Violent Ends

  “I know. I’ll ask tomorrow. A footballer, so I can be like you.”

  With the parking lot lights shining on his black hair, he smiled down at me, watching my face as if he expected an ecstatic reaction to his announcement.

  Mom and I sometimes talked about Kirby never having girlfriends, and discussed possibilities of where he went when he disappeared from his room at night. He was always so secretive, like he had another life and we weren’t allowed to know about it. Mom had a theory, and I’d been sure she was wrong. Now I wasn’t so certain.

  Kirby made his way around the car. Once he was sitting beside me and had started the engine, I turned the radio all the way down, so I could make sure I did this the right way. “Are you telling me you’re going to ask . . . a boy to winter formal? Because I think that’s really cool and—”

  “What?” He stared at me. “No! Haven’t you heard of girl soccer players?”

  “Of course.” My face was hot and getting hotter by the second. So much for Mom’s theory, then. “You just said footballer and I thought, ‘Well, girls aren’t really ballers, are they?’ And—”

  “Carah, stop,” Kirby said, calmly. “Thinking about that, I mean.”

  “Okay. Sorry.”

  He steered us out of the parking lot and onto the main road. In the darkness, I turned to check if he was annoyed. At that same moment, he looked over and, with a smirk, shook his head at me very slowly. I covered my hand over my mouth to keep a giggle from escaping.

  “And now for a completely different subject.” Kirby gave my arm a light punch. “If Bobby Avalos giving you that stuffed dog was so thoughtful, how great would you think I was if I gave you a real dog?”

  I’d wanted to have this conversation since forever, but now I was afraid to get my hopes up. “Do you have a particular dog in mind?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

  “We all know Pepper has liked you better than me from day one. It’s been over three years since Dad brought him home, so maybe it’s time we made it official.”

  My mouth fell open. “Is this real life? You’re giving me your dog?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah. My dog that was supposed to be the consolation prize when our parents forced me to go back to public school. My dog that sleeps in your room and that you walk and feed every day.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “No catch. I just don’t have time these days to do that stuff, and it would be nice if our parents didn’t have this one extra thing to guilt-trip me over.”

  They did love saying things like, “Why don’t you go and spend some time with your dog, Kirby?” and “Why did we even get you a dog when you make your sister take care of him?”

  Both of us wanted them to keep their mouths shut about it, but for very different reasons, obviously.

  “What do you want in exchange?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. How about . . . do you have any quarters in your bag?”

  I scoffed. “You’d sell Pepper for quarters?”

  “Just one quarter. That’s all I need. Remember how a couple of days before Uncle Roger died, he stopped by and gave me that coin collection? Some of the state quarters were missing, but I’ve found all of them now—except for freaking New Hampshire.”

  I hadn’t known Kirby was finishing the collection. The last time we’d seen Uncle Roger, he’d given me something too: a skinny gold ring with a diamond in the center. I never took it out of my jewelry box or reminded anyone that I had it; I was unsure whether I’d be expected to hand it over to my cousin Lucy—it was the wedding ring her mom had worn back when she was still married to Roger many years ago—or if I’d be allowed to keep it because it was the last gift I ever received from my favorite uncle.

  I turned on the interior light and poked through my change purse. “I have one bicentennial quarter and the rest have eagles on the back. But I’ll check my room when we get home. Or I can for sure get what you need online if I don’t have it.”

  Kirby shook his head. “That’s cheating. I’d rather find it myself than have you order it. Eventually, one will turn up.”

  “Okay. Just so we’re clear, then. You’re still giving me Pepper even if I don’t give you New Hampshire?”

  “He’s yours. As of right now.”

  A grin spread across my face. “And if some random stranger says, ‘Hey, you! Who does that dog belong to?’ what will you say?”

  “I’ll say, ‘Hey, Random Stranger. That’s Carah’s dog.’ ”

  “You know what?” I put out my right hand. “I like the sound of that very much.”

