The Blue Grain

The Blue Grain



        Our nightmare began, as always, with the sound of steady footsteps thumping down the hall.  As the sound got louder a lump formed in my throat and for a moment I thought I might throw up.  Wrapping myself tight in the blankets of my bed I wished to be somewhere else, anywhere else.  Even death would be better than what was marching in our direction. 

         Crisp beams of moonlight lit our room up like a spotlight.  Across the room in the silvery light I could see my roommate lying stiffly in his bed.  He held his blankets tight to his chin and as he shook, tears welling up in his eyes, he whispered words to me.  "Please don't let this happen again.  Please Andy, please." 

         I wanted to help so badly but there was nothing I could do.  Pendleton would kill me if I tried anything stupid.  He made sure I was aware of that.

        Kevin's face was contorted with the agony of knowing exactly what he was about to endure.  He knew because it was Thursday, and Officer Pendleton wore rubber soled shoes.  The shriek of squeaky shoes grew louder, approaching cautiously. 
Looking over at Kevin I whispered, "I'm sorry, Kevin.  Be strong.  It will all be over before you know it.  Just think of home."  It was the best advice I had to give as terrible as it was.

         Footsteps squeaked to a halt outside our door.  For a moment a silence fell, and it seemed as if death swallowed the world whole.  An unimaginable horror was about to begin. 
I admired Kevin's bravery.  If I was in his position I would have screamed off the top of my lungs and leapt out the window to my death.  Maybe it wasn't bravery.  Maybe the fear was paralyzing for him.  It was for me.

         A terrible thought was born in my mind as I heard the doorknob turn.  It vanished, though, as Pendleton emerged from the dimly lit hallway.  He slipped in silently, trying not to wake us.  Waiting a moment for his eyes to adapt to the dark he turned and leaned against the door.

        Pendleton was skinnier than a stick-bug but twice as creepy.  A patchy stubble of whiskers covered his chin and bony cheeks.  Greasy unwashed hair hung loosely around his face.  At the moment he breathed quick, sharp breaths, like a dog panting in the summer heat.  He wasn't tired, though.  He was excited.  By the looks of him he was malnourished and more than just mentally ill.  His tan security guard uniform looked two sizes too large and his utility belt hung at a lopsided angle.  In his belt was his pistol, his favorite toy.

        His eyes fully adapted and he got right down to business.  Swiftly, he walked straight over to my bed, pulled out his gun and pushed it to my forehead.  It hurt so bad I thought my skull might crack and that would be the end of it.  "Wake up." he growled as viciously as he could without making too much noise.  "If you move, say a word, or even breathe loudly you will be found dead, just another sad suicide.  Do you hear me?"  I nodded fiercely.  It was the same warning he gave every time.

        "Good." His gun was removed from my head and I was immediately forgotten.  His attention turned towards Kevin, the reason for his late visit.  A painful indent was left where the barrel had pressed into my skin.  I rubbed the sensation away as Pendleton began what he came to do.  Pulling the blanket up over my head I tried to drown out what was about to happen.  It was useless.

        Pendleton loomed over Kevin's bed, no doubt going through in his mind the order in which he would torture the poor kid.  A moment later the barrel of his gun met Kevin's head, just as it had done mine.  I heard Kevin go into convulsions of terror.  There was no begging, no pleading, only sounds of utter horror.  "Wake up, Kevin." Pendleton said, even though Kevin's eyes were wide open and full of tears.  Pendleton tapped the gun hard against Kevin's forehead.  "Does that hurt, Kevin?"  Kevin cried harder.  "Answer me!" He snarled.

        "Yes." Kevin could barely manage the word. 

        Pendleton dropped his gun and quickly clenched Kevin's throat.  It happened fast as if Pendleton was the bullet leaving the barrel of his gun and Kevin's voice was the pull of the trigger.  He put his weight into the grip around the throat and smiled.  Kevin's face, wet from tears, turned beat red.  I wanted to grab Pendleton's gun and end it right then.  If I would have moved, though, he would have been too quick.  I'd have been just another suicide.

