Shot at Redemption

by Ken W. Smith

  “That’s ingenious,” Jay said. “Have you seen that before?”

  “Once. I watched a presentation by a technician from a French bomb squad. He saw the same device used in Paris in 2015.”

  Salinas placed the pouches into the disposal box. Then, he pulled the vest off the bomber and put it in an evidence bag so the crime scene investigators could tag it and record it as evidence.

  Jay and Mack accompanied Salinas to the bomb disposal trailer. He placed the pouches inside and closed the door. Moments later, there was a muted bang. Then smoke rose out of the edges of the container. When he opened the trailer, a thick layer of white shrapnel coated the inside of the vessel.

  * * *

  McCoy drove Jay back to the DHS command center in South Boston. The center was full of agents following up on tips.

  McCoy led Jay to a locker room. Jay stripped off his clothes, placing them in an evidence bag. After a hot shower, Jay dressed in a dark blue pair of DHS coveralls and a set of shoe covers. He joined McCoy in the command center conference room.

  Jay answered questions from dozens of law enforcement officers. They also questioned him about the attack on the Bishop in Dartmouth. After four hours, The FBI finally declared it a clean shooting and released Jay.

  Jay called CJ, “How’s the Bishop?”

  “He’s out of surgery,” CJ said. “The doctors said it’s touch and go, but they expect him to make it.”

  Chapter 18

  Woods Hole - Two days later

  The compact Cape Cod Catholic High School bus turned into the Woods Hole Ferry parking lot. The driver, Mildred McCallister, a plump, middle-aged woman with no sense of humor, opened the door.

  “The ferry!” she yelled, but the boy ignored her. Instead, he was engrossed in writing a new algorithm for his after-school hobby.

  The driver shook her head. She looked into the large rectangular mirror hanging over her driver seat and spotted Kyle, her suspect, but he didn’t lookup. His entire focus was on the screen of his iPad. None of the other students on the bus bothered to look up either. They knew this was Kyle’s stop.

  “The ferry!” Mildred yelled again, watching to see if Kyle moved. He didn’t.

  The driver’s son, Art, and his best friend Tony sat behind Kyle. Art looked upfront at his mother. She nodded at him. Art reached in front of him and slapped Kyle on the side of the head.

  Kyle ignored the slap and kept typing.

  “Hey, geek boy,” Art said. “Time to get off the bus. Last time for this year.”

  * * *

  Three rows back, Charlotte Cranmore was mad. Mad that Art slapped Kyle, the shy boy who helped her pass her physics final. Annoyed that Art’s obnoxious mother encouraged him and angry that the school principal never did anything about it. She thought Kyle was cute. He had great green eyes and wavy red hair. Charlotte never told her friends how she felt because Kyle was the school’s leading geek, and she was scared to be bullied by Art, who considered Charlotte his girlfriend. More like a conquest or possession. She despised Art, but he was captain of the football team and known for his quick temper. She finally had enough of watching Kyle get picked on.

  Charlotte nudged her friend Carla sitting next to her, playing a game on her cell phone.

  Charlotte said in a whisper. “Do you think Art will ever stop slapping Kyle?”

  Carla looked up with an annoyed expression on her face.

  “Art’s harmless.”

  Charlotte took a chance to tell her true feelings, “I think Kyle is kinda cute.”

  Carla stared at her like she had three heads. “Maybe. Not my type,” she said. “You better hope Art doesn’t hear you say that.”

  Carla went back to her app.

  “Screw, Art,” Charlotte mumbled under her breath as she stood up, grabbed her backpack, and approached Kyle. “Hey, Kyle. Do you want to grab a frozen coffee with me? My dad opened a new store here in Woods Hole.”

  “I’m not sure. I have to meet my Mom when the ferry arrives.”

  “C’mon, we’ll have some fun together.”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  Kyle stowed his iPad and followed Charlotte off the bus. Carla, not wanting to be left out, hurried after the couple.

  Mildred stared into the mirror, then yelled at Art, “Hey, stupid. Are you just going to sit there and let that geek steal your girlfriend?”

  Art, who was in a state of shock, nodded his head and got up off the bus. His sidekick, Tony, followed close behind.

  When Art stopped to get out of the bus, his mother whispered to him, “I wanna hear how you put that kid in his place. Do you understand? I’ll park the bus down by the aquarium.”

  “Yea, Ma.”

  * * *

  Kyle stopped at the dock where the Martha’s Vineyard Ferry boarded. A line of cars and SUVs waited for the next ship to arrive.

  “What does your Mother do for work?” Charlotte asked Kyle.

  “She’s an officer on the ferry. She works on the bridge.”

  “That’s cool. Do you like ships?”

  “Not really. It’s her thing. She went to Canada to get her degree.”

  “Why did she go to Canada?” Carla asked. “Mass. Maritime offers degrees in commercial navigation.”

  “It was a joint program,” Kyle replied as he walked without looking at Carla. “The Canada Maritime Institute offered a degree focused on ferries.”