  Kirby took his hand off the steering wheel for a moment, grinning back at me as we shook on the deal. “I kind of thought you would.”

  * * *

  My dog and I are almost to the park. His tail is swinging side to side and his tongue is hanging out of his mouth as he struts down the sidewalk, pulling me along. I, however, haven’t been quite so upbeat about taking this walk.

  I’m relieved to be upright and outside. I’m glad the whole world hasn’t changed like I’d expected it to five days ago. But I feel guilty for having the nerve to experience relief or gladness about anything. I’m waiting for someone to recognize me, waiting for them to say to my face the type of things they said online after the shooting:

  Kirby Matheson was a fucking loser. Why couldn’t he have just hanged himself?

  At least we can be glad knowing this piece of shit is burning in hell.

  People need to stop saying he “snapped.” He didn’t. This was premeditated murder.

  In cases like this, you can be 99.9% sure it’s the parents’ fault. Not trying to make excuses for a killer, but I feel no pity for the two assholes who raised him either.

  His parents need to be prosecuted in his place.

  Everyone in his family HAD to know he was capable of this. They just LET it happen.

  I hope his family members are haunted every day for the rest of their lives, knowing they are responsible for ruining so many lives.

  This kid’s family should be executed in the same way he executed his classmates.

  These are the gist of some of the comments on news articles, and they could have been written by people from anywhere in the country. Anywhere in the world, really. Or it could have been people from Middleborough, where I’ve lived all my life, who posted those things. Regardless, because of what I read that first day after the shootings, I know there are some who say that because we shared a home and DNA with Kirby, my parents and I deserve to be arrested, tortured, or even killed.

  At the park’s entrance, I toss Pepper’s poop bags into the trash can while he tries to drag me away. I have to jog to keep up as he leads me to the off-leash area. “We’re here now,” I say, unclipping him and setting him free. “What’s your rush?”

  That’s when I spot Bobby in his Middleborough High letter jacket. His back is to us, and he’s about to toss a Frisbee for his chocolate Lab, Coco, who’s staring right at Pepper. Bobby lets the Frisbee go, but instead of chasing after her toy, Coco bolts toward us. Bobby turns, confused for a moment until his eyes lock on me.

  My first thought is that I should have taken the time to brush my hair and dab on some under-eye concealer.

  My second is that, under the circumstances, I couldn’t have had a more idiotic first thought.

  My third is: I have to get away from here! Now!

  It’s too late, though. Coco and Pepper are brown and black streaks as they run circles together. Bobby is rushing toward me, and memories of the last time I saw him are flooding my brain.

  That day. Bobby drove me to school. We sat high in the bleachers at the pep rally. We held hands for the first time and my heart was beating so fast. Then . . . there were gunshots. Screams. Bobby pushed me down and we lay under the bench together. Frozen. Waiting. Trying not to make a sound. More screams. More gunshots. Screams. Gunshots. Crying, crying, crying.

  When it was over, Bobby kept his arms around me. He held his sweats
hirt against my face to block my view as we stumbled down the steps and out of the gym.

  Outside, we were told that the horror inside was my brother’s fault.

  Kirby had been the shooter.

  Kirby had shot himself.

  People were dead.

  Kirby was dead.

  I collapsed to the ground. I shook uncontrollably. Sounds came out of my mouth that I’d never heard before and that I never want to hear again. I howled and sobbed and wailed, and Bobby stayed with me. He stayed until someone in the crowd pointed me out to the police. Until the police led me away and drove me to meet my parents at the station.

  The location of our lockers was the reason Bobby and I started talking in the first place, but it was at this park where we got to know each other. In front of us now, our dogs are playing as if nothing’s changed, and while nothing could be further from the truth, maybe the fact that Bobby came here means that he doesn’t agree with the comments on the news articles.

  Maybe.

  “Coco missed him like crazy,” Bobby says. “I’ve been bringing her here a few times a day, hoping you’d show up. And here you are.”

  “Here we are.”

