Unhinged (5 page)

“Dejana, where’s Madame Primm?” I ask,
trepidation practically dripping from my voice. Madame is never
late, never absent, and always smiling at us ready to say ‘Bonjour
Classe’ when that bell rings. She would never just
not
show
up to class. It isn’t in her nature to deviate from the rules. She
is a dedicated teacher with no children. I see from Dejana’s
enlightened look that she just caught onto what is happening.

“I don’t know. This is so strange,” she
agrees. “There isn’t even a substitute teacher here,” she points
out.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to see if anyone
has gone to look for her when a stout, short boy named Adam comes
running into the room short of breath. He stops so quickly that his
glasses almost fall off his round face.

“I found her!” he screams to the class
through his quick puffs of breaths. “She’s in the bathroom crying
and screaming over and over again, ‘
It wasn’t me!
I’m
innocent!’
”

After a moment of shock, the buzzing of
voices in the class instantly becomes a loud roar. Everyone is
postulating what could have made Madame Primm abandon her class to
cry in the bathroom, and more importantly, who should go and rescue
her from her makeshift, and not so sanitary, panic room. Dejana
gets up to go and speak with a group of the louder boys and give
her opinion as to what we should do, while I stay behind (as usual)
and contemplate my thoughts alone. Maybe Madame has had a
breakdown? Or perhaps the guy she's been seeing broke up with her
and she kind of just lost it? More importantly, what did she do
that was so bad that she feels she needs to repeat over and over
that she’s innocent of doing it? None of this makes sense. Granted,
few things ever have made much sense to me.

Then, like a bolt of lightning, an idea hits
me. Primm was saying something over and over again as if she was
out of her mind. It sounds an awful lot like the episode with the
boy in the cafeteria. What if whatever happened to him has also
happened to Ms. Primm? Could they have each drank or eaten
something that made them sick?

I’m knee deep in trying to think of a
connection between Madame Primm and the boy in the cafeteria, when
out of the corner of my eye, I see a black boy named Kyle get up
robotically from his seat by the entrance door to the classroom. He
begins to meander his way calmly through the chaos of excitable
students. His stare is blank, yet purposeful, as he slowly walks to
stand behind a fifteen-year-old Hispanic boy named Brandon, who’s
arguing with a blonde girl named Kelly, by the window. What catches
my attention about Kyle isn’t necessarily that he has moved, but
that up until this point, he’s been silent and immobile in his
seat. In fact, I don’t think he’s moved a muscle since we entered
the classroom.

Sensing impending danger, I get up from my
desk and stand beside it. I’m not exactly sure if anything will
happen, or what I could possibly do to help, but I stand anyway. I
may be invisible, but that has its own advantage at times like
this. I begin to walk towards Kyle. As predicted, no one sees me or
cares where I go.

The entire class is in an uproar. No one
noticed Kyle as he moved stealthily through the crowd, nor do they
now as he stands eerily still as a statue behind Brandon. They have
more juicy gossip to chomp on for now. In fact, everyone is
ignoring Kyle completely.

I stop dead in my tracks when suddenly, Kyle
curls his hands into fists and pound his left one against his
temple repeatedly. He’s shaking violently and is clearly unstable.
Scared out of my mind, yet also sensing something bad is about to
happen, I decide to move closer. Before I can even pick up my foot,
Kyle stops pounding his head and once again stands there, hunched
over a bit, breathing deeply, his fists still clutched at his
sides.

All this has passed and it couldn’t have been
thirty seconds. In one sudden and rather jerky movement, Kyle
straightens up as if he is pulled from behind with an invisible
string and grabs something from the desk next to him. He looks
pointedly at Brandon, who still has his back to him, obliviously
continuing his heated debate with Kelly about the fate of Madame
Primm. Kyle’s lips are moving, but I can’t make out what he’s
saying; I am too far away and the room is too loud for me to hear
it.

The moment I’ve been dreading finally
materializes as I see Kyle lift his right hand up into the air and
prepare to strike Brandon. I see something pointy sticking out from
the end of his fist and realize too late that he is holding three
very sharp pencils.

