Chapter 10
Emmett
“H ey, boss, you might want to see this.”
Annie rarely ever bothers me when I’m in my office. Anyone else would probably leave me alone because they would be scared of pissing me off, but I’ve known Annie a long time. She is the least bit scared of me, and one of the few people who are immune to my bullshit. She’s handles herself, even for as young as she is.
She wouldn’t be bothering me though unless it was something big.
If one of those pervs went too far, I’m throwing them out on their asses. I don’t care how long they’ve been coming here.
I get up without a word and follow her out into the bar where people have congregated in front of the spot where the TV sits. The three assholes are finally quiet, eyes glued to the screen, along with the dozen or so people behind them.
What’s going on?
I follow Annie’s gaze which is also on the TV and see the “Breaking News” headlines: MILWAUKEE MIDDLE SCHOOL SHOOTING: SUSPECT IN POLICE CUSTODY.
I, along with the whole bar, watch in horror as the story unfolds in front of us.
A picture of a kid, no older than 17 or 18, flashes across the screen.
FINN ANDREWS
I see lips moving from the reporter at the scene, but my heart is pumping loud enough where my ears can’t hear any other sound.
17 INJURED, 3 DEAD.
What the fuck?
What fucking prick gets off on shooting up a place with a bunch of kids and teachers–
Wait…
Teachers…
Isn’t Drew a teacher?
The rest of the day at the bar, my mind was flooded with the questions I had no answers for.
What grade does Drew teach?
What school does she teach at?
Is she okay?
We had never had enough small talk to actually talk about each other’s work, so I learned most of what I knew about her through observation and nosy neighbors we shared. I felt a subtle ache of regret that I always gave her a hard time rather than asking about her day or something.
I know what it’s like to live through a trauma and wouldn’t wish the aftermath of pain to anyone. Knowing that she could possibly be living with what happened today, or worse, made me wish every interaction I had with her left her smiling rather than fuming.
I move through the motions for the rest of my shift, anxiously awaiting for any customer coming in with news to report. The few hours following the shooting, there was consistent talk about it, but because of the influx of school shootings in this country, the story’s shock factor dwindled off at an alarmingly fast rate, leaving the conversations in the bar to go back to normal by the afternoon.
I call Eddie, my other bartender and best friend, to come in a little earlier than his shift at 5 PM because I can’t stand being in this place any longer. My mind isn’t here, and I feel this intense urge to go home and see if Drew is okay.
Eddie is here by four, no questions asked.
That’s what is so great about him—he’s there when I need it and doesn’t pry because he knows I’ll tell him when I’m ready.
I run home, choosing to ignore the grocery shopping I had planned to do after work today.
Drew’s car is parked in her usual spot when I get into the garage, and I feel a wave of relief wash over me before I run past the elevator to the stairs.
It may seem weird that I know her car and where she usually parks, but I’ve been paying attention to her for a while now, more than I’d ever admit to anyone.
Especially her.
I don’t have time for the rickety son of a bitch to take it’s time right now, but when I get to the seventh floor, I stop.
I barely know this girl, I think to myself.
There’s no way she wants me coming to check on her. Wouldn’t that be weird? Knocking on her door out of the blue.
I’ve never even seen her outside the elevator, and its immediate surrounding.
It’s not like we’re strangers. We’ve known each other over six months, but I guess “know” is a relative term. I know she drops things and listens to music loud enough for me to feel like it’s coming from a speaker in my apartment, but I don’t know the first thing about her.
I don’t know if she works at the school that was on the news.
Drew could very well just be home because it’s the end of the school day. Maybe she doesn’t even know what happened.
Still, I need to know she is okay.
Instead of going up the next flight to her floor, I round the corner and head to my apartment.
My mind is warping with thoughts of what to do, what is appropriate, what is an invasion of privacy. If I just waltz up to her place and knock on the door, that shows all my cards of how much I actually think of this girl.
No. I’m being silly I think to myself.
She’s probably fine, and, if not, I’m sure she has people looking out for her.
Or, at least I hope that’s the case.
I pull out my keys from my pocket to unlock my door. Just as I put the key in the lock, my next-door neighbors come out of their place.
I live next to a younger couple, probably about my age or a year or two younger.
