Six Bullets

Session One

“Do you know why you're here?” I was ready to jot down notes.

“The commissioner told me I need to see you in order to get back on the force. I’m pretty sure you’ve seen it all over the news,” Officer Marcus was all over the couch.

“I did see it. A hero- how does that make you feel?”

“It was nice to get the award. Being in the lights where all eyes were on me. It was nice to be the center of attention. Holding the trophy felt great.”

“The award made you feel great because you deserved it. Now, how did the shooting make you feel?”

Marcus sat up, “But, I don’t deserve it.”

I adjusted myself, “Why do you feel like you don’t deserve the award?”

“I was in another shooting back in Staten Island. Back when I started on the police force. My partner, Officer Jones, was close to retiring. If I remember correctly, It was a very sunny day on that tragic day. Officer Jones and I were getting coffee. There were shots across the street, so as the closest officers, we ran to the shots.”

“This wasn’t your first encounter with a mass shooting?”

“No. We lost eleven people that day including Officer Jones and Officer Swycan. I worked with Officer Swycan one day. Sadly, that day, two little girls lost their sweet mother.”

“Is that why you transferred to Upstate New York?”

“After a therapy session like this, I had no choice.”

I wrote down key words from his story. I also noted his posture adjustment and hand movements; it seems as if he is building up to something.

“Did the second incident bother you as much as the first?”

“No,” he shrugged, “it’s the same thing.”

He had piqued my curiosity, “What do you mean by that?”

He glanced at the clock on the wall, “Sessions up, Doc. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“We will continue this tomorrow,” I tried to talk to him as he was running out of the room.

I made a note with reference to his answer, and his speediness to run. I sat my book down on my desk as I picked up the phone.

The commissioner picked up, “Mrs. Margie, It’s a pleasure to hear from you. How’s Marcus?”

“I just got done with his first session. I was calling to ask for a report regarding the other mass shooting Marcus was in, in Staten.”

“Whatever you need. When do you need it?”

“Tomorrow at two p.m. Thank you, Commissioner.”

Session Two

“I read into the newspapers about Staten. Eleven victims, not nearly as many as four.”

“So you read. Did you read the article about the hero medals buried with the Officers?”

“That did come across my desk.”

Marcus glanced away, “Officer Jones was a crooked cop.”

“Then why did they award him? What makes you say that?”

“Officer Jones had the shakes. He tried to warn somebody that it was getting worse. He started shaking at the wrong time and shot a little girl, Mia Garcia. But in his good grace, everything was happening too fast for anyone to see anything.”

“Who’d he report this to?”

“Commissioner, radio staff, and the doctor. He should have done the right thing and quit. Maybe, being close to retirement and all, he probably thought he could make it one more month.”

“Did you talk to your first therapist about this?”

“No,” he glanced away, again, “I just thought I'd use it as a reference to my hero award.”

“Do you think you deserve recognition?”

“No. I stood by watching two officers go down, not including the many injured.”

“Did you feel like you stood by in the recent incident?”

“I didn’t stand by.”

I was talking as I was writing, “The first time something traumatic happens to us it’s emotionally overwhelming. We tend to blame ourselves for the things that happened. The second time a traumatic event happens, we tend to shut ourselves out from the world, emotionally.”

“I have no guilt.”

He’s very monotone, meaning he is putting up a wall. By the way he was edging his way to the door, I knew he was ready to run. There’s only one thing I can do, “Marcus, sessions over.”

He pulled out a folded piece of paper, “I need this sign.”

“I said this session is over, not therapy. I’ll see you tomorrow, Marcus.”

He drew his nails into his skin, regressing anger. Marcus got up and stormed out but quietly.

Session Three

I made myself comfortable in my chair, “How are you today, Marcus?”

“I got tired pacing back and forth, waiting to go back to work, so I bought a gun.”

“It’s good to keep your gun practice while you're away from work for so long.”

His head peaked up, “For so long? How long am I going to be doing this?”

“Till we have a breakthrough. Back to session one, I started by asking how your award made you feel. Do you remember your response?”

“Yes. I don’t deserve it.”

“We are going to trail back to session one. Somehow you went from not deserving The Hero’s Award to a story about a previous shooting,” I leaned forward, “help me connect the dots.”

“Let me tell you another story. It’s about a little boy, alone in the New York streets. The little boy slept in a box full of rats, and he ate rotten food from the dumpsters in the alley. It just so happened one night, the little boy witnessed another homeless man get shot. The boy flung to his attention, but in doing so, he was put into a system. A system where the cold streets of New York were an analogy. Everyday, that little boy woke up wanting to be a cop. To rid the streets of evil and save every little boy like him.”

“The Staten’s mass shooting, did you idly stand by because you were remembering a tragedy that once escaped you?”

“Yes, the horror followed me. It haunted me for weeks. I’m surprised the first therapist even let me go.”

Something doesn’t feel right.

“You're not making sense of all these stories, Marcus.”

“Look at you trying to make sense of something so complex.”

“It’s only complex because you're not taking these sessions seriously.”

“You didn’t let me finish. The little boy grew up. Only to find out that the world is full of evil. I lied about there being six bullets before the shooting. There were nine,” Marcus grew this evil grin, “today, the lab found those three bullets. Bullets of an officer found in New York’s mass shooting victims. That’ll make a great headline.”

I stood up, in the middle of his talking, and calmly walked to my desk phone. Immediately, I heard the most disgraceful noise anyone can hear, a gun cocking.

“And right below it will be an even bigger mass shooting, with your picture spread across it. Now, ask me again, if I deserve The Hero Award!?”

I turned to look him into the eyes, “Do you really deserve The Hero’s Award, Marcus? Because I don’t think so. I think you're a sick man, Marcus.”

He came closer with the gun, “You know, maybe I do deserve it for cleaning up the freaks like you.”

He pressed the gun into my stomach, “I’m Marcus Collin, Mrs. Margie. The little boy you sent away.”

My eyes widened. At moments too late, I remembered him.