Chapter Four: A Sinner's Prayer

Blood was splattered on the concrete, and the musical sound of ambulances arriving on the PCA campus was somewhat unusual. Pacific Coast Academy has won many awards for an anti-violence atmosphere. (Until now.) Michael's body reminded many people of a dead person's a person who had gotten shot in a terrible hot and run accident, not one of someone who was nearly beaten to death.

But it was.

The scene was beautiful, the blank faces the stone cold tears flowing from everybody's cheeks – everything was amazing. Nicole Bristow was holding on to Zoey's hand, her finger's tightly laced in her best friends – and tears flowing from her eyes. Everything in that moment seemed orchestrated, everything seemed like a symphony set in the right key – in the perfect measure in the right amount of time. Cries - whispers – dun. (Michael's body was lifted up to the stretcher) – muffled murmurs – tears dripping onto the ground – dun. (Michael was loaded in the back of the ambulance.) It was like art in motion. A very depressing art, an art that could only be seen in black and white because it was the only thing justifiable to the situation – to the piece of art.

"Michael Barrett, age fifteen. About, one hundred and sixty pounds", a police officer spoke into his walkie-talkie, "Sight of this attack? Pacific Coast Academy", the police officer listened to his walkie-talkie and his eyes dropped as he spoke, "Race? African-American".

Everyone fell silent.

It couldn't have been because Michael was black, it couldn't have been because he looked different from almost everyone at PCA. It just couldn't be. For all anyone knew he could've been attacked by someone of his own race. But in all actuality, when the police officer said the words African-American. Everyone felt it essential to pay their respects. And to shut up. The medics shut the door to the ambulance, patted it three times and turned to Dean Rivers.

"We need someone to stay with Michael, to make sure he doesn't…" a medic droned, "Someone to sit with us, to make him feel comfortable. Perhaps some of his friends?"

Dean Rivers nodded, "Chase, Zoey, Nicole. Go ahead".

Dana, Quinn and Logan stood behind them; tears flowed from Dana's eyes as she watched the three hop into the back of the ambulance and drive away.

"D – Dean… what about us?" Logan questioned.

Dean crossed his arms, "Space Mr. Reese, and besides I have to talk to you."

And those words were daggers in Logan's heart.

It's scary to be with your best friend and see that he's not able to move. It's scary to see him with tubes up his nose and his eyes closed so tightly it seemed like he was dead. It was scary to be riding in the back of an ambulance. And Nicole Bristow was as scared as ever as she rode in the backseat of the ambulance, holding onto Michael's hand as everyone sat in silence. The only noise that could be heard was the one of the respiratory system hooked up to Michael, and even that sound was not as loud as it should've been.

As it could've been.

Tears dripped from Nicole's eyes as she kept her fingers laced into Michael's limp ones, his limp fingers that had no sign of life pertaining to them – his limp fingers that used to be warm ­– the ones that ran through her hair –

"I'm sorry", Nicole whispered to Michael, "I'm really, really sorry".

Zoey and Chase sat there – in the very back – their eyes cold and their faces frozen – watching Nicole talk to the lifeless stature that used to be their best friend – or still was – in either outcome. They watched as Nicole sat right next to Michael, saying the words sorry over and over again until it became a song – a one word song – a song with no melody or chorus, but a song nonetheless. She repeated to words over and over until it became as if they had no meaning.

"Nicole", Chase croaked, "Please, stop". He bit his lower lip and his eyes crossed over to the medic who was at Michael's side as well, "I think we all get the point".

'"No. We don't", Nicole shook her head, "We should've done something".

"What are you talking about Nicole?" Zoey groaned, "There was nothing to do. We don't even know who hurt him".

"It must've been the same person who hurt him before – you know the person who made him cut class – the jackass who called him a", Nicole's voice tweaked an octave below a whisper, "Nigger".

"What?" Chase asked, "Everyone loves Michael – no one could do that to him".

"Someone could and they did", Nicole began to cry, "And he told me about it and I didn't do a damn thing! I'm a fucking idiot! A stupid, idiotic FUCKING IDIOT!" Tears cascaded down her cheeks like a waterfall flowing down an ocean. Her grip on Michael tightened and her face turned a deep shade of red – partly from sadness – embarrassment, for not telling anyone about what Michael told her, for only caring about his lips pressing up against her. "I'm so sorry Michael", she whispered again, "I'm so fucking sorry".

