Toot. Like a trumpet.
There it went again. That dreaded noise - you knew it was coming, yet it always caught you offguard. It never meant anything good. Toot. John felt the Jane huddled up next to the person she had been sitting next to in Social Studies class. How long had it been? Hours, certainly. It must have been around 3 to 4 AM -- not that one would have been able to tell. The assault had started at 8 PM, where only a few people were still in the building for night classes.
The building was lit ablaze by the shine of the police cars, of the streetlights, and of the searchlights. Jane couldn't tell how many policemen there were. There may have been SWAT as well. She couldn't see well from the window. But none of them dared to enter the building. They knew that he could blow it up at any time. Within seconds, the entire complex could easily go up in smoke. English knew this - that he could end dozens, if not hundreds of lives should he be so inclined.
"We can go?", Kasper whispered. He was an exchange student. Very friendly and sweet, and a mostly agreeable fellow though he had some troubles putting sentences together. Dave shook his head. "No way. Dude's probably checking each room. Seeing if there's people to kill." As soon as he had finished his sentence, there it went again. Toot. "Here he fuckin' goes again. Fuck's sake."
Paul interjected. "I doubt it. We would have heard something if he was going around killing people. He's just waiting for someone to make a move."
No one knew where English was. He couldn't have left the building - the police had it surrounded. Most policemen believed he was in a classroom with hostages. Perhaps he was roaming the halls, looking for victims. How could he possibly have subjugated the whole building? It was gigantic.
Others thought he was in the security local, checking every available camera, making sure no one tried to leave. And even the local frat bros didn't dare to head for the exit.
Jane rubbed her hands together. The heating was off for the night. It was awfully cold - and dark. More than she was used to, at least. Though she could see the others, she couldn't even read what her lecturer had written on the board. She tried to remember what sort of person English was before he flipped and put them all in this situation. What she remembered was a very quiet, friendless person. Nearly completely silent. Unless a professor would ask him to read a passage, it was not uncommon to not hear him say a word for weeks on end. Or for a month. Hardly mean-spirited, but very cold and distant. Striking up a conversation was him was nigh impossible. TOOT. Louder this time. It seemed closer. Whenever he would come up in a discussion, the general consensus was that he was afraid of other people. How the tables had turned.
One kid stood up. Brian. Not a smart dude -- he had gotten into college with a scholarship obtained through football in High School. He was relatively tall, with short, spiky hair. Well-built, too. As a football player would be.
"I've had enough of this shit,", he said in a strong voice. Far louder than the hushed tones the entire classroom had been talking in for the past few hours. "I'm going to go find this motherfucker, and I'm going to cave his fuckin' face in." The jock stormed towards the door, and Dave - an athletic young man, but by no means a beefcake - stood in his way.
"Are you fucking mad? You're gonna get us killed", he whispered through his teeth. The jock shoved him out of the way.
"No I'm not. I'm calling this fucker's bluff. If he was going to do something he would have done it already."
All had been said. Brian left the classroom, and everyone sat back on the floor, crosslegged. Some were browsing their phones, updating their Twitter accounts on the situation. The website had almost been brought to a crawl. Terrorist attacks seemed to fascinate the internet. Entire websites were arguing on what to do with the terrorist, and what was truly happening.
Others were comforting one another. There was much hugging and holding.
Brian walked through the empty, dark halls. It was a very different experience from walking around during the day. Other than the trumpet sounds and his own footsteps, it was silent. There was no chatter. No yelling. Toot. "Quit your bullshit, English", he whispered to himself. Toot. It was as if English had known he had left the classroom. What was even English's first name anyway? No one had ever asked him - and he'd never bothered to tell anyone.
Brian stopped dead in his tracks. English hadn't been bluffing. A student lay dead on the floor. Brian kneeled next to him. What to do? Should he touch the body, putting his fingerprints on it? He checked the student's pulse by pressing his fingers on his wrist. There was still one, thank god. He looked a bit closer. The victim seemed badly hurt, but not in any direct danger. KO'd. He looked a bit to the left. There on the ground was written a small message, in black marker. Brian took out his phone to illuminate the spot.
"BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME."
Brian fumed. He waited by the body for a minute, then stood and started running through the halls, headed for the administration wing. If he was going to die, it wouldn't be kneeling to some sick motherfucker. He noticed the black wire stuck to the walls. Every now and then, it seemed like a small plastic bag of sand was attached to it, with an experimenting board strapped to the bag. This only made Brian rage harder.
In no time at all, he had made it to the offices. Jane and the others were long out of his mind now. He kicked the door open. There in the dark was a figure sitting in the leather chair, only slightly illuminated by the glow of the computer screen. English was small. Very small. Nearly twice as small as Brian. Brian stood still, unsure of what to do. On the desk was a detonator. A big red button. As obvious as possible. A gun.
English grabbed a crowbar and leaped at Brian, hitting him with full force. Brian collapsed, feeling an intense stinging pain in his temple and a cool liquid running down his neck. He saw, in the corner of his eye, English kneeling down. "Better luck next time", he whispered to Brian, looking out the window. With the detonator in one hand, and the gun in the other, English stood up as the lights all came on.
The hail of gunfire deafened Brian. He turned his head, seeing English being turned into swiss cheese by the SWAT team. Not a sound emitted from his throat. He died as silently as he lived. Brian stood as the experts put a coat around him. He looked, again, at English, this time under the bright office lights. He pointed to a small envelope sticking out of his coat. "Toot", English's phone emitted. It was playing a .mp3. An officer kneeled and picked it up. "Suicide note", he read aloud. He opened the envelope and read the letter. "BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME."