Let Me Live Read online

  “Who’s they?” He dropped his face away from me.

  “The police and anyone else outside who’s going to take you out. They’ll have no choice.”

  “Why do you care if they kill me? You afraid they’ll kill you because of how close we are? Or maybe I’ll finish you off before they do?” He spoke the calmest I had heard him since coming here intent on destruction.

  “I don’t want you to die. If you do, you’re another nightmare added to the ones I’ll have forever.” I coughed into my good shoulder and flinched when I left behind a small splatter of blood.

  “Fuck if I know what I should do. I’m so fucked-up.” He hit the side of his head with his fist and the barrel of the gun.

  “Stop!” I dropped my hand on the top of his head, the bristles of his close-cropped chestnut-brown hair like needles jabbing my fingers.

  He jerked his face up but didn’t retaliate by hitting me… or shooting me. Instead he pressed his fingers to my mouth, and he blinked, unable to stop the tears in his eyes.

  “If I surrender, will you stay with me to stop them from killing me? I don’t wanna die.” He broke down then, laying his face in the crook of my neck.

  “Yes. I don’t want any more dying, including you.” I rested my palm on the crown of his head and let him cry. “Why don’t you toss away your rifle and gun?”

  “They’re my dad’s. He doesn’t know.” His muffled voice broke through the noise in my ears.

  “Don’t you want to stay alive so you can tell your dad it was you who took his guns?”

  “He’s going to be so angry for taking his stuff. How am I going to pay him back the years of lessons he gave me?” He raised his head, his expression one of total despair.

  Maybe he was experiencing shock and could no longer grasp what he had done. I had to be the one to lead him in the right direction because if I didn’t, we would both die.

  I finally let go of Jordan’s hand and took John’s. He nodded and tossed the pistol away. He set the rifle next to his hip, still close enough for him to grab, not that I was going to take it away from him. I was too queasy and dizzy, not sure if I could stand, let alone wrestle him to the ground and keep him there until help arrived. Just as he would have to rely on me, I would have to do the same with him.

  “I’ll talk to your dad and explain to him if you want me to. But first let’s get your cell and call your mom. She must be worried about you.” I nudged him toward his phone.

  With my hand locked in his, he inched to his phone on his knees. I followed blindly, unable to concentrate on anything other than my breathing and staying awake.

  When he got to his phone, he scooped it up, and with an arm around my waist, he sat us against the back of the information desk. From this view I saw Jordan and the other bodies scattered around the library, their body parts and guts blasted away, blood staining the carpet.

  So much blood….

  He called his mom, and she answered. He sobbed to her, barely making any sense. I tried to listen, to remember for when I told my side of the story if he let me live. He asked her if she still loved him even though he was a horrible person. Would she stand by him and forgive him because he was her only son?

  Suddenly he dropped his phone and grasping my head, he kissed me hard on the mouth. Just lips and nothing more.

  “I’m sorry, Marshall.” He sobbed on my mouth, repeated the same thing, and then left me on the floor. After dropping his guns, he pushed the table away and opened the doors to exit the library.

  Purple spots exploded in front of my eyes. As I landed on my side, I kept looking at Jordan before I lost consciousness. There were horrible screams and yells and loud booms. The last thing I remember was Jordan’s face—vacant, eyes open and unblinking. His chest was still, with his arm out as if reaching to me for help.

  Chapter Two

  THE BRICK building in front of me stood out from the other ones on the street. Most were older with smaller windows and wood trim. But not the Astral Body Tattoo parlor with its big crimson-rimmed window and blinking red lights.

  All the red reminded me of blood, which made me nauseous. Just another side effect or PTSD from the slaughter three months ago.

  I rubbed my healed wound with moist palms. I never used to sweat like I did now. It’s become my new normal. At least the aching or sometimes throbbing that attacked my shoulder at any given time was quiet today. But standing outside in this afternoon May heat wasn’t helping. Just another fault of mine to add to my growing list of disappointments, two days before my nineteenth birthday, which happened to be on Memorial Day. So patriotic—par for the course for the Caryll family. Dad was the two-term mayor of Albee, Pennsylvania, and me, his only son, had once dreamed of becoming president of the United States.

