RORY
My eyes travel from the gun to Troy. An odd sense of calm rushes over me as I put my hands up defensively.
“Oh my God!” Melody screams.
“Shut up!” Troy yells back, pointing the gun at her now.
The action only causes Melody to scream louder. Without thinking, I jump in front of her. Placing myself in the direct path of a bullet if he were to fire. My mind races with thoughts of how this might end. What will happen to my dad if I die? Who will take care of him? And Jackson. What if I die before getting the chance to tell him I’m sorry and that I’m an idiot who should have stayed and talked through my issues instead of running away like a child? God, I really want the chance to tell him I was wrong, he was right, and that I’ll never run out on him again.
“Your issue is with me, not her. If you want to point a gun at someone, point it at me.”
Melody continues to cry while I watch Troy struggling with what to do next. Looking out the door, I see the hallways are empty. I glance at the clock to find there are still twenty minutes left before the next bell. The screaming and crying is taking its toll on him. He reaches his breaking point and explodes.
“Enough,” he barks, raising his gun in the air.
Firing two shots into the ceiling, Melody and I both drop to our knees. My hands are shaky as I press them against the worn blue carpet. The office door slams shut, and I know we’re now trapped in here with him.
To my side, Melody is shivering, almost silent whimpers of fear escape her while I try my best to remain calm. My eyes still glued to the floor, a pair of dirty boots come into view. I lift my head to find Troy staring down at me.
“Get up,” he says calmly.
“You realize the police will be here soon, right?”
“I said, get up.”
“You just fired two shots inside of a high school. It won’t just be Hawk Bend P.D.” Troy grips my bicep and pulls me to my feet. “This is not how you get Annabelle back.”
He drops me onto one of the desk chairs before collecting Melody off the floor and sitting her on the opposite side of the room.
“You weren’t going to help me get her back. Not until I pulled this out.” He waves the gun in front of my face. “This got your attention.”
“You’re right. I wasn’t going to help you.”
“Why?” He cries. His eyes, bloodshot and wet with unshed tears.
“Because you hurt her.”
“I didn’t mean to. My wife… she’s gone… and I don’t know how to do any of this without her.” He paces back and forth, the gun still tight within his grasp. “I never drank until she died. At first, it was just to numb the pain. But then I needed more and more. The alcohol turns me into something I’m not.”
“It wasn’t safe for Annabelle—”
“How do you know she’s safe where she is?” He places his hands on the desk in front of me and leans in, yelling; spit flies from his mouth as he talks. “Everyone knows the horror stories of kids in foster care. Worse is probably being done to her than she ever experienced at home.”
“Troy—”
“No, shut up.” He starts to pace again.
I glance over at Melody, who is now silently crying. This whole situation makes me feel so helpless. This detached calmness I’m experiencing may not last, so I need to use it to my advantage while I still can.
“Troy, you need to think about what you’re going to do when the police arrive.”
“No, no way. They can’t come in here. I won’t let them.”
“They may not give you a choice.” He looks at me and cocks his head to the side. “It’s not like on TV. They’re not going to call you asking for a list of demands.”
He runs his free hand through his hair before pounding on his skull.
“I didn’t fucking think this through.” He drops to the floor, knees up and begins to rock. “I’m gonna fucking die in here. Maybe that’s for the best.”
