Just Another Victim

By Grey Kernachan

When one wakes up in the morning, the very last thought they would have is whether they were going to be safe today. Why would they worry about impossible odds like a car accident, or a plane crashing into the building they worked, or a school shooting, when more likely than not, they are lucky. Why would they worry about such impossible odds when they have a good job, a big happy family, and an overall easy life? If they did happen to think whether their day was going to result in anything disastrous, they would realize that nothing would happen to them, it couldn’t, it hasn’t before so why would it happen now? They are truly lucky.  

But it did happen.  

“Robert Gallows” 

Everyone around me is crying. They are hugging each other for dear life, asking the very question of “Why me?” “What did I do wrong to deserve this”. We were all huddled in the cafeteria of the high school, another that thought it was safe from the horrors that other people face. Another high school that would end up on the news as a “tragic accident.” Our school would go onto a list of special mental health presentations on what happens if you are in one. Just another school. 

“Avery Para-Charleston" 

The cafeteria was a mess. Chairs strewn about; tables flipped over littered with holes. Bullet holes were in the walls, doors, the ceiling, floors.... people. Every child in the room had some blood caked on them, on their hands from trying to save a friend, on their shoes from running through puddles of their peers, on their clothing. Many didn’t survive. Many didn’t realize that today was the day they would die. Why us? What did we do wrong?  

“Julia Cozbi?” 

The voice was muffled. The whole world seemed to be quiet, as if I was wearing industrial grade earmuffs.  

“Julia Cozbi?” I looked up from my huddled position on the floor, and in front of me was a police officer. Tall, dark, solemn. But he had those eyes. The ones that couldn’t imagine this happening. He was one of those people who woke up this morning knowing that it was just going to be another day, nothing bad would happen. And it hasn’t, not for him anyway. Those eyes were sympathetic, but still pure from having to experience the terror that happened to everyone else in the room. 

He helped me up, leading me to the room that they were using to interrogate anyone and everyone who was in the school when it happened. His hand rested softly on my shoulder; there as a reminder that I am now okay, but also making sure that I didn’t fall over... or run. We walked slowly, steadily, across the cafeteria. My head buzzed with all the noises, and the scent of the dried blood seemed to be engraved in my memory. No one paid me any attention. They were too busy with their own grief to notice much of anything.  

Everyone who was severely injured had already been taken away, however there were still a few paramedics dealing with cuts, broken limbs, and being a shoulder to cry on. They all seemed to be moving in slow motion. 

We reached the room, and as I sat down in the chair, I had a better look at the detective who escorted me here. His name tag read Anthony Merridan. His skin was light brown, matching his kind, sympathetic eyes. His hair was long enough to not be considered buzzed, but short enough to prevent any unwanted movement. He was poised, elegant, unlike the man beside him, who looked to be distant. 

He was leaning back in his chair in a slouch, with one hand pressed against his mouth. His dark hair was raked back, his skin had a greyish tint to it. He had angry eyes, eyes that could cut glass. 

“So, Julia Cozbi.” The first detective said, after closing the door and making his way to the second chair across from me. “I’m detective Merridan, and my partner here is Detective Dylan Drystan. We are just here to ask you about your details on what happened earlier today. Is that alright?” 

I stared ahead, moving my head ever so slightly in a nod.  

Detective Drystan seemed to just notice me. He frowned, his eyes imitating something like daggers. I shrunk back into my chair. The hard plastic dug into my back, but I barely noticed the discomfort. 

“So, could you briefly talk about what happened today?” Detective Merridan asked, his tone removed of any negative emotion.... light, despite the circumstances. I understood that he was just trying to make me feel comfortable, but thinking back to exactly what happened made me want to vomit. He must’ve noticed this, because he backtracked a bit. “How about before you arrived to school? 

Did you notice anything different? Suspicious?” 

My voice was croaky when I spoke. “Not really, it was a day like any other.” I could see it clearly in my mind. I parked my car, walked up the school steps, smiled at everyone I passed. It was the same as every single other day. 

“Ok,” He looked at his notes, then at Drystan. “When the shooter arrived initially, what was your response? It’s ok if it’s hard to talk about, we are just looking at figuring out who they were.” 

I looked down at my lap, my stomach seizing. “I was in calculus, and we all heard a loud bang, Iit...” I cleared my throat of the bile that crept up. “It sounded like a gunshot. Mr. Samiel's yelled for all of us to get down, and he turned off the lights and locked the doors. It was a typical lock down procedure.” 

Kids were hiding under tables, clinging to desk legs, cowering. The fear was very real, as this wasn’t just a typical lockdown drill, this was the real thing. Everyone knew it wasn’t a drill. The noise of a gun proved it. 

