Placidity

Derek J. Barbee
8/21/01

Arthur Kane's dark blue eyes raised from his desk, rising up further and further until they rested on what he sought. He consciously forced his eyes back down to his desk, jaw muscles clenched in a fit of self-control. Taking in a breath and letting it out, he loosened his jaw muscles almost reluctantly. He attempted to focus once more on what was in front of him, his eyes focused on the paper but not really seeing it. The trigonometry problems, puzzles of black squiggled ink on white paper, stared back at him as if challenging him.

He got halfway through the problem before it overcame him like a wave, and he clenched his jaw muscles again. Almost unwillingly, he raised his head, his eyes immediately locking on the same place they had countless times before.

Jeannine sat there, totally unknowingly, looking down at her own paper. Her slender hands were on her desk, one flat on the table, the other holding her pencil between graceful fingers. The three silver rings on her fingers gleamed in the light as she mindlessly twirled her pencil in her hand. The hand holding the pencil moved into action, darting over to her paper and jotting down some answer, or some mathematical problem that she had figured the key to.

Arthur stared at her face, taking in all the details that he had noticed so many times before. The thin slant of her eyebrows over her eyes, her eyelashes that adorned her eyelids and fluttered whenever she blinked. The way her nose was shaped, the curve of her cheekbones that somehow framed her entire face. The color of her lips, pursing and relaxing in a strange, offbeat pattern. Her reddish-orange hair was partially obscured by the bandana she wore around her head, the roots of her hair peeking out from under the blue cloth. It covered the top and back of her head, and each corner was folded under her ponytail in the back.

She sighed and leaned back, her eyes raising to look around the class. For a brief moment, she made eye contact with Arthur, and he felt something. He felt touched, he felt noticed. Like there was somehow a difference that had been made, just in that split second when their eyes locked.

After another moment, she looked down at her paper once more, and concentrated on another math problem. Arthur sighed inwardly and looked down, attempting to do the same. Instead, he stared down at the paper, unmoving.

It was always like this.

Looking across the class, hoping, almost waiting for something he knew was never going to happen. Before, he had never understood how someone could be so close, yet so distant. It wasn't a simple matter of physical distance, it was a matter of mentality.

He had tried, oh, he had tried to approach her. But how could you even speak to someone, how could you even begin to tell them what you meant to them, just by the way you appeared? He tried to start a conversation, and then he numbed. He would speak something briefly, and then be silent, unmoving like he was now.

"Tell her how you fell," his friends told him. It wasn't that simple. If he did, he knew it would scare her. To admit his obsession with her would not only further it in his own mind, but solidify his fears that nothing would ever happen, because he would frighten her away.

The numb state his mind was in kept him from getting to know her slowly, as well. The best way to become close with someone was to hang around them and become friends first. The problem was that he couldn't act normally whenever he was around her. He couldn't be casual about something that he felt such extremes of emotion about. It was like being in front of a bright light that you couldn't look away from. You couldn't see anything that surrounded you, so you couldn't do anything effectively. You couldn't pick up a single thing around you, so you didn't know what to focus on. Where do you start when you can't see a thing?

His resigned thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. The click was startlingly loud in the utter silence of the classroom, and Arthur reflexively looked up to see who it was.

Two young men walked into the classroom casually, a confident air about them that seemed to surround so many lower key students in Arthur's grade. The thing that surprised him was that neither of these students normally displayed this sort of attitude. The one in the front was named Phillip Smith, and wore a red baseball cap on his head, the rounded brim pulled low over his eyes. The one in back was named Zach Evans, and was wearing dark shades that rested low on his nose. The two entered the class slowly, and sauntered towards their seats.

"Nice of you to join us, gentleman," said the teacher sarcastically, irritated at the interruption. "Do you have a pass?"

Both of the young men shook their heads, not seeming at all concerned about it. Arthur looked at their faces with a small amount of interest. These two were fairly normal, quiet kids. They didn't act like this a whole lot. This was something different for them.

