Fortune And Fortitude Pt 01

Fortune and Fortitude

Before anything else, I'd like to remind everyone that this is only my second story. Feedback is appreciated, but more importantly, give me your honest thoughts.

Love y'all!

Chapter 1

"Time!"

Jared set down his pencil and sighed. He had yet to fill out the remaining three questions of the exam.

Oh well. It sure wasn't the first time something like this had happened. He handed over the paper as the Mrs. Keller came around, not bothering to try to sneak in some last-minute answers.

"So? How'd you do?"

He shrugged and turned around. "Alright, I guess. Still didn't have enough time, though."

Quinn pouted. She had been his best (read: only) friend for as long as Jared could remember. She was small and cute, with soft brown hair and bright blue eyes. He was glad he had her for Ancient Greek. His mind could hardly wrap around basic English, much less a near dead language.

Quinn, on the other hand, took great pleasure in learning the language. She had become fluent by the end of the third week. She'd been a real lifesaver over the past few months.

He was staring. He quickly glanced away as her eyes twinkled in amusement. "Do you need more tutoring?"

"I don't think so. I understood most of what was asked. I'm just slow, is all."

She tilted her head sympathetically. "You're not slow. Greek just isn't your thing."

He chuckled. "Then what is my thing? Math's out. Science. PE is just torture."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Maybe school isn't your thing. At least you have church."

Jared winced. "Yeah, maybe say that a little louder. Don't think anybody heard you."

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "First of all, I'm sure you're right. Second, why do you care what people think? Okay, so you're a bit religious. Big deal."

It was a big deal. To him, at least. He had attended mass every morning -- no exceptions (except, perhaps, the occasional hospital visit). Something about the worship just pulled him forward, made him feel lighter.

Heaven knew how many mistakes he had made. He could never live it all down. But maybe, just maybe, someone out there could help him redeem himself. At least, that's what he told himself.

He sighed. "It's the 21

st

century, for goodness' sake. People would think I'm either doing it for attention or money. Maybe even both."

She pursed her lips. "But you aren't. So it doesn't matter." She tilted her chin in the air. "I personally think it's very cool that you can have faith with the world like it is. Someone needs to."

Jared shrugged. Most people found his quiet obsession with damnation more than a little strange. When he was younger, his mom had taken him to a therapist. He was diagnosed with scrupulosity, or religious OCD.

Quinn never questioned it. She had listened to him talk about it a few times and hadn't been bothered. Without her, he probably never would have survived high school. They were nearly inseparable, manipulating their schedules to always share at least one class every semester. He helped her with her projects, and she put up with his oddities.

But graduation was coming all too soon. Soon she would fly away to a wonderful little college and move on. Not that he didn't support that, of course, but...

He hesitated. "So... What are your weekend plans?"

She smiled. "I don't really have anything going on. What's up?"

Did she know? He had to. It had been years since he had discovered a harbored crush for her. That had passed soon enough, only to be replaced by... whatever he was feeling now.

"I was wondering if you'd like to-"

The sound of nearby gunshots cut him off. The room quickly fell silent.

That sounded close. Too close. Jared quickly ran through different scenarios in his head. Students playing with firecrackers? No. That was unmistakably the sound of a gun firing. Maybe someone living nearby was just firing a few practice rounds. Yeah.

The classroom flinched as the gunshots sounded off again. The shooter was inside the school. Any fleeting hopes of it being a mere accident vanished. Jared felt a pit beginning to form in his stomach.

The teacher snapped out of her trance and gestured to the students to come to the corner, just like they'd rehearsed. Of course, the idea was that they would have some WARNING before a shooter got so close.

Jared stumbled toward Mrs. Keller's desk with the rest of the students in mute terror. Quinn didn't look any better than he felt. As they slumped to the ground in the huddle, Quinn quietly pressed against his side. He put an arm around her.

No one dared to make a sound. How long had it been? Two? Three minutes, maybe? It seemed too much to hope that it was over.

BANG!

A bullet punctured the door. Jared flinched as several students let out a panicked cry. There was scuffling with the door, but (fortunately) Mrs. Keller had had enough presence of mind to lock it.

The door boomed as a large mass slammed against it. It held. The school had leftover doors from sometime in the fifties -- nearly a foot thick, and solid oak. The question was never about the door surviving.

