Sure to Shine

Eric opened his eyes groggily. The first thing that hit him was the sheer agony he was in. He didn’t even bother trying to move. He could feel sticky blood surrounding him, and he let out a soft groan.

Above him, dust fluttered around in the beams of light coming in from broken windows high above him. A cold wind blew in, pushing leaves and empty packets around the room, every so often tossing them up into the air.

It took Eric a few minutes to remember where he was. He groaned, confusion flooding his mind again. He could remember most things now, and Skylar was gone.

Eric forced himself to think about what had happened. He could remember so much now. He remembered obsessively reading up on the story of the shooting at his high school, and he remembered sitting in his bedroom, forming a plan of his own. He remembered wanting to shoot up the school. He remembered the hatred he had felt while at school, something that he hadn’t thought he had ever felt. He guessed when he hadn’t been channelling the hatred into Skylar, he was repressing it himself.

"Talk me through what you’re thinking, man," said a voice from beside him, and Skylar was there, as though he had just appeared out of nowhere. Eric felt a little stupid when he realised that, technically, Skylar had.

"I did it all," Eric said weakly. His mouth tasted like blood, which he knew couldn’t be a good sign. His tongue felt numb, making him slur his words as though he were drunk.

"That’s right," Skylar said softly, nodding. "You did it all, man. How does it feel, knowing you pulled off what you did? The country will be in a shitstorm by now."

"How can I do all this, and not know?" Eric asked. "How did I not notice you weren’t real?"

"You needed acceptance," Skylar shrugged. "You needed someone who was worse than you to encourage you of something like this. I’m you, Eric. If you just let yourself go, you would be me. Look at you now."

Eric forced his eyes downwards slightly, taking in the very Skylar-like outfit he was wearing.

"I never wanted to do this," he said, the pain in his voice not just from his injury.

"But you did," Skylar said, laughing lightly. "You planned it all, Eric. Through me, to lessen the guilt, but you planned it all. When this all goes to the media, all the security footage will show you. It was you buying the guns. You were stealing money off of your father. You were shooting all of those poor, defenceless kiddies at the school. It was all you."

"This is fucked up," Eric mumbled. "I’m fucking talking to myself in an old abandoned mental asylum. Fucking appropriate."

"Better get used to these places, kid," Skylar laughed. "If you survive, that’s where you’ll be heading."

"You think I’ll die?" Eric asked, though the question was casual.

"Looking at all the blood you’ve lost, you haven’t got a lot of life left in you, son," Skylar shrugged. "I’m surprised you regained consciousness. You looked like you’d bled out."

Eric groaned in reply, shifting slightly. He felt the blood sticking his T-shirt to his chest.

"Put a hole in a real expensive coat, you bastard," Skylar laughed.

"Hey, you were the one in charge when we got shot," Eric replied, trying to ignore how weird the sentence sounded.

"Oh, so you’re getting it now?" Skylar asked interestedly.

"Yeah," Eric replied. "You’re me. There’s not much else to get. I created you, so I could shoot up my school. I don’t really think that’s going to go down well in court, though, you know."

"I don’t know ... security footage of me and you arguing in the library and hallways would probably give you some credence," Skylar grinned.

"You were in my head the whole fucking time," Eric laughed. The laugh was weak, and had a distinct hint of madness in it. "I can’t fucking believe it. I’m dying because of my imaginary friend."

"Freaky shit, eh?" Skylar asked, lighting up a cigarette.

"Am I smoking that, or are you?" Eric asked.

"You’re just imagining me acting accordingly," Skylar explained.

"I can still barely remember anything," Eric muttered. "How did this start? Why did I suddenly see you?"

Eric suddenly realised what Skylar had meant when they had first met, about him always being there, but Eric only noticing him now.

"It all builds up to a crescendo, eventually," Skylar said calmly. "For months, without realising, you were toying with the idea of doing something like this, using the information you knew just by attending that school. As your friend started researching school shootings, your interest was sparked. Subconsciously, you decided that you wanted to do it. You became totally obsessed, consumed with the idea, especially when Adam found that photo of Ben. It started constantly being present in your thoughts, but because of your personality, not much could be done about it. As you walked home, it all reached breaking point. Bam! All of a sudden, you had enough of this subconscious energy to project it into something you could understand. You couldn’t comprehend these thoughts by yourself, and so they manifested themselves into something you could relate to – me."

"So you were always around?" Eric asked groggily. The blood loss was making him dizzy and drowsy.

"Yes. I was always there, waiting for the right opportunity," Skylar explained. "We took it in turns. You went to school, subconsciously giving me all the information I needed. When you were in a relaxed state, your own consciousness stayed at home, thinking you were on the computer or watching TV, or hanging in your bedroom. In actual fact, you were driving out, buying guns and trench coats and whatnot. Weird, isn’t it?"