“And you are absolutely sure you were in Calculus?” Detective Drystan piped up. He was staring me down. His eyes seemed to be made of steel, dark and cold. A bead of sweat dripped down my spine, slowly. Creeping down like a snake looking for its prey.  

“Well...um yes. We were talking about limits and... and... um...” I couldn’t get anything else out. I could feel the beginning of a headache creeping up from the side of my head. Spreading like a web through my temples. 

His pupils dilated. “As long as you're absolutely sure,” his voice was flat, with a hint of sarcasm. His partner looked at him with a look of alarm.  

“Ok, back on track, what happened after that?” Merridan tried to steer back the conversation. 

“Well, th-the loudspeaker overhead told us it was all clear after a while. We... um, we slowly got up and our teacher looked outside. It seemed to be all clear, so we all cautiously walked out into the hallway.” I closed my eyes. 

Students were peeking out of hallways, anxiety mixed with confusion written on their faces. Groups were formed, and ours led us down the corridor. There was sudden screaming, and someone ran down our corridor yelling a phrase that would send everyone into hysterics. “The shooter is still in the building; the principal and secretary are dead!”  

The world erupted as everyone started screaming and running. Limbs were flying. The smaller students were trampled. And the teachers were trying to calm down the crowd, to no avail. Chaos was the best word to describe it.  

It would be only a few moments before we all realized that we were trapped inside the school. 

“And what happened after that?” Detective Merridan asked, his voice soft. “Everyone is running around panicking, when did the shooter strike again?” 

“It was a while, maybe 15, 30 minutes? Time felt kind of... distorted.” My leg bounced, trying to release all the extra energy pent up in my body. My nails were raw. “By the time we heard more shots, some of us were in the gym.” 

Detective Drystan leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “And why, exactly, were you in the gym? Why run to the room that could trap everyone? Unless you planned it that way?” His tone was accusatory. His question was accusatory. I couldn’t breathe. 

The front doors to the school were dead bolted. The emergency exit doors wouldn’t budge. Every door that would result in our freedom was locked. We were in a cage. Trapped like lab mice in a horrendous experiment. The shooter has yet to strike again. Teachers were trying to keep everyone calm, telling us that we would be okay, but you could tell that they were trying to convince themselves of the very same thing. Nobody was getting out, nobody was getting in. We were completely and utterly doomed.  

I followed the larger crowd of students. The ones that seemed slightly more put together. They were collecting people from the washrooms and excess classrooms, in hopes that the shooter didn’t pick off the weakest links. They left me in the bathroom, huddling over a toilet. Someone stayed by me, making sure that I was ok. I never got a good look at them; I was too busy emptying my stomach. 

“I only followed the people who seemed to know what they were doing. But a couple of us ended up in one of the bathrooms.” 

“Why?” Drystan was ready. 

“I couldn’t take it,” I tasted something salty, realizing that I was crying, silently. “It was too much. Too much screaming, a... and--” my voice cracked. 

“Couldn’t take what you did?” His palms slammed against the desk, his body flying forward. I could smell his breath. A hint of Tobacco I recognized all too well from the stoners in my class. 

“Thats enough Detective Drystan!” Merridan’s warning was louder this time, more pointed. Drystan leaned back into his chair, his gaze never leaving my own. 

I couldn’t get away. The room was getting smaller and smaller. My head was pounding, my vision was blurry. “I didn’t d-do it. I-I swear.” In, out, in, out, in. 

“We aren’t saying you did,” Detective Merridan said softly. He put his hand on mine, and I reeled back. My chair scraped loudly. 

“I-it, it wa-wasn't me,” my breathing picked up pace. I needed air. There was no air.  

The gym was nearly empty, not counting the bodies that were strewn across the floor. My breathing was ragged, tears stained my face. The smell of iron was so intense, I felt like I was going to vomit again. There was so, so much death. Everyone ran. They escaped. I couldn’t breathe. My head was pounding as I ran down the hallway, trying to escape the horror. It was too much. Too much, too much, too much too much toomuch tomuchtomuchtomuch-- 

“Julia!” The voice snapped me out of my trance. Somehow, I ended up on the floor, backed against the wall. In, out, in, out. I couldn’t breathe. “Julia!” Came the voice again. I looked up and there was Detective Merridan, crouching beside me. He was blurry. “We don’t think you did it,” his voice had an urgency to it. “Do you know who did?” 

I stared him in the eyes, and more sobs broke out of me. “N-no, they, they had a mas-s-sk o-on,” I was shaking like a leaf. Every nerve in my body was on fire. And behind detective Merridan stood detective Drystan. His arms were crossed, and he was looking down at me with a look I couldn’t recognize, something like... disgust. But he kept back. Merridan helped me up, and back into my chair. My legs almost gave out on me. 