         Kevin's eyes began to lull back into his head.  One more moment and he would have been fully unconscious, but Pendleton raised his hand and delivered a deviant slap that would sure leave Kevin's face blue for days.  Kevin snapped awake writhing in pain.
 
         Pendleton grasped Kevin's throat again.  He started to slip away. Slap.  Kevin woke up.  He grabbed Kevin's throat.  He slipped away.  Slap.  Awake again. 

         This happened three or four times until eventually, Kevin went numb, no longer responding to the misery.  So, Pendleton decided to get more creative.  From his pocket he pulled out a lighter.  "Hold out your hand." He told Kevin.  Kevin hesitated but knew the consequences of making Pendleton wait.  He extended a hand already covered in various scars.  Pendleton lit the lighter and held it out underneath Kevin's palm.  Pendleton held tightly to Kevin's wrist as his body began to squirm.  Kevin bit down on his blankets to avoid screaming.  His bed squeaked and squealed as it shook from his struggle. 

        The room smelled like burning flesh. 

         After leaving patches of scorched flesh Pendleton became bored and moved on to something else.  This one was worse yet.

         From his pocket Pendleton pulled out a sewing needle.  He held it in the flame of the lighter until he knew it was good and hot.  "Give me your other hand."  Kevin obliged with a look of absolute panic on his face.  Holding on tight to Kevin's wrist as he had done before, Pendleton took the point of the smoldering needle and slowly inserted it under the fingernail of Kevin's forefinger.  This time Kevin couldn't resist a shriek.  Pendleton clutched a hand over Kevin's mouth until he stopped moaning.  Then, he was back at the fingers.  He shoved the needle under three more of Kevin's fingernails before he was done. 

         An eternity went by before Pendleton had his fill.  He stood up, grabbed hold of his gun and walked towards the door casually, as if he was leaving the home of a close friend, about to bid him goodnight.  At the door Pendleton stopped and turned to face us.  "Say anything about this, you will both be dead.  Murder-suicide, know what I mean?"

         We knew what he meant.  He had explained it on several occasions.  If we told anyone, he would strangle Kevin and throw me out the window.  Kevin was smaller and less likely to perform an effective strangulation, and I had a history of antisocial behavior.  Anyone would believe it.  Pendleton had leverage on us.  He owned Kevin and I. 

         Before he stepped out he reminded us of the lie we were to tell anyone who asked about Kevin's bruised face and bloody fingers.  "Tell them you like the way it feels.  If anyone asks, tell them that the pain feels good."  They would believe the wounds were self inflicted.

         Light from the hall filled the room as he opened the door.  With a wink and a smile he turned and left.  Following the slam of the door a silence filled the room like a dense fog.  We were left with our terrible thoughts.  Kevin's teeth began to chatter.  A shivering fit took hold of him as he broke into an awful sweat.  He was in shock. 

         I told myself to go to him but I remained as paralyzed as I was during Pendleton's visit.  My instincts still told me that I would be punished for moving.  Pendleton had a way of keeping you locked fear.  But I was better than that. 

         Kevin lay with his face against the wall, his back facing me.  Being curled up in the fetal position seemed to be putting the shakes at bay.  It was the blood stain forming on the bed sheets that finally unlocked my body.  I shot up from my bed and stepped over dirty clothes and scattered books and crumpled papers.  It was an adventure to travel the five feet from my bed to his.  Luckily the moon was nearly full that night, or I may have been dead before Pendleton had his chance. 

         I knelt beside Kevin when I reached him.  Tears poured from his eyes like some sort of sad waterfall.  Resting my hand on his shoulder to comfort him I asked, "Kevin, are you alright."  It was a stupid question.  Would I have been okay?  No one would have been.  I just thought that a conversation might bring him out of his awful state.  "Let me see your hand."  He didn't offer it.  I reached under him and pulled out the hand that endured the needle.  Drops of crimson blood oozed from his fingertips.
 