"Then it's cuts for both of you," said the teacher, moving some papers around her desk.

Both boys merely shrugged. "I guess so," said Phillip.

They started toward their seats again, but halfway there, the teacher said what she was required to.

"Zach? Take of the shades while you're inside the school, please."

There was a silence, and both boys stopped walking. Neither looked at the other, but they both just stopped. Not hearing an answer, the teacher looked up from what she was doing and frowned.

"Zach. Those aren't allowed under the school dress code. Take them off."

Zach slowly turned in his tracks to stare at the teacher across the room. Beside him, Phillip turned his head slightly, but otherwise stayed motionless. The two were frozen like statues, yet both of them gave off a strange feel of motionless intensity. They were like two ropes pulled taut, the baggy clothing not succeeding in hiding how rigid their bodies were as they stood.

The other students in the class watched silently, similar questions on all of their minds. Arthur's eyes flicked back and forth between the two youths in front of the class, and his vision finally came to rest on Phillip's hand, which hovered at his waist at a curious angle. That was an odd stance to stop at.

Zach finally moved, lifting his head only a tiny bit to regard the teacher through the cover of his dark sunglasses. He shifted his arms and clasped his hands in front of him, one hand locking on his alternate wrist and staying that way. He ceased his brief movements and returned to his statue-like appearance.

"No."

There was dead silence. No one even moved.

"That was not a request," said the teacher sharply. "I think you had better go to the office before you get in more trouble than you already are."

"No," repeated Zach, in the same monotone, matter-of-fact voice.

The teacher's face darkened. "Get out of my classroom. I don't have to -" she began rising from her seat behind her desk and pointing at the two young men.

Before she could finish her sentence, Phillip moved the hand that had previously been held at an odd angle, displaying the reason why. Reaching under the folds of his large jacket, he pulled a large black handgun from the waistband of his pants. In the same sweeping movement, he raised the gun and leveled it with the teacher.

Instantly, the class erupted in a small, shocked form of chaos. Several girls and even a few guys in the classroom either shrieked or made noises of surprise and fear. Panic syndrome kicked in, and several people leaped from their seats. The Teacher's Assistant, a senior by the name of Amber June, dashed for the door.

Several things happened at once. Zach reached into his own jacket and pulled out a similar looking gun, holding it up in the air. Phillip turned toward the fleeing TA, gun already extended. The muzzle of the gun flashed, the barrel kicking back, and there was an explosion that sounded thunderous in the enclosed space of the classroom.

In mid-stride, the Amber was spun around by the pure force of the bullet, her body grabbed at the shoulder and propelled back into the wall. A thin mist of red sprayed lighted on the wall, changing the color of papers pinned there. Amber's face was frozen with shock, her eyes wide, mouth open and gasping as she slid to the floor, crumpled up against the wall. A trail of red streaked down the wall behind her where the exit wound had touched the wall.

"Everybody sit down!" yelled Zach, face suddenly contorted with emotion as he commanded the class. After he spoke, his face went back to being the dead calm it had been all along.

All the students in the room ceased their movement instantly, looking like deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi. Wherever they were, they slowly sank down, whether it was to their seat or to the floor. Many of them were crying quietly, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Off in the corner, Amber's body had moved past the shock stage, and into realization of how much pain she was in. A horrible groan arose from her body, a sob wracked with pain. Her breathing rose raggedly, instilled with random sobs and whimpers.

Phillip pursed his lips. "Zach? Shut her up, please."

As smoothly as an executioner, the same Zach that Arthur had known since second grade turned and pulled the trigger. Several people in the class shrieked or made small noises as the sudden bang ripped through the quiet air once again. Amber didn't make any more noise after that.

Phillip slowly looked around the room at all the tear-streaked faces, the clenched hands, the frightened eyes. "Well," he said. "Now that I have your attention . . ."

