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"One," Cal paused, looking at Andre, silently reassuring him nothing will go wrong.
"I think they're gonna do it."
"Two-"
"Wait," Andre said.
"What?"
"I can't do it."
"Perpetrator Andre is apprehensive."
"I- I can't do it," Andre repeats himself. He looks down at the rifle in his hands. There's blood on the barrel, and he doesn't know who it's from.
"Andre," Cal's voice doesn't sound calm. It sounds upsetting. The feeling inside of him that was working to reassure his friend was now gone. Cal always knew it was going to end like this- it had to end like this. Any plan Andre had for trying to escape was complete bullshit, and Andre knew that. Even if it took a few minutes of convincing him, Cal knew the only way this would end would be with them coming out in black plastic bags.
"I can't." Andre's voice sounds almost scared. Just minutes before, he was yelling, screaming, and mocking everyone in the library with them, but now. What was he doing? Was he bailing out? It's not like he can just do that.
Neither of them knows how many people are dead, but either way, once the police come in, they both might as well be dead. It's better if They just shoot themselves now. Cal knows that. Why doesn't Andre?
"Andre, we can get you out of this. Andre. Andre, I can get you out of this. Just pick up the phone. Andre." What was the operator trying to do? There was no way for Andre to get out of this. If he does, he'd just be spending his life in a jail cell. And that's no life.
"What's the problem?"
"I just can't do it."
"Andre, we'll get you out."
"You don't have to think about it."
"It doesn't have to be this way."
"Andre!"
Andre looked down and then to his right. He could see out the windows, the blood-covered windows, to the parking lot where maybe half a dozen ambulances and even more police cars were parked. Some police officers were still by their cars, hiding behind the opened doors and with their sidearms wielded, waiting to see if Cal and Andre would walk back to the windows, and hoping they'd be able to get a good shot if they did. There was no way out of this. He'd either be arrested, shot by the police, or shot by himself, and he'd much rather shoot himself.
"Andre, we can get you out of here."
There is no way out. Why would the operator try to convince him that there is?
"If we do it at the same time, would you still be this scared?"
"Alright."
"Andre, can you answer?"
"Give me a yes."
"Yes."
"Andre, we can get you out of this."
"One… two…"
"Wait."
"Suicide."
"One, two, three, go? Or one, two… go?" He was bluffing. There would be no other reason for him to ask such trivial questions.
"Deciding how many numbers until they shoot."
"Like, one, two, three… go?" Police would enter the room any second, and here Andre was, concerned about numbers. What was wrong with him? Didn't he want to die? He does want to die. He needs to die. Doesn't he?
"Do we shoot on four or do we shoot on three?" Not as concerned with the question, Cal responded as he would any other. Just to make sure his friend wouldn't try to back out like he'd been trying to.
"I can get you out of this, just pick up the phone."
"I’m thinking four."
"Everybody shoots on four, you know."
"So, it’s like… one, two, three, shoot." Cal was a bit too calm while discussing such a thing.
"Right."
"They’re agreeing on the numbers."
"So, it’s one, two, three… bang."
"One, two, three… bang?"
"Not one, two, bang. Okay, gotcha."
"Andre?"
"One…"
"Andre?"
"Two…"
"We can get you out of this. Why don’t you just pick up?"
"Three…"
There was a gunshot. A single gunshot.
"Shots fired. Perpetrators may be down."
".....Cal?' he asked in a soft voice, one that sounded more like a child rather a mass murder. "Cal!" He screamed again. He dropped his gun and dropped to the floor, crawling toward Cal's dead body. The Remmington had done a number on his head, but yet it still hadn't killed him. While there was the slightest hole at the top of his head, and while blood was flowing out of it quickly, Cal was left coughing and choking.
"Andre? Are you still there? Only one perpetrator may be down."
"Cal!" He moved his hands toward Cal's head, picking it up. His blood covered Andre's hands. Cal continued to cough, and Andre moved their heads closer to each other. Now, instead of having blood only on his hands, it was on his face.
"Andre? Can you pick up the phone?"
Andre screamed and cried, desperately trying to do something. He wasn't sure what he was trying to do, but Cal wasn't coughing any more and he was already still. The operator kept trying to speak to him. It was of no use. Police entered the room, guns drawn and pointed at Andre.
"Move away from the body!" one of them yelled.
"No..."
"Step away from the body?"
"Cal?" He pulled his body closer to him, hugging him and completely unwilling to accept that Cal won't respond to him. The police walked closer and closer.
"Let go of the body." the same one said again.
Andre did, but he did it hesitantly. He very gently lay Cal back down. He stood, and he saw the rifle he had put down on the floor, not even a foot away from him. He reached down to grab it. Before he could, more police and SWAT members walked into the room and the ones already in it began to rush toward him.
"NO!" the officers pinned him to the floor. One had their knee on his legs, another held his elbow to his back, while a third was pulling his hands behind his back and struggling to place handcuffs on him. "Let go of me! Cal! Cal!"
"Stop resisting."
"Andre?"
"no..." he cried. He put his head down and sobbed into the floor. He was picked up onto his knees and almost fell. An officer reached into his front pocket and pulled out a cell phone.
"Andre? Are you there?"
The officer hung up the phone and began walking Andre out of the library and out of the school while he kept sobbing and crying out for Cal.
"Cal? Cal, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Fuck, I-. Cal, I'm so sorry."