RAGE (19 page)
Authors: Kimberly A. Bettes
Sitting there in a pool of blood and crying my heart out, I realized that I had nothing. I had no more time. I had no more options. It didn’t matter now whether Carly brought back Mr. Barrister. I might’ve explained away murdering my parents. Most people would’ve felt that I was right in doing so. But there was no way I could justify killing four classmates. No one would take my side for that. No one. It was over.
I cried so hard, I lost my breath many times. I sat there with the backside of my body covered in warm, sticky blood, causing my shirt to stick to my skin, and I rocked back and forth.
I was sorry. Sorry for everything I’d done. I was sorry that I wouldn’t be able to go to the dance with Carly. I was sorry that I’d failed to protect her. I was sorry that I’d brought her into the whole mess. I was sorry that I’d put such a heavy weight onto her shoulders by telling her my story. If it wasn’t for me, she wouldn’t have been in this room, never would’ve been the target of these boys. It was my fault.
I brought my right hand up to wipe my eyes, and realized I was still holding the pistol. The same pistol that had taken so many lives. I’d shot six people with this pistol, and had killed them all. I stared at the gun in my hand, thinking that surely there was one bullet left.
Then the restroom door opened. I looked up as Carly stepped around the privacy wall. I watched her face as she noticed the bodies and the blood. She brought up her hands, covering her mouth as she gasped. Behind her hands, she muttered, “Oh my god.” She then looked at me.
What a sight I must’ve been. Poor Brian Boozer, sitting on the restroom floor among the bodies and the blood, holding a gun and sobbing. What a lucky girl she was to have such a boyfriend.
She came to me and squatted down. She looked me in the eyes and asked, “Brian, what happened? Are you okay?”
Through my sobs, I was unable to do anything more than shake my head.
“Oh, Brian,” she said and hugged me. “Mr. Barrister’s on his way. He said he’d be here in a minute. I told him to hurry. Are you sure you’re okay? Are you hurt?”
As she looked me over, checking for injuries, I realized that I was hurt more than anyone knew. And I was not okay. I would never be okay, and there was nothing that anyone could do to change that. Except me. I was going to change it.
I forced myself to stop sobbing so I could talk to her. I had to hurry. Mr. Barrister was on his way. Using the back of my hands, I wiped the tears from my eyes and cheeks and the snot from my upper lip.
With red and burning eyes, I looked at Carly, desperate to get my point across before Mr. Barrister came in. “Carly, listen to me. I want you to go out into the hall and wait for Mr. Barrister.”
“Why?”
I swallowed hard, still struggling to keep from crying. “You shouldn’t see this. You should wait outside.”
She nodded and stood. After looking at me for a few seconds, she turned to walk away.
“Carly?”
She quickly turned to me. “Yes, Brian?”
“Don’t come back in here. No matter what. When Mr. Barrister gets here, let him come in alone. You stay out in the hall. Okay?”
She didn’t agree. She just looked at me.
“Promise me, Carly.”
She slowly nodded. “Okay, Brian. I promise,” she said quietly. She started to turn to leave, but instead of leaving the restroom, she rushed over to me and knelt down in front of me. She grabbed my chin gently in her left hand and lifted my head. For a second, she just stared deeply into my eyes. Then, she leaned forward and kissed me. Not on the cheek as she’d done before, but on the lips. It was a real kiss. My first, and sadly my last. It was beautiful.
When she pulled away, I felt my facial muscles tighten and pull my lips wider.
She smiled and put her right hand on the back of my neck. With her forehead against mine, she said, “See? I knew I’d make you smile.”
We sat like that for a few seconds. I wish it could’ve been forever. As weird as it was, I never wanted this moment to end. I breathed deeply through my nose, ignoring the metallic smell of the blood and my sweat, and focused only on the sweet scent of Carly.
“Brian?”
“Yeah.”
“Please don’t do anything stupid.”
“It’s too late to tell me that.”
“You know what I mean,” she whispered.
“Carly, I’ve screwed everything up. There’s no way I can fix this. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry that I dragged you into this. It’s my fault and I’m so sorry.” My voice cracked, so I stopped talking. I didn’t want to ruin this moment by bawling.
“Brian, it’s not your fault. You didn’t do it, they did. I’m not mad at you. I could never be mad at you. You saved me.”
“Whatever.”
“You did. If you hadn’t come in when you did, no telling what would’ve happened.”
She was right. But if she wasn’t my girlfriend, they never would’ve bothered her. So in the end, it was still my fault.
“Please, Brian. Don’t do anything stupid.”
I said nothing.
“You have to take me to the dance,” she said weakly. I think we both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Even if I didn’t do anything stupid as she said, I’d be in jail and wouldn’t be able to take her to the dance. That was a dream that would never happen now. One more thing I’d screwed up.
“Yeah,” I said. “You better get out in the hall and wait for Mr. Barrister.”
She nodded. She kissed my forehead and stood. As I watched her disappear around the privacy wall, my heart sank. That was it. That was the last time I was going to see her.
I hoped she did as I asked and stayed in the hall. She didn’t need to see me lying here, bleeding a pool of my own blood to mingle in and swirl down the drain with the others. That’s not how I wanted her to remember me.