         One true thing true about me is that I can't stand the sight of blood.  I almost threw up when I felt the warmth of it drip onto my own fingers.  I swallowed the sudden urge knowing that it wouldn't help the situation.  "Get up Kevin, let's get you cleaned up."  I have a problem communicating with people in a caring manner.  Expressing my feelings was never my strong suit.  "Come on.  I know it hurts.  Some cool water will make it feel better."

         I had to force him up.  Grabbing his arms, trying to avoid his wounded hands I pulled him out of bed.  It was just what he needed.  When his feet hit the ground he snapped out of shock and became as diligent as a boy scout.  He darted straight to the bathroom.  I followed one step behind him. 

         In the bathroom, I turned on the faucet to a not too cold but not too warm temperature.  Kevin put his hands in and immediately his relief was apparent.  Blood mixed with the flowing water and swirled about until it spiraled down the drain.  Kevin stood staring at himself in the mirror, washing his pain away.  I put the toilet lid down and sat on it.  Leaning my head against the wall I exhaled.  It felt like the first time I had breathed in an hour.

         As the events of the night ran through my head, and as I watched Kevin fight off the sting of his tortured body the terrible thought found its way back into my mind.  It was the same thought that first summoned itself when Pendleton first entered the room.  The thought made me sick. 

        At least it did at first. 

        The image of Kevin's fingernails full of needles flashed in my mind.  The smell of scorched flesh filled the air.  Then there was a stick-bug in a night guard uniform.  All of a sudden the thought didn't seem so terrible anymore.  When I met Kevin six months before, he was a flamboyantly sarcastic fourteen-year-old.  Now, he was a miserably tortured soul obviously on the brink of a breakdown, maybe even suicide.  I couldn't blame him. 
It was then, on that toilet, watching Kevin's life deteriorate, that I made up my mind.

         "Kevin." I said.  He didn't respond, only stared at me through the mirror with his bloodshot eyes.  "I'm going to kill him.  I'll do it next time.  I don't know how yet but I will.  He won't hurt you again.  I promise."  In the mirror, I saw his eyes dart away from me, then back.  There was a spark of joy left in there.  He only nodded.

         I couldn't fall asleep that night.  My mind was busy planning a murder.  Kevin started snoring not long after two in the morning.  How he was able to fall asleep so quickly still boggles me.  After what happened to him, I wouldn't expect him to sleep for days.  My guess is that he believed me.  He knew I'd do it.  Kevin went to bed that night knowing that soon, his tormenter would be dead. 

         I sat gazing out the window.  My imagination danced around different and creative ways to kill a man.  It became quite exciting; almost as exciting as it was nauseating.  No fifteen-year-old should ever think about such things.  Yet there I was daydreaming about stabbings and shootings and strangulations.  I was going to kill a man, but an innocent person wouldn't be tortured anymore.  There was no doubt; I was going to kill Officer Pendleton.  I was not going to regret it. 

         I watched leaves shake on the tree branches outside.  Its branches scraped my window, creating a sound similar to Pendleton's squeaky shoes.  Beyond the tree and the yard from which it grew was a street that divided a hill in two.  The hill, silver from the moonlight, leveled out where its grasses ended and sands from the beach began.  Silvery sands stretched far until they met waves of an endless ocean. 

         Something moved on the beach.  It was a dark figure moving subtly.  I thought it may have been a boulder.  Maybe it was a trick of the shaking leaves and rolling waves in the distance that made it appear to move.  Perhaps it was my imagination.  I squinted hard and cuffed my hands around my eyes to see better through the glass.  Focusing my attention on the small dark spot I saw that the boulder was not a boulder at all. 

        It was a man.

        The man kneeled on the beach digging his hands into the sand.  My fist thought was that he was praying.  I turned around, about to ask Kevin to come look but he was fast asleep. 