  Kyle’s cell phone buzzed. “It’s my cousin, Brendan. He says my Mom’s been trying to reach me. Unfortunately, the ferry has mechanical problems and is still at Oak Bluffs. His Dad is going to pick me up at the Coffee Shack.”

  “It’s Cranmore Coffee now,” Charlotte said. “My Dad just bought the two local Coffee Shacks in Falmouth.”

  “That sucks,” Carla said. “They’re my favorite coffee shops.”

  “They aren’t changing the menu too much, and my dad tries to maintain the charm of the local shops he buys.”

  Kyle turned to walk up the sidewalk towards the center of Woods Hole, “Well, I guess I have time to kill.”

  “I’m gonna pass on the coffee,” Carla said. “I’ll check out the t-shirts in the shop across the street. Leave you two alone.”

  Charlotte smiled but didn’t say anything. Kyle didn’t seem to notice.

  The small shop had a few wooden booths decorated with nautical gadgets and hand-painted portraits of sea captains. Kyle ordered two frozen coffees with whipped cream, while Charlotte ordered a chai tea. They found a table on the front deck.

  “I never had a chance to say thank you,” Charlotte said. “You know, for helping me in Boston. You didn’t have to stay with me at the hospital. It was kind.”

  Kyle smiled and thought back to that tragic day in Boston.

  * * *

  Inauguration Day, Hyannis, Mass.

  Singing to a church full of priests was not Kyle McPhee’s idea of a fun-filled day. But at least he didn’t have to sit in class. Since he almost forgot his choir robe, he was the last one on the bus and had the front seat to himself. He was relieved since the three-hour ride from Cape Cod Catholic High School in Hyannis to Boston would be long enough without sharing the seat with another student, especially if that student was Art McCaskill. Kyle prayed the bulky football player would leave him alone, just once.

  The engine of the bus started up. Kyle turned sideways to put his feet up on the seat, plugged in his earbuds, and opened the physics book on his iPad.

  The bus started, then abruptly stopped. Kyle rolled forward and stopped himself from falling on the floor by putting his hand against the driver’s seat. Then the door opened.

  “I’m so sorry,” Kyle heard a girl say to the driver.

  A tall man with short-cropped hair followed the girl onto the bus and said, “Charlotte, there’s room in the front row next to Kyle. Driver, we’re all set to go. We have forty-two passengers.”

  Thank you, Mr. Flores. Is Carla here?”

  “Yes, she’s in the back.�
��

  Charlotte saw her friend waving from the back row. Then she turned to sit down, but Kyle was still sitting sideways.

  “Excuse me, Kyle,” Charlotte said. “Can I sit down, please?”

  Kyle looked up. He thought he had gone to heaven. Charlotte wore a simple white cotton dress. Her cobalt-blue eyes sparkled in the morning sunlight, and she wore her silky blonde hair pulled away from her face exposing her perfect cheekbones and petite nose. Her skin seemed to glow.

  “Kyle?” Charlotte said. “Can you let me sit down?”

  “Oh yeah, sure,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  Kyle swiveled forward, squeezing his legs into the narrow space in front of him. He felt a little embarrassed as her leg touched his when she sat down, but she didn’t move away. Maybe the trip to Boston wasn’t going to be all that bad after all.

  “Can you believe our class is singing at the mass to celebrate the Pope’s inauguration?” Charlotte said. “This is so exciting.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Are you studying for the Physics final?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Would you mind if we studied together? I’m really having a hard time understanding quantum mechanics.”

  “Sure,” Kyle replied. He pulled off his headphones and held out his iPad so she could see the page he was on. “It’s not that hard.”

  ***

  Kyle and Charlotte were the first ones off the bus. Kyle’s heart sunk when he saw Art and Tony get off and head towards them.

  “Hey, Charlotte,” Art said. “I didn’t see you get on the bus. What were you doing sitting with geek boy?”

  Charlotte answered Art while looking at the ground. “It was the only seat left.”

  “Ain’t that sweet,” Art said with a sneer. He then grabbed Charlotte by her arm and pulled her a few feet away from Kyle.

  “Art, let go of my arm,” Charlotte said. “What are you doing?”

  “I don’t like that kid. He gives me the creeps.”

  “He’s nice to me. He doesn’t talk much, but he’s not mean like you.”

  Kyle watched the two talk. He liked Charlotte but didn’t understand what she saw in a bully like Art.

  Tony, Art’s best friend, was still standing next to him, “You know Art and Charlotte are going out, don’t you?”

  “No,” Kyle responded. “I mean, yeah. I guess so. I don’t really pay attention to that kind of stuff.”

  “Art told me to tell you to stay away from her, or else.”

  Kyle wanted to reply or else what, but instead, he didn’t say anything.

  Kyle looked up at the large TV screens mounted outside the Cathedral for the public to watch. The mass was reserved for Priests, nuns, and other members of the Archdiocese of Boston.

  The Central Catholic liturgical choir joined the other high school and college choirs and filed into the church and up a steep staircase onto the choir balcony at the back of the church. He was separated from Charlotte but found a spot in the front row overlooking the nave below.

