Here in this Sorrow Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Christian’s face, adorned with skull makeup poked through the glass door and peered down the hall. He snapped back at the sight of a student farther down the hall. He leaned against the wall for a moment, clutching the strap of his nylon guitar bag that crossed the phosphorescent breastbone emblazoned on his shirt. He stood against the wall, tipping his head back with his eyes closed, panting. After almost a minute, he took a deep breath and looked back in the hall. When he saw it was empty, he put one of the four duffel bags in the garbage can and went inside.

He kept his head down and let his hair hang over the makeup on his face. He swiftly went past the main-office, casually dropping a duffel bag into the garbage cans on each side of the main entrance. He looked over his shoulder and continued on. At the door twenty feet from the cafeteria, he dropped the final duffel bag into a garbage can and stood there looking at it. The cream white and black skull-grin on his lips twisted into a smile.

He walked through the double-doors into the cafeteria, keeping his head down. A few people whispered and pointed as he walked by. As he passed Jim Smitt’s table, Jim, John Parker, Warren Boyd and Chuck Egan broke out into a raucous laughter and cries of, “Look at the painted faggot!”

Christian ignored their wails and went to the table where Andy sat alone, solemnly eating his lunch. Christian pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. He carefully placed his guitar case on the table in front of him.

“Chris!” Andy exclaimed, startled. “What the hell are you doing? Why did you redo your makeup? And where have you been all...”

“Quiet!” Christian hissed, raising a skeletal-gloved finger to his lips. “I’m about to do something very bad.” He smiled and covered his heart with his hand. “God, I’ve got so much adrenaline running through me. I can hardly hear anything over my own heartbeat.” He was smiling broadly now.

“What’s going on?” Andy demanded sternly. “What are you going to do?” He looked up over Christian’s head. “Whatever it is will be over fast, because you already have Mr. Henry’s attention.”

Christian shook his head. “Trust me, it won’t be over fast.” He looked Andy in the eyes and said gravely, “When everyone leaves, don’t go with them.”

Andy pursed his lips. “Chris, what’s...?”

“Don’t go with them. Just leave, go out through one of the doors in here, don’t go in the hallway. If you stay in the school, I can’t promise you will be safe.” He grabbed the case and threw it over his shoulder, getting to his feet. He turned and threw a mocking smile to Mr. Henry. He walked over to Jim Smitt’s table and stood there until everyone was staring at him.

Jim scowled and lolled his head. “Faggot, what the fuck do you want?” He slammed his meaty hands on the table and half rose out of his chair.

“I wanted to talk,” Christian said casually. He hopped up on the table and sat down cross-legged in the center. Everyone seated around him stared in shock. “You told me that if I talked to you about something,” he said, emphasizing his words with his gloved hands. “If I told you I didn’t like something, you would stop doing it.”

From behind him, Mr. Henry was yelling, “Christian! Mr. Duke get off that table.”

Everyone in the cafeteria had turned to watch. A few people had filtered around the corner of the partition to witness the action. The atmosphere in the room was electric.

Christian kept his eyes locked on Jim’s. “I wanted to talk to you about that,” he said calmly. “I wanted to ask you to stop doing something.”

Jim smiled and rolled his head to the other side, his eyes going to the smiling, nervous faces of each of his friends. Beneath his stubbly lips, he ran his tongue over his teeth. “What would you like to ask me?” he asked dryly. “What would you like me to stop?”

“Christian!” Mr. Henry wailed. He started to walk towards Christian, slowly and determinedly. “Christian, get down from there!”

Christian smiled and leaned forward. “I would greatly like it if you would please stop calling me ‘faggot.’ Please refer to me by my name.” He leaned back and crossed his arms, looking like a Buddha.

“Mr. Duke!” Mr. Henry wailed. “If you don’t want to spend the rest of your life in detention, you will get off that table and get downstairs right now!”

Christian looked over his shoulder and curled his lip. “Could you kindly shut the fuck up? We’re having a discussion!” He turned back and locked eyes with Jim again. “So what do you say?”

