A Week For the World: Day 2 :Part 2

But trouble, as it seemed, had a funny way of finding me. Trouble in the form of Horatio Wellington. Popular and British, he had all of what any typical teenage guy wanted: a thriving social life, and spectacularly good grades. Well-liked and studious as he was, Horatio paid both world issues and the environment no heed. In conclusion, the guy was an idiot.

He also happened to be waiting outside the door, glaring at me so hard it looked like he had a vision problem. “Salutations, ‘Mr. Wing’,” Horatio intoned, drawing out his syllables. “Just what do you think you’re doing? Stealing my girl with your little act?” Horatio took the opportunity to use the extra six or so inches he had on me to lean down and stare. Unnerving, not to mention that the scene could have been interpreted in a very, very bad way.

“Look, I don’t have any romantic interest in Elizabeth whatsoever. You’re free to chase after whomever you choose, though you might have to clear it with your other six girlfriends first. Or is it seven now?” I tried my best to keep most of the contempt I felt for him out of my voice. “Tried” is the important word here.

“You reckon? Then why did Mrs. Aderson assign her to you right after you finished talking?” Horatio exhaled, becoming red in the face. I raised my eyebrows. He had lost it.

Other students quickly moved on, pretending not the see this scene going on. Popular as he was Horatio also had a reputation for a fiery temper. I took a step back, and not too soon.

“Don’t think I’m done with you! Get back here!” I felt something whiz past my cheek. “You want to me to fight you, is that it?" Horatio had thrown the first punch.

“Considering that you’ve started fighting already, I can’t really say no, can I?” Exasperated, I rolled my eyes. Fighting was stupid and usually caused more problems than it solved. Not to mention, I was going to miss my next class. And where was Elizabeth?

“This isn’t worth it,” I turned my back to leave, and was interrupted by a loud roar. Whirling around, I saw a flash of movement as Horatio came to a hurried stop, moments away from wringing my neck.

Elizabeth had stepped through the open door, regarding both of us with amusement.

“Well Elizabeth, it’s mighty wonderful meeting you here,” Horatio nervously shot his hands back, pasting a winning smile on his face. "What we were doing earlier, Desmond and I were just playing around, weren't we, Desmond?"

"If you feel that attempted assault is 'playing around', then, sure," I answered drily as Horatio snarled.

Seeing Horatio charge, I readied myself to stop him. Elizabeth beat me to the punch.

Moving in-between the two of us, she lashed out with her leg, knocking Horatio to the ground. It was a quick blow, and he crumpled beneath her. Horatio gasped for air, trying to stand.

"You're a crazy gal!" He exclaimed, clutching his stomach as he bent over. "You can two can shrivel up and die for all I care, I'm outta here!" Horatio quickly grabbed his bag and left, running to his next class.

Watching his retreating form, I turned to Elizabeth, "Impressive. But you could have broken his ribs."

She shrugged, "I saw him try to hit you earlier. Consider it his comeuppance." Scary.

"So, where are you from?" I swiftly changed the subject.

“Madrid, but my family moves around alot,” Elizabeth responded.

“Why come here?” I asked. Los Angeles was the sort of city the tourists loved and the locals were iffy with. Stay long enough, and the city stops growing on you.

“My dad got a new job,” She answered. How mundane.

“Okay, so the tour…” I trailed off. Where should I go from here?

"Mrs. Aderson said just to show me around the campus and finish by the end of this period. I have a pass from her," Elizabeth spoke, ending the awkwardness.

"Sure, follow me," I appreciated the chance to escape the confines of a classroom, if only for a bit. But with a violent girl for company though? That was debatable.

Elizabeth nodded her assent as we winded through the classrooms.

"That lesson you gave today, you mentioned there was a right answer... Could you tell me what it is?" Elizabeth started as we halted near the auditorium. I motioned for her to sit on one of the benches near the area. This was going to take a few minutes.

I took a seat as well, across from her. Taking a good look at her face, I failed to see any signs of malice or humor. She was actually interested.

“Okay, so what do you think is the right solution?” I wanted Elizabeth’s input to see how she viewed the problem.

“Well the two options, letting the train crash, or killing the person is a really one-sided decision. I mean isn’t the ‘right answer’ incredibly obvious?” She spoke matter-of-factly.

Interest piqued, I asked, “How so?”