         Looking back at the praying man I thought about going down to him.  I wanted to ask him what he was doing.  It was a crazy thought, ridiculous actually.  No way would I go talk to a stranger in the middle of the night.  Especially if the man was praying to some God of the sand as it appeared he was doing.  I was sure he was a lunatic.

        Wait, I thought.  I was just brainstorming different ways to murder someone.  I was the lunatic.  Why couldn't I climb out of my window and head down to the beach?  What did I have to lose?  In twenty four hours I would be a murderer.  Why not do something crazy before I'm sent off to prison for the rest of my life?

        Our dorm room windows didn't have any kind of security lock.  A detention school was sure to have barred windows.  This one, for some reason did not.  Maybe because it was on the second floor and no one would expect a fifteen year old kid, no matter how troubled he might be, to climb out of it.  I opened the window, stuck my leg out and felt around for a tree branch. 
One would think climbing out of a second story window and down a tree would have been difficult, but I may have done it in record time; supposing that there is a record for such an event.  I dropped from a high branch wondering if I'd be able to reach it when I returned. 

        My nerves quaked as I ventured across the lawn and past the street.  My imagination played little videos featuring me being caught by the night guards.  Good thing too, it caused me to be cautious, darting this way and that as I made my way down the hill. 

        Eventually I made it to the beach unscathed, unnoticed, and uncaught.  Not too far ahead was the kneeling man.  Approaching at his back, I noticed that he had not moved.  Still on his knees, he scooped up handfuls of sand.  I began to regret the endeavor.  Bad idea, I thought. 

        He appeared very old.  Seventies I'd guess.  While he sifted through handfuls of sand he grumbled and bumbled what sounded like an unusual attempt at humming.  Hearing this I just about turned and darted in the opposite direction.  He pulled up another handful of sand and began brushing it about on his palm.  "White, white, gray, brown, white, brown, gray, gray, white." He said, either to himself or the sand.  "Thirty years and nothing but white, brown and gray.  I'd kill again for a blue one."

         It was the second time that night that I thought I might throw up.  I wanted to run away.  My legs did not want to move.  Apparently this crazy old man had the same effect on me that Pendleton did.

         Time never seems to work in my favor.  It just so happened that at the same time my legs decided to work, and as I tiptoed slowly backwards, the man caught a glimpse of me from the corner of his eye.  Blood flowing through my body stopped in my veins.  I froze again.  I should have run.  I don't understand myself sometimes.  I'm not very intuitive. 

         "Late doncha think?"  His words caught me off guard.  I couldn't think to say anything.  I thought that if I said nothing, he might forget I was there.

         "Wouldja mind tellin me watcha doin out here, this hour?"

         "Just walking."  I had to say something.

         "You come from that trouble maker school Doncha?"

         "Yes, sir."

         "Wouldja mind telling me whatcha did to get put in there?"

         I was surprised by the question.  Usually, when a kid gets caught running around at such late hours, they are told to head straight home. 

         "Sure," I said, feeling a bit playful now, "if you tell me why you're out digging in the sand at two in the morning."

         "Sounds like deal." He said.  "You start."

         I decided to be honest.  I figured this old man was harmless.  "I set my teacher's desk on fire."

         "What for?"

         "He treated us like we were children, like we couldn't think for ourselves.  I thought I'd show him I could think well enough on my own."

         "You are a child aincha?"

         "Technically, but a fifteen-year-old shouldn't be treated like a nine-year-old."

         "S'pose not.  S'pose he got what's coming to him."

         "Yeah, I suppose he did.  I can't say I don't regret it, though."  That was definitely true.  If I didn't light my teacher's desk on fire I wouldn't be at the detention school.  I wouldn't know Officer Pendleton. 

         I also wouldn't know Kevin.  Who then, would help him?

         "Yep." The old man said.  "Offen enough we regret things we do."