Zoey walked over to her friend and hugged her to her chest, freeing her hand from Michael's, "It's okay Nicole – it wasn't your fault. It wasn't Michael's fault either", Zoey sighed, "You don't even know who beat him up do you? And everything is going to be fine – I – I promise".

"Zeke", Chase whispered.

"What?" Nicole demanded, "What are you talking about Chase?"

"Zeke", Chase repeated again and saw the bruises on Michael's torso, "Dammit".

Dean Rivers was a very prodigious man – a big shot in his league of friends. (Which persisted of car salesmen, lion tamer, and Arnold Schwarzenegger's fitness trainer.) And he was not going to let anything get in the way of him maintaining this title (including the fact that Arnold Schwarzenegger's fitness trainer was climbing his way up the economic ladder) – and that is why on that dreary Saturday night he sat Logan Reese in his office and slid a Ziploc bag filled with cocaine in front of Logan.

"I found this in your dorm room", Dean Rivers looked away from Logan's eyes, "Under your bed. Care to explain…?"

"I thought this was about Michael", Logan stuffed his fingers into his coat pocket, "Not about", Logan's gaze met the cocaine's, "That".

"Tell me about the cocaine. I can expel you Mr. Reese", Dean Rivers took a red pen and posed it in front of a file in front of him, "It would tarnish your permanent record quite horribly. You don't want that, do you?"

"No sir", Logan shook his head.

"Where did you get the cocaine?" Dean Rivers dangled the Ziploc bag in Logan's face.

Logan looked away, "What do you mean?"

"Who's your dealer Mr. Reese?"

Logan looked away and closed his eyes tightly, "Some kid in my English class".

"Does this kid have a name?"

"Yeah, yeah it's..." Logan's mind blacked out as he hung his head down and closed his eyes tightly, "It's…" he tried to remember dammit, why couldn't he remember? "His name is", Logan went through the alphabet, "Pete? No it's not Pete. It's uh – it's Zeke".

Zeke.

"Thank you Logan", Dean Rivers closed the cap on the pen and filed Logan's permanent record back in the cabinet, "Lay off the drugs – the next time I catch you with anything – even a cigarette, you'll be permanently expelled from Pacific Coast Academy. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir", Logan nodded, he eyed the Ziploc bag – wanting to snatch it from Dean Rivers ever so badly.

"I'm serious Logan".

"So am I", Logan got up and turned to face Dean Rivers again, "What about Michael?"

"I'm taking care of the situation. Don't worry about it".

Logan walked out the door without saying a word to Dean Rivers, as he walked out of Dean Rivers office he saw Zeke Richards sitting outside the office sucking in his cheeks bitterly.

"Sorry about your friend Logan", Zeke chuckled snidely, "Nigger's ain't that smart, you know", Zeke's tone changed as his dark green eyes peered into Logan's, "He doesn't belong here Logan".

"What the fuck did you do?"

"What do you think I did?" Zeke questioned, "Honestly…"

"You're a mother fucking bastard".

"And Michael's a Nigger. A cotton-picking, black skinned, middle class piece of shit", Zeke grinded his gum through his teeth, "I did us a favor. He doesn't belong here".

Logan turned around and punched Zeke with his stoned fist, knocking his jaw so it cracked – and the sound was eminent, "You didn't do anything for anybody – asshole".

"MR. REESE!" Juanita, the secretary at the main office shrieked, "Zeke, are you okay?"

"Yes ma'm".

"We practice non-violence here at Pacific Coast Academy Mr. Reese", Juanita put her hand on her hips.

"Tell Zeke that", Logan rolled his eyes and walked out of the office.

His family had flown in all the way from Chicago and as they crowded around his hospital bed they left Nicole, Zoey, and Chase to be in the waiting room. Nicole held her fingers up to the glass as she watched Michael's family crowd around him, and the doctors head shake depressingly.

"Nicole, back away from that window", Zoey's lower lip quivered, "Please".

Nicole stepped away from the glass and sat down in a seat next to Zoey – only when she did – Michael's eyes finally fluttered open.

I finally updated! (It took me ages... yes I know... I was at a block for some time now. But now I'm finally un-blocked. (I hope.) So umm... yeah. Leave your comments and such, I'd greatly appreciate them.