PAIGE'S P.O.V.

It was him. He matched the descriptions. He was the shooter. Bailey and I were paralyzed with fear. We forgot that we had superpowers at our fingertips and begged him to spare us. He refused and threatened to shoot if we did not do what he demanded.

The shooter motioned with his gun for us to go in a certain classroom. We did as fast as we could. I huddled in a corner and pulled Bailey close to me. We wrapped our arms around each other and prayed for God's protection. The man slammed the door and locked it behind him. He smirked.

"Finally. Those idiot officers listened to my first demand. I was about to end it all had you girls not wandered in."

He trained his gun on us. Being a Christian does not keep me from being fearful and never will. I remain imperfect. I remain a sinner. The difference between a believer and a nonbeliever is that the believers accept Jesus into their hearts. Only then are they saved. True Christians do not believe or boast that they are better. They are just excited to share to the world that there is life after death.

Never did I think that I would be in this situation. That a bullet would depend on my actions. If we cooperated with the shooter...would he release us? Would he let us live to tell the story?

The classroom was fairly small, and its desks were in the corner. Still aiming his gun at us, the shooter pulled up a chair and plopped in it. He took out a drink that some adults jug down and flipped off the cap. The glass bottle was half full, and he drank until it was empty. He growled and threw it. Upon contact with the hard floor, the bottle smashed into pieces.

"Sit. And cross your legs. I am not attractive to you or anybody on this gosh dang planet."

Holding hands, Bailey and I sat on the cold floor and crisscrossed. For the love of our writer, please do not ship us. The writer does not ship us, so you should not either. If anyone does, I swear that our writer will kill us off.

"Why are you wearing those ridiculous wings?" the man said. "It is not Halloween in Forlot or the real world."

Bailey and I glanced at each other, and then back at him. Bailey said, "Are we allowed to speak?"

"Only when I ask a question that is directed to you or your friend here."

"You might not take us seriously, sir. Or maybe you will. You want to kill innocent teachers and children after all."

He did not like - no, hated - that she had pointed out the obvious. He rose, looming over us, and swung his gun at her. The gun hit her face, and Bailey cried and fell back. A bright red bruise instantly appeared on her cheek. She was in pain, but still conscious.

"Bailey!"

Both the bruise and pain thankfully vanished within a matter of seconds. It was then that I remembered what we are. No longer are we humans. We are the...what is that word that Blue used?

I helped Bailey sit back up and glared at the evil man. I do not know why, but I felt as if I were staring at his soul. Maybe it is because that is exactly what I was doing. I did not mean to do it.

You know how wicked people have wicked souls? That was not the case for this man. His soul was not cackling or scheming, and I am more than positive that sobbing is not considered a sinful act. The soul was white...and...bald...and curled into a ball. I know that it being bald is unimportant, but I desire to give you readers a good representation.

The soul was telling me something. It was telling me that it was sad. It was suffering. Could it be that the shooter was not as bad as Bailey and I assumed? What if he was pretending to be cold and heartless to hide his misery?

"Sir," I said softly. "If you do not mind...may I ask you a question?"

"Depends on the topic," the man stated. "Unless you need a reason as to why I am putting myself and the school through this."

"That is my question. Why? Why are you doing this? Why do you want to shoot and kill innocent people? Why are you willing to traumatize children?"

He snapped and grabbed my wrist, and I screamed. "Too many questions!"

"I am sorry. I am so sorry. I-I just want to help you out of this."

"Oh, you will. I promise you that."

The man forced me to stand and wrapped his thumb and fingers around my neck. His grip was so tight that I coughed and choked. My new form can protect me from minor injuries...but can it prevent me from dying?

"You are sick," Bailey commented to him.

"I. Do. Not. Care."

"No. I mean that you are sick. Only evil and sick people find nothing wrong with murder. You are mentally ill and need to be transferred to a mental institution. They will help you start a new life. You know who else can do that?"

"Pfft. My mother?"

"Nope. Jesus."

"Who is Jesus? Is she another friend of yours?"

"Jesus is not a girl. In the Bible, Jesus was born as a boy. A man. Like you."

"Jesus gave up on life too?"

"Jesus cannot give up on life because He is Life."

The man loosened his hold on me - and dropped his gun. Bailey reached for the gun and grabbed it. Yes! The man begged for her to not shoot him.

"We will not shoot you," I promised.

Bailey put away the gun. "The only way that things will get better for you is if you willingly surrender."