I scream, “No!” and run toward them as fast
as I can. I push the person next to me aside, trying my best to get
to Kyle before he strikes, but the rational part of my brain knows
that it’s already too late. Sensing someone behind him, Brandon
turns and is instantly stabbed in his right eye; his expression of
shock cemented on his face. Blood spews everywhere, and even more
is thrown across the room as Brandon instinctively pulls out the
three pencils from his destroyed orb.

Chaos reigns as students fall over desks and
each other to get away from the blood that now free flows from
Brandon’s eye. Kelly is covered in blood, but in such shock that
she is only capable of standing in place and screaming. Beside her,
Brandon is on the ground, clutching his eye and screaming even
louder than Kelly. Beside them both stands Kyle, erect as ever and
calm, save the intermittent pounding of his fist to his head.

Terrified of being touched, I hide under a
desk the moment this all goes down. I wanted to find Dejana, but I
couldn’t tear my eyes away from what was happening with Kyle and
Brandon. Seconds later, when most of the students have left the
classroom, I get out from under my safe haven and approach Kyle
slowly, careful not to startle him.

Though I am scared out of my mind, I have
this feeling Kyle doesn’t want to hurt me; that his mission is
over. Besides, I want to hear what he’s mumbling. I carefully step
beside Brandon, completely at a loss as to how to help him. I am no
hero, but I am not inhuman either. I grab a jacket from the nearest
desk and bundle it to put over Brandon’s eye, trying to stop the
flow of blood until help comes, which hopefully will be any second
now. I don’t need to move any closer to Kyle. Even through Brandon
and Kelly’s screams, I can hear what he is muttering. And I wish I
hadn’t bothered.

Behind me, I hear footsteps. I turn to see an
older man, sporting blonde hair and black rimmed glasses, approach
us. Normally I would have backed away, but he’s calm as he takes in
the scene. Besides, he has a kind face. He’s wearing a blue polo
shirt and khakis with loafers. He must be a teacher of some sort,
but I’ve never met him. He kneels down beside me and makes a move
to put his hands over my gloved ones. I assume he is trying to take
over the care of Brandon and his eye. Every fiber of my being is
screaming for me to retreat, but I don’t want to let up pressure on
Brandon’s eye, not even for a moment. So despite my nature, I allow
the man to put his hands over my gloved ones. The minute his hands
are atop mine, he presses harder and mumbles an apology to Brandon
as he does, knowing the pain he must be causing him. He looks up at
Kelly screaming beside him. I expect him to yell at her, but yet
again, I am floored by this calmness he exudes.

“Young lady,” he says in a soft, yet deep
voice, as he looks Kelly straight in the eyes. “It’s going to be
alright. Please stop screaming and sit down on the floor before you
pass out. You’re in shock.”

Like a switch flipped in her brain, Kelly
stops screaming and falls down to the floor into a squat. Her eyes
are staring off into space and the blood splatter is now smeared on
her face. She is definitely in shock, but at least the screaming
has stopped. Beside me, I hear Brandon groan, and then thankfully
go unconscious as he finally succumbs to the pain and shock of
blood loss.

With Kelly’s screaming contained, the older
man turns his attention to me. He looks at me through his bifocals,
his blue eyes enlarged from the lenses. Though I have no idea who
this man is, I am surprisingly not freaked out by his presence, or
the attention he bestows upon me now.

“You did well, young lady, by stopping the
blood flow as best you could. You helped ease this young man’s
pain,” he states solemnly. “What’s your name?”

My first instinct is to shut my mouth and
stay invisible. But there is something about his eyes: as if the
clear crystal blue could hold no malice. I surprise myself by
answering.

“Aimee,” I reply in a soft voice.

The older man smiles at me gently before
returning his full attention to pressing the bloody jacket further
into Brandon’s eye. I look down and realize my hands are still
there. I wonder if I should remove them, but I don’t want to hurt
Brandon any more than he already is.

“Well, Miss Aimee, you acted admirable. Look
around the room. Do you see anyone else here helping?”

I don’t have to look around to know he’s
right.