“Well, your goal is to save more lives. Thus, it makes perfect sense to kill the one person, if you save more lives by doing so.” I was shocked. The whole reason the scenario worked was because of human nature. No matter what, it wouldn’t feel right to kill someone, even if the end result saved more people. To do so, was almost... inhumane.

Elizabeth stared at me, waiting for my response. I stared back at her, thinking furiously for a response. How different was she?

“Interesting answer. Most people wouldn’t be able to make that decision--to take another person’s life, for any reason,” I managed to say, and Elizabeth’s face lit up. “But it isn’t the right one.”

“What!?” It’s the only way to save the most people! Don’t tell me you would not kill the person and let the train crash!” She protested.

“I’m not saying I would let the train crash,” I spoke simply.

Elizabeth, confused, asked, “But then how would--”

“But I’m also not saying I would kill a person. I’m saying I would kill myself to stop the train.”

Elizabeth’s reaction was pure surprise.

“Th-th-that’s…” Her mouth hung open, “Incredible. You save the person and the town.”

When I had read the scenario online, but there was no “right” answer posted. Since then, I had been running the scenario through my head. Sacrificing oneself to save the train and the people was a solution I came up with myself.

“Let’s get on with the tour," I checked my watch, “We don’t have much time left.”

I gestured with my right hand and, and the sun glinted off my silver band.

“Yikes!” Elizabeth shielded her eyes for a moment. “That’s some bright adornment you’ve--” She grabbed my wrist, and I could only watch, struck mute with surprise, as she studied the bracelet intently.

“Er, is everything all right?” I regained my voice.

“Desmond, where did you get this?” there was a steeliness in Elizabeth’s voice that wasn’t there before.

Nervous, I tried to pull my hand away, but her grip was iron.

“Don’t you understand that I now have to do something very unpleasant to you?” Elizabeth moved one hand to her pocket.

“Not really. What’s going on?” I struggled to free my hand. The pressure on my wrist didn’t move.

In an instant, I stopped fighting. My heart stepped on the gas pedal, and showed no signs of slowing down.

This was worse than the explosion, worse than the train, and worse than anything.

This was a girl pointing a gun at me in broad daylight.

Frightened, I tried to keep my voice steady, “What are you doing?” It was a stupid question.

“Killing you,” Elizabeth dropped the words lightly, and moved the gun closer. Bad. Very bad. “Perhaps you can reflect on what you’ve done later. In Hell.”

Panicked, my thoughts were sent into a flurry. “Okay Desmond, think, think, think! What is going on?” Time seemed to slow as I let my memories from the past minute replay themselves: Elizabeth and I are talking about the train problem, then my band shines her eye, and she suddenly goes berserk on me.” “What’s so special about this band?” I hadn’t realized I’d spoke aloud.

Confusion clouded Elizabeth’s eyes for a moment. Her hold on my arm wavered, “Wha--”

I seized the opportunity to try and talk my way out, “Elizabeth, I’m sure there’s been a misunderstanding--I really have no idea what’s going on. Okay, see here, I was at this apartment fire --there was a gas explosion-- then I blacked out, and when I woke up I had this band on my arm, and then these weird policemen were chasing me, and then I lost them, and, and--” I stopped, gasping for breath.

Regaining her composure, she growled, “Playing the part of the fool with me won’t lessen your punishment.”

“I don’t even know what I did wrong! What do I have to do to convince you I’m innocent?” I was almost begging. Pointing a gun at me? What was she thinking?

“You don’t have to prove you’re innocent to me , Desmond,” Elizabeth whispered in my ear, putting her face less than an inch from mine, “when I already know you’re guilty.”

“I really don’t know what’s going on!” I exclaimed. Elizabeth responded by raising the gun to my forehead. A bead of sweat trickled down, and the cool metal sent shivers up my spine.

“Goodbye,” Elizabeth cocked the gun.

“STOP!” Roaring, I tried to duck, dodge, knock the gun away, do anything, but Elizabeth forced me to the ground.

“Suffer for all your sins,” she hissed.

And then I heard a click.

A light flashed in front of my eyes.

I lay sprawled on the ground, breathing hard as Elizabeth squatted down, regarding me with a sense of wonder. “Did I get shot? What just happened?” My thoughts were in disarray.

“Y-you haven’t committed any sins? Y-you’re not the right person?” Elizabeth screamed, astounded. Not the right person!?

I managed to pull myself up from the grass. “What are you talking about? Are you stark mad, pointing pretending to shoot me?”

“My apologies Desmond; forget everything,” Elizabeth quickly put her gun away and dusted her hands. How could she act so nonchalant?