         "I guess so."  I replied.  He didn't respond so I moved the conversation along.  "Why are you digging in the sand?"

         "Well, long story actually, don't care much to tell the whole thing."  A sad look took shape of his face.  His silver hair flailed in the breeze.  "I've my regrets too.  But s'pose I'll tell ya the short of it.  Kneel down cross from me. Grab some sand."

          I did as he said.

         "Like I say, I have my regrets too.  While back I heard a bit of a story, bout a fella did all sorts of terrible things.  One day, he decided that if he could go back, do it all over again he wouldn't do half the stuff he done. Said his life would be much better had he did things different.  One day, this fella was walkin on a beach somewhere and saw something shinin' in the sand.  He said he never saw nothing like it.  Like a piece of heaven fell out the sky and landed on the beach, he said.  Anyway, he picked it up, and all it was was a single grain of sand, bluer than the sky in summer, ‘magine that.  One blue grain of sand in a beach full of millions and billions of whites, browns, and grays.  Well supposedly that little speck of heaven took him all the way back to his first regret.  Then to his second one.  Then to the rest of ‘em.  He said he rewrote his life one mistake at a time."

         "So, you are looking for it."  No way had he believed that nonsense.

         "Yessir, been lookin for just shy of thirty years.  Thought I found it once to.  Turned out just to be sapphire missing from a ring or somethin'.  Bout had me a heart attack."

         "Sounds like a bunch of crap to me."

         "What's one man's crap is another man's gold." He said.
         "Maybe.  It still sounds like a waste of time, especially a waste of thirty years."

         "Just shy of thirty years."

         "Right.  Well then, what did you do that you regret so much."

         "That's the part I don't care much to talk about.  I'm very much ashamed of myself.  Plus, I don't want to scare ya."

         "I don't get scared, sir."  I lied.  "I've seen and heard so many terrible things, what is one more bad story?"

         "If you insist, boy, I'll tell ya.  But you don't go and tell them teachers of discipline up there at your school.  They'll have me kicked off this beach faster than a you know what.  Plus, I'll never get to find my blue grain."

         "You have my word."

         He began his story.  "Now, don't jump to conclusions, I aint a bad man.  I Just done a bad thing.  Like you done a bad thing by burnin up your teacher's desk, but I can tell you're a good boy, know how I mean?"

         "Yeah, yeah, just get to it."

         "I killed a man." 

         I half expected to hear that, but I had a hard time imagining the fragile old man causing anybody harm. 

         "Cold blooded murdered him." He continued.  "Son of a gun deserved it, too." 

         "Why?"

         "Well, my ex-wife was seeing this fella she met at some kind of car rally.  Word come my way that he was beatin her real bad, and doin other things she didn't like to her.  Well, I still loved the lady at the time.  Like I say, he deserved it, but lookin back I wish I had thought twice ‘bout it.  Never would've ‘magined this future for me.  I did twenty years in prison.  After that, I spent the rest my time workin' too hard just to get by.  I heard that story bout the blue grain and started spending my nights lookin for it.  Fifty years ago I killed that man.  Not a day gone by I didn't want to go back and handle it some other way."

         "How'd you do it."  I asked.

         "I shot him.  Square in the head too, always was a marksman, myself." 

         I couldn't believe he was telling a fifteen-year-old how he murdered somebody.  I absorbed it all, though, considering my situation with Pendleton.

         "I'm going to kill somebody." I said.  I figured that the old man was crazy.  I didn't think anything would come of me telling him.

         "Why would you do a thing like that?" He asked.

         "There is this night guard up there at my detention school.  He sneaks in to our room at night and does things to my friend that you'd only see in those serial killer movies.  Sometimes he makes me watch without making a sound.  He threatens to kill me.  He says if we tell anyone, he'll get away with killing us by making it look like a murder-suicide.  I can't stand it anymore.  I won't watch my friend get tortured again."

           "Sounds like a man who deserves to die, too.  Are you sure you can manage it by yourself." 