He lowered his gun, holding it loosely in his hand as he turned from the class and walked to the center of the floor, in front of all the desks. He paused, then turned around, pacing back and forth, head lowered in thought. Zach stood slightly off to the side, motionless once more, seeming like an executioner waiting for an order. His face was expressionless, and his dark shades obscured his eyes.

Phillip finally stopped pacing and faced the class, brow furrowed in thought. His face changed, and he suddenly smiled, beaming like a long-time friend.

"Well. How many of you saw this coming? Show of hands."

No one in the room moved.

Phillip looked around in mock surprise. "What? No one? You mean you all had no idea what you were putting me through? What you were putting Zach through? Why, you callous bastards."

He resumed pacing, this time walking close to the front row of desks. The people sitting in them unconsciously leaned back, not wanting to be near him at all. Phillip looked down at the floor in front of him and rubbed his chin as he paced.

"I think it's funny how so called 'caring individuals' such as yourselves can be so totally uncaring," began Phillip, looking accusingly out over the class. "Oh, yeah, you're all so sensitive, you're all so friendly. You're the next generation. You're the hope for the future.

"Don't you see? You're assholes!" he screamed suddenly, body tense in an instant. The entire front row of the class started, visibly shaken. New tears began from some of the kids up close to Phillip.

"You pretend to care, you pretend to be the nicest people on the face of the earth! And when one kid in your class feels too shy to stand out, what do you do?" he raged.

"You pick on him," said Zach suddenly, voice about an octave lower than Phillip's fevered pitch.

Phillip paused, chest heaving as he stared at the kids in front of him. "Okay, let's find what I'm talking about, shall we?" he said loudly.

He suddenly strode forward to the front row of kids, footsteps thudding on the hard, carpeted floor. Kids shied back from him as he approached, not so subtly this time. He walked past person after person until he came to a tall, brown-haired boy sitting in a seat off to the side of the classroom. The boy froze, eyes wide as he stared up in total fear at Phillip.

Phillip's attitude changed once again, and he bent down toward the boy with a soft smile on his face. "Hi, John," he said in a friendly tone of voice.

John was visibly trembling, hands gripping the desk tightly. He couldn't even manage a reply.

Phillip laughed softly and looked down for a moment. Raising his head once again, he reinforced the comfortable smile. "Remember back a couple years ago? Freshmen year in High School? Remember PE Class? I didn't have any friends in there . . . but you did. You had a whole group of your asshole buddies to goof around with, didn't you?

"Well, do you remember that one day that I came to school wearing that T-Shirt for that TV Show I liked? Oh, what was it . . . X-Men, that's right." The smile turned into a grin. "What did you call that show, John?"

John didn't answer, the trembling turning into a full-fledged quake that started at his shoes and shook his entire body.

"John?"

John could barely meet his eyes.

"I asked you a fucking question, John!" screamed Phillip suddenly in his face, leaning over the desk.

"A kids show!" cried John, voice cracking. "A kids show," he whispered.

The smile returned to Phillip's face as though nothing had happened. "That's right. Glad you could still recall that. Well, John, I happened to like that show. You didn't, though, I was pretty sure of that after you picked on me all period. And the period after that, and the period after that, day after day . . ." he trailed off.

Leaning once more down to the desk, Phillip held the gun in front of John's trembling face, the barrel even with his forehead. "Is it still funny, John? Is it?" he whispered.

John shook his head, the motion much more spastic than it would have normally been. Phillip began repeating the question, a little louder each time. John shook his head again, faster.

"Is it still funny? Huh? Is it still funny? Well? Is it still funny? Is it still -"

The gun went off, and John's body rocked back in the seat from the force of the bullet. Everyone within a few yards was sprayed with a warm red mist that settled onto their clothes and skin. Several people screamed out loud.