“Is it okay if we ask you a couple more questions? If not, just let us know. We don’t have to continue.”  

I nodded. I don’t know why. All I wanted to do was get out of here. I wanted my parents, but they were gone for the week. I wanted to talk to anyone but these officers, but I had no one left. They were either dead, gone, or traumatized to the point of needing someone of their own. I had no one left. “You said that you left the bigger group headed to the gym to go to the bathroom, could you elaborate on that a bit?” Merridan continued. 

“Um, w-well, I wasn’t f-feeling good, s-so I had to run to the bathroom. I f-felt s-sick.” A hiccup escaped my lips. “Someone c-came in with me, t-to make sure I was safe, a-and wh-wh--” My eyes welled up again, but he was patient. “While I threw up, s-someone else came into the bathroom. N-next th-thing I h-hear, ar-ar--”  

Gunshots.... half a dozen of them. Ricocheting on the bathroom stalls, the ceiling, floor. My bathroom buddy.... dead. Like the principal, like the secretary. Blood. So much blood. I never realized how much blood a human body could have. I threw up again. 

“I-I don’t know why th-they spared m-me. M-maybe th-they didn’t realize I was there?” 

“Maybe, they didn’t spare you at all,” Drystan piped up. “Maybe, they wanted the perfect opportunity to put on a mask. Maybe, you created the perfect story to hide the fact that your victim was killed, but you weren’t!” 

“Can I speak to you for a moment? Outside?” Merridan stood up, not giving him an opportunity to respond, and walked out. Drystan gave me one more raging look and followed his partner out the door. Leaving me alone to stew in my thoughts. 

Everything in the room seemed frozen. Silent. Waiting for what will happen next. The only sound in the room, a clock. 

Tick... 

Tock... 

Tick... 

The room was small. Big enough for three people, but not much more. 

I realized that I knew this room. It was the room of the school counselor, Ms. Rariden. How coincidental. I have only been here a handful of times. Once during a stressful week last year. A couple times in 8^th grade, when we were dealing with some people who were targeting me. It hasn’t changed much since then.  

It’s not the greatest office to ask a student to talk about their inner, most deepest feelings. For one, it doesn’t look like the typical counselling offices you see in movies and shows. It’s bland. Might as well have just used the principal's office.... 

The sickening realization hit me again. He’s dead. 

The door swung open, jarring me. Detective Drystan walked in grinning, almost smugly. He was by himself, making me miss the calm understanding that Detective Merridan portrayed. 

“So, Julia, you and I are going to have a little chat.”  

× 

Police vehicles surrounded the school, their flashing lights creating an almost peaceful rhythm. Anyone peering in from the outside world would know why they were there, the tragedy that occurred just hours before.  Those who are more curious, are taking the time to find the perfect spot to peek through the barricade of ambulances and cars, into the latest “breaking news”, so they could tell whoever will listen that they were ‘there’, they witnessed it. 

Tragedy binds us in more ways than we wish it would. For almost everyone in this town knows someone who was lost during today's events. They could have been a friend, a foe, or in my case, a family member. Earlier today, while a crowd of panicked children ran towards the gym, my daughter stepped away to accompany someone while they went to the bathroom, to ensure that they were safe from the shooter. 

She was kind that way, always looking out for others before herself. She was my whole world. After struggling for a child for so long, when my wife and I had her, we swore that we would protect her with our lives.  

You see, a father knows. If his child is upset, he knows. If they are hiding something, he knows. If they are hurt, he knows. 

As I watch Julia Cozbi being escorted out of the building in handcuffs, surrounded by officers, I light my last cigarette. The moment I laid eyes on her, I knew, she was the one who killed my daughter. I was going to put her behind bars. I couldn’t keep my child safe, and for that, I will forever be regretful, but I avenged her and dozens of others who were on the wrong side of the gun. 

Julia Cozbi never told me why she did it, but I think I know. As much as it revolts me to say it, she reminded me a lot of me when I was her age. Parents never home, pressure of trying to get everyone to see you. She looked like she was just any other student who looked like they had their life together, however, she was breaking down slowly, silently. She needed an escape from the repetition of everyday life. 

That is a reminder to anyone waking up in the morning thinking that today is just going to be another day. Every single day, something happens. Whether you like it or not, you are connected to tragedy. Whether you heard about it on the news, or by word of mouth, or it was closer than you thought, it is on you if you assume that tragedy will never touch you, because one day, it will. 

One day, you will just be another victim.

By Grey Kernachan