         Was he offering me help?

         "Yeah, he always puts his gun down on the bed.  I'll have to be quick, but I don't think he will see it coming."

         "You'll regret it, boy."  His mood changed from curious to authoritative, like a father speaking to his troublesome son.

         "No I won't.  Kevin won't be hurt anymore.  Once I get over the fact that I'm a murderer, I will be happy that I saved our lives."

         "You'll never get over it.  That's all I got to say about it.  You best be getting on back there ‘fore someone finds out you're gone."  Clapping the sand from his hands, the old man stood slowly, joints popping.

         "Alright, but if you don't mind, I'll need help getting back up that tree."  I pointed up the hill.  He nodded.

         The man walked slowly and silently behind me as we made our way up the hill to the tree outside my window.  Once there, the old man interlocked his fingers in front of him, forming a stool for me to step on.  A vision of breaking the man's fragile, old bones made me hesitate.  For an old man he was rather durable.  A moment later I was up on the high branch climbing my way toward the window.  The window was harder to get into than it was to get out of.  I leapt from a branch and landed half in the building, half out.  It knocked the wind out of me as my gut hit the window sill.  Using my hand to grip the sheets on my bed I pulled my self in. 

         I realized that I never asked the man what his name was.  As I looked out the window to call to him, he was gone. 

         I couldn't believe what the old man told me.  He must have been senile.  Who in their right mind would believe a grain of sand could take you back in time. 

         Senile or not we were about to have one major thing in common.

         It was a week before Pendleton came back.  I barely slept that week.  Thinking about killing Pendleton and gazing out my window in search of the sand guy took up most of my night time.  Kevin didn't say much that week either.  His mind must have been full of a dead Pendleton as well.  He did seem more cheerful at times.  I caught him laughing in the cafeteria. 

         His pain had ended a week ago.  We both knew it.  A week of mental preparation and constant planning left me most confident.  I would not be afraid.  I would do what had to be done.

         Fearlessness shattered when squeaky shoes pranced down the hall late that Thursday night.  One swallow away from vomiting, again, I froze.  Sweat beaded up on my brow.  Kevin saw my fear and quickly enough, his fear matched mine.  His confidence, like my courage had shattered.

         My mind raced.  In an instant my thoughts turned to the bang of the gun.  It will be so loud.  People will run from everywhere to come see what it was.  They will find a trusted night guard dead on the ground, bloody and missing parts of his skull.  A smoking gun will be in my hand.  I am a kid with a history of violent behavior.  I wonder if I will be tried as an adult.  Prison will be awful.

         Maybe it will be worth it.  Yeah, Kevin's life will be better.  I'm doing it to save Kevin's life; to save my life.  I will be a hero. 

         A sliver of courage crept back into me.  It was slight yet somehow vibrant.

         The doorknob turned.  Pendleton stepped in, waiting as he always did, for his eyes to adapt.  He looked as bug like as ever.

         I hated him.  Killing him was going to feel good. 

         Finally, his eyes adapted.  Removing his gun from his holster, Pendleton stomped toward my bed kicking shirts and books and other debris out of his way.  Light was scarce in the room that night.  It had been overcast all day and now not even the faintest moonlight seeped in.  I could only see his outline, but I felt the barrel of his gun as it cracked down on my forehead.  "Not a word, unless you want to commit suicide tonight, know what I mean?"  I nodded the best I could with a gun to my face.  "Good."  He said.  Then, his hand met my face in a tremendous slap.  As painful as it was I didn't whimper.  My hatred swelled.  Now, I was just biding my time. 

         Pendleton stood over Kevin's bed planning what sort of torture he would implement.  Little did he know, it would last only seconds.  As soon as he let go of his gun, it was mine.  His psychotic adventure would be interrupted by a thunderous boom.  Pendleton would hear it for only a split second.  We'd be free of him.