Phillip straightened back up, wiping blood from his eyes and face. He stared for a moment at the disfigured body in the desk in front of him, then turned away, walking back to the center of the room. The only sound in the room was the muffled whimpers of several of the students and the soft patter of blood dripping to the carpeted floor. Everyone tried not to look at the body slumped in the seat a few feet away from them.

Phillip reached the center of the room again and turned around, facing the students. He looked over to where Zach stood waiting, and made a gesture without speaking. Zach nodded and stepped forward to the students, sitting in their desks. He walked forward, past the front row and on the the second, students leaning away from him as he passed.

Zach stared through his shades at one girl in bright clothing, face still emotionless. The girl began whispering quietly, the same two words over and over, crying. Zach bent down, resting on his knees in front of the desk. His height put his head about even with the girl's, and he continued to stare at her, gun in his hand at the side of the desk.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no . . ." repeated the girl over and over, tears leaking out of her eyes. She looked away from Zach as he bent down, then quickly looked the other way as his gun hand rested at the side of her desk.

"Melanie, look at me," said Zach quietly.

The girl sniffled and shook he head barely, still crying.

Zach reached up and took off his shades, throwing them across the room to skitter across the floor. He lowered his head further, looking up at Melanie's face. He lifted his gun hand and placed the barrel of the gun underneath her chin. A strangled moan came from the girl, and the tears flowed anew.

"Look at me," he repeated.

Melanie slowly lifted her blurry eyes to meet his, blinking rapidly. Zach stared her in the face, gun still underneath her chin. He took in a deep breath and looked at her in an almost pleading way.

"Why, Melanie? Why me? Why did you pick on me?"

She shook as she took in a breath, crying silently. Zach repeated his question again, and Melanie sobbed, hands clenched underneath the table.

"I don't know," she cried. "I don't know."

The gun fired.

As Zach wiped himself off and walked back to the front of the class, Phillip coughed and looked around once more. "Well, then. I think that about makes us even on a few matters. Actually, they might have gotten off easy. Years of suffering in exchange for a few moments of fear?" He shook his head. "Not much can fully repay the disfavor so many of you have done us."

The students stared at him silently, trying not to move as those closest to either of the victims felt the blood drip down their faces and arms. Blood and tears intermingled on frightened faces that focused on their former victims for so many years, and now antagonists.

Phillip closed his mouth and looked over the class once more. Like a juggernaut, he once again stepped forward, towards the students. This time, just the motion brought cries from some of the kids. Phillip's mouth twitched, though it was difficult to tell if it was for a smile or a frown.

Walking along the rows of kids, Phillip stopped in front of a tiny girl with black hair. She burst out in tears the second he stopped in front of her, head lowered to the desk. Phillip actually sighed, and bent down to her.

"Relax, Maria. I'm not going to kill you. You, out of everyone in here, have been the nicest to me. Mostly, that just means you've left me alone, but you never spoke an unkind word to me, once." He stopped and looked around at the kids that sat by her.

Leaning close to her, he whispered harshly. "But Maria . . . they pick on you, too. Don't let them. Stand up for yourself or you'll live in the fear you are now for the rest of your life."

He rose to his feet and walked back to the front of the class. This time, as he looked out at the classroom, he noticed someone he'd missed. He smiled as his eyes settled on Jeannine. "Oh, yes. I almost forgot about you."

Arthur's mind stopped. All of his frightened thoughts, his hopes for rescue, his hopes for this to end, or to all be a bad dream, stopped. He stared at Phillip's uncaring face in horror, almost as though he hadn't heard him say it. But as Phillip began to walk across the classroom, Arthur's mind lurched to a start again, thoughts screaming in his head as he said his worst fears about to come true.

It wasn't a thing of rational thought, or deliberate consideration. It was almost like instinct, or the culmination of all of his fantasies and dreams. All of the times that Arthur had stared across the class at this girl blazed into his mind the second he saw Phillip start towards her. The memories flooded his mind, and for a moment, his vision clouded as his head pounded.