I took a deep breath and put the gun to my temple. Funny thing. I didn’t even hear the thunder this time.
####
I won’t keep you long, Reader. I just wanted to explain this story a little.
Bad things happen. Often to good people. It’s been this way forever, and I don’t see it changing anytime soon. The boy in this story, Brian Boozer, is a good kid having a bad time. Unfortunately for him, it’s not just one part of his life that he’s having trouble with. It’s every part of his life. He’s pushed, and though he resists as long as he can, trying to survive the madness that is his world, he is - as is often the case - pushed too far.
So what happens when a person is pushed too far? They snap. And there are horrible consequences.
From Moses Lake, WA to Madison, AL and all the schools in between, including Littleton, CO (Columbine) and Blacksburg, VA (Virginia Tech), kids have been pushed too far. They’ve retaliated against those who have pushed them the hardest. It’s the only way they’ve known how to deal with the overwhelming pressures they’ve faced. Of course it wasn’t the right way of dealing with it, but how were they to know that? They were children.
What has always bothered me the most in cases of school shootings is that everyone is so quick to blame everyone and everything else. It was the violent video games, it was the rap music or the heavy metal music, it was bloody and violent movies...The list of blame is a long one. But instead of immediately blaming violent video games, why don’t we look closer and see the truth. Maybe the child was being molested. Maybe he was being bullied. Maybe both. There are a number of things that happen to children, many of which are never known to anyone else.
Brian Boozer is a made-up character I’ve created. But he represents many real children. I’m using him as an example, to show the world what drives children to violence, and to perhaps prevent future occurrences.
This novel isn’t intended to be a handbook for children. It’s not a roadmap for violence. It’s simply a light, shone on the real problem. It’s an answer to the question that’s always asked in the aftermath of such a tragedy - why?
Kimberly A. Bettes
September 14, 2011
About the Author
Kimberly A. Bettes was born in Missouri in 1977. Kimberly is the author of five novels and many short stories and poems. She lives with her husband and son in the beautiful Ozark Mountains of southeast Missouri, where she terrorizes residents of a small town with her twisted tales. It’s there she likes to study serial killers and knit. Serial killers who knit are her favorites.
Connect with Me Online
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http://twitter.com/kimberlyabettes
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http://kimberlyabettes.wordpress.com
Not tired of me yet? Want some Bonus Material? Of course you do. Keep reading, sugar britches.
As I drove the shovel into the dark, damp earth, I heard her yell, “Stop!”
I looked up and watched as she ran across the yard, skirt swishing around her legs. She ran over to where I stood, shovel in hand.
Her hair was wild, her eyes red and puffy.
“What is it, Charlotte?” I asked, not hiding my annoyance at being interrupted.
“I want to say goodbye to him.” Her voice cracked as she spoke.
I opened my mouth to protest, but she cut me off.
“I didn’t get to say it before and if you don’t let me, I’ll tell Mom.”
Her soul might’ve been in mourning, after all, she’d lost five dogs so far this year and it was only May, but her spirit remained unbroken.
Seeing that she was serious and determined, I took a few steps away from her to give her a moment. Chester was her dog. If she wanted a moment with him before I buried him that was fine. But only a moment. I had other things to do.
I watched as she rubbed the dog’s belly, scratched behind his ears, and patted his head for the final time. She was doing all his favorite things for him, though he didn’t know it. I watched the tears fall from her eyes and land on his fur with a plop, and I wished she’d hurry. I had to bury this dog and finish my chores.
She sobbed now. I wondered why anyone would cry over the death of a dog. I’d had dogs that died. I’d buried them myself without as much as a sniffle.
“Hurry, Charlotte,” I urged.
“Shut up, Robert!” she yelled through tears. She quickly glared at me, but it was long enough that I could see the snot sliding from her nose toward her upper lip.
I rolled my eyes and waited.
The hole wasn’t deep enough yet for Chester. If I didn’t get this finished now, I wouldn’t be able to get all my chores done before dark.
“Charlotte,” I snapped.
Without a word, she stood up and took off running to the house. I watched her for second, certain she was mad at me.
Oh well.
I finished digging the hole, put Chester in it, and filled it again with dirt. I returned the shovel to the shed and went about finishing my chores.
When we were called to dinner, I noticed that Charlotte was already seated at the table, eyes still puffy.
I looked from her to my mother.
“What?” I asked.
My father entered the room, belt in hand.
“What?” I repeated.
My mother said, “Charlotte told us you wouldn’t let her have a moment with Chester.”
“She had a moment. She was keeping me from getting my chores done.”
“Turn around,” my father said gruffly.
I did as I was told. I faced away from my father, toward Charlotte, who sat on the opposite side of the table. I held onto the back of a chair while my father struck me again and again with his belt. Each lash hurt like the dickens, but I didn’t let it show. I could cry later, when I was alone. But for now, I just stared at Charlotte, who wouldn’t look at me.
When my father was finished, he told me to leave the table without supper. I walked outside, to the shed, and grabbed the shovel. The same shovel I’d used to dig Chester’s hole, and the holes of the other dogs. It was the same shovel I’d used to kill Chester.
I walked over to the fresh grave of Charlotte’s beloved dog and began to dig a hole beside it. This hole would have to be much bigger though because Charlotte was much bigger than the dogs had been.
