Only Child: A novel Read online

  Miss Russell unlocked the door, and lots of police came in. I saw more out in the hallway. One policewoman was hugging Miss Russell, who was making loud sounds like choking. I wanted to stay close to Miss Russell and I started to feel cold because now we were all spread out and not close and warm anymore. All the police were making me feel shy and scared, so I held on to Miss Russell’s shirt.

  “All right, guys, please come to the front of the room,” one policeman said. “Can you line up over here?”

  Outside our window, I could hear even more sirens now. I couldn’t see anything because our windows are high up and we can’t look outside except when we climb on a chair or table and we’re not supposed to do that. Plus, Miss Russell pulled the shades down when the pop sounds started.

  One policeman put his hand on my shoulder and pushed me into the line. He and the other police had on uniforms with vests, the kind where bullets can’t go through, and some had helmets on like in a movie, and they had big guns, not the regular ones from their belts. They looked a little bit scary with the guns and the helmets, but they talked to us in a friendly way: “Hey there, champ, don’t worry, it’s all over now! You’re safe now.” And stuff like that.

  I didn’t know what was “over now,” but I didn’t want to leave our classroom and Miss Russell was not at the front of the line with the line leader. She was still off to the side with the policewoman, making choking sounds.

  Usually when we have to line up to leave the classroom, everyone pushes and shoves and we get in trouble because we’re not making a nice line. This time we all stood really still. Evangeline and Emma and some other kids were still crying and shivering and we all stared at Miss Russell and waited to see if she would stop choking.

  There were a lot of sounds coming from outside our classroom and shouting from down the hallway. I thought it sounded like Charlie’s voice shouting, “NO, NO, NO!” over and over again. I wondered why Charlie was shouting like that. Maybe he got hurt from the gunman? To be the security guy in a school when a gunman comes in is a very dangerous job.

  There were other crying and calling sounds, all different kinds—“Ooh, ooooh, ooooh,” “Head wound DRT!” “Femoral bleed. Get me a pressure dressing and a tourniquet!” The walkie-talkies on the police’s belts were beeping and beeping, and a lot of talking was coming out of them that was fast, and it was hard to understand it.

  The walkie-talkie from the policeman at the front of the line beeped and said, “Get ready to move!” and the policeman turned around and said, “Moving out!” The other police started to push the line from the back, and we all started walking, but very slow. No one wanted to go out in the hallway where all the crying and calling sounds were still happening. The policeman in the front was high-fiving the kids that walked past him, and it was like he was making a joke. I didn’t give him a high five, and he kind of did a pat on my head instead.

  We had to walk down the hallway to the back door where the cafeteria is. We saw the other first-grade classes and the second- and third-grade classes walking in lines like us, with police as the line leaders. Everyone looked cold and scared. “Don’t turn around,” the police were saying. “Don’t look behind you.” But I wanted to see if I was right and if it was Charlie shouting “NO, NO, NO!” earlier and if he was OK. I wanted to see who was screaming.

  I couldn’t see much because Ryder was right behind me, he’s really tall, and more kids were walking behind Ryder. But in between the kids and the police walking I saw some things: people lying on the floor in the hallway with ambulance people and police around them and bending over them. And blood. At least I thought it was blood. It was very dark red or black puddles, like paint that spilled, all around on the floor of the hallway and some on the walls. And I saw the older kids from fourth and fifth grade walking behind Ryder, with very white faces like ghosts and some of them were crying and had blood on them. On their faces and clothes.

  “Turn around!” a policeman said behind me, and this time it was not friendly. I turned around fast and my heart was beating hard because of all the blood. I saw real blood before, but just a little bit like when I fall down and my knee bleeds or something, never a lot like now.

  More kids were turning around, and the police started shouting, “Look ahead! No turning around!” But the more they said it, the more everyone turned around, because other kids were doing it. People started screaming and walking faster and bumping into each other and shoving. When we got to the back door, someone bumped into me from the side and I bumped my shoulder into the door, which is metal, and it hurt a lot.