         Pendleton suddenly slapped Kevin fiercely.  Remaining silent, Kevin closed his eyes as his face throbbed and burned from the strike.  Then, the cold barrel of Pendleton's gun pressed tight to his forehead.  "Stay quiet." Was all he said. 

         Faster than a bolt of lightning Pendleton went at it.  Dropping his gun behind the pillow he clenched Kevin's throat, pushing all his weight into it.  Kevin's face turned red. 

         I was paralyzed. 

         It was too terrible, too torturous to move.  Curl up in a ball, wait until it's over, I told myself.  I gave up before I even attempted it. 

         As I lay there, pulling the covers up over my head, I peered out, watching.  My mind raced again.  Nothing like that should ever happen to anybody.  I know I should stop him, but he will see me.  He will get to the gun before I do.  Then, it will be me lying on the ground bloody and dead.  I'm sorry, Kevin.  I am so sorry.

         As if Kevin heard my thoughts, in the midst of being strangled, he managed to tilt his head towards me.  His eyes lulled slowly at me, pleading.  Do something, Andy.  Do it now, his eyes said without words.

         There was courage again.  I pulled the blankets off my face.  Slowly, being as silent as I could, I sat up.  My breathing hastened.  I felt my feet touch the floor. 

         Kevin was slipping into unconsciousness. Pendleton slapped him awake.  I had to get there soon, before that part of it stopped.  It was my only chance to kill him.

         I stood up.

         Kevin slipped into unconsciousness.  Pendleton slapped him.  Awake again. 

         I walked silently across the room, stepping over books and clothes and garbage.  My senses were heightened and time itself seemed to slow.  I'm about to murder Pendleton.  The thought repeated itself in my mind over and over again. 

         Kevin eyes rolled back into his head.  Slap. Awake again.

         Now, I stood behind Pendleton.  Looking down past his long greasy hair I saw Kevin's eyes pleading again.  Now, Andy, do it now.  Kill him now. 

         Kevin passed out again.  Pendleton's arm rose, cocking back another slap. 

         Something exploded inside me.  From my toes to my head something tingled.  It left my head and shot down to my hands.

         As Pendleton's hand descended I made my move. 

         Slap.  Kevin gasped awake.

         I had Pendleton's gun in my hands. 

         He turned and saw me with it, aiming it at his face.  An enormous smile spread across his face.  He laughed a wicked laugh.  "You just made your last mistake, kid.  Do you even know how to use that thing?  I bet you don't. Go ahead, pull the trigger."  He rose to his feet and started taking slow strides toward me, forcing me to back up. 

         It was true.  I had never even touched a gun before.  I never thought about how to use it.  I assumed I'd pick it up and know how.  It turns out I was right.  I've watched enough Schwarzenegger movies to know what I was doing.  As soon as it was in my hand I felt for a safety and clicked it off.  Then, as he approached confidently, I pulled back the slide, putting a bullet in the chamber.

         That stopped him in his tracks.  It was quite theatrical if I do say so myself. 

         "You've got balls, kid."  He said.  "Too bad you'll never get to use ‘em."

         Slowly, my finger started to squeeze the trigger.  He must have noticed the muscles in my hand clenching tighter, because he rapidly swept across with one arm knocking the gun from my grip.  Then, he thrust his other arm out and pushed me.  I stumbled back, tripped over a book, and fell hard on the floor.

         Kevin did nothing.  He was still on the brink of unconsciousness.  Pendleton moved quickly.  He found his gun, stood up and hit Kevin over the head knocking him out.  I tried to get to my feet but Pendleton was on me too fast.  Grabbing me by the shirt, he lifted me to my feet with a vigorous jerk.  He threw me across the room onto my bed.  I rolled, slamming face first into the wall.  Blood began gushing from my nose. 

         Pendleton was excited.

         He began to undo his belt buckle with one hand as he aimed the gun at my face.  When the buckle was undone he grabbed the buckle end and pulled it from his belt loops in one swift motion.  The belt cracked in the air like a whip. 

