Chapter 34 The Showdown
THE SHOWDOWN
LUCAS
Making himself as small as possible, he crouched down in the shadows of the shelving. If ever he needed the universe to give him a break, it was now.
Glancing down, he realized that his dark jeans and black sport coat would work in his favor, but his white dress shirt would not.
As quickly and quietly as he could, he turned up the lapels of the jacket, folding them over to cover the stark whiteness.
He also unbuttoned his sleeve cuffs, rolled them twice, and made sure they weren’t sticking out under his jacket.
It wasn’t perfect. If Judah took his time and used his flashlight, he was screwed.
Having to rely on the teen being erratic seemed like cheating, but he already knew the boy was unraveling.
His tossing things aside that got in his way, his loud, heaving breaths, and his verbal threats were enough to let him know that Judah was beyond acting rationally.
Oddly enough, that should have been a comfort.
If he were acting without thinking, he wouldn’t be searching as thoroughly as he should be.
Unfortunately, it also meant that if he came upon Lucas in this state, he might shoot first instead of considering his actions.
The time for consideration was long over.
As soon as the boy picked up a gun, he was already headed down a path he was very unlikely to return from.
Lucas worked at evening out his breathing, making every effort not to make a sound or move.
Despite being filled with theatre props, the space was constructed out of concrete cinder blocks.
Everything echoed, even the tiniest of sounds.
Crouched as he was, his body was a small target, but eventually, his knees would begin to ache.
He’d slip or move, and Judah would hear him.
With only one exit door, as long as Judah kept himself in front of the door, there was no way to escape.
Straining to pinpoint Judah’s location, he realized that the silence was almost absolute, like he imagined it would be if he were entirely alone out in the wild.
Not only did he not hear Judah stomping around, threatening and cursing, but he realized that with the door open, he didn’t hear any bells ringing, signifying the end of classes or the warnings for the after-school bells.
That meant it was after the school day, and the halls would be emptier than usual.
Since it was the Monday after homecoming, many of the coaches had given kids the day off from practice, and there were no games scheduled.
There might be some community activities going on, but he thought they were all down at the other end of the school.
That was both good and bad. Good because fewer individuals would be impacted if Judah decided to begin shooting.
Bad because fewer people, possibly no one, would know they were there, and he needed help.
Utter quiet. Did that mean Judah had given up? Did he go downstairs and pursue Ryker and Kennedy? Was Lucas locked up by himself now, or had the boy fled and left the door open? Or was he lying in wait, hoping to trick Lucas into coming out from his hiding spot?
He knew he couldn’t stay still forever. While Ryker and Kennedy getting out of here was good, who knew how long it would be before they could find help.
Would people listen to them? He liked to think that at least the police station would send someone out to look for him and Judah, but would they find him in time before the boy lost control and shot him or himself?
It could be a long time before someone physically found them.
If he wanted a chance at survival, he needed to move.
Find another place to hide. Get himself out of the building. Something.
Oh-so-quietly, he stood up, then froze in place.
Again, he listened. Not a sound. Shouldn’t there be the hum of an air-conditioning unit or something?
It felt unnatural. Gently, he took a single step forward, making sure to lift his foot completely off the ground, then set it down so carefully that even he didn’t hear the movement. After pausing, he took another step.
A split-second, slight rasping sound came from nearby, like something dragging against something else.
Did he make that noise, his pants or sleeve coming into contact with something?
Was it Judah moving? Was it his imagination?
Because he had to admit, his brain was running wild with all kinds of thoughts right now.
Was Judah still here?
Did Kennedy and Ryker get to safety unhurt?
Did anyone hear the shots Judah had fired minutes ago? Minutes that already felt like hours.
Was Ezra out of the line of fire and home, safe?
Was Elyxandre aware he was missing? Was she worried?
If he didn’t get out of this alive, would she and Ezra grieve?
He knew his son would be hurt, but he was resilient.
He’d come back from the pain. The question was, would Elyxandre?
She’d been hit with so much, especially in the last week, that he worried.
He wanted to be there to support her through it, but what if he were part of the reason she needed support?
He couldn’t let that happen. Was it egotistical to think she needed him? Yes, it was. But right now, it was what was motivating him to make things happen rather than just sitting there and cowering, hoping that someone would find him in time while he waited for Judah to make a move.
No. No more thinking would he get out of this. It was when he got out of this. He refused to accept any other option. When he got out of this, he wasn’t wasting any more time with her. And he would get out of this.
Yes, he wanted to see his son again, watch him as he made his way through life—graduate high school, then college, meet a girl and get married, raise a family.
But he needed to see Elyxandre. Hold her in his arms. Tell her he’d fallen for her and that no way was he keeping them a secret.
What the hell were they worried about with people knowing?
How stupid to stress about what other people would think, or to worry about what other people imagined?
That was their problem, not Elyxandre’s or his.
By then, he found himself at the end of the row of shelving. He still hadn’t heard any noise, other than what he thought he heard when he first started moving to the end of the aisle. Heart racing, brow sweating, he considered his options as he scanned the space in front of him that he could see.
Nothing. Just looming shadows, outlines of boxes and shelves.
He squinted. Was that a person standing down the way, or was that a coatrack with items hanging off it?
What if he just made a run for the door?
What were the odds that Judah had left? That the door was open?
If he hadn’t left, was he past Lucas, and would there be enough time to get to the door before he rounded on him and shot him?
Normally, he was not an indecisive man, but there was a lot riding on his actions.
He vaguely heard the sound of a door opening and shutting in the distance, as if it hadn’t been opened or closed in some time, and the wood had swollen to fit the door too tightly. He couldn’t place which door it was that he heard, but he knew it wasn’t in the attic itself.
Cautiously, he stuck his head out from the shelves. Thinking hard, he strained to hear any further movement, but there was nothing. Wait. Did he just hear a creak of wood? Where would someone be stepping on wood?
Then it hit him. Someone was in the grid just below the attic.
The theatre teacher had shown up at the school board meeting last month, asking them to consider replacing the old, rickety catwalks with newer, metal walkways and better guardrails.
She cited the safety of the students, as well as concern about a fire breaking out with all the lighting units and old electrical outlets that needed fixing.
Was the person in the grid Judah? If yes, why? They were totally open to view, and he clearly wasn’t there.
As he stood there, listening to someone stealthily walking the boards, he wasn’t paying attention to what was around him. Suddenly, he heard the click of a safety.
“You should have stayed hidden, Dr. Vaughn.”
He swallowed tightly. Raising his hands to show that he didn’t have a weapon, he turned slowly to avoid spooking the boy.
Judah stood about ten feet away, facing outward from two aisles over, his gun pointed directly at Lucas. If he pulled the trigger, he wouldn’t miss. And if Judah was here, that meant someone else was on the catwalk. But who?
“Judah. Please. Let’s talk about this. I hate seeing you hurting so badly.”
It wasn’t a lie. He did hate knowing that one of his students was in so much pain that he’d resort to something like this. How did someone get to this stage? How many people ignored the warning signs? Because there would have been signs.
People didn’t just snap, despite the world at large wanting to believe that was possible.
He understood the sentiment. It was easier to accept that someone was simply fine and then wasn’t—because if there were signs that someone was breaking down, admitting you saw them and did nothing, or that you missed seeing them, implied you were guilty by association.
It wasn’t that people were insensitive. It was that people were often so caught up in the day-to-day drama of their own lives that they just didn’t pay attention to others as much as they should.
Clearly, he was guilty of that himself since he found himself here, held at gunpoint by one of his students, who he had believed to be one of the most mature and put-together kids in the entire school.