  He kicks at a dead leaf on the grass. “I called you a bunch of times. It always went right to voice mail.”

  “I’m sorry. I got my phone back from the cops the other day, but I haven’t been brave enough to turn it on yet.”

  “Oh, no,” he blurts out. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m just letting you know you’re going to have a ton of messages from me when you do turn it on. I was trying to keep you updated. They’re saying school will reopen on Monday. But maybe you already knew about that?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know about anything. There’s so much craziness, and we’re staying with friends. My dad’s the only one who’s even been by our house, and that was just to pick up the dog and pack some clothes.”

  Pepper runs up to us with Coco’s Frisbee in his mouth, which Bobby takes and throws. As both dogs dash after it, he turns and looks right into my eyes. “Carah, how have you been holding up? Really.”

  “Really, I never knew anything could be so horrible.” I have to focus on my feet to keep him from seeing my tears forming. “All night long, I have bad dreams. All day, I think about what he did. To those kids. To their families. To our family. Why would he do it? Why?”

  “I don’t know,” he says quietly.

  He doesn’t tack on that I, of all people, should have known; he doesn’t even seem to be thinking it. But I hate that I wasn’t able to stop this, and that I never saw it coming.

  “I’ve been going to all the candlelight vigils,” Bobby tells me. “And I was at the hospital with some of the guys to see Morgan yesterday. She’s looking better. I also saw a lot of your yearbook friends visiting Vincent after surgery. He’s all right too.”

  Morgan Castro and Vincent Long. Just two of Kirby’s victims.

  Two of the luckier ones.

  Pepper comes back with the Frisbee again while Coco trails behind. This time I grab it and throw it right to Coco. Pepper rushes to wrestle her for it, and I tell Bobby, “If it had been anyone else’s brother, I’d go with you. To the vigils and the hospital. I want to see Vincent. And Morgan too. But since it was my brother, I feel like I should stay away, so I won’t make anyone feel worse.”

  “You wouldn’t. Everyone saw you that day. They all know that you were totally caught off guard and as freaked out as the rest of us.”

  “I don’t think everyone knows. I went online to read about the shooting—”

  “And you read the comments, right? I read them too, and those people, they don’t have a clue. Your friends. My friends. Me. All the people who do know you, we know you aren’t to blame. I mean, the fact that you were there was proof enough. You were Kirby’s sister, and he didn’t even warn you or try to keep you away.”

  My hands fly up to cover my mouth, but I’m already crying.

  I can’t do this. I can’t be here.

  Not knowing or caring where I’m going, I hurry to get away. Before I’ve made it ten feet, I’m sinking to my knees on damp grass.

  Do you have to be so dramatic about it?

  That’s how Kirby would have responded.

  But as Bobby hunches over me, what he says is, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  I choke out, “You’re right, though. It’s the truth.”

  My brother knew without question that I’d be in the gym that morning, but it didn’t stop him from walking in there and shooting a whole bunch of people, including himself. Mom’s right; he never cared about any of us. Me, least of all.

  In the distance, someone shouts, “Carah!”

  Bobby straightens up. Standing, I wipe my eyes with my sleeve and I follow his gaze to my dad, who’s hurrying toward us.

  “What’s going on here?” Stopping next to me and placing his hand on my shoulder, Dad scowls at Bobby. “Carah, is this guy bothering you?”

  “What?” And that’s when I realize what this must have looked like to him—me standing here crying while talking with some boy he’s never seen before. “No, no. I’m fine, Dad. This is Bobby. I’ve told you about him. Remember? He has a Lab too.” I nod toward the dogs. “Bobby, this is my dad. Jack Matheson.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Bobby says. “I’m really sorry for . . . what you’re all going through.”

  He puts out his hand. Dad lets go of me to shake it, and his face relaxes as he does so.

  If the shooting hadn’t happened, Bobby would have picked me up at our house for the dance. This introduction would have happened under such different circumstances.