  But my wishes and dreams were over, blown away literally and figuratively, now more so because I planned to get a tattoo as a birthday gift to myself.

  In Pennsylvania, anyone over eighteen could get a tattoo. You could get one at sixteen with a parent or guardian’s consent. When I was sixteen, the idea never entered my mind. I should have been horrified of wanting something etched permanently on my skin. But I really needed to cover up the gunshot scar on my left shoulder, to hide the torn skin, a reminder of what I went through that horrific afternoon in February. A reminder I had survived while so many others—twelve in total—hadn’t, including my friend Jordan who had been targeted because the shooter hated him.

  A guy and girl near my age dressed in shorts and T-shirts walked by, sending me curious looks. I automatically tensed and was ready to sprint away if they approached me. But they didn’t ask for my autograph or want to know if I was the “National Hero” the media dubbed me for stopping John Cannon from killing more people. Maybe they thought it was strange I stood in front of a tattoo and piercing shop, the only one in a dress shirt and khakis, as if I was going to church or on a job interview.

  With the front window dark enough to see my reflection, I noticed my frown, or rather my grimace. I didn’t have much to smile about these days and probably wouldn’t for a long time. But maybe getting a tattoo, a small rebellion of sorts, would help me relax and feel seminormal and not always on edge.

  “Marsh?”

  The familiar male voice intruded my thoughts, but not so much that I flinched or backed away. Theo was well aware of my situation, and my reaction to him if he surprised me.

  This would be the second time I’d see him since I returned home. In high school I would have given anything to have him talk to me. I had a bad crush on him for years, wishing one day we would end up together, even though he was older, more of a free spirit. His mom and my dad had dated for more than a year a few years ago.

  I turned away from my murky reflection to face the man I couldn’t quit, whose presence had followed me to college. It was hard to forget a man like Theodore Mendivil, a local celebrity in Albee because of his reputation in the community as a gay rights activist, and one of the most popular DJs on local radio. It also didn’t hurt that he was too handsome for his own good, almost pretty with model-like looks, his black hair and continuous tan thanks to his Cuban roots.

  I was on the pale side and skinnier than ever because I wasn’t eating as well as I should. My hair—I once had a bad habit of lightening with peroxide—was too blond, on the bland side, and needed to be cut. I was far from together, unlike Theo, who had a unique style many wanted to make their own.

  “Hey, Theo. How’s it going?” I went to put my hands in my pockets, but that would feel too constricting, so I kept them at my sides.

  He slid his sunglasses down his nose to inspect me. He stared at my face instead of scoping me out from top to bottom like so many now did to make sure I was in one piece.

  “Think of your future before you do something you may regret.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I turned away, not only to stop looking at him but to block the too-bright sun hurting my eyes.

  “I thin
k it’s great you’re finally out of your house, but checking out a tattoo parlor? You want a tattoo or a piercing?”

  “Why do you think I was going inside Astral?” I waved at the building.

  “You’ve been standing in front of the place for almost ten minutes, staring at the pictures hanging near the door,” he said with a little attitude. I couldn’t tell if he was judging me or not, but the way he spoke to me made me want to explain to him why I was there.

  “I heard great things about it and wanted to see what it’s about.” The door to the shop opened and a lanky guy in a gray ribbed tank and saggy jeans exited, not bothering to acknowledge me or Theo.

  Theo opened his mouth to respond, but then the world slowed. A loud popping exploded around me, making me drop to the ground and crawl backward on my butt until I hit something solid. My arms came up around my head, and I curled into myself, trying not to rock or fall to my side.

  I hated how my heartbeat slammed in my ears and how my throat constricted, making it difficult to swallow. I hated how my body tightened, how every bone ached, and shooting pains ran up my arms and into my head. I wanted to pass out to find relief, but outside forces wouldn’t let me. This time it was Theo.

