Wronged

Tuesday, October 19, 11:55 AM

The Day Of

I met his gaze. His expression—empty, emotionless, and cold—cut right through me. I was forced to look away from him and towards the gun. I knew the power it held, the damage it could do, but I didn’t think about that. I thought only about the anger that rushed through me, coursing through my blood like a poison. Why did it have to come to this? How did we all get here?

Next to me, Chloe started screaming, the sound piercing through the once silent hallway. I could feel her fear like a fire, flames bursting up to the ceiling. I broke my gaze from the gun and looked at her. I wanted her to stop; I needed her to stop. If she would have just stopped screaming maybe things would have turned out differently.

Tyron edged even closer to her. His normal macho air was frazzled, the calmness of his demeanor completely gone and replaced with despair. He grabbed Chloe’s shoulder but that only made things worse. He needed to back off, and she, God, she needed to stop screaming. I couldn’t form any sort of coherent thought with all her noise.

The gun went off, breaking the sound barrier and causing a loud crack.

Then nothing. Only silence.

Chloe went still. Shock filled her expression as she raised her hands to her head. She looked at me, pleading to make it stop. But I couldn’t do anything. It was too late. Why did it have to be too late?

The pain rushed through her in no time, and she cried out in terror. Tyron bolted forward and another shot rang from the gun. He hit the floor before Chloe did.

Quiet filled the hallway again as her intense screeching finally ended, allowing the silence to consume us all. But I still couldn’t think, and I sure as hell didn’t know what to do. It was over, yet it had only just begun. And there was no way things would end well for anyone.

I glanced around the hall. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, or maybe more like hoping for. I had written my own death sentence, nobody else’s. And not a soul was going to come to my aid. No one was going to be there to help me pick up the pieces of my mess. I was on my own.

I saw the two who lay sprawled out and unmoving on the ground. Their fear and pain and all my regret filled me.

Let’s go! he screamed at me, breaking the trance I had fallen into.

I turned to him. My first instinct was to run with him, but I was frozen in place and couldn’t move.

He grabbed my arm when I didn’t budge. Dude, we have to get out of here. He was pleading with me. I could smell the panic seeping off of him. By then, I heard the heavy footsteps racing down the hall, the orders being yelled, a familiar voice telling me to put my hands up.

I started to raise my arms, but he pulled me again. He wasn’t giving up. A few steps forward and I tripped over my own feet, slamming into him. I wondered what would have happened if I hadn’t hesitated, if I hadn’t stumbled, if I would’ve just ran.

Come on, dude, we’ve gotta get out of here. Now!

His voice—his words—were the last thing I heard as my arms were yanked behind my back, and I went sailing to the floor.

Chapter Two

October 19, 11:57 AM

Now

Caton Hernadez is slammed down against the cold, hard floor of the high school’s main hallway. The smell of the dirty bleach water the janitors use to clean overwhelms him as his cheek presses against the bleak tile. He’s sure his face will bruise as the pain rushes through him, but he tries not to think about it. He tries not to think about anything, knowing Chloe and Tyron are lying motionless next to him.

The scene plays over and over in his mind. He can’t believe it. Things went horribly wrong. If only he could go back and change them. If only he didn’t…

But he did.

And he can’t change things now.

Caton struggles to keep his feelings in check as he’s flooded with every emotion: pain, grief, anger, regret. They surge through him, overtaking his body. He doesn’t know what to do, how to act. Where does he go from here?

The officer’s knee digs into Caton’s shoulder blade as his arms are yanked behind his back and cuffed. The cold metal digs deep into his wrists, an instant indication that his freedom—his life—will forever change.

Caton barely hears the officer read him his rights. The words float through all the commotion, blending in with the noise around them. The scene is a mess, a complete disaster, total chaos.

What the hell just happened? the officer mumbles under his breath. Never mind. His voice is louder now. Don’t answer that. The officer takes a deep breath and yanks Caton to his feet.

Caton struggles to find his footing. His nerves are firing quickly as the adrenaline pumps through his system, causing his muscles to shake. He tries his best to concentrate on his breathing in hopes of slowing his rapid heart rate.