  It was still raining outside, pretty hard now, and we didn’t have our jackets. Everything was still in the school—our jackets and backpacks and book baggies and stuff—but we kept walking without anything over to the playground and through the back gate that’s always closed when we have recess, so no one can run outside and strangers can’t come in.

  I was starting to feel better when I walked outside. My heart didn’t beat so hard anymore, and the rain felt good on my face. It was cold, but I liked it. Everyone slowed down, and there wasn’t so much screaming and crying and shoving anymore. It was like the rain calmed everyone down, like me.

  We walked across the intersection that was full of ambulances and fire trucks and police cars. All their lights were flashing. I tried to step on the flashing lights in the puddles, making blue and red and white circles in the water, and some of the water went into my sneakers in the part that has little holes on the top and my socks got wet. Mommy was going to be mad that my sneakers were wet, but I kept splashing and making more circles anyway. The blue, red, and white lights together in the puddles looked like the American flag colors.

  The roads were blocked by trucks and cars. Other cars were driving up behind them and I saw parents jumping out. I looked for Mommy, but I didn’t see her. The police made a line on both sides of the intersection so that we could keep walking, and the parents had to stay behind the lines. They were calling out names like questions: “Eva? Jonas? Jimmy?” Some kids yelled back: “Mom! Mommy? Dad!”

  I pretended like I was in a movie with all the lights and the police with their big guns and helmets. It gave me an excited feeling. I pretended like I was a soldier who was coming back from a battle and I was a hero now and people were here to see me. My shoulder hurt, but that’s what happens when you fight in a battle. Battle scars. That’s what Daddy always says when I get hurt at lacrosse or soccer or playing outside: “Battle scars. Every man has to have some. Shows you’re not a wimp.”

  [ 3 ]

  Jesus and Real-Life Dead People

  OUR POLICE LINE LEADERS walked us into the little church on the road behind the school. When we went inside, I started to not feel like a tough hero anymore. All the exciting feelings stayed outside with the fire trucks and police cars. Inside the church it was dark and quiet and cold, especially because we were really wet now from the rain.

  We don’t go to churches a lot, only to a wedding one time, and last year we went to one for Uncle Chip’s funeral. It wasn’t this church, but a bigger one in New Jersey where Uncle Chip lived. That was really sad when Uncle Chip died because he wasn’t even that old. He was Daddy’s brother, and only a little bit older than him, but he still died because he had cancer. That’s a sickness a lot of people get, and you can have it in different parts of your body. Sometimes it gets everywhere in your body, and that’s what happened to Uncle Chip and the doctor couldn’t make him feel better anymore, so he went to a special hospital where people go who don’t get better anymore, and then they die there.

  We went to visit him there. I thought he must be so scared because he probably knew he was going to die and he wouldn’t be together with his family anymore. But when we saw him he didn’t look scared, he was just sleeping the whole time. He didn’t wake up anymore after we saw him. He went straight from sleeping to dead, so I didn’t think he eve
n noticed that he died. Sometimes at bedtime I think about that and I get scared to go to sleep, because what if I die when I’m sleeping and don’t even notice?

  I cried a lot at Uncle Chip’s funeral, mostly because Uncle Chip was going to be gone forever and I wouldn’t see him anymore. Also all the other people cried, especially Mommy and Grandma and Aunt Mary, Uncle Chip’s wife. Well, not really his wife because they weren’t married, but we still call her Aunt Mary because they were boyfriend and girlfriend for a really long time, since before I was born. And I cried because Uncle Chip was in the box called a casket in the front of the church. It must have been really tight in there and I never wanted to be in a box like that, ever. Only Daddy didn’t cry.

  When the police told us to sit down on the benches in the church, I thought about Uncle Chip and how sad it was at his funeral. We all had to fit on the benches, and the police shouted: “Slide all the way in. Make room for everyone. Keep sliding in,” and we kept sliding in until we were all smushed together again like in the closet. There was a walkway in the middle in between the benches on the left and the benches on the right, and some police were lining up next to the benches.