“You’re joking, right?” I asked, stunned, “How can I forget that? Th-th-that bullet--”

“Was a mistake. Sorry. I realized when you didn’t retaliate after I was going to shoot. Sorry about that,” Elizabeth finished for me. Ridiculous. Who did she think she was, scaring me to death and then calling it a mistake?

“What do you mean a mistake? How can you shoot someone without being sure? And what kind of student carries a gun around?” I asked. Wary of another sudden attack, I watched her carefully.

“Mishaps happen,” She defended. Sighing, Elizabeth looked at me appraisingly, “Can I trust you?”

“You just knocked me to the ground and held me at gunpoint. I should be asking you that question!” I countered.

“Hey, I thought you were a threat earlier, don’t blame me!” She threw back.

Standing up, I looked her in the eye, “A gun to my head is a mistake? You owe me.”

Seeming to have an internal struggle, Elizabeth closed her eyes, jaw clenched. I blinked and waited.

“You will not tell a single soul, do you understand?” With Elizabeth again waving the gun menacingly at me, I didn’t have much choice.

“Fine,” I managed.

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you,” Elizabeth sat down on the grass, facing me, “I’m not actually a student. Truth of the matter is, I’m an operative for the CIA. Currently I’m tracking a terrorist group.”

I wasn’t expecting that.

“Psh, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard today. Why would you hold me at gunpoint? I’m not a terrorist,” I shook my head. Even I could have lied better.

Elizabeth glared at me and continued, “I received word that the members wore silver bands to identify one another. An anonymous source tipped us off that something big is going happen in a week here. In Los Angeles.” Her entire story was flimsy, but choosing to attack me because of some silver band on my wrist? Unbelievable.

“Okay, let’s say I believe your insane story. Do you have any proof?” I asked, skeptical.

“Anything I could show you is classified,” Elizabeth said, as if this answered everything.

“So?” I pried.

“If I showed you, then I’d have to kill you,” she flashed the gun and gave me a knowing look. My breathing sped up once more.

Students came out of the classrooms, rushing to get to their next class on time.

“So, where to next, Desmond?” Elizabeth pocketed the gun again looked at me expectantly.

“History.” I struggled to grasp the idea that Elizabeth was a government agent. For the CIA. She had to be lying. But what if she wasn’t? How much of her story did the gun prove? Could she actually be fighting against a terrorist group?

“Lead the way,” she interrupted my thoughts.

In a spell of doubt, I spent the better half of History sneaking constant sidelong glances at Elizabeth--as did every other guy in the room. (Probably for a different reason though.) But Elizabeth looked normal as could be, copying down Mr. Doble’s notes.

I respected Mr. Doble, for his class was topics straight from the headlines, so lots of current issues were covered. That being said, I seriously doubted if the guy could teach, as taking things from the news was all the he ever did.

Today’s topic was Sotiras. Mr. Doble had compiled a slideshow with excerpts from the many articles in which the mysterious philanthropist was featured. Elizabeth’s mechanical pencil scratched up and down, capturing every word he said.

“To date, Sotiras has donated tens of thousands of dollars to shelters and soup kitchens around Los Angeles,” Mr. Doble paused, looking up from his slideshow.

“Yes, ah, Elizabeth?” Mr. Doble glanced at the roster through his thick rimmed glasses.

“It seems ridiculous that Sotiras would stay anonymous. Wouldn’t he be able to earn more money and fame if his identity was known?” She asked him, one eyebrow raised.

“Well perhaps some people don’t like the money and fame,” his words fell on all but deaf ears as only Elizabeth looked up.

The rest of the class was occupied either with Elizabeth, or their mobile devices. Luckily, most of the kids in History weren’t in Aderson with me, so I got no odd stares my way. I was fine with that and seized another opportunity to rest.

I awoke to the bell. “For homework, I want each of you to print out a current news headline and bring it tomorrow!” Mr. Doble shouted after the bulk of the class, already out the door.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked past the rows of desks, noticing Elizabeth had left with the others. A few students from Aderson’s class pointed at me and whispered as I strode along the hallways, but I paid them only a passing glance.

Most kids spent lunch talking and littering (more work for me and the janitor), but I spent my lunchtime like I always did--at Emanuel’s. I padlocked my bike and squeezed through the throngs of customers. Nodding to Jared, another one of Emanuel’s employees, I went behind the counter.

