The Morning Of

by S. B. Cody

  “What do you mean then?”

  “For a while now…”

  “Connor, with what happened at the school…”

  “But even before that,” he cut her off again. The two seemed engaged in different conversations. “I don’t know where I’ve been lately. What I’ve been doing. It’s just…”

  “Just what?”

  “I’ve never really felt like I was good enough for you.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “I don’t know. Just how I’ve always felt. Felt about most things really. And maybe I set out to prove myself right about that all these years. This time though… this time I wanted to be proven wrong.”

  “Connor, look at me,” Brandy said, cushioning his cheeks in her hands. “You are a good man. The best I’ve known. And you never need to prove anything to me.”

  “I could name a thousand times when I wasn’t.”

  “So could anyone if they took the time to think about it. But I know what’s in your heart. And that’s always good enough for me.” After that, nothing else was said between them for the rest of the night. Nothing else needed to be said. After getting released, the two went home and immediately went off to bed where they slept without interruption for the next twelve hours.

  Not a second had been wasted getting Brody to the ER. Once in surgery, the doctors discovered that he suffered some internal bleeding and had a collapsed lung. Right away, they went about trying to make sure that Richard Lowe didn’t get another victim added to his tally.

  Kara paced the waiting room, not daring to sit down, knowing she’d be asleep in moments. She’d already drank the place dry of coffee, so this was the only option left to her. She kept her eyes on the door, waiting for news on her partner. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone come in from the outside, looking bewildered. Kara looked over to see a face that she vaguely recognized. Knowing how creepy she must seem, she tried not to stare, but couldn’t help it. Eventually it clicked. She was looking at Brody’s wife that she had seen in the photo album.

  Tentatively, she edged over to the woman, and spoke. “Excuse me. Are you here for Brody Morgan?” she asked.

  The woman looked over, bags hanging low and heavy under her eyes. She’d obviously been pulled from her bed to come here. “Yes,” she spoke in a soft voice. “I’m Christine. His wife or ex-wife, rather,” she responded.

  “I’m Kara Smalls. Brody’s partner,” Kara said, offering her hand, receiving a limp shake in response.

  “What happened?” Christine asked.

  “He got shot. He’s in surgery now.”

  “Is he going to be okay?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t heard anything, yet. Brody is strong though. I’m sure he’ll be okay.”

  “Son of a bitch is too stubborn to die.” Kara chuckled a bit at this, the laugh sounding strange, given recent events. The two women took a seat and waited. Two hours passed without a word spoken between them. Then a doctor came through the doors.

  I would like nothing more than to tell you that Brody pulled through, and went on to live happily ever after, but very rarely does life tie things off with a bow like that. Two hours into his surgery, Brody went into cardiac arrest and passed away. Upon hearing it, Kara half expected time to slow down, or even come to a halt, but it went by just as it always does. Kara could see Christine slump down in her chair, not crying, but simply looking on. Kara looked around, everything seeming to take on a sepia tone. Part of her boiled up, wanting to find Lowe and make sure that he didn’t make it through the night. But she couldn’t do that. Richard may have pulled the trigger, but she had aimed the gun. You had to be the hero, didn’t you, Kara? she thought to herself. Sure, she had saved some kid from prison, but she’d gotten Brody killed in the process. For the briefest of moments (but long enough, that it would haunt her for years to come) she wondered if it was worth it.

  From beside her, she could hear Christine’s soft weeping. As a matter of habit, she began to move away. After all, what could she possibly offer to this stranger? But right as she began to lift herself from the chair, Christine’s hand sprung out and grabbed a hold of hers, wanting to be with anyone. Someone who could understand what she felt. Kara froze, unsure of what to do, where to go. Instinct told her to dash, but as a single tear seeped from her eye and down onto her chest, she realized that she needed to be with someone as well. She settled back into her seat and gripped Christine’s hand tighter. The two of them sat there for the next half hour, not saying a thing.