We make small talk here and there, and one of the two of them are always the ones to initiate the conversation. They don’t make much noise or ever bug me, so I’m much more pleasant of a neighbor towards them compared to the asshole I am towards Drew.
“Hey, Emmett,” I hear the guy, Evan, say. He’s a short, skinny guy, always in athletic clothes. Nine out of ten times I see him, he is dressed for a run.
I turn over my shoulder giving him a quick nod and turning back to unlock my door, hoping he catches on that I’m not in the mood to talk today.
He doesn’t.
“Did you hear what happened today?”
That gets my attention.
My hands freeze mid-turn of the key, and I turn to face him before opening my door.
“Crazy stuff. I can’t believe something like that happened at a school,” he adds before I can even respond to what he asked.
“Yeah, and it was just a few miles away from here,” his partner, Nora, chimes in as she bends down to tie her tennis shoe, her blonde hair covering her face. “And, at a middle school.” Her voice is hard to hear because she’s bent down a few feet in front of me.
Did she say middle school?
Does Drew work at a middle school?
Does she work close by?
No.
She’s fine.
She’s home.
She’s fine.
And she’s none of my business.
Evan crosses his arm and blows out a breath as he leans back on the wall behind him. “So close too. And, to think we know someone who works there.” He turns to Nora as she stands. “You ready?” He asks her.
“Wait,” I say before they can head to the elevator. “You guys know someone who works there?”
“We’re not friends or anything, but yeah she lives upstairs. Do you know Drew? From the eighth floor?”
My heart stops. After talking myself out of Drew having anything to do with the horrible thing that happened today. I’m now finding out that my gut was right.
“Drew teaches at the school where today’s shooting happened?” I ask, trying to hide the uneasiness in my voice. I can’t believe I even have to specify how it is today’s school shooting.
“Yeah, she and Nora have talked a few times because they leave around the same time in the morning.”
I think Nora is a nurse or does something in the hospital. When I’ve run into her, she’s either in running clothes like Evan, or she’s in scrubs.
But that matters nothing to me right now
“I hope she’s okay,” Nora adds. “I wasn’t on call today but heard the hospital was packed with people who were hurt, and people who were just looking for a place to go to feel safe.” She lets out a sigh at the thought.
I see Nora’s lips continue to move, talking about how often tragedies strike and how she sees it at work, but I couldn't care less about her right now.
My neighbors probably think I’m a jerk when I turn back to head inside my apartment, not even giving them an excuse or goodbye. I close the door behind me, and the only thing I can think about right now is making sure Drew wasn’t one of the ones injured, or worse.
If the girl is home, I’ll know.
She does have lead feet after all.
I kick off my Vans, take off my hoodie, and grab a beer. I take a seat on the couch, not turning on the TV, and just listen.
I listen for footsteps, music, books falling off the shelves, asses falling to the floor. Anything. My legs bounce with anxiety as I wait to hear something. Anything.
I take a few sips of my beer, and I finally hear the echo of footsteps and muffled voices above me.
Drew must have had family or friends bring her home.
More waves of relief topple over me, and I’m surprised to feel a weight lift off my shoulders at the thought that Drew is okay. Feeling a little alarmed with the effect this girl has had on me these past six months, especially today.
I spend the rest of the night busying myself with a few more beers, video games, and ordering my second pizza of the week, not being able to stop myself from listening for any and all noises above me.
My anxiety grows little by little as the night goes on and as the sounds grow fewer and far between.
I used to find the sounds I heard above me as a nuisance, but I now find myself aching to hear them. Because those noises mean Drew’s there. They mean she’s okay.
I head to bed at about 11 o’clock because I want to get to sleep pretty early. I fall asleep pretty easily, probably because my mind has been racing all day. My eyes close as I think about the long day ahead of me tomorrow. Lenny’s is open tomorrow, but I’m closing the bar for the two following days, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, so it’s going to be a long day.
Drifting off to sleep comes easily tonight. The sleep so heavy that dreams, and nightmares, don’t even invade.
I wake up the next morning at 8 AM to my alarm, and I feel completely well-rested for the first time in I don’t know how long. But I have this odd feeling that something about my morning is missing.
It isn’t until I get out of bed and brush my teeth that I realize that it’s because no red-headed girl with a good taste in music and shoes that match mine woke me up.
And my blissful morning comes to an end as the reality of what happened yesterday hits me directly in the chest.