All of a sudden, it was gone, and he found himself staring at Zach, who was standing just several yards away from Arthur with his back turned. He was facing Phillip and most likely watching him as he moved over to Jeannine and stopped at her desk. The soft words he spoke didn't even reach Arthur's ears.

Like something from a dream, Arthur found himself leaving his seat, stepping out from it and rising up towards Zach. It was as though he were in a dream, disconnected from his real body, and his sight only connected to this body for unknown purposes.

The only warning that Zach had was several of the students' betraying eyes, as they automatically and unknowingly turned to look as a new person moved. Zach spun around just as Arthur slammed into him, gun arm halfway through the turn to aim the gun at whomever had strayed from their seat or drawn attention from Phillip's proceedings. Arthur's hands grasped at Zach, one going for the gun and clawing at his fingers, the other at the side of Zach's neck, pushing him back. Zach was thrown off balance from the momentum of Arthur's rush, and the two stumbled back a few steps before Zach steadied himself by planting his feet.

Phillip turned as he heard the sharp exhale of breath as the two youths collided, and aimed the gun at the combatants. Arthur saw this, and grabbed Zach by the collar, dragging him in the opposite direction he had been pushing for previously. His efforts moved Zach between Arthur and Phillip's, obscuring Phillip's chances for a decent shot. Unsure what to do, Phillip hesitated, gun still aimed at the two as they struggled with each other.

Arthur grabbed Zach's gun arm by the wrist, holding it back and keeping him from aiming it at him. He grabbed on Zach's jacket at the collar, shaking him back and forth as the two fought for ground, back and forth over the same few feet of carpet. Zach tried to push Arthur's arm off his collar, but failing that, swung his fist and slammed it into Arthur's stomach.

Caught off guard, Arthur had his breath knocked out of him, and doubled over. Zach raised his hand above his head and was about to slam it down on his head when Arthur used the grip he had on Zach's collar to his advantage. He yanked on the collar suddenly, pulling Zach down toward him. The falling blow faltered, momentum lost, and only ended up glancing off Arthur's temple. As Zach was dragged down close to his opponent, Arthur released his grip on Zach's collar and swung his fist in a short punch, right to Zach's nose. There was an audible crack, and Zach reeled backwards from the blow and from the pain.

Arthur pushed himself to his feet again, and retained his grip on Zach's gun hand. As Zach fell back a few steps, Arthur kept him reined in close by holding on his wrist and twisting his arm at an awkward angle to restrict his movement. Seeing Zach's position, Arthur balanced himself quickly and swung his foot up, kicking his opponent in the ribs solidly. Zach cried out, but couldn't pull away, as Arthur still held onto his wrist. Arthur pulled him close again by pulling, and brought up his knee, connecting with Zach's chin. Zach's head snapped back, and blood from his broken nose flew into the air in an arc.

In the midst of the fight, Arthur lifted his head slightly, noticing what he had almost forgotten about. Across the room from him, Phillip tightened his grip on his gun, aiming it at Zach's assailant. With dreadful realization, it occurred to Arthur that Zach, in his keeled over position, no longer blocked the line of fire from Arthur.

Acting in desperation, Arthur hauled on Zach's arm and ducked down behind the half-conscious teenager as his body was forced upwards. Phillip fired just as he was in the midst of moving, and was forced to aim further to the left than he intended. The bullet tore through Arthur's side at the ribcage, t-shirt tore to shreds as the hunk of metal passed through it. Arthur cried out as he feel the hot kiss of the bullet pass through him, and his hand clenched on Zach's wrist.

Fear rising, Arthur reached with his other hand and grabbed for Zach's gun. Even in his sloth-like state, Zach fought, and pulled his hand away, aiming the gun up past his head toward Arthur, who crouched behind him. Arthur grabbed Zach's hand and twisted, putting his fingers in a painful position. In his weakened state, Zach attempted to pull his hand away again, but Arthur wrested it from his loose fingers and pulled it back, pressing it to Zach's temple and looking up at Phillip.