BOOM!

It was the lock that was questionable.

BOOM!

By now the students were in a panic. Mrs. Keller had gone white as a sheet, her eyes wide.

Suddenly, it stopped. Faintly, Jared detected the sound of a gun reloading.

He brought ammo?!

The intent was clear. One shot would easily break the lock. After that...

Quinn's grip on his arm tightened. Her jaw was tight and her eyes looked up at him questioningly.

"Will I go to heaven?"

I don't know. I don't think anyone knows.

That's not comforting.

No. We'll just have to buy ourselves some time.

Jared closed his eyes and steeled his courage. He swallowed, trying to ignore the sudden urge to throw up. Would it work?

He didn't have time to debate. With a crack, the lock was blasted off the door, shedding wooden splinters everywhere.

Jared leapt up, his heartbeat thumping in his ears as he rushed for the doorway. He faintly heard Quinn cry out in surprise behind him.

The intruder hardly had time to react. Quickly, faster than Jared had thought possible, he raised the gun and fired.

Within the next second, Jared collided with him, his pentup momentum knocking them both to the ground. Unfortunately, the gun remained firmly within the attacker's grip.

The man kicked Jared from off of him and hefted the gun once more. But Jared was dedicated.

In a sudden burst of adrenaline, Jared rushed back and immediately grabbed the gun. On an impulse, he gripped the barrel and shoved directly towards the attacker in a swinging motion.

The resistance was far less than he had anticipated. The butt of the gun slammed directly into the man's chin. He stumbled backward, releasing the weapon.

Jared didn't give him time to react. His fear bundled with his anger. He swung the gun again and again like a baseball bat, knocking the man to the ground. Soon, blood began pooling at his feet.

It was several seconds before the adrenaline wore off. Jared sank to his knees. Numbly, he noticed the where the shot had hit him, leaving a tattered, bloody mess of the left side of his stomach. The blood mixed with the attacker.

What had he done? Was he dead?

His head was spinning. In the moment before he passed out, he thought he heard Quinn call his name.

Then all went black.

*************

The smell hit him before anything else. Hospitals always had a particular smell -- sterile and unfriendly. His eyes flickered open to the bright white lights. What had he done this time?

He closed his eyes and sighed to himself. He had managed to go so long without a slip-up -- or at least, anything major. Quinn would be so disappoint-

He shot upright. "Quinn!" She was scared. Scared of...

The memories came rushing back all at once. The gunshots, the masked intruder...

The blood.

He fell back onto the bed as pain shot up his chest.

I killed him

. For everything he'd ever done, nothing was even close to murder.

Did it count? It was technically self-defense, right?

"Ahem."

Jared groaned at the familiar voice. "Hello, Officer Mecham." He opened his eyes to view his visitor.

Mecham was a short, sturdy man. He had brown hair and eyes, with a curly little mustache that inexplicably reminded Jared of a Cheeto.

"Hello, Jared. Long time no see."

"I-" Jared winced. "I'm sorry, sir. I tried to keep my promise, I really did. It was just-"

Mecham chuckled. "No need to apologize, kid. From what I hear, you were quite the hero."

"I killed a man."

Mecham's smile faded into a smaller, sadder smile. "Yeah. But you didn't mean to. Besides, he was armed. Who knows how many-"

"I meant to."

Mecham fell quiet at that. Jared wished he was lying, but in that moment, his anger had overtaken him. It wasn't an accident. His intent had been truly murderous.

He squeezed his eyes closed and crossed himself.

Forgive me if you can

.

Mecham let him have his moment. The two had seen each other far too many times for the other's liking during Jared's childhood. He had been a rambunctious, angry child with far too much strength for his own good. It was only when his mom had started taking him to church that it subsided. Mostly.

Jared opened his eyes. "So you know what happened?"

Mecham nodded. "Pretty much. The eyewitnesses were unanimous. From the sounds of it, you probably won't even need a trial."

That was hardly a comfort. "Then why are you here?"

Mecham sighed. "You won't believe it's just cause I'm concerned for your welfare?"

Jared rolled his eyes. "I've been in worse shape."

