, towards the outside. Gil knew that there would be violence to follow. Why else would they be going outside, where there were less witnesses? As always unnoticed, Gil left the table and he followed.

He was a bit nervous following him. Those two almost definitely did drugs. The larger of the two certainly was intimidating. He was just as scared about what would happen to him as he was about what would happen to the twitchy nervous looking guy. Gil rarely watched the druggies, but he remembered that this one was the apparent leader. He was the type to do anything to maintain his position.

The two had stopped around the side of the school, near the basket ball nets. It was close to a bunch of trees, and Gil knew enough, to keep himself to hidden. He wanted to help, but he had no idea what he could do. This guy was dangerous, he knew. Another thing that he knew was that the large guy was angry with the twitchy guy.

Gil didn't know what he could do, so he merely listened. "You said you had the money", the guy snarled. He sounded as intimidating as he looked. The smaller guy shook even more frightened. His eyes darted from side to side, as if looking for an escape.

"I'll get it, I swear I will", said the smaller boy, who looked like he could be no more than Gil's own age. The larger guy didn't seem to want to take no for an answer. He reached into his large leather jacket for something. Gil knew what he was reaching for, a moment before he showed it.

The larger of the guys, the one who was angry, pulled out a gun. He recognized it immediately. He had done a lot of reading on various subjects, and guns was one of them. This guy was carrying a GLOCK 19, a fairly common gun for people to carry. Gil wanted to shout out, to say something, but he was paralyzed in fear.

It was strange the amount of fear a single piece of metal could inspire. That gun could carry 15 rounds of ammunition, meaning that if that guy had horrible aim, he would have a few chances. That type of gun has a 12mm slide and grip, making it easier to conceal. This type of gun was usually used by law enforcement and for home defense. It was clear that this guy would use it for much more malicious purposes.

He pointed the gun at the scrawny boy's chest. Gil could do nothing to prevent it. It all happened so quickly, and he knew that if he had done anything, that gun would be pointed at him. From about 5 feet away, the large intimidating guy pulled the trigger.

Gil saw, as if in slow motion, the bullet flying through the air and into the skinny boy's chest. The shooting victim's eyes widened and he fell to the ground. The larger on with the gun, which could be no more than 17, seemed to suddenly realize what he had done. Gil didn't even try to chase him. The injured one was his priority.

He ran to the boy lying on the ground. Blood was already flowing out of the wound, and pooling on the ground. Gil pressed two fingers on the left side of his neck, checking for his pulse. He felt it. It was faint, but still there. He needed to stop the bleeding. That was his first priority. If he did nothing, this guy could bleed to death.

Without thinking, he took of his sweater, and pressed it on the boy's wound. Applying pressure should stop the bleeding. His second priority was to call for help. If someone didn't call an ambulance, this boy could die.

"HELP! SOMEBODY PLEASE! ANYBODY! I NEED HELP!" Gil yelled at the top of his lungs. He didn't care how foolish he sounded. He needed someone to come running, and he needed it now. He heard footsteps running. A very beautiful girl and a handsome jock came running. Gil didn't even think to be nervous while talking to them. He was much too worried.

The boy and the girl's eyes widened as they saw the bleeding semi-conscious boy. "Call an ambulance, now!" Gil yelled. The popular kids didn't question him. The girl pulled out her phone, and began to dial. Gil ignored them as they spoke, and turned his attention to the victim. The boy was loosing blood fast. His breathing was shallow. He was no longer conscious.

"They'll be here in 5 minutes", said the boy. Gil looked down at the prone body on the ground. The victim didn't have five minutes, and Gil could tell. He had done all he could for him. The only thing left to do was to wait. Gil didn't have the heart to tell the guy who had called the ambulance what he knew.

Gil held the wounded boy in his arms, as his blood fell to the ground. The pretty girl who had come running was crying now. The boy, who Gil assumed to be her boyfriend, was holding her in his arms. He tried to keep his body elevated, but he knew it would do no good. Gil watched as the injured boy began to fade. He tried his hardest to keep the tears from falling.

A moment later, which seemed to last a life time. The boy was dead. Gil let the hot wet tears fall freely now. He didn't really care who saw. This boy was dead now. And it was all his fault. He wasn't the one who pulled the trigger, but he might as well have. He hadn't even known this boys name. When this boy had been walking the line between life and death, Gil had been the only one able to help him. He had failed.

Gently, he placed the dead boy's head on the ground. He heard sirens in the distance, gradually getting closer. The popular boy and girl were running ahead to meet the police cars and ambulance that had arrived. Gil knew he should get up to. He didn't, for he couldn't leave the dead boy alone.

He didn't want to have to face the police, who were sure to question him. All he could feel was the hot burning guilt that was pressing on his chest. There was no escaping it. This was all his fault. The police were approaching him, as were the paramedics. Without really thinking about it, he got up.

He watched the scene before him as if it were in slow motion. The police swarmed around the scene, looking very business like. Caution tape seemed to immediately appear around the basket ball nets. Gil looked to the cafeteria door. He was surprised that no one had heard the shots, and come outside.

There were also paramedics. At first they all swarmed around the unknown body. They were yelling things to each other, none of which Gil heard. Gil wasn't very aware of anything they said. Listening wasn't important anymore. The only thing that mattered was that a boy was dead. There were so many things that he could have done differently. If only he had been smarter…if only he had been calmer…then this boy might not have died.