I brought out one more rack of baguettes out as Jared shouted another order. Few, if any kids came to Panificio di Emanuel, preferring the fast food joints another block down.

As I alternated between pounding the dough and bringing out rack after rack, my mind was free to review the crazy things that had been happening recently. First, there was the band on my wrist. Laying down the tray of bread to inspect it closer in the light, it seemed to be a continuous line of silver, with no breaks. And the band lead to the crazy policemen. From my memory, I conjured up their devious faces, blue-eyes glinting. Shivering at the memory of their crazy pursuit, I pounded the dough harder.

Emanuel appeared from the back of the storeroom, face shining with sweat. “You will stay for the whole shift?” I periodically skipped school to help him out. More work meant more cash for me.

“I’m not sure,” I answered, only half-listening, still lost in my thoughts.

Emanuel shrugged and headed out front as Jared shouted his name.

And then there was Elizabeth. That crazy girl had the nerve to put a gun to my head, and call it a mistake. Even more far-fetched, she fed me some insane story about working for the CIA and hunting down some terrorist group that coincidentally wore the same band as me. “But it’s possible,” my mind began to argue, “you don’t know where the band came from.”

I started packing as the time for lunch drew to a close. Because the school year had just begun, I figured that it would be better if my teacher’s expectations of me were lowered later on, rather than early.

The school gates loomed in front of me, taunting me of the three hours I had left until the end of the day. I dropped a brown paper bag in the recycle bin, along with two Gatorade bottles and a crumpled sheet of binder paper. Most of the students had already filed in, and I was about to do the same, had I not seen a running figure to my left.

Interest piqued, I squinted in the noonday sun, trying to get a better look at the person.

It was Elizabeth.

I was supposed to show her all her classes, and here she was, running off to who knows where. What did she think she was doing? Snooping for her “CIA”?

“Hey! Elizabeth!” I called out, waving my arms. She didn’t so much as glance in my direction. “What am I supposed to do?” I asked no one in particular. Elizabeth had approached the metal fence enclosing the school. Without stopping stride, she vaulted over the wire, landing with both feet on the other side. Asinine acrobat.

I gave chase. “Elizabeth!” I screamed again, mounting my bike. No response. Instead, she took off racing into the L.A. streets. Picking up speed, I followed her, yelling her name.

On bike, I should have been able to catch up quite easily to Elizabeth, but with every pedal, her retreating figure moved further ahead.

I pushed on. Pedestrians, buildings, cars, all became a colored blur as my vision settled on only Elizabeth. Sweat dripped down my forehead as time seemed to disappear. Movement slowed, and no matter how much faster I cycled, I never got any closer.

In one sudden motion, Elizabeth slowed down, and the world around me burst into sight, scent, and sound. Looking around me, I was startled at by an unfamiliar street. “How did I get here?” I wondered, surprised. A moment ago, hadn’t Elizabeth just left school grounds?

“I probably got too focused and lost track of time,” I figured, shivering at the single mindedness I had took to chasing Elizabeth.

The area seemed to be a ruined construction site, and the traffic could be heard from the distance, the roars and squeaks of cars. Preparing to shout Elizabeth’s name, I noticed her a few hundred feet away, running into an alley. I had been about to follow, when a voice drifted my way.

“So, they sent you down first, did they?” I recognized that voice. Immediately hearing it brought up a snarling face with black hair and blue eyes...The policemen from yesterday.

“Wh-wh-what?” I gasped.

That was impossible.

“I must have misheard, there’s no way that something this coincidental would happen,” I tried to calm myself. “I mean, honestly, how many crazy things have happened already?” I reminded myself once again of the insanity over the past day.

Scrambling to find a course of action, I decided between sating my curiosity and hightailing it.

Curiosity won.

I leaned my bike against a large rusted beam, and crept along the wall, careful to make little sound. Bit by bit, I edged forward.Turning my head around the corner, I was bewildered at the scene in front of me.

It was everything I had hoped not to see, in the oddest way possible.

In a Mexican standoff, the pair of policemen from yesterday (it was the men from yesterday!) pointed their assortment of knives at Elizabeth, who steadily held her ground, gun pointed at them. Quickly, I ducked back and held my head in frustration. How did all these things fit together? Why was Elizabeth here? Why were the policemen here? None of this made sense!

“Suffer for all your sins,” I heard a voice call out. Elizabeth! Was she planning on shooting the two men?

Impulsively, I skirted back along the wall in time to hear a shriek.

A shockwave of dust and debris threw me back.