  After a while, they were allowed back to see Brody’s body and pay their respects. They stood on opposite sides of the bed, staring down. Kara felt like Brody must have shrunken, his frame not quite as imposing as before. I guess dying will do that to you, she thought. She felt a tinge of guilt at the gallows humor, but put it away knowing that Brody would appreciate it.

  “How was he towards the end?” Christine asked, her red eyes looking down onto her ex-husband.

  “Well…” Kara hesitated, not wanting to taint his name with some less than savory stories about Brody’s final days.

  “He called me while drunk not too long ago. I thought he’d given that up.”

  Kara said nothing, not wanting to drag Brody through the mud more than she already had.

  “Did you know that we lost our daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  “He always blamed himself. I guess I did at first too. I just wish I’d told him what a good father he had been.”

  “There’s some things I wish I’d told him too.” Wished she’d told him that she could never have done this job without him. That he’d been a voice of sanity for her. “I like to think he knew though,” she continued. She told herself that he must have, hoping that it was true. This was one thing she wouldn’t allow herself to doubt.

  The last patient was Richard Lowe himself. He had passed out on his way to the hospital and had also been hurried into surgery. In the course of it, the young man lost a section of his small intestine. Despite this, and to the disappointment of some, the doctor announced he’d make a full recovery. Kara didn’t feel that disappointment as she stalked around outside Richard’s room, walking past the armed guards. She savored every ounce of anticipation, waiting anxiously for her chance to talk to the bastard. To finally get her answers.

  43

  Two days passed before the doctors cleared the police to interrogate Richard. Kara came in and took a seat on the side of his bed where a pair of handcuffs held him in place. Richard watched the video camera being set up with a look of boredom at having to go through with these proceedings. Once all had been arranged, the room was cleared save for Richard, Kara, and Barron who sat towards the back, allowing Kara to take charge. Richard had waived his right to a lawyer at that time.

  “Name and age,” Kara demanded. Despite her best effort to remain professional, she couldn’t help but hide the loathing she felt for the young man before her. The young man who had taken her partner away from her.

  “Richard Lowe. Eighteen,” he responded, picking away at the hem of the bed sheet that lay over him.

  “Are you a student at Stanford West High School?”

  “Well, I have to imagine that I’ve been expelled by now.”

  “Answer the question,” Barron barked from the corner. It would prove to be his only input during the interrogation.

  “Yes, I am,” Richard responded, throwing some side eye towards the captain.

  “Did you plan and carry out the shooting at Stanford West High School on October 15th of this year?” Kara asked, continuing with the interview.

  Richard didn’t answer at first. He simply looked over at her, taking in every inch of her face, seeing if it would break. She gave him nothing. “Yes, I did,” he finally answered.

  “Did Natalie Leonard assist in you carrying out the shooting?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Dennis Clements take any part in the planning or carrying out of the shooting?” />
  “No.”

  Kara offered Barron some side eye of her own, managing to catch a begrudging nod. “Why did you commit this crime?” she continued.

  Richard paused again. He looked up at the ceiling as if the answer had been written there. After a beat he reached over for his cup of ice chips. He threw a few back and chewed away at them, a hint of a grin on his face. Kara and Barron waited the entire time. Richard placed the cup down and stared off once more. Without looking at either of the detectives, he finally answered, “Because I could.” For the next hour, Richard walked Kara through it all. From when the plan first blossomed within his mind to him lying in the hospital bed.

  Richard had walked the halls of the school countless times, marking down every security camera. He studied Zach Levinson as he checked people in day after day, noting which button granted access. He mapped out the entire school and planned out his path. Two towns over, Richard visited a gun range where he perfected his shot. When it came to getting the guns, he didn’t want anything that could be traced back to him. Thankfully, anyone with a pulse knew Jeremy Farrah fancied himself as Tony Stark with the shit he kept stockpiled. And since the house was 180 degrees from Ft. Knox, he had been able to slip in and out one night with all the hardware he needed.