He only heard one thing that they said. "Male, teen, pronounced dead at 1:17 p.m."

He moved away from the body, and all of the commotion. Gil found a concrete slab a little ways around the school, in the parking lot. He sat down, and held his face in his hands. He tried to block out all that had just happened. Gil would give anything just to forget about it. He couldn't though. If he were to close his eyes, to block out his clear view of the police, or to cover his ears to block out the noise, he still wouldn't forget.

Gil rarely cried. He tried not to. He didn't like people to see him cry. Now, he was already crying. Because of him, someone was dead. Never would he forget that. Never would he forget the horrible feeling that he had cause a death. That didn't stop him from trying to block it all out. Gil shut his eyes tight, trying to stem the flow of tears. Tears still fell liberally down his cheeks.

Through shut eyes, he could still see the blue red lights of the ambulance and police cars. He felt light years away from the dead boy, and yet it was only feet. He could hear the vague noises of police speak mere feet away from him. He knew that they would come and question him. The two who had called for help were sure to mention him.

Over and over again, Gil tried to rehearse what he was going to say in his head. It didn't really work. Every time Gil even tried to think of what happened, he would feel new tears form in the corners of the eyes. His head wiped around as he heard footsteps. An older man in a sharp suit was approaching him. He had to want to talk to him. He was the only one around.

Gil didn't look up until the police officer was practically beside him. "Good afternoon young man. My name is Nathan Milton. I work for the Marina Del Ray Crime Lab as a crime scene investigator. Would it be okay if I asked you some questions?" asked the man that Gil thought was a police officer.

Nathan Milton had flashed him an ID with a shiny gold badge attached. So this man wasn't a police officer. He was still going to ask him questions that he dreaded answering. Whatever this man could possibly ask him, it would be painful to answer. To avoid questions about what he had seen and heard, Gil decided to ask a question of his own.

"What exactly do you do?" Gil asked. He had never really understood what it was that a crime scene investigator did.

"Well young man", said the crime scene investigator thoughtfully. He sat down and folded his hands in his lap. "What I do is collect evidence. I process this evidence so that it speaks to me. It tells me how a crime occurred."

Gil nodded, as he listened. Despite the enormous amount of guilt that seemed to enclose him, he found himself interested. He still dreaded the questions to come, and he dreaded reliving what he had seen, and yet he found himself fascinated by this man. For a moment, he considered what would happen if he refused to tell this man what he had seen. In his head, he tried to rehearse how he would answer the man's questions.

As it turned out, Mr. Milton didn't need to ask any questions. Gil didn't know what it was, but there was something that made Gil trust him. Perhaps it was his friendly nature, or the fact that he wasn't really pressuring him to say anything. Without really knowing what he was saying, Gil told the CSI everything.

As he spoke, he saw everything he had seen flash before his eyes once again. It took everything he had to stop himself from crying. Mr. Milton didn't say anything as Gil spoke. He just sat there and listened. Gil described everything he had seen in very accurate detail. He tried to keep the emotion out of his voice, but every once in a while, his voice shook ever so slightly.

Gil didn't find the blood or the bullets the most disturbing thing he had seen this afternoon. What he knew would haunt him forever, was that look in the young boy's eyes in the last moments of his life. He had seen terror in that boy's eyes. The boy knew his life was going to end, and his eyes pleaded for someone to help. Gil could have helped, but he didn't.

Mr. Milton took notes as Gil spoke. When Gil finished, the CSI looked thoughtful. "Thank you for your help son. None of this was your fault." Then the old man got up, and left Gil all alone.

None of this was your fault.

Gil replayed those words in his head over and over again. There was no way he could see any truth in them. In fact, Gil didn't see a way that it couldn't be his fault. He could have helped and he didn't. A boy was dead because of what he had done…or more precisely, what he hadn't done. Any way he looked at it, he had as good as taken a life.

The guilt was so immense, that it was almost too much to bear. Gil was determined not to cry. He remembered, as if from a different life, what one of the mean boys at school had said, soon after his father's death. "Big boys don't cry." For a very long time he had believed it. For a very long time, that was why he didn't let other people see his tears. That wasn't his reason anymore.

Gil had enough of all the crying. He wanted to be happy. Even if he wanted to, he didn't think that he could cry anymore. It was as if he had cried all the tears he had, and there was no more left. His throat felt very dry from all of the tears. He couldn't sit here for ever and wallow in self pity. He wouldn't do that anymore.

He slowly got up, and made his way around the front of the school. He reminded himself over and over again that there were other people to blame. The guy who had pulled the trigger came to mind instantly. He was the one who had really taken a life. He was the one with blood on his hands. Another thing responsible was the drugs. If they didn't do drugs, the victim wouldn't have been so desperate, and he wouldn't have gotten involved with people such as the one who held the gun.

Gil managed a very small smile. There more he though about it, the more he realized that it really wasn't his fault. Despite that realization, he couldn't let go of the tiny shred of guilt that stayed with him. He knew that he would forever wonder how things would turn out if he had done something differently, if he had just spoken up. He didn't think he would ever stop wondering.

As a scientist, he always to try and understand things. He wanted to know how things worked, and why things happened the way they did. Death was one thing he would never understand.

TBC...