A tug on his arms and the cuffs cut even deeper into his skin. Caton is forced forward and finds himself face to face with the officer.

Oh, crap! He can’t believe it. Of course it has to be Officer Stanley—Chris as he prefers Caton to call him. He could have gotten any other cop in the county, but no, he gets Chris. Great, just great.

Officer Stanley shakes his head at Caton in disbelief as he towers over him. You’ve really gotten yourself messed up in it this time, haven’t you? he says before breaking his gaze and turning away. He drags Caton with him and heads out of the school.

The intense Colorado sun jolts Caton as they leave the building, beating down on his skin. Caton needs to shield his eyes but can’t. That right had been taken away from him the second his hands were locked behind his back.

Caton concentrates on every footstep he takes as they descend the massive stairway in front of the school. Chris continues down the walk, leading him to the squad car waiting in the parking lot. Its open doors welcome him like a hungry shark ready to swallow him up. Maybe it will, and then everything would be over. But it’s not over. It’s only just begun, and he can feel the scrutinizing stares from everyone hovering around, accusing him, convicting him before he’s even been charged.

And why wouldn’t they? He’s just a loser from the south side destined for nothing great.

Caton dreads what the future holds for him now. Why did he always have to get caught up in these messes? He takes a breath. He knows why. There’s no changing who he is or where he’s come from. No matter how hard he tries, he’ll never be able to escape the world he was so unlucky to have been born into. The world his mother never cared to get out of, even for him.

As Caton reaches the car, he spots Angelo Romero and TJ Johnson, both cuffed and being escorted like him. Caton’s surprised to see Angelo. He was sure the guy ran, sure he was long gone before it all went down, but apparently not. Apparently none of them can escape the life they've been given.

Angelo never looks his way. The boy is little and scared—so callow and out of place in the hands of the officer. His dark, almost black hair hangs shaggy next to his face. He’s only a few inches shorter than Caton but appears impossibly tiny next to the aging officers. Angelo tries hard to act big and tough, but really, deep down the guy’s only a kid. A few years younger than Caton, he’s barely a freshmen. His life is just beginning and now it’s over. Caton’s amazed at how vulnerable people truly are, even if they always try so very hard not to be. The kid doesn’t deserve to be caught up in this mess. No more so than Caton. Angelo should have never gotten himself involved with TJ Johnson in the first place. It isn’t fair.

And now they all have to fess up to this mess, even if it isn’t fair.

TJ glances Caton’s way. The expression in TJ’s deep blue eyes is raw and full of emotion, emotion Caton has never before seen from the guy. It cuts through him like a jagged edge, leaving a scar that will never fully heal. Caton is forced to look away. He hates feeling pain for the guy. He truly and utterly hates it.

Get in, Chris yells. All of his anger and frustration come through in his words and carries far over the slight wind that has picked up.

The breeze cuts through Caton but not as much as Chris’ stare. There’s an edge to his expression that stabs Caton deep into his soul, judging him, accusing him just like everyone else. The disappointment and rejection hurts more than anything. Caton respects Chris, cares for him even. Chris is the closest thing Caton has ever had to a father, and all Caton wants is for Chris to be proud of him. Caton can’t be sure what Chris is thinking right now, but Caton’s certain he isn’t proud.

I—

Shut up, Chris says, cutting Caton off. You need to remain silent. It’s your right, and I’m making sure you exercise that right. Do you understand me? He motions towards the car as he places his large hand firmly on Caton’s head. Now, get in, he repeats.

Caton nods almost automatically as he ducks into the back seat. He glances around one more time, but Chris has already turned away, unable to look at Caton any longer. Caton didn’t know his heart could sink any lower.

The back seat of the squad car is cramped and uncomfortable. With his arms cuffed behind him, Caton finds it hard to sit still. He shifts around before finally scooting back and leaning his head against the cold window.

I got it covered, Caton hears Chris say on the other side of the closed car door.

You know this kid? The other officer’s voice is harsh.

Caton misses what Chris says, but he assumes his answer is yes.

How?

He works at The Brew… Chris’ voice trails off. He either stops talking or Caton just can’t hear him over the steady wind. A cold front must be blowing in.