  In the midst, he did run into problems. One, this shit happened all the time now. What would make this one special? He needed to be sure to up the body count as much as he could. And for that, he couldn’t be alone. He kept his eye out for whom he might deem worthy enough to join him. Natalie proved to be the answer. He had known her by face and name for years, but had hardly spoken two words to her in all that time. Each day, she would hunch herself and slink the hallways, petrified of all who crossed her path. With that look of fright also came a look of longing that Richard noted. At lunch she would sit herself in the corner and watch all the cliques come together. Tears would form in her eyes as she dreamed of joining them. Towards the start of their senior year, Richard remembered seeing her loom over a table of kids for several minutes before finally forcing herself onto them. Not long after, he witnessed her coming out of the principal’s office having been caught vandalizing the gym. Her expression shifted from shame to joy on a dime. Shame for what she’d done. Joy that she had been included.

  Richard approached her soon after and went into telling her how beautiful he found her. How he had longed to tell her for years and didn’t want to leave high school without having said something. In just a couple weeks, she had pledged her undying love for him. And with that, he told her what he wanted her to do.

  “Richie, stop joking around,” was her initial response.

  “I’m not joking,” Richard told her.

  “We can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Be… because…” She couldn’t believe she had to answer such a question.

  “I thought you loved me,” Richard said, feigning hurt. He even produced a few tears.

  Over the years he had learned how to mimic many emotions, despite his lack of them.

  “I do,” she insisted.

  “Then why won’t you do this? Because I don’t think I can be with someone who would question me like this. You need to trust me. Or else this will never work.”

  The mere mention of that shook Natalie. It still took some more prodding, but at that moment, Richard knew that he had her locked in place.

  The second problem: Could he possibly get it all done and still be gone by the time the police arrived? Thankfully, fate played its part here and served up the shooting of Noah Spaulding and the resulting protests. The news of the force being all the way across town gave Richard the perfect time for his masterpiece to be played out.

  When the day came, he found that the thing played out like a beautiful symphony that he was conducting. No one got in his way, and even though she proved sloppy, Natalie served her purpose. When it came to their escape he had earmarked her class as being their exit, and made it clear that all had to die so they couldn’t reveal that she hadn’t been in class. He explained that she would stay in the classroom and play out like the sole survivor. Of course, when the time came, he made her number twenty-eight on the kill sheet. With her death, no one could trace this back to him. Since Mr. Milton was stupid and lazy enough that he didn’t make the kids sign out, there would be no record of him ditching class. He knew that attendance was always a little late getting entered for his second hour, so no one even knew of him not showing up for that class either. And after a climb out the window, he dumped all the supplies and slipped back in with everyone else outside. In the chaos, he proved nothing more than just another face in the crowd.

  And as much as he enjoyed carrying out his plan, he found the fallout to be so much more enjoyable. He laid on the tears, playing the role of victim, eliciting sympathy that he didn’t deserve. Even let himself go a bit, so all would buy it. He attended memorials, watching as people perished from grief. He had to suppress a snicker every time. And when all fingers pointed at Dennis Clements, Richard knew how to lay on the finishing touch. With Mr. Sullivan within earshot, he acted his part of the enraged boyfriend, loving the image of Dennis flailing in the wind. And once he saw which car belonged to Dennis, all he needed to do was slip in his mapped-out plan into the trunk. From there, the police did the rest.

  But then Connor Sullivan happened. From the moment he’d asked Richard about Natalie he could tell that something was rotten in Denmark. Why ask if the son of a bitch wasn’t onto something. So he watched and listened. Watched as he poked around asking everyone about her. Watched as he visited Natalie’s mother. All of it leading to the other evening.