There was a pause as no one said anything. Phillip stared down at Arthur, who was breathing heavily and bleeding profusely from the wound in his side. He looked at Zach, who was groggy from the mix of pain and the aftereffects of what might have been a concussion.

"How . . . . do you want . . . this to end?" asked Arthur, voice breaking at points where the pain overcame him.

Phillip just stared at him, face slipping into a mask. "The way it has to."

Arthur shook his head, trying to ignore the pain that screamed at him incessantly. "It doesn't have . . . to end the way you think . . . it does."

From outside the school, the distant sound of police sirens reached the ears of every student in the classroom, rising over the sniffles, the whimpers and the steady drip of blood on carpet.

Phillip's face didn't change. "Now it does."

Arthur didn't respond, and tried to breathe as slowly as be could in short breaths that would not move his chest too much. He tried not to wince, and kept his gaze locked with Phillip's. He stopped moving, and the two stared at each other like stone obelisks, guns in both their hands. The wail of the sirens seemed obscenely loud now.

Phillip suddenly took in a breath and swung his arm over, the gun aiming at the teacher, who sat forgotten behind her desk. "Drop the gun or I shoot her."

Arthur's mouth went dry, and he licked his lips uselessly. "I . . . can't do that, Phillip."

There was another silence.

Arthur's expression hardened. "What? You honestly think that . . . you can make this all go away by . . . pulling that trigger?"

Phillip didn't answer at first, but his hand didn't waver. His eyes flickered over to the frightened woman for a second, then darted back to Arthur, locking with his own eyes once again.

"Yes," he said honestly, and pulled the trigger.

The short screams ripped through the classroom again as the gun went off, and the teacher shook spastically once before slumping in her chair. Pinned to the wall behind her, a snapshot of her with her daughter was splattered, and dripped red down the wall, onto stacks of papers and school books.

Arthur felt weak, both from the wound he had sustained, and from what he had just witnessed. In that moment of weakness, Zach regained his bearings.

He moved suddenly, arms flailing up into motion as he kicked and rolled over. Arthur was caught by surprise, and almost lost the gun in a split second as Zach grabbed for it, attempting to wrest it from his grip. Zach's other hand clenched on Arthur's throat, fingers closing tightly and cutting off his air supply. Arthur's face reddened, and he grabbed his attacker's arm at the elbow, trying to force him back.

The gun wavered, barrel slipping towards Arthur, then up in the air. Arthur attempted to pull in down to the ground, but only swung it over to aim between the two of them. Arthur's voice rose in a pained scream as the shredded muscles in his chest tore further from the effort, and internal organs bled. Zach's face was contorted in anger, eyebrows huge and dark over his eyes, lips curled back in a snarl.

Unable to hold up the weight of Zach with his bad arm, Arthur was pushed backward. Zach slipped and fell on top of him, the loss of his footing loosening his hold on the gun. Arthur's hand pushed it forward, and his finger fell on the trigger.

The explosion was deafening, and the bullet caught Zach underneath the chin, literally blowing off his jaw and nose. There was no small spray of blood this time, but a torrent that drenched Arthur, coating his face and front, spilling down around him as Zach's lifeless body fell forward limply on him.

Arthur screamed as he saw Zach's ruined face, and screamed again as the body fell on him. He screamed for what had been done, and for what he had been forced to do. He screamed, and he tasted blood in his mouth. He blinked furiously as it ran into his eyes, and screamed as it ran in his ears.

He dragged himself back from the body, leaving a trail of horror on the floor as he did so. His wide eyes stared at the body lying facedown on the floor in front of him, and his breath came in short, spastic gasps.

In a sudden instant, Arthur's numb brain remembered Phillip, and his head snapped up, haunted eyes staring across the room to where Phillip stood.