"I’ll say," Eric muttered. "So if my father had come into the living room or whatever …?"

"Empty chair, TV on," Skylar laughed.

"So, what about the fake license?" Eric asked. "That would take a while to get."

"I sorted that out a few months beforehand," Skylar said. "I wasn’t strong enough to be visible, but when you were in deep sleep, I was strong enough to control you."

"Oh," Eric said simply, wondering why he wasn’t more freaked out by this revelation.

"So, while you continued to go to school, I was behind the scenes, working my ass off to get everything sorted," Skylar grinned. "I – well, you – needed a little extra money, so we borrowed that off of Daddy."

"That was low, Skylar," Eric muttered.

"You did it," Skylar shrugged. "And anyway, it was only fair. You paid for the little handgun."

"And promptly threatened myself with it," Eric added, and Skylar chuckled.

"Yeah, you did, you little psycho."

"What was the purpose of all these outings?" Eric asked. "You said it would make your job easier."

"Exactly. As the time grew closer, I needed to make you more like me, so when the day came, there would be less chance of the shock of killing someone jolting you back to reality. I needed to desensitise you, and so I told you a few truths about life. Of course, it wasn’t hard to convince you, seems you were me. Or I was you, whichever way around you want to word it. The more like me you became, the easier my job was. I destroyed all moral obligations, things you would feel as you killed someone, the fear you would feel facing death, I destroyed all of that. That way, when the day came, you would be so desensitised; I wouldn’t have to worry about you snapping out of it after the first kill."

"So how did Adam bring me back?" Eric asked, every word suddenly becoming a major effort.

"He’s your best friend," Skylar shrugged. "You must have recognised his voice, recognised your name. I think perhaps hearing your name brought you back. It forced me to acknowledge I was you, snapped me out of it."

Skylar paused.

"Bit of a bummer, really," he grinned. "I was having fun."

"So, all the while, you were getting the guns and getting ready," Eric muttered, laughing weakly. "This is unreal. How often was I here, in this creepy place all by myself?"

"Quite often," Skylar said. "For a while we hid the guns here, before bringing them home a little closer to the time. You sawed off the shotgun here, and practised firing it. You got a good aim pretty quickly, I was impressed."

"And I crashed my own car?" Eric asked. "I could have killed myself."

"I knew you were becoming suspicious of me," Skylar said. "I had to threaten you. You had to fear me, for it to work. I couldn’t have you backing out at the very last minute. You feared me, you feared yourself."

Dark spots were appearing in Eric’s vision now.

"Skylar," he asked weakly. "If I die, you’ll die, right?"

"Yeah," Skylar said, putting out his cigarette. "I guess, technically. Though I don’t really exist, so I suppose I can’t die."

"Would you appear to anyone else, make them do the same?"

"I’m not a ghost, Eric. I’m figment of your imagination. Perhaps there’ll be others like me, but I’m what you make me."

"And to think I could have made you a polite, studious boy who would have helped me graduate," Eric joked weakly, and Skylar laughed.

"Eric, you’re a nutcase," he laughed. "You never had any interest in that. You were born for this."

"And now I’m dying," Eric sighed. "I guess I’m not scared. I can thank you for that."

"Good lad," Skylar grinned. "Well, I guess you understand all you need to know now. Perhaps I’ll see you in Hell?"

"I’m hoping God goes easy on insanity," Eric muttered. "That’s if there’s anything there. I might get there and it’ll just be all white nothingness."

"Only one way to find out," Skylar laughed, and then the room was silent, and Eric knew without looking that Skylar had vanished, and the chances of seeing him again were slim. It was sad, but Eric missed him. It was weird to look back on all the times they had spent together, and know that he had been talking to himself, threatening himself, crashing his own car, messing around all by himself.

Eric reached over for the shotgun lying next to him, gripping it in his hand. It was his left hand. If he was going out, he wanted to die with the gun in his fist, just make a statement.

Of all the places to die, he didn’t think this was a bad one. He could imagine all of the kids who came here to drink sitting in this room, talking in hushed whispers about Eric Jensen, the kid who shot up Jefferson High on the twelfth anniversary of the original shootings, who got shot escaping and died in this very room.

Perhaps he would hang around, Eric thought to himself, managing a small grin. Haunt a few of them; get a few scares from beyond the grave?

He closed his eyes, feeling himself slipping towards the ground again. He hoped that wasn’t a sign that he was going down the way.

He wondered if he was imagining the footsteps outside the door, but he knew he couldn’t be when he heard them right beside his head.

"We’ve found him," someone said. "Can I get medical assistance up here? We’re in the old asylum just off of Alder Crescent."

"Is he alive?" another voice asked. Eric felt cold hands against the side of his neck.

"Weak pulse, but it’s there," came the reply.

Eric didn’t hear the ambulance arrive.