Minutes before we had this conversation in my room, all of us student officers were in Crossley Center lounge which had old carpets, couches, tabled and a giant cuckoo clock. Silence had filled the room after a loud bang alongside the chime of the cuckoo clock. Thirty seconds later laughter erupted in the room. We didn’t think anything of it except for one boy. Thomas Elder Jr. His hands began to sweat. He started biting his nails. His eyes were staring off, like something wasn’t right and that’s when he rushed through the doors into my room.
I left him alone for the rest of the night as something was obviously wrong. He fell asleep on a sleeping bag on the hard, uncomfortable ground of my room quickly. I shut the lights and the only noise that was heard had been the loud, steady snore from Thomas. I closed my eyes and began to doze off.
*
Seven hours later, I woke up and he was gone. I wasn’t worried. This first day was going to be busy for everyone. I got dressed, brushed my teeth and headed to Alumni for breakfast. While passing through Center, I casually took a look at the cuckoo clock and noticed the hands on the clock hadn’t moved since last night. I wondered how it broke.
The first week of school rumors spread like flies of the murder of our former headmaster, Elliot Speer. Everything was off at the start of the school year. Who had expected to come back to a murder? Everybody was acting different, nervous. It was like we were living in secret. Everybody acted and stepped with care more than ever. Fingers were being pointed all over, but many people seemed to agree that it was Thomas Elder Sr. I wanted to ask Thomas Jr. about it, but how could I without sounding rude? Thomas and I were in my room and looked out the window at two kids pointing down by Thomas’s house. I hear him sigh as he turns around after seeing this.
“I’m sorry about your dad being blamed.” I said as I pitied him. How humiliating it must be for everyone to think your dad killed our previous headmaster.
“I try to ignore it. Try and think of positive thoughts and happy memories. This wasn’t the man I knew. It couldn’t have been him. I just wish people were more thoughtful around me.” He seemed to stutter his words a little as he explained his feelings towards his family being to involved in this recent case.
“Don’t worry, man I believe you.”
“It could be because of how different my dad’s views are and how overlooked they are. Many people disagree with him, but I don’t think this would have sparked a murder. Actually, I know my dad and I know it wasn’t him.” As Thomas said this, I worried that he would hurt himself in some way because of the stress he was under. I tried to be there for him as much as I could.
*
It was a Wednesday, the second week of school. Talk about the murder had not died down and was still the topic of gossip. There was a group of us student officers hanging out in Center before all being called for a school-wide search of the shotgun when all of a sudden, in a blink of an eye, the familiar sound of the cuckoo clock had chimed. I noticed the hands had moved. Right away Thomas jumped out of his seat, pushed open the doors and was gone. We all looked at each other in question and curiosity. Had we missed something? Thomas acted in similarity to the cuckoo clock.
*
We began to line up in the woods surrounding campus to look everywhere for this missing weapon. Where was Thomas during this search?
We all head up to our rooms when Thomas was waiting in my room with a strange package and says to me, “I need you to hold this for me until I say so.”
I put it in my closet next to my suitcase. I felt suspicious, as if I were holding something in secret, something that could get me in trouble.
*
Soon, graduation came around and all of us seniors and postgraduates had been seated waiting for this exciting moment in our lives. All our names would slowly be called and we would walk across the stage with a huge grin and walk back to our seats. As Thomas walked across, he paused oddly, looked out into the audience at all the guests and his class and said,
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop him.”
As all the voices and applauses went silent, he continued to walk across the stage, receiving his diploma, back to his seat. Everyone was in shock, but as the next named was called, it was as if nothing happened.
*
Graduation came to an end as we all threw our caps up in excitement. Thomas jerks my arm and pulls me to an empty spot where we all gathered. He started pacing around me, moving his head up and down as I stare at him. It’s silent. He violently says,
“I can’t do it anymore. I can’t be a murderer's son. I’m done. I need the package.”
“For what? What’s in the package?” I said cluelessly.
“I need the package. Please.”
We walked to my room in utter silence and I handed it to him. I knew Thomas was in deep pain and I wanted to help him, but everything was happening all too quickly. His dark blue eyes bulged out with tears sitting on the edge and he began to sweat. The heat bounced off him and I could feel it on my cold skin like heat waves. He opened the box and pulled out a gun. I gasped in awe and stepped back. I didn’t realize Thomas had felt this much pain. I had not expected a gun in there. Tears start to tremble down his face with the gun in his hand by his side.
“Thomas, please no. What can I do? Don’t do this to yourself. You are loved my so many.” His cry became louder. His right hand shaking as he holds the gun. We were in the entryway to my bedroom and people passed us in the hallway. Everyone had been excited and happy because of graduation and I was trying to prevent my best friend from killing himself. Why did I have to be put in this situation? What was I supposed to do?
“I will do anything to help you.” Still just the weeping of tears, no answer. He moved it closer to his mouth. He’s actually going to do this. How do I stop him? Thoughts scrambled my head as I knew I needed to think of a way to keep him. Keep him alive.
“You’re my best friend, man don’t do this to me.”
He pulled the trigger.
*
Today, 57 years old, I still let guilt overtake my life as I stare into the drawer at my desk in Memphis, TN where I put the shotgun and the package it belonged in. The package was still well put together as it reeks the smell of old paper. It reminded me of my childhood and my time at Mount Hermon. There was a sealed letter I hadn't dared open before but I knew I should soon because my time was coming.
Son, I had to. I’m sorry. I know I’m not the father figure you wanted but it was for the best of our family. I wanted his job. I needed his job. I’m now down in Virginia leaving everything I can behind. Come visit when you're ready. When you open this, please write back.
Dad.
His dad was the murderer. What he said at graduation had made sense. I go to the drawer on my knees, take out the package and pull the gun out. The gun that had taken the life of two people. Elliot Speer and Thomas Jr. I gather all my things, call the police, leave the gun in the drawer, unpackaged, in open site with the letter and leave my house. I needed to leave this life. I needed to escape the reality of the past. At 57 years old, I needed to start over.
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