  As Richard told his tale, he had a look of self-awe on his face. When he finished, Barron turned off the camera and exited. Kara gathered her things, thinking of nothing but the shower she would need after being in a room with the insect before her. She headed towards the door, ready to never say another word to him when he stopped her.

  “What happened to that cop?” Richard asked. “The one I shot.”

  Kara just turned around, bearing daggers down onto him. Her look said it all.

  “Huh,” he said, seemingly indifferent at the whole thing. “You know him?”

  “He was my partner,” Kara said flatly.

  “Damn. You must really hate me. You probably want to kill me right now.” He almost laughed at that.

  Kara leaned back against the door, thinking it over for a moment. That had been her compulsion when she first heard about Brody. And since that time, getting answers from this bastard dominated her thoughts more than any act of revenge. Looking at him now, she could make peace with how things had ended for Richard.

  “No,” she said.

  “Really,” Richard said, fascinated by the answer. “Why not?”

  “Because look how it turned out for you. After all your planning and scheming you end up here, with a hole in your gut. And nothing gets better for you from here on out. Whatever you were trying to do, you failed.”

  “Did I?” Richard sniggered.

  Kara said nothing. She simply looked in the boy’s eyes seeing that nothing laid behind them.

  “Look at what happened to this town,” Richard continued. “It almost fell apart. Pushed a little further, it could have burned to the ground. I managed to pull that off with nothing more than a mask and a couple guns,” he said, clearly proud of himself.

  Kara looked down at the ground before simply responding, “I hope that’s of some comfort when you’re burning in hell.” She turned and walked out of the room, never to speak to Richard Lowe again.

  44

  Six months after being charged, Richard Lowe stood trial. Despite his confession, he still insisted on pleading not guilty by reason of insanity. Throughout the trial his mother continually fell into hysterics and had to be escorted from the courtroom several times. Richard’s father, on the other hand, refused to attend. In fact, their initial visit after the arrest would prove to be the
last time he’d ever speak to his son.

  It took the jury less than an hour to convict. Many called for him to be given the death penalty, but Richard had been fortunate enough to have his sentence handed down by a judge who had become known for never giving such an order. Instead, he received twenty-eight consecutive life sentences, one for each victim, along with another 150 years, ten years for each instance of attempted murder. In the end, Richard only served five years, finding himself on the receiving end of a shiv in the prison showers one morning. Only his parents attended the funeral.

  With the perpetrator of the Stanford Massacre behind bars, many in town felt a sense of relief and ease. They all wished life would go back to normal for the town, but of course, that is not the way the world works. Once something has been broken, no matter how well it has been put back together, the cracks will still be there. And the cracks in Stanford ran deep, and for many they found that they would never truly recover from the trauma they had been a victim to.

  With the wave of goodwill they received for having solved the shooting, the police department chose that time to quietly announce that no disciplinary action would be taken against the two police officers involved in the shooting of Noah Spaulding. The news met with little protest, the town far too exhausted to encourage any more civil unrest. Noah’s parents would take the department to court and settle for a paltry $500,000. In the end, Noah’s name became another used in rallying cries the next time people had to take to the streets to protest police brutality.

  David Llewellyn’s case against the department and Kara got unceremoniously dropped, his lawyers realizing that all leverage in the case had been lost.

  Julie Lipton would work for the Stanford Police Department for another twenty years before retiring. After having been shot, she found that her home life actually managed to calm down, Terry’s hostility having drained away. She felt such immense elation that her son had returned to her. However, she would never forget about the time when she suspected that her son may have been a killer. She would live for another fifty years, and this fact still visited her from time to time. Most days she went on living her life, never once thinking of it. However, sometimes when she would look upon her son, or as she lay awake at night, she would mull it over, not knowing what to make of it. She often toyed with the idea of letting Brian in on this secret, but ultimately, left it to be her own to bear. Thankfully, as she succumbed to cancer, and Terry and her grandchildren gathered around her, this was the furthest thing from her mind and she passed on in peace.