  Beside me, my Dad’s energy is all kinds of impatient, so I tell Bobby, “We have to go now.”

  “Okay.”

  He looks like he wants to hug me, but he isn’t sure the moment is right with my father hovering like this. I lunge forward and throw my arms around him anyway. “Thanks for bringing Coco. And yourself.”

  “Of course. I’m around if you want to meet up. Just text or call me.” Bobby reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pale yellow envelope with my name written on the front in Jolie’s tiny handwriting. “I almost forgot. Jolie asked me to give this to you if I saw you.”

  I take it and then Dad helps me collect Pepper, who’s nowhere near ready to stop playing. We basically have to drag him away from Coco.

  “I’m sorry,” Dad says, as we walk to the car. “I thought it would be good for you to get outside, but then I drove across town, realized what an idiot I was, and felt terrible. I shouldn’t have forced you to go out alone like that.”

  “I wasn’t alone.”

  Dad unlocks the doors and I help Pepper into the backseat. Once I’m in the front beside Dad, I turn over Jolie’s card and smile at the two Band-Aids sealing it shut. Jolie will do anything to avoid licking envelopes; I once watched her dip her fingers in Pepsi to moisten the seal when she had to mail a hard-copy receipt to an advertiser for last year’s yearbook.

  “So the funeral home didn’t take as long as you were expecting?” I ask.

  “I couldn’t do it.” Dad rests his forehead against the steering wheel. “I didn’t go.”

  “Dad, you have to take care of this.”

  “I know. I know I do.” He lifts his head. “Carah, there’s something I need you to tell you. It’s okay if you’re angry with him like Mom is. If you . . . hate him. But it’s also okay to still love him.”

  “Dad—”

  “Just let me finish,” he says, holding up his hand. “My older brother let me down too. When I found out Roger had killed himself, I was so angry. So lost. I felt like he’d done it to punish me. And like it negated everything that had come before. I thought my memories of fun camping trips in Montana or good times at Thanksgiving were all lies because it must have meant nothing to Roger. It took me a while—too long, really—but I finally came to realize that a person’s death isn’t their whole life. And I k
now it isn’t the same situation because of what your brother did at the end—”

  “No, it isn’t the same. Kirby ruined so many lives. He ruined us! The people we used to be don’t even exist anymore. You and Mom are now the parents of a murderer. I’m the sister of a murderer. That’s how everyone is going to see us from now on.”

  “Is that how Bobby sees you?”

  “I don’t know. How could he not?”

  Dad lets out a loud breath. “What Kirby did. It changed you. But it changed everyone else, too.”

  “Exactly. And you know who doesn’t have to suffer for it? Kirby. Even if he was sorry, he’s made it so he can never apologize. Meanwhile I’ll be apologizing for him as long as I live.”

  “I know. Me too. But you were always more than just our daughter and his sister. You’re creative and driven and kind, and you’re going to do so much with your life. Your brother has taken a lot, but he can’t take that. And I do believe there were times when he helped people, when he made things better. He was part of our family, and we weren’t wrong for loving him.”

  Part of me wants to yell at Dad that Kirby never deserved our love, but another part of me wants to believe he’s right. The brother who mocked me for being a yearbook nerd, called my friends “bitches,” and did everything he could to keep his life separate from mine for the past few years was the same brother who played with me when we were little, comforted me during our parents’ many arguments, and gave me the best gift ever—Pepper.

  I don’t know how to respond to my dad right now, so I rip open Jolie’s card instead. On the front it says IN DEEPEST SYMPATHY, and inside there are a bunch of signatures, along with a few short notes. From what I can tell, Jolie rounded up everyone from yearbook class to write inside this card for me.

  Everyone, including Vincent.

  Thinking of you during this difficult time.

  Praying for you and your family. xoxoxoxo

  If you need someone to talk to, I’m here.

  Wishing you peace and comfort.

  I’m so sorry for your loss, Carah.

  Lots of love to you, girl.

  Carah, we all love you. Don’t ever forget that.