Shirley Anne Edwards - Let Me Live

Table of Contents

By Shirley Anne Edwards

Finding the Strength: Book Two

Marshalls carefully constructed futurea scholarship, college, and a career in politicswas torn apart in a hail of bullets when his former friend and lover killed twelve on their campus. Marshall may have survived, but he returned home a broken man, and not just from his wounds. Far from feeling like the hero hes praised as on the news, Marshall is buckling under the weight of PTSD, survivors guilt, and depression. He may have saved lives on that terrible day, but with no support, can he save his own?

Tattoo artist Benny Hayes might be the one to offer the lifeline Marshall needs so desperately.

The older man cant erase what happened, but his acceptance might help Marshall heal. In Benny, Marshall sees a chance for something he thought hed lostlife and love. As much as he wants to grab on to that hope, he harbors a secret that, if revealed, will snatch away everything hes gained.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;

Thus unlamented let me die;

Steal from the world, and not a stone

Tell where I lie.

Excerpt from Ode on Solitude by Alexander Pope

I NEVER thought blood was scary, but when your friend and six others are shot in front of you, you think of it as a monster that wants to kill you.

Monsters also come in human form. Case in point was John Cannon, the guy I met my first day as a freshman at National Capital University in Washington, DC. He was now the ultimate monster in my eyes. He had stormed the university library with guns blazing, mowing down everyone in sight, including my other friend Jordan.

I was the lucky one. I only had a gunshot wound to my left shoulder. It was the worst pain Id ever experienced, but at least I wasnt dead like the girl behind me, who no longer had a head, or Jordan, drenched in his own blood but with a face white as a sheet while he gasped for air. He had been shot in the stomach at close range because he had been talking to the librarian at the front desk. She was also hit with gunfire. She was probably dead like most on the first floor of the library.

But I wasnt dead. Maybe John didnt want me dead yet, unlike Jordan, whom he hated.

Marshall, Jordan whispered loud enough for me to hear. But not John. He paced in front of the double doors, peering out of the two small windows while clutching his AR-15 rifle to his blood-splattered chest. He wore all black, so blood wouldnt show on his clothes, although some red specks dotted his arms and face. I made the mistake of wiping away some of the blood, both mine and Jordans, on my white button-down shirt. It made too much of a mess. I should have known wearing white, especially in February, was a bad decision.

Last time I moved, John rushed at me, waving his gun in the air. I expected him to finish me off, but he stopped and dropped his arms to his sides and stared at the floor. He then walked around, viewing the damage he had causedthe blood-covered bodies hed created.

I shifted closer to Jordan to hear him. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, and his eyes gave off a strange glaze. If he didnt get help soon, he would die. I dont know why I did it, probably because my brain was scrambled and the pain in my shoulder made me nauseous and tired, but I wiped the blood off Jordans mouth, not caring if I stained my fingers more than they already were.

Marsh is Shiri okay? He swallowed and closed his eyes, wincing as he fisted his hand near his ripped-open stomach.

Shiri, his twin sister, older by four minutes, had been on the second level where we left her. John hadnt walked up to the second level, but he did point his gun there and circled around. The library was five stories, so anyone on the higher floors might have made it to safety. As for those on the first floor and in the hallway leading to the library, they were probably dead.

Shes okay. I saw her a few minutes ago. Shes safe. I usually didnt lie. But in this case, it was warranted. If Jordan died, I wanted him to believe his sister was okay, even if she wasnt.

He nodded and lifted his trembling fist. My eyes, which had been dry up to this point, became wet, and I clutched Jordans hand, trying to hold back tears. The last time I cried was when I was ten and Mom said I was

Marshall C, what the hell are you doing?

The voice Id come to fear was too close. John had a gruff type smoker voice Id found enjoyable. I once told him he should go into radio like Theo, my friend from home and former crush. But he shook his head and accused me of teasing him because his father had said ugly people worked in radio. Am I ugly like my dad thinks, Marshall C? hed asked. Always calling me Marshall C since day one. Jordan called me by my full last name, Caryll. John always said my name with my last initial.

Jordans not doing too well, I said as calmly as possible, suddenly too cold. I wanted to sit up because my side ached something fierce. But I still held Jordans hand. He had become too quiet and looked like he slept. But his chest still moved as he breathed.

Hes not dead yet? He pointed his rifle at Jordan, and my entire body clenched as I waited for him to shoot. I almost dove over Jordan to protect him, but at the last second, I froze. I started to pray to God, something I hadnt done in a long time. It was more along the lines of

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

My vision grew fuzzy as I cried, my cheeks wet with tears. I cut off a sob, refusing to show John he had made me this blubbering mess who was now afraid of blood.

Uh have you checked Twitter yet? I wanted to take his attention away from Jordan, the subject of his scorn. Up until winter break, they had gotten along, mainly because I had been the buffer between them. But then I made a huge mistake with John right before Christmas, which might have been the reason for his deadly outburst that would change the college campus and Washington, DC forever.

Twitter? He curled his lip, or at least it looked like it to me. It was a habit of his when he asked a question or was confused about something. A section of his top lip would curl up, showing some of his teeth with their yellow staining from his smoking. The scent of cigarette smoke stuck to him like his skin, but now it was overpowered by gunpowder and piss and vomit and bloodall the things I smelled in the first-floor library of NCU, less than ten miles away from the White House where I hoped to work one day.

Yeah, Twitter, to see if they know what you did. Flashing red and blue lights outside the window gave me a good idea the college, if not the nation, knew about the mass shooting. But it was eerily quiet, other than the hum of the overhead lights and Johns muttering. Not one moan or heavy breath from anyone hed shot. Even Jordan was silent.

The last time I checked was when I tweeted before coming here. He took out his cell, an older version of an iPhone, and held it out, his smile wide but fake, his eyes empty, as he pointed it at me. Say cheese.

The click from his phone sounded like nails on a chalkboard. He then tapped his thumb on the keyboard of the touch screen. Done. Now youre the star you always wanted to be, no longer just the golden boy of the freshman class.

You put me on Twitter? I glanced at Jordan who didnt react, other than to wheeze as his breathing grew heavier and his chest moved less.

Also Jordan, but youre in the center. Well go down in history together. John turned the phone around and took pictures of his face, ranging from serious to what he thought was funny by raising his eyebrows and opening his mouth wide.