  “Dude…. Marsh, relax.” His welcome crooning helped the fear that had locked itself around me weaken. I lowered my arms and landed against his side as he sat next to me.

  “Sorry… must have been the car backfiring. Loud noises make me—” A sob left my mouth, and I dug the heels of my palms into my eyes.

  “I even jumped. Whenever I hear the revving of an engine, I get a little freaked.” He ran his hand over the crown of my head. “Once you catch your breath, do you think you can stand?”

  “This is embarrassing. How many people are watching us?” Once I blinked away the spots in front of my eyes, I saw much clearer. To my relief the sidewalk was free of witnesses. Thank God the press had stopped trailing me wherever I went. If a few of them had been here and witnessed my freak-out, I would be back in the spotlight in a major way—much like I had been when an AP photographer took a picture of me exiting the library surrounded by a SWAT team dressed in their bulletproof vests and clutching their guns like they’d just won a battle.

  “No one from what I can see.” He squeezed the back of my neck. “Can you stand?”

  “I think so.”

  He stood first and then offered me his hand. He helped me up with ease, and then I took time wiping the wrinkles and dirt from my clothes.

  “How about instead of a tattoo, we go to Arabica?” he suggested. “It will be my treat.”

  Arabica had been my favorite hangout my junior and senior year of high school mainly because a lot of the students from Albee and Maison University went there. It was one of Theo’s favorite haunts also. Since I was still a bit shaken up, it was probably for the best if I went someplace cool.

  “If you’re buying, I’m in.” I would have clapped him on the arm or shared a “bro” handshake, but it would feel too awkward. It would take me a while to get used to certain displays of affection, even something as simple as a handshake or a high five.

  “Great.” He didn’t have a problem touching others, especially those he thought of as friends. He hung his arm around my shoulder to lead me to the café.

  I peered back at the parlor, catching someone in front of the window inside. My eyes locked with an older guy with a cropped red beard and a mass of tattoos covering his arms. He also wore a white button-down shirt with his sleeves rolled up. The shirt reminded me of the many in my closet. Those would never be worn again because they gave me flashbacks of blood staining the material as it had the day of the shooting.

  THE BOOTH in the back near the bathrooms gave me a great view of the café, especially the front door to see those coming and going. If anyone wanted to cause problems, I could sprint to the fire exit door behind me. I had to be in viewing distance of all entrances and know where all the exits were in any public place because I refused to be caught in a bad situation again, unable to escape, not knowing if I would make it out alive.

  Usually after a panic attack I couldn’t sit still or I had to lie down because of a horrible tension headache, but Theo was a calming influence. I also felt safe here, mainly because of the cozy interior and the familiar faces of the employees. Also, the fire ax enclosed in a glass case near the fire alarm offered an extra layer of protection.

  Theo took his time getting our drinks. He enjoyed talking to the staff, especially the owner, whom he’d hooked up with in the past. That also included one or two of the baristas. I was more selective, although I’d had my share, but nothing near his amount.

  I was one of the few friends he didn’t flirt with or invite to his place for a “sleepover.” I might not be his type, although I was attractive enough for him to notice me as more than just a friend. But then again, I was younger, plus our parents had dated and he thought of me as a little brother. How did I know? He’d told me many times. I never told him I wanted the opposite because then I wouldn’t have any chance of something more with him. But if I tried for something more, he might reject me, which would put a major dent in our relationship.

  He returned with a tray of two to-go cups and a white bag sporting Arabica’s coffee bean logo in the middle. He set the tray on the table and sat across from me in a slouch, which was his preferred position.

  “You still drink chai and not coffee, right?” He sipped his drink.

  “Yeah. Never been a big coffee drinker, just tea.” I saluted him with my cup and inhaled the scent of vanilla. “Jordan isn’t a fan of coffee either… shit, I meant was.”

  I set my cup down. The smell of vanilla made me want to sneeze. My throat suddenly stung from the bile rising. Whenever I thought of Jordan, I became sick. I couldn’t get his dead eyes or bullet-riddled body out of my head.

