When the dust finally settled, the case of mistaken identity was responsible for three deaths, including the man who’d been brought in with the knife in his stomach, (the doctors were too busy saving themselves to save him) and four wounded. By the time Candy and I were allowed to leave our little curtained-off corner, a porter was mopping blood off the white tiled floor. There were more police than medical staff in the emergency room. I saw several state troopers and even cops from nearby towns. All of their faces were drawn and pale, unaccustomed to scenes of such brutality, in a place of healing, no less.
I was released from the hospital the next afternoon, only after the police had shut down the hospital and questioned all who were in the emergency room when the fracas broke out. I wondered where the truly sick and wounded were taken during those hours. For all I knew, the nearest hospital was fifty miles away—or in the next town over.
Candy and I were questioned for a bit. The doctors wanted to make sure I was all right to go home.
I knew I didn’t have a viral infection, just like I knew I was responsible for the collapsing dominoes of death that followed my actions. Tension was high in the town when we stopped at the variety store to pick up some cans of Katie’s favorite iced tea. Folks were talking. Half were afraid, and the other half were quietly calling for even more justice. It didn’t take a genius to fathom that their idea of justice skirted the traditional involvement of police and the court system.
Is this all it took to strip the civility from a quiet, little town? My head spun the whole car ride home, but I didn’t let on to my wife.
Candy set me up in bed before getting Katie from our neighbors. Deep lines of worry etched across her forehead and the corners of her eyes.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get the sound of everyone screaming out of my head,” she said.
“Why don’t you lie next to me for a bit before getting Katie? You look like you’re going to collapse.”
“No, I’ll feel better with her home. Maybe we’ll all lie down and fall asleep to some boring daytime TV.”
I rolled onto my side when she left, staring out the window.
What had I done? If I confessed now, I’d probably get the death penalty.
But then, maybe that’s exactly what I deserved.
The sound of my phone vibrating on my night table froze my blood. I was too terrified to pick it up. I pulled the covers over my head, muffling its cries to be held. A tiny pinpoint of heat emanated from between my eyes.
“Oh no,” I muttered, tensing further with dread.
The phone kept vibrating. I pictured it dancing off the table and shattering on the floor.
The heat seeped into my closed eyes. It got to the point where I thought for sure they were going to melt, just like the pale slugs in my parent’s yard used to sizzle away when we poured salt on them. Lashing out, I grabbed the phone while pushing the sheets away from my face.
My hand trembled. My thumb was barely able to swipe the text icon.
AO: You have nothing to feel guilty about.
“I’ve lost my mind,” I said, holding the phone with two hands so it didn’t drop. “This can’t be happening.”
AO: You’re not, and it is. This is only the beginning.
“Get the fuck out of my head!”
AO: You may rest today. The Mustang will be waiting for you tomorrow. You’ll drive to Saco in the afternoon.
I no longer saw the need to text. Why bother when the great and mysterious AO could read my mind? It was all the proof I needed that I’d gone irretrievably insane.
“And if I say no?” I asked, knowing the answer.
AO: You won’t. Here’s why.
My body went stiff as a board as a hurricane of images shot through me like a ballistic missile. I saw a school, a blur of kids streaming past me. I couldn’t tell their ages. Something exploded behind me. The hallway turned red as hundreds of voices screamed.
I felt something tear through my stomach and I jolted from the vision with a burst of pent-up air.
On the verge of hyperventilating, I stared at the phone still clutched in my hand.
“I am not going to a school to murder children. You can kill me with that pain you put in my head, damn you! I won’t do it.”
I realized that if Candy was home, she could hear me. Maybe it was for the best if she did and called psychiatric services to fetch me.
AO: Trust in me.
“Trust in you? Because of you and what you’ve made me do, people are dead. Lives are ruined.”
AO: Or saved. It depends on your perspective.
I thought of the nurse who’d accidentally been shot at the hospital. How did she fit in to all of this? Did she deserve to die? Had anyone who had lost their lives over the past few days? Marcellus was an asshole, but the last time I checked, being an asshole wasn’t a capital offense. The man who raped his son was a monster, but like Frankenstein’s monster, was he to blame for being what nature had made him to be? Sure, he should have been in prison, maybe even for life, but dead?
“Where are you?” I looked at the closed closet doors opposite the bed, picturing some golem-like creature, AO made physical, leering at me through the slats, plotting the next move to keep me under its control.
AO: Sleep now. Tomorrow, you’ll see.
Before I could protest, everything went black.