“This guy was very lucky you were here.”

Lucky, huh? Not so sure about that, but I
didn’t contradict him. Luck would have been if I had stopped Kyle
before any of this had happened. Then poor Brandon wouldn’t be
passed out on the floor, bleeding. Why would anyone want to stab
him? From my position on the floor, I look up at the comatose boy
standing a few feet in front of us. He’s still mumbling and beating
his head with his fists intermittently. The old man beside me
doesn’t even look up from Brandon; it’s as if Kyle truly is
invisible.

One minute later, the room is flooded with
administrators, the school resource officer, and the school nurse.
Within ten minutes, the firemen and an ambulance have come and
stabilized Brandon. Upon arriving, the paramedics shoo us aside to
work their magic. Administrators flocked to the old man, whose name
I didn’t ask, and completely ignore me. I stand by the board, out
of the way, and try not to get blood on the parts of my clothes
that aren’t already stained.

Thirty minutes later, after Brandon has been
taken away in an ambulance, the police and medical personnel are
putting Kyle into a strait jacket. I was given a towel to wipe the
blood from my hands and then led away to an assistant principal’s
office to be questioned about the incident. As I sit there alone in
the office watching all sorts of personnel and police pass by, I
realize that I too must be in shock. And worse yet, I am too damn
scared after everything that happened this very short day to even
ask whatever became of Madame Primm in the bathroom.

I look up as Kyle passes by the office. He is
as calm as ever in the strait jacket and still muttering the same
phrase over and over: “I told you not to touch her.”

Chapter
Six

~ Hidden Monsters ~

He left them all there to die. David could
have saved them; could have helped alleviate their confusion and
pain, but what good would that do? What possible benefit could he
get from easing their pain? He’s not a martyr and has never
pretended to be. Martyrs crave death. They go throughout their
lives trying to find a good enough reason to offer their lives in
exchange for their version of a better world. They seek out death
like an alcoholic seeks out vodka. But David has no interest in
death, no desire to give up his life to change the world. In fact,
it’s his destiny to rule it. The world will change for
him
.

David walks through the narrow hallways of
the sterile building toward the double doors that lead out into the
dark night. He got what he came for and needs to leave quickly in
case his mind becomes compromised. David doesn’t worry about the
guards—his disguise is perfect. He’s dressed as a lawyer would be:
in a pin striped Armani suit and tie with impeccable shoes,
glasses, and a briefcase. David had put gel in his hair as well,
just for emphasis. As he approaches the silver scanners that
surround the entrance/exit doors, he tenses. The x-rays utilized by
the devices are not good for his psyche. The threads so carefully
woven in intricate patterns throughout his brain have been waning
of late, losing their elasticity. Whereas before, he could simply
stretch those threads as he would stretch and train any muscle, the
past years have proven that those threads are frayed. His mind is
not what it was. But that will all change soon. If he can just hold
on a bit longer, David knows that he will find what he needs to
rejuvenate those frayed edges. And perhaps grow infinitely
more.

David drops his briefcase onto the conveyer
belt to be examined and steps up to the body scanner. He mentally
blocks his brain as best as he can against the onslaught of
invisible radiation. The scanner begins and it’s like a hundred
needles are piercing his brain. The radiation leaking into parts of
his brain he can’t protect is shattering what little composure he
has left. David begins to sweat, a clear indicator that the pain is
intensifying as he fights the invisible rays chomping at his brain.
Beside him, the guards are oblivious. They sense nothing of his
discomfort, of the silent battle raging within him. The only
perceived threat they could envision would be his briefcase. They
are blind to the monsters that lurk within his mind.

Finally, the machine is turned off and the
torture stops. David steps out of the machine, his legs wobbly, but
capable of ambulation. He takes the time to smooth out his jacket
and straighten his tie. He takes a deep breath, flicks away a speck
of dust from his arm, and grabs his briefcase sitting on the other
end of the conveyer belt before walking out the front doors with
his head high and back straight as a rod. His whole body is
vibrating with exertion, practically craving the solitude and
comfort of the darkness that is his constant companion.