         I was doomed.  Kevin was doomed.  In a matter of hours we'd be found dead.  A murder-suicide as Pendleton called it.

         Pendleton set his gun down and brought a size twelve boot up and stomped hard on my chest, pinning me down.  I lost my breath.  Then, he looped the belt behind my head and around my neck.  He put the belt through the buckle and jerked up on the on it.  The belt snapped tight to my throat.  He leaned his weight against his foot, forcing more air from my lungs.  Pulling tighter on the belt, Pendleton released a laugh-growl combination.

         I started to choke.  The breath I lost when he stomped on me stayed lost.  Something went wrong with my eyes.  Instead of a crazed officer Pendleton I saw moving speckles of gray and white and blue rushing past.  It reminded me of television static.  My heart started to pound in my ears.  I felt it beat in my neck.  My face became hot.  The pounding got louder and louder.  Then, another pounding joined in.  It was an irregular pounding, a familiar thump thumping. 

         Footsteps, I realized.

         A doorknob turned, a light shined in from somewhere else.  I felt Pendleton lift his weight slightly as he turned to see what was happening. 

         A thunderous boom and a flash lit up the room and echoed down the hall.  A window shattered.  Blood and glass blew outward and was swept away in the wind.  Pendleton's weight came down on me again, but the belt loosened.  I gasped violently, finding my breath.  My heart still beat in my ears, but I could see again. 

         Pendleton's body lay on top of me, blood oozing out of a gaping hole just above his left eye.  I yelled and pushed him off of me.  His body slid to the floor.

         I sat up wiping blood from my face and trying not to throw up.  A cool breeze came in from the window where the bullet escaped.  In the doorway, a silhouetted figure stood holding a gun.  The figure stepped into the room.

         It was the sand guy.

         The old man dropped his gun where he stood and rushed over to me as fast as a seventy-year-old man could.

         "Are you alright, boy?" He said as he grabbed me by the back of my neck in a nurturing manner. 

         Still stunned by everything that had happened, all I could manage was, "Fine.  Yeah, fine."

         "Good, good.  Now listen, boy.  They'll be comin' to get me soon." 

         I stared, wide eyed.

         "I couldn't letcha do it.  I couldn't letcha live a life of regret.  No doubt he deserved to die, but you don't deserve to be made into a murderer."

         I could hear a stampede of personnel racing down the hall.  They heard the gunshot.

         "I was already a murderer, boy.  My life was over a long time ago.  You have decades ahead of you.  Decades to be thankful for the life you have."

         The footsteps were almost to us, pounding louder and louder.

         "This is over now.  You two boys live long lives and stay out of trouble, know how I mean?  If you killed that man you'd be sent away to prison just as I was.  You'd get out one day and start chacin fairy tales."

         Kevin began stirring in his bed, groaning and clutching his head.

         "Fairy tales like the blue grain.  There is no such thing, boy.  I'm the blue grain, know how I mean?  I'm your blue grain.  I changed your life before you had a chance to ruin it."  He spoke fast, so fast it was hard to keep up. 

         The night faculty, accompanied by several guards, crashed to a halt outside out door, long shadows seemed to flicker across the room.  They had come from every direction possible.  The old man stayed on his knees, raised his hands and locked his fingers behind his head.

         It took a moment for the guards to process what had happened.  When they finally figured it out they quickly ran in and restrained the old man.  He went willingly and with a smile. 

         I never saw the old man again.  I often think of him though, wondering what his life had been like and where he may be now.  He may be alive, he may be dead.  I am thankful for him whatever his fate may be. 

         Kevin seems to have put the nightmare behind him.  He is as happy and sarcastic as ever.

         My experience with the old man was so brief but the effect is everlasting.  I am happy to say that I live my life without regret, as the old man wished he had. 

         His gruesome deed, though, was the triumph that made
every one of his regrets worthwhile. 

         My only regret was never learning his name.