Page 1 of Forget Me Not

PROLOGUE

Logan - Eighteen Years Old

Nothing ever really prepares you for the moment when your innocence is stripped away from you. I guess parents hope that their child’s innocence will be something that will stay with them forever. It’s why they never tell you that the world is full of evil. They hope that the said evil will never touch you and you can continue to live blissfully ignorant of the darkness that hides in the shadows. The problem with that is that nobody expects it when the darkness comes out to play. I sure wasn’t.

All it took was the pull of a trigger. One single flick of evil’s finger and suddenly I’m surrounded by the darkness that the world has tried so hard to hide from me.

Someone is pounding on the bathroom door. It echoes into the empty hallway, the loud vibrations of the sound jolting my body. It’s the first answer my mind can come up with. Yet, with one look around the room, I know I’m wrong.

It seems as if time stands still for minutes, but what really can’t be longer than a couple of seconds. My eyes lock with multiple others around the room, including my teachers. I’m sure my eyes mimic the frantic look of fear that is apparent in their own. I don’t know how long actually passes, but suddenly,all at once, everyone is out of their seats and running to different sides of the room.

My body takes control and I’m in the corner behind my teacher’s desk before my mind even has a second to catch up. Somewhere in the back of my brain, I can probably recognize what is happening; but right now, the only thing I know for certain is that something is really, really wrong.

I can hear people shouting and I’m pretty sure what sounds like the fire alarm going off. Although all of it sounds like white noise to me. Nobody makes a move. It isn’t until I hear the small glass window on our door shatter, and see bullets flying through the room, that my brain finally grasps the situation unfolding around me.

I feel frozen. I curl up behind the teacher’s desk in an effort to make myself smaller, to hide from what is happening around me. I hold my hands over my ears as I squeeze my eyes shut. This can’t be happening. I feel each bang vibrate through my body as bullets fly mindlessly around the classroom with no chosen target. It’s so loud and it feels like it will never end. But then it does. The gunshots begin to fade.

I’ve always enjoyed horror movies, roller coasters, and haunted houses. I used to think the adrenaline that came with being scared was fun. But now I realize that before today, before right now, I’ve never felt real fear. It was all child’s play. And after today, I don’t think I’ll ever be a child again.

Real fear is something else entirely. It’s paralyzing. It’s knowing you could die any second and you have absolutely no control over it. It’s knowing that one second you could be breathing, your body functioning as normal, and the next second you’re just gone.

I’ve never really thought about what happens after death before. It was never a question I was plagued with until now. It’s funny how all these thoughts pop up in your mind whenyou realize you don’t know if you’re going to make it out of a situation alive. I’m not religious and I’m not really sure what I believe in. I’d like to think there’s more, but the scientific part of my brain argues that there isn’t, and I’m not sure which side of the equation scares me most.

The classroom becomes quieter as things settle, and so does the loudness in my head. I can feel the adrenaline in my system kicking in, forcing me to come to terms with my surroundings.

My breathing slows, becoming less erratic, and I quickly sit up, observing my surroundings. Half of my classmates are next to me, all of us shoved together, trying to get as far behind the desk and away from the door as possible. I glance across the room only to see the other half of my classmates hiding behind a computer cart. A computer cart in direct view of the door with the shattered window.

My breath catches in my throat, and I quickly avert my gaze, too scared of what I might see if I look over there again. I can hear someone in my classroom screaming still, and all I can hope is that it doesn’t draw the shooter back toward us. Next to me, I see my panicked teacher and another classmate whispering on the phone with 911.

As my head begins to clear and I’m finally able to fully assess the situation, I realize what a bad position we are in. The door is locked, but the window above the handle is shattered, meaning anyone can stick their hand in and open the door from the inside. I am nowhere near hidden enough for that to happen.

There are two file cabinets kitty-corner, leaving a small triangle of space between them and the wall next to me. As quietly as I can, I stand up and step into the small space between the cabinets. I drop back down, sitting on my butt with my knees to my chest. There’s barely any room, but I make it work. It won’t do much, but it is better than being out in the open.

I grab my phone out of the front of my leggings, thankful I had stuck it in there before all hell broke loose. Looking at the time, I realize that school is supposed to be almost over. It was around 2:20 p.m. when all of this began. I know because I had just checked the time wanting this long day to be over. It is 2:35 now. Only fifteen minutes have passed, although I feel like I’ve been stuck in this nightmare for hours.

I open up my texts, already seeing tons of missed messages and calls from my mom. I hadn’t even felt my phone buzzing, not that I’d be expected to notice at a time like this. I guess the news has spread quickly based on my mom’s panic.

There are ten text messages, all in a group chat with me and my sister, asking what’s going on and if we’re okay. I quickly reply that I’m okay and I love them both. It isn’t until I hit send that I realize my twin sister hasn’t responded yet. The dread in the pit of my stomach intensifies as I remember that she is supposed to be in the class across the hallway from me right now.

Not wanting to worry my mom by texting anything else, I quickly start calling her phone. It rings for what feels like an eternity before going to her generic voice mail. I start calling again and then another three times, with still no answer.

It’s completely possible that she may not realize her phone is ringing like me. Or maybe she had it put away in her backpack and didn’t have time to grab it. I try to keep those thoughts in the forefront of my mind as I sit in the corner, waiting for whatever it is that is supposed to happen next.

I can hear my teacher next to me still whispering on the phone. I think one of my classmates is on the phone too. The screaming has stopped and besides some whispering of everyone checking on each other, it’s pretty much silent. That is until I hear voices in the hallway.

My body freezes still again, and my first thought is that this is it, the shooter has come back. I don’t know how I’m going to survive this. I slide as far down behind the file cabinets as possible. I will myself to keep my eyes open as the door to our classroom slowly opens.

“Police. Everyone put your hands up,” I hear a man’s voice shout.

I haven’t sat up to look over the cabinet yet, but I am worried this could possibly be a trap. I hear my classmates start begging the men for help as I sit up to look over the cabinet and raise my hands above my head like everyone else. Once I see the men in swat gear and bulletproof vests, I feel confident they are here to help. The fact that they all have huge guns pointed around the room makes me nervous, but I know they’re just doing their jobs.

“If you are hurt, stand up and start making your way over to me, we are going to get you out of here first,” the officer says. Four people from the other side of the room stand up and begin making their way toward him. All of them are clearly injured, with blood in various places. I keep my eyes on them, not looking down or next to them. I’m not sure why I do it. Whether it’s because I am eagerly waiting for the officer to get us all out of here or because deep down, I know that there’s a reason I shouldn’t look over there.

As the officers help the injured out of the classroom and, I assume, out of the building, we all stay still with our arms in the air, waiting for the next move.

“Everyone stand up. You’re going to go in a straight line out of here as quickly as you can, keeping your arms above your head. Keep your eyes on the back of the person’s head in front of you and do not look down. Do you all understand?” the officer says. Everyone either says “yes,” or starts urgently nodding their heads.

I don’t even process how I end up in line between two of my classmates. I also have no clue who’s in front of or behind me because all I can focus on is getting out of there. Staying directly behind the boy in front of me with my arms raised over my head, the officers usher us out of the room.

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