  My feet felt freezing cold. And I had to pee. I tried to ask the policeman next to the bench I was on if I could please go to the bathroom, but he said, “Everyone stays seated for now, champ,” so I tried to hold it and not think about how badly I had to go. But when you try to not think about something, it turns into the only thing you think about the whole time.

  Nicholas was sitting close to me on my right side and still smelled like throw-up. I saw Miss Russell was sitting with some other teachers on a bench in the back, and I wished that I could sit with her. The older kids with the blood on them were in the back, too, and a lot of them were still crying. I wondered why, because even the younger kids weren’t crying anymore. Some teachers and police and the man from the church—I could tell he was from the church from the black shirt and white collar he was wearing—were talking to them and hugging them and wiping the blood off their faces with tissues.

  In the front of the church was a big table and it’s a special table, called an altar. Over it was a big cross with Jesus hanging on it, like in the church where Uncle Chip’s funeral was. I tried not to look at Jesus, who had his eyes closed. I knew he was dead with nails in his hands and feet, because people actually did that to him a long time ago to kill him, even though he was a good guy and God’s son. Mommy told me that story, but I don’t remember why they did that to Jesus, and I wished he wasn’t right there in the front. It made me think of the people in the hallway and all the blood and I was starting to think maybe they were dead, too, so that means I saw dead people in real life!

  Mostly everyone was quiet, and in all that quietness the POP sounds were back in my ears, like an echo coming back around from the walls of the church. I shook my head to make them go away, but they kept coming back.

  POP POP POP

  I waited to see what was going to happen next. Nicholas’s nose looked red and had a snot drop hanging off it, which was gross. He kept pulling up the snot with a sniff sound, and then it came back down. Nicholas was rubbing his hands on his legs, up and down, like he was trying to dry them off, but his pants were really wet. He didn’t talk, and that was different because in school we sit across from each other at the blue table and talk all the time about stuff like Skylanders, and the FIFA soccer World Cup, and which sticker cards we want to trade at recess and on the bus later.

  We started collecting the sticker cards even before the World Cup started in the summer. Our sticker books have all the players from all the teams that play in the World Cup, so we knew all about the teams by the time the games started, and it was more fun to watch like that. Nicholas only needed twenty-four more sticker cards for his book, and I needed thirty-two and we both have a super-high stack of doubles.

  I whispered to Nicholas, “Did you see all the blood in the hallway? It looked real. Didn’t it look like a lot?” Nicholas shook his head yes, but still he didn’t say anything. It was like he forgot his voice at school with his jacket and his backpack. He’s weird sometimes. Just pulling up the snot drop and wiping his hands on the wet pants, so I stopped trying to talk to him and I tried not to look at the snot drop. But when I looked away, my eyes went straight to Jesus, dead on the cross, and those were the only two things my eyes kept looking at, the snot drop and Jesus. Snot drop, Jesus, snot drop, Jesus. My sticker cards and FIFA book were in my backpack still at the school, and I started to worry someone would take them.

  The big door in the back of the church kept opening and closing with loud swish-squeak, swish-squeak sounds, and people kept walking in and out, mostly police and some teachers. I didn’t see Mrs. Colaris anywhere or Charlie, so they probably stayed at the school. Then parents started to come in the church, and it got busy and loud. The parents weren’t quiet like us, they were calling out names like questions again. They cried and yelled when they found their kids and tried to get to them on the benches, which was hard to do because everyone was sitting so close together. Some kids tried to climb out and started crying again when they saw their mom or dad.

  Every time I heard a swish-squeak sound, I turned my head to see if it was Mommy or Daddy. I was really hoping they would come to pick me up and take me home so I could put new clothes and socks on and feel warm again.

  Nicholas’s dad came. Nicholas climbed over me, and his dad lifted him over the other kids on our bench. Then he hugged him for a long time, even though that probably made the throw-up get on his shirt, too.