Your wife’s place, it was a statement and not a question. How well do you know him?

Caton doesn’t need to listen to Chris’ response to know the answer to that question. He sighs heavily.

Get this kid down to booking, the second officer says. The other two are already on their way. I have to stay here. This is a mess. More silence. Then, The perimeter of the school is locked down, and we’re evacuating now. Each student is being searched and then bussed out of here once determined he or she is not involved.

Caton stops listening to the officers’ conversation, letting their voices fade into the wind. After what feels like forever, Chris gets in and starts the car. He eyes Caton in the rearview mirror as he pulls onto the main road.

I don’t know what the hell happened in there today, Chris says. But you’re in deep shit.

Caton shifts in the seat. I—

I told you I don’t want to hear what you have to say right now, Chris says, cutting him off once again. I can’t believe this, he mumbles, mostly to himself. What the hell did you do? What have you gotten yourself into?

Chris doesn’t allow Caton to respond. Therefore, an uncomfortable silence consumes them the entire way to the station.

Once Chris pulls into the lot, he swings around back and parks. And if Caton didn’t already feel as though all humanity has been stripped from him, Caton is forced to wait for Chris to open the door and help him out of the car. And Chris isn’t gentle. He yanks Caton up, causing Caton to bang his head on the door frame. No sorry is exchanged as Chris directs Caton towards the building.

Before opening the door, Chris turns back to Caton. He may only be in his mid-thirties but suddenly he appears older, almost as though the day has aged him ten or so years. Pain settles into his expression. Seriously, kid? he says. You were going somewhere with your life. You were going to get out of here one day. And what? You go and screw it up over some nonsense? What were you thinking? Chris looks down, unable to hold Caton’s gaze. You could have made something out of yourself. He rubs his forehead. Shit, Caton. I don’t know how you’re getting out of this one. Why the hell did you have to go and get yourself involved with those guys. I thought…

You have it all wrong, Caton says, his tone on the edge of desperation.

What? Chris snaps.

Caton shakes his head. Never mind, he says.

Chris turns and opens the door.

The warmth of the station and the reality of the situation smacks Caton in the face. Chris was right. He was getting out of here one day, but now everything has changed. Now he’s faced with a mess he never wanted to be involved with in the first place. He believes, no he knows, he’s been wronged.

Chapter Three

October 19, 1:02 PM

Now

Hannah stands along the walkway, lined up with a dozen or so other students waiting to be searched. Her hands are clammy and cold. She flips her phone over and over in her palm as she waits. Others around her complain about how they left their phones in their bags back in the classrooms and are all freaking that they can’t reach anyone. She doesn’t have a bag, so her phone is always on her, shoved into her back pocket. Yet she has no one she cares to call, no one who wonders about her safety.

She sighs and looks down. The wait has been long and painful. She doesn’t want to talk to the police. She wants to stay as far away from them as she can.

The line of students stirs as whispers begin to flow. Hannah turns and watches as the officer escorts her boyfriend to a cop car. She swallows hard, knowing she would do just about anything to protect him. She has to. She has to because he protects her. And on the streets at night or even in her own home away from the safety of the school, she needs protection.

Name please?

Hannah spins around to face the cop. Her first instinct is to bolt, but she doesn’t move. She can’t. She can’t blow everything in one instant.

Name please, the officer repeats.

Hannah gives the officer a blank stare. Her straight, stringy, dyed-black hair falls softly along her shoulders. She flips it back with her hand, tucking a couple of loose strands behind her ears. Umm… she starts. She takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing, she thinks. I’m…um…Hannah.

The officer watches her, waiting.

She shifts her gaze and stares down at the ground.

Hannah, what? he finally says.

Oh, um…Hannah Miller, she answers, her voice soft and frail, almost lost in the wind.

The officer glances down at his notepad. Hannah Miller? he asks. He turns to the cop standing next to him, and they exchange a few words.

The other officer steps forward and waves his hand. Can you come with me, Hannah Miller? he asks.

