The Four Points

CHAPTER 2

REALIZATION

I was placed on a stretcher and wheeled out through the front gates of the school. As I looked around at the path of destruction Trevor and Robert had created, I thought, What the hell is wrong with me? How could I start liking someone who would do something like this, all because he showed me a little attention, all because he said I was beautiful?

How fucked up of a person could I be?

The first time that I knew for sure that people had died at the hands of Trevor and Robert was when I got to the hospital. I was wheeled past wailing mothers crying on the floor in agony, fathers pounding their fists against hospital walls. There was so much pain, crying, and screaming everywhere. I could hear their thoughts and feel their pain. For some reason I could no longer keep out the voices that I'd worked so many years to quiet. I put my hands over my ears; I just wanted to get away. I hummed out loud, trying to bring back the static that kept the voices out. I hummed louder. Nothing was working. I wanted to scream.

Finally, I was brought to a large white room. It looked like an operating room. The putrid scent of medicine and rubbing alcohol filled the air permeating my senses. I squinted my eyes as the bright lights that hung above my head seeped into my pupils, giving me a pounding headache. Every inch of my body was examined. My clothes were carefully removed and placed in plastic bags. I was placed in a hospital gown. I watched as the white gown turned red from the blood that covered me. Question after question was asked. One of the doctors lifted my hair.

"Erika, how did you get this bruise on your neck?" The question came from behind me. I tried to turn, but the nurses held me in place.

"I, I don't know. What bruise?"

"It looks like a brand." I could feel the doctor's latex gloves gently touching me just beneath my hairline.

"Oh, that. It's not a bruise or a brand, it's a birthmark. I've had it since I was born."

"Interesting birthmark. It's in the shape of a diamond." The doctor released my hair and continued to search my body.

"Erika, can you tell me where the pain is?"

"I'm not in pain, I'm not wounded." Hearing her thoughts, I knew why I was in the operating room, they thought I had been shot.

"Then where did all this blood come from?" The doctor was now in front of me wiping the blood from my face with a sterile alcohol-smelling white mesh cloth.

"Robert. It came from Robert." I looked down at my dangling bare feet. The doctor lifted my chin to continue her cleaning.

"Who's Robert?"

"Robert is the boy who did all of this. He shot himself right in front of me. It's his blood."

"And where is Robert now, Erika?"

"He's dead."

For a moment the room paused, the hectic sense of urgency was briefly replaced by silence until the doctor's gentle voice spoke again.

"Okay Erika, we are going to take you to a shower where you can get cleaned up. The school's already notified your mom, and we are going to keep you here for observation."

I was brought to a shower and given a clean new hospital gown and hospital socks. I closed the bathroom door. This was the first time I saw myself. I looked in the mirror. My face still had spatters of blood across it. My hair looked wet and oily. I put my fingers through it, and realized it wasn't oil, water, or sweat. My hands were red; my hair was covered in blood. I felt dizzy and sick to my stomach. I turned on the shower, steam filled the bathroom. I stared in the mirror until I could no longer see my reflection—until the fog took it away. I got into the steaming hot shower. It burned my skin, but I didn't care. It hurt, but still I didn't turn it down. I vigorously scrubbed my face and body. I watched the red water swirl around the shower floor and slowly go down the drain. Over and over I scrubbed every inch of my bare skin raw and washed my hair until the red water was gone. I heard a knock on my door.