Jim smiled and leaned back. “You want me to stop calling you faggot, huh?” He traced a crack in the table with his finger. “I think I could do that for you, since you asked me so nicely and all. I wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings. From now on, I’ll call you Christian.”

Christian smiled and leaned back on his hands.

Jim crossed his arms. “Oh, by the way,” he said, slouching in his seat. “Nice makeup... Faggot.”

As all of Jim’s friends burst out laughing, Christian reached into his coat. Jim was the first one to see the shiny black plastic Glock 9mm coming out of the shoulder holster. His smile disappeared and his eyes went glassy. He sat up straight. Mr. Henry arrived at the table and extended his arm to grab Christian’s shoulder. The laughing died quickly as the rest of the people at the table saw the gun. Mr. Henry’s hand stopped in mid-air as Christian held the weapon up and pointed it at Jim’s head. The silence was broken by the squeals of chairs being pushed back as John Parker, Warren Boyd and Chuck Egan dove away. Jim and Christian were like statues, both tensed and motionless in the momentary chaos that erupted around them. Mr. Henry took a step back in horror, but reached out for Christian as soon as he recovered, his mouth forming the words that his vocal cords couldn’t force out. Jim’s mouth fell open and a small, white lump of gum fell out onto his blue polo shirt. Christian’s hand moved slightly, muscles tightening, a moment before Mr. Henry’s hand landed on his shoulder.

Then there was the deafening crack of a gunshot and the back of Jim’s head exploded.

Christian whipped around and pointed the gun at Mr. Henry as he backed away, jaw agape. All around, people were screaming and running. Christian stood up, randomly aiming the gun in the crowd as they dashed about. His wide eyes kept going back to Jim’s corpse as it slumped to the side and slid out of the chair.

People were desperately trying to force their way out of the cafeteria, pushing and shoving through the doors, creating a jam of bodies, all writhing and screaming, trying to get away. Christian took the guitar case off his back and pulled out the remote control. People began to force their way out. Mr. Henry and the lunch monitor had recovered from the initial shock and were picking their way through the crowd toward him. Catching sight of them, he fired three shots. Neil Devlin and Bill Johansen cried out and fell as the slugs ripped into them. Neil was instantly trampled by panicked kids. Bill collapsed into Mr. Henry’s arms, splashing him with blood from his blasted shoulder. As more people got outside the cafeteria, Christian rose the remote and pressed the first butting in the row across the bottom.

The screams were momentarily drown-out by the explosion outside the cafeteria. There was a low rumble, then a moment of silence. Everyone stood still, staring at Christian, shocked at the unbelievable reality of what he had just done.

He hopped off the table, advancing on the crowd that backed away from him. Mr. Henry stepped forward as the rest of the kids pushed for the exits, avoiding the main doors, where dust from the explosion was still puffing in. Christian smiled and pointed the gun at him. “What are you going to do now?” he whispered. “Are you going to give me detention? What will it be? After-school? All day? The rest of the fucking year?!” he screamed.

“Christian,” Mr. Henry pleaded with a weak and quiet voice, holding his open palms defensively out before him. “Please, just put the gun down.” A dark spot was forming in the crotch of his brown slacks. “Please, Christian, you’ve...”

“I’ve what? What can I do? There’s no turning back now! I’ve killed people. I might as well kill more, right? I already crashed, I might as well burn too, right?” Christian wailed. Tears were welling in his eyes and running down his cheeks, making muddy tracks in his makeup. His arm tensed on the gun as he aimed at Mr. Henry.

“Christian, don’t make this worse, don’t make it worse on anyone else, and don’t make it worse on yourself.”

“Worse?” Christian asked.

Before Mr. Henry could do anything, Christian squeezed the trigger twice, blasting two holes in Mr. Henry’s sweater. He gripped his wounds, but said nothing as he fell to his knees. His eyes didn’t leave Christian’s until he fell face-first to the ground.

Christian stared at the corpse for a few seconds, gritting his teeth. He squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head. When he opened them again, he looked over at the doors, where there was only silence outside the cafeteria.