She knew this was coming. Everyone knows whose girlfriend she is. She knew the cops weren’t going to take long to piece things together and find her. Hannah shifts. Again, it takes all she has not to run. But she knows if she runs, not only will she be in trouble, but she will create way too much suspicion towards her boyfriend.

She’s asked to follow the officer, so she takes a deep breath and steps forward, ignoring the stares that pierce through her from the other students still lined up. Are they already accusing her? Do they know?

I need to question you about what happened today, the officer says as he pulls her aside. I hear you might know something. Someone said you were at the scene during the shooting?

Hannah shakes her head. She wasn’t there when everything went down. Well, not exactly. Not entirely.

You weren’t there? the officer asks as surprise fills his face. He studies his notes again. Hmmm… he mumbles. Someone said you were there.

She shakes her head again as she wonders who would have said that. No, I wasn’t there. I was in my classroom. I hid with everyone else when the school went on lockdown, and then, when they told us to evacuate, I lined up. The lie flows easily now.

The officer steps forward, and she steps back, looking away from him. She fears him. She fears what he might do to her if he found out about her lies, her secrets, her life…her world.

He stops and regards her. Are you the suspect's girlfriend?

Hannah shrugs.

The officer shifts his weight back and forth. He sighs heavily. Frustration radiates from him. "Are you or are you not Thomas Johnson’s girlfriend?" he asks.

Hannah nods. Yes, I’m TJ’s girlfriend, she finally says.

Okay, Hannah Miller. He jots a few notes. And to clarify, you were not at the scene?

She shakes her head. No, I wasn't. She glances down at the ground. Does he know she's lying?

I still need you to follow me. I need to take you down to the station for more questioning.

She nods. He knows. Tears fill her eyes, and she does everything in her power to blink them back and not allow them to fall down her face. She has a pact with herself to never let things get to her enough that she cries. Crying is for the weak. She doesn’t want to be considered weak. And her life sucks so much that if she lets herself cry, then that’s all she’ll ever do.

The officer leads her back around passed the school where they stop. He contacts someone on his radio, and with his hand on the small of her back, he ushers her to the side where he leans up against the wooden fence and waits.

Hannah glances towards the school, her eyes landing on the entrance. She doesn’t ever want to go back in there. She can still smell the overwhelming scent of gun powder, bleach, and coppery blood. It’s the smell of death, of fear, of pain. She swallows back a gag, knowing the memories will never leave her as the images replay over and over in her mind.

The officer shifts. He starts to say something, but she shakes her head. I’m fine, she says even though she isn’t. She’s not sure she’ll ever be fine again.

They don’t move from the fence for some time. Finally another officer meets up with her. He takes the back of her arm and leads her to a cop car. The cruisers are all lined up, one by one, along the front curb of the school. Hannah blinks, and once again, swallows the bile that keeps rising up in her throat.

The ride to the station is short, and soon Hannah finds herself sitting across the table from two burly-looking officers. At least she assumes they're officers, or detectives, or something. It's hard to tell because they’re in regular clothes. They call her father, and they read her her rights. When they ask if she understands, she simply nods.

Tell me what you saw, one of them asks.

I didn’t see anything. I was on lockdown in my classroom. I was forced to hide with everyone until they made us evacuate. She takes a deep breath and touches her nose. I can’t believe what happened. Why? Why would he do this to them? There was so much blood. Hannah’s voice cracks. Chloe was my friend. She examines the tabletop and wrings her hands together.

Is, the detective corrects.

Hannah raises her eyebrows at him.

Is. They’ve taken her to Denver Health. The detective’s voice is steady and clear. She can’t tell if he actually has this information or is only telling her this to calm her down and keep her talking. Regardless, Hannah knows Chloe was bleeding from her head. She isn’t going to be okay. There's no way.

And you are Thomas Johnson’s girlfriend?

She starts to nod again but says, Yes, instead.

How long have you been dating? The detective doesn’t look at her as he takes notes.

Almost two months… she peers over the detective’s shoulder and at the blank wall that faces her. But we’ve known each other for a long time. We grew up together.

And what year in school are you both?

I’m a junior, she says. She looks back at him, but he’s still staring at his notes. The detective