  Finally, the door opened again with another swish-squeak and Mommy walked in. I stood up so she could see me, and then I got embarrassed because Mommy came running over and called me “my baby” in front of all the kids. I climbed over the other kids to get to her, and she grabbed me and rocked me and she was cold and wet from the rain outside.

  Then Mommy started to look around and said, “Zach, where’s your brother?”

  [ 4 ]

  Where’s Your Brother?

  “ZACH, WHERE’S ANDY? Where did he sit down?” Mommy stood up and looked all around. I wanted her to keep hugging me, and I wanted to tell her about the POP sounds and all the blood and the people lying in the hallway like maybe real-life dead people. I wanted to ask her why a gunman came and what happened to the people back at the school. I wanted us to leave this cold church with Jesus and the nails in his hands and feet.

  I didn’t see Andy today. I almost never see Andy at school after we get off the bus until we get back on the bus when school is done because we don’t have lunch or recess at the same time, the older kids always go out before us. When we see each other at school by accident, like in the hallway when my class goes this way and his class goes that way, he ignores me and pretends like he doesn’t know me and I’m not even his brother.

  When I started kindergarten, I was worried because a lot of my friends from preschool were going to Jefferson and I didn’t know many kids at McKinley. I was happy Andy was already there, in fourth grade. He could show me where everything was, and I wouldn’t feel scared with him there. Mommy said to Andy, “Make sure you keep an eye on your little brother. Help him!” But he didn’t.

  “Stay away from me, little creep!” he yelled when I tried to talk to him, and his friends laughed, so then I did that, stay away.

  “Zach, where’s your brother?” Mommy asked again, and she started walking up and down the middle walkway. I tried to walk with her and hold on to her hand, but there were people everywhere in the walkway now, calling names and getting in between us. I had to let go of Mommy’s hand because it hurt my shoulder to keep holding on.

  I didn’t think about Andy all day since the bus, only when Mommy asked me about him. I didn’t think about Andy when the POP sounds started, or when we were hiding in the closet, or when we walked through the hallway and out the back door. I tried
to remember when I looked back and saw the older kids walking behind me if maybe Andy was one of the faces I saw, but I didn’t know.

  Mommy was turning all around now, faster, and her head was going left, right, left, right. I caught up with her in the front of the church by the altar table and tried to take her hand again, but at the same time she moved her arm up and put her hand on a policeman’s arm. So I put my hands in my pockets to make them warmer and stood close to Mommy. “I can’t find my son. Are all the kids in here?” she asked the policeman. Her voice sounded different, squeaky, and I looked up at her face to see why she sounded like that. Her face had red dots around her eyes, and her lips and chin were shaking, probably because she got all wet and cold from the rain, too.

  “There will be an official announcement in a few minutes, ma’am,” the policeman said to Mommy. “Please have a seat if you have a missing child, and wait for the announcement.”

  “A missing—?” Mommy said, and she touched the top of her head with her hand hard, like she hit herself. “Oh my God. Jesus!”

  I looked up to where Jesus was on the cross after Mommy said his name. Right then Mommy’s phone started to ring in her bag. She jumped and dropped the bag, and some things fell out on the floor. Mommy went down on her knees and looked in her bag for her phone. I started to pick up her things, some papers and the car keys and a lot of coins that went rolling in between people’s feet. I tried to get them all before someone else could take them.

  Mommy’s hands were shaking like Miss Russell’s earlier in the closet when she found her phone and answered it. “Hello?” Mommy said into the phone. “At the church on Lyncroft. It’s where they took the kids. Andy’s not here! Oh my God, Jim, he’s not in the church! Yes, I have Zach.” Mommy started to cry. She was on her knees right in front of the altar table, and it looked like she was praying, because that’s what people do when they pray, kneel down like that. I stood in front of Mommy and touched her shoulder and rubbed it up and down to make her stop crying. My throat started to feel really tight.