"Actually... You haven't even been close." Mecham scratched his chin. "That's part of why I'm here." He gestured to the bandages wrapped around Jared's torso. "The bullets went straight through. Normally that would be a good thing, but..." He hesitated. "Look, I'm just going to say it. You should be dead. D-E-D dead. That wasn't just any rifle. In fact..." He glanced down to his notes. "It says here that the gun was identified as an M4 Carbine."

"You took multiple shots at point blank range." Mecham leaned forward. "The doctors are puzzled. Not only that, but you've mostly recovered in just a few days. They haven't been able to identify how you survived."

Jared shrugged. "I guess I just got lucky."

Mecham chuckled. "Lucky? Lucky is the fact that you got to the hospital before dying. This, this is outright unnatural." He leaned back and sighed. "I guess you got yourself another miracle."

Jared smiled. "I suppose I did." Did that mean he was forgiven for taking another man's life? He hoped so.

"Oh, by the way." Officer Mecham reached into his pocket. "A woman came by, said I should give this to you." He pulled out a small envelope and handed to Jared.

Jared inspected the envelope. "Did you recognize her?"

Mecham shook his head. "Probably a reporter or something."

Jared ripped it open carefully.

Jared,

I need to speak with you regarding recent events. Please come to the following address at 1:00 on Monday.

Don't be late.

It was unsigned. Odd.

He set the letter down and rubbed his eyes. "What day is it, anyway?"

"Saturday. Why?"

Jared glanced over at the paper. "She asked for an interview. Told me I should come by her house on Monday."

Mecham raised an eyebrow. "Weird." He yawned. "Don't feel any pressure to go, if you don't want to."

Jared shrugged. "Eh. I don't think it's worth skipping school."

Mecham chuckled, and Jared eyed him suspiciously. "What's so funny?"

"Sorry, I keep forgetting you've been out of it. School's been cancelled until further notice."

He should've expected that. "How's Quinn doing? Have you seen her?"

Mecham grinned. "They had to kick her out last night. She's fine otherwise. Maybe you should give her a call."

Jared started looking around for his phone. "When are they letting me out of here?"

"Officially? Doctor Prince gave you the go-ahead already. Seen a miracle once, you've seen a thousand times."

Jared chuckled for a second before regretting it. He hadn't gotten a good look at his injuries before passing out, but he had seen enough.

His miraculous recoveries from his little "incidents" during his childhood were always a bit abnormal. He chalked it up to good genetics, but he secretly hoped that it was something more. Some kind of gift. From what Mecham said, it sounded like it had been enough to save his life.

"Where's my phone?"

Mecham winced. "Oh yeah. They found it in your left pants pocket... pretty much destroyed. Sorry about that."

Great. It had taken nearly three years to convince his mother to let him buy a phone for himself. Buying a new one would be a huge pain. "I guess better my phone than my life, right?"

Mecham shook his head in disbelief. "Sounds like you're coming out of this with a few scars. Even your sense of humor is intact. That and... everything important. Six inches to the right would've made you a bachelor for life." He chuckled. "Typical, with your luck."

"Is my car here?" Jared asked, testing his limits. "I'd like to get home soon, please."

"Nah. I'll give you a ride home. Your car should be waiting for you there."

Gingerly, Jared tried taking a step.

To his surprise, his side only ached as he moved about. Whatever the doctors had done was pretty remarkable.

"Alright, Mecham. Take me home."

************

Jared came home to an empty house as usual. Mom was usually working, or when she wasn't, she would head out for a night on the town. "When you get your own money..." She'd always say.

He sighed and went to his bedroom. He didn't feel up to driving over to Quinn's house. He hoped she wasn't too worried. Without his phone, he had no other way of talking to her.

He winced as he flopped onto the bed. The painkillers were probably doing him a lot of good, but it still hurt like crazy.

No school sounded good. But what else was he going to do? Other than the occasional writing project, most of his time was dedicated to homework.

Absentmindedly, he thought back to the peculiar letter that Mecham gave him. He pulled it from his pocket and read it again. No name, handwritten... Seemed a bit odd for a reporter.

After making sure his mother wasn't home, Jared snuck onto her computer. She was very protective of it, but he had secretly learned her password so he could access it from time to time. A quick Google search revealed little about the address.

Looking from Maps helped a bit more, but not much. The house was in the middle of nowhere, but it was very large. The closest view was nearly half a mile away, so he couldn't get any details. At least it wasn't a back alley or something.