  Theo placed his cup down also. He didn’t look away like most did when I brought up the shooting. Dad was the only one to hold my gaze. Now Theo joined that small group.

  “Jordan was one of the victims at NCU.”

  I nodded, finding it hard to say Jordan’s name now. “He was one of my friends there. We became very close. John killed… ah… I watched Jor—him die.”

  I could easily count the number of times I’d seen Theo frown because everything seemed to roll off him. But he frowned now, and the usual brightness in his brown eyes vanished.

  “You have trouble saying your dead friend’s name but not his killer?” He studied the table as he flicked the lid to his cup.

  Not many mentioned John by name—not on TV, and only a few times in articles in newspapers or on the internet. I rarely mentioned his name around others, but for some reason I didn’t have a bad reaction when I wrote or typed his name or it popped into my head, like a whisper in my ear.

  “I had been close with Jo—the shooter also. He had been part of my group at NCU, along with Jo-Jordan and his twin sister, Shiri.” I exhaled and finally sipped my warm chai to soothe my throat.

  “They’re the children of Leon Weiss, the director of the Cosmic Galaxy series,” Theo stated.

  Everyone knew the Cosmic Galaxy series even if they weren’t a sci-fi geek. Weiss had been Hollywood royalty for three decades. Jordan and Shiri had been his only children, and unlike some children of famous directors or actors, they were far from the stereotypical rich kids born into fame and fortune. That was what attracted me to both of them, well mainly Jordan. We were all very level-headed, wanted to excel, and had our futures planned out.

  “I didn’t have a clue who their father was when I first met them. Funny thing was, they both wanted to work in government like me. Jordan and me used to joke that if either one of us became president, we would be each other’s vice presidents.” My lips twitched in humor as I remembered that fun discussion. “Shiri said there was no way in hell two gay men could be president and vice president of the US at the same time.”

  Theo halted his drink and lifted an eyebrow. “Jor
dan was gay?”

  I encircled my hands around my cup, and for some reason the warmth was soothing. Or maybe sitting here with Theo and talking without judgment helped. “Jordan… was. Shiri wasn’t, even though they were twins.”

  “Just because siblings are twins or triplets doesn’t mean they’ll all be gay or straight.” He opened the bag. “The odds we’re gay is interesting.”

  “But we’re not brothers.” I sipped my chai. I’d never considered him a brother figure although he had always acted like one to me.

  He took out two chocolate-dipped shortbread cookies, and I dropped my hands on my lap to stop from squeezing my cup too hard.

  He must have noticed my sudden movement or it might have been my loud inhale. “What’s wrong? I thought you liked Arabica’s chocolate shortbread?”

  “I do… I mean I did.” In the past this type of cookie would have me salivating. Now I experienced dry mouth, which seemed to be the norm when it came to food, even food I was addicted to. “The shooter’s favorite cookie is shortbread.” It was one of the few things we had in common, unlike Jordan who I connected with right away. But he didn’t like cookies. He is… was more of a brownie type.

  “Even killers have a sweet tooth.” He left the cookies on top of the bag. The smell of chocolate made my stomach churn.

  He clapped, both of his thumb rings pinging loud enough to make me look at him. He had always been the center of my attention. Now not so much, but he still made sure I was aware of his presence.

  “Let’s talk about our plans for the summer.” He tipped back his cup to finish his drink. “Before you get a tat, you should really spend some time at a lake or the beach to get some color. You’re in need of a tan.”

  “I’m a pasty white guy who sunburns more than tans.” I wish I had a forever type of tan like Theo. But then again, he had the genes for it. “You’re really offering me beauty tips? When did you become such a girl?”

  “I’ve been hanging out with more chicks than dudes lately.” He shrugged, unconcerned that he was a chick magnet. It had always been that way because he was too hot for his own good. Women buzzed around him wherever he went. Men, although subtler in their interest, were on the receiving end of his attention because his goal was to expand his social circle, meaning a wide selection of contacts he could use both professionally and personally.