Phillip was in shock as well, somehow not having been prepared to see his only friend die so brutally. The gun was in his hand, but it wasn't aimed. His knuckles were white as he gripped the handle, and his jaw was slack. He stared with a strange sort of disbelief in his eyes as his only friend's lifeblood leaked out into a pool on the carpet.

Slowly, almost stupidly, his eyes found Arthur's. The two stared at each other in the same state of shock, neither speaking, but both staring. There was a sort of unanswered question in Phillip's eyes, the kind that could never be responded to.

Wordlessly, Phillip raised the gun again, the question still in his eyes and on his lips. He stared at Arthur, at his blood streaked face, and tears formed in his eyes.

The sound of an M-16 Assault Rifle ripped through the silence, and a perfect round bullet hole appeared in the glass of the window that led to the outside world. Phillip was flung from his feet crash into a nearby desk, gun flying through the air from his loosened grip as his body convulsed once in shock. The desk crashed and clattered as it fell on its side, and Phillip fell to the floor, one arm scattering a stack of papers that the TA had been working on.

The door to the classroom opened suddenly, and the police stormed in, equipped with teflar vests and bullet shields that glowed in the fluorescent light overhead. Commands were yelled to the students, but no one was listening. People were crying, holding their heads in their hands, and staring blankly at the bodies on the floor.

The pain in Arthur's side worsened, and he croaked something unintelligible before falling back against the wall. One of the police officers called for the Medical Team to get into the room, but Arthur barely heard him. All he could do was stare across the room at Phillip, who was lying on the floor, a dark pool growing around him.

The pain lanced through his side again, and he groaned, sliding further down the wall. His head fell to the floor, and his eyes stared across the room at something new.

Jeannine had a hand over her mouth, and tears were running freely down her cheeks as she watched the police move about the room. She caught sight of Melanie's body again, and turned away abruptly, tears showering the desk and the floor as she spun away. Arthur stared at her as she sobbed with her eyes closed, one arm at her mouth, and the other wrapped about herself.

Her glistening eyes opened and met with Arthur's. She froze for a second, then sobbed again, convulsions wracking her entire body. She suddenly flung herself forward, running across the room and shoving aside a desk. One of the police officers saw her course and told her to stay back, but she didn't listen to him.

Arthur's eyes tried to focus as she appeared over him, hair falling down the sides of her head as the bandanna she wore came loose. She tore it loose and hesitated, unsure if she should press it to Arthur's wound or not. She was crying even harder now, and decided for it, covering the bullet wound with her bandanna and pressing down to staunch the flow of blood. Arthur made a noise of pain as she pressed on the wound, which only made her cry harder.

"Why?" she whispered to him as the police swarmed behind her. "Why did you do it?"

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but could only cough. He tasted blood, and drew in a ragged breath before trying again to answer.

"I did it . . . because it needed to stop . . . and . . . I did it because I love you . . ."

Jeannine's hand flew back to her mouth in shock, and she shut her eyes tightly, tears still gushing from them. Her hand was coated in red, but she didn't seem to notice. She moved her hand back to his wound, and her lips were coated in blood. Her hair fell in her face again, and she didn't even try to brush it back.

"Every single . . . day, I sat there and . . . waited for you . . . to look up . . . to smile, to do . . . anything . . ." gasped Arthur, speech becoming difficult. "And now I . . ."

He began coughing again as blood, and this time didn't stop, breathing becoming more and more ragged, coughs rising through the classroom in a sharp rattle.

One of the Medics appeared by Jeannine's side, and a police officer gently tried to pull her away. The Medic took one look at him and cursed, reaching into a supplies pack by her side. She pushed back his hand, eyes still fixated on Arthur's face.

Arthur blinked rapidly, trying to see through the sweat, tears, blood and growing mist that settled over his eyes. He thought of Phillip suddenly, and of the question he had seen in him before he had been killed. He tried to speak, but couldn't, and only stared up at Jeannine's face as the rest of his life bled out through the hole in his side.

He died with the same question in his eyes.