He wrote down the directions. After all, it's not like he was doing anything else. Who knows? Maybe he could get a cash reward or something. He doubted it, but it was always a possibility.

He yawned and drifted over to his bed. Maybe those painkillers were working too well. After setting an alarm for tomorrow's mass, he passed out cleanly.

************

The weekend passed by in a blink. He was house confined until Sunday evening, so he just took the maximum dosage of painkillers. He hated having nothing to do, and, unless Quinn came by, there wasn't much TO do. Of course, he could write, but he was currently stuck on a part of his story. Maybe a psychedelic run of drugs was just the thing he needed.

It didn't help, to his disappointment, but it made the time pass quickly. He woke with a groan to see the sunlight coming through the shutters. A quick glance at his alarm clock told him the time was 12:30.

He was going to be late. He muttered a curse under his breath and quickly got dressed. No time for brushing his teeth or showering anyway. As an afterthought, he grabbed a bagel on his way out. No use going on an empty stomach.

To his relief, his car was indeed in the driveway. He quickly started it and started following his written directions.

It was a pretty decent drive, consuming the better part of 20 minutes. Considering the suburban area, that was kind of long. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in anticipation.

What would he say? It's not like there was much to tell. He acted on instinct, his adrenaline got the better of him, and he had a miraculous recovery.

Did he feel guilty? He had to think on that for a few minutes. Reluctantly, he admitted to himself that he wasn't. The man was trying to kill students, for no obvious reason. Maybe he would feel more guilt if he had seen the guy's face, but he hadn't. It was just a masked villain, easily dismissed as such in Jared's mind.

Then again, taking a life was serious business. Shouldn't he feel more... something? Scared? Upset? He didn't know. He'd heard stories of people getting PTSD after much less violent experiences. He supposed he should just count his blessings and move on.

As he pulled up to the estate, his jaw dropped. From a distance, it had looked like a prison. Here, it seemed more like a modern palace. Large, decorated walls and sci-fi looking solar panels fashionably covered the mansion.

He pulled up outside the gate. It was open, but he still felt weird about just driving in. There wasn't a doorbell or anything, so he walked right in.

There was an orchard to one side, a greenhouse on the other. Overall, he was getting pretty mixed vibes from the place. Like a cross between a luxury mansion and a military base. Everything was hyper-order and structured in a relatively close, defensive way. Jared didn't know what to think.

The door opened before he had even walked up the steps. Behind it stood a woman.

Jared blinked. Mecham had failed to mention that she was a

model

. Standing at nearly his 6'1, she gazed at him skeptically. Her maroon dress was sleek and hugged her modest curves. Her long, reddish hair was tucked delicately into a single braid down her back.

She raised an eyebrow at him as he collected himself. "Yes?"

"I'm, uh, Jared. From the school." He held out the letter. "I'm here for the interview?"

She looked him up and down. Seemingly satisfied, she huffed and turned, gesturing for him to follow. He kept his eyes on the floor as she led him through the house and up some stairs to a gorgeous sitting room.

It was round in shape, with a domelike ceiling, Cool light originated from the walls, ridding the need for any fixtures. Between the floor-to-ceiling windows and the luxurious carpet, Jared was impressed.

The woman sat into one of the chairs and gestured for him to sit in the other. He obeyed.

"So... I'm sorry, I don't even know your name."

She waved her hand. "I didn't offer it. You may call me Miss Senguine."

"Right, Miss Senguine." He hesitated. "Are you the interviewer?"

"I am."

He nodded and went quiet. She didn't move or make a sound, merely eyeing him warily. He shifted uncomfortably beneath her gaze.

Finally, she spoke. "What do you know of your parents?"

The question surprised him. "I currently live at home with my mother, and I never really knew my father. Mom says he was a gambler." He hadn't really pressed for more information. The little he had told him enough.

She nodded. "Do you know why you are here?"

"Uh... For an interview?"

"And why am I interviewing you?"

He blinked. "I was hoping you could tell me. I thought it was about the shooting at the school."

She snorted derisively. "School shootings are hardly worth my time." She leaned forward. "I heard you were injured. Badly."

He shrugged. "Yes, and I had a miraculous recovery. I guess the doctor knew his stuff."