  Two large LED television screens stood on the far sides of the altar. The monitors showed the huge crowds in Rome swaying back and forth. The large TV screen showed the balcony where the Pope would address his church for the first time. The windows opened, and the Pope waved to the crowd. The congregation in the Cathedral exploded in applause. Kyle took his iPhone out of his pocket to record the mass.

  ***

  Kyle watched in shock as explosions ripped through St. Peter’s Square. Smoke and flames obscured the close-up shot of the Pope’s balcony, but he was nowhere to be seen. The TV screen switched to aerial images showing mushroom clouds filling the sky.

  There were two gunshots inside the Cathedral. Kyle instinctively ducked, but when there wasn’t an explosion or return fire, he looked back up and saw a priest lying on his back on top of the Bishop.

  There was silence. Then someone screamed, and the shock turned to pandemonium.

  On the choir balcony, there was a mad rush for the stairs. At first, Kyle was satisfied to let everyone else trample each other in an attempt to escape. He sensed the danger was in the panic, not from the shooter or a bomb. Kyle scanned the crowd for people he knew but couldn’t find anybody. He caught a glimpse of Charlotte’s blonde hair moving towards the staircase. Kyle called out to her, but there was too much noise. He spotted her again at the top of the steep, narrow staircase. Then someone pushed her from behind, and she disappeared down the stairs.

  “No!” Kyle screamed out.

  The sense of claustrophobia was overwhelming as Kyle was squeezed from all sides. The air was hot. All he could smell was perspiration and smoke from the gunshots. He worked hard to suppress his own fear and deal with his only goal—to find Charlotte.

  Finally, Kyle started descending. He scanned the floor below and saw Charlotte curled up in a ball at the bottom of the staircase. People were stepping over her, and some even stepping on her.

  “Get out of my way,” Kyle screamed to nobody in particular as he pushed people out of his way. “That girl, she’s my friend.”

  “Which one?” a voice said. He was the tall man from the bus: Carla’s father, Art Flores.

  “Mister Flores, It’s Charlotte, the blonde girl on the floor.”

  “Let’s go get her before she’s crushed to death.”

  Al Flores took the lead. He moved people out of the way without making them fall. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he worked his way to where Charlotte lay on the floor curled up in the fetal position. Blood soaked her face, and she wasn’t moving.

  “Kyle, I’ll block the crowd and make them go around us. You help Charlotte. Move her over to the side chapel out of the flow of people.”

  Kyle leaned over, grabbed Charlotte’s collar, and pulled her off the floor. He placed her left arm over his shoulder and wrapped his right arm around her waist. Al Flores cleared a path to one of the alcove-like chapels. He placed Charlotte on the floor underneath a statue of Saint Raphel, the patron saint of healing. Charlotte wept and kept her hands wrapped around her torso as if she was holding her insides together.

  “Thank you,” she said in a faint whisper, “I can’t breathe.”

  Then a trickle of blood appeared at the corner of her lips.

  “She has internal bleeding,” Al Flores said as he appeared next to Kyle. “Probably broken ribs, too. She needs to go to a hospital.”

  * * *

  Kyle smiled at Charlotte and said, “No problem. I’m glad you were okay. But, unfortunately, a few people died from being trampled.”

  “Oh, no,” Charlotte said. “That’s awful. And all of those people shot on the front steps. I was so scared. And you were so brave to carry me out and find me a paramedic. She reached out and touched the back of his hand.

  Kyle froze. Then he took a big gulp of his drink.

  Charlotte pulled her hand back, “What are you doing this summer?”

  “I don’t know,” Kyle said. “Hanging out, I guess. How about you?”

  “I work as a lifeguard at Old Silver Beach.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “Do you ever go there?”

  “Where?

  “To the beach.”

  “No. I burn if I spend too much time in the sun.”

  Charlotte giggled, “You know there’s such a thing as sunscreen.”

  This time Kyle giggled back, “I know. I don’t like hanging out without anything to do. I’m taking a class at the Institute in marine electronics. It’s part of a joint program with MIT. I want to go there for college.”

  “Don’t you have to be really smart to go to MIT?” Charlotte asked as she took a sip of tea.

  “I guess,” Kyle replied. “I never thought about it. The admissions counselor says I have the grades. I hope my Mom can figure out a way to pay the tuition. My Dad used to teach there before….”

  “Before what?”

  Kyle didn’t answer.

  “Kyle, what’s wrong?”


  Kyle slid his chair back away from the table, then pointed over Charlotte’s head.

  Art and Tony stood behind Charlotte. Art reached down and grabbed Charlotte’s chair, and pulled her away from the table. Tony stepped up, grabbed the small, round aluminum table’s edge, and flipped it over.

  Charlotte screamed, “Let me go!”

  Tony grabbed Kyle by the collar and pushed him to the floor.

  “C’mon, Charlotte, we’re going home.”

  “What are you doing? You have no right!” Charlotte said as she struggled to get away from the brute.

  “I told you to stay away from geek boy. You’re my girl.”

  “I’m not anybody’s girl. Now let me go!”

  Kyle, who hit his head on the deck, slowly got off the floor. Blood flowed from a gash on his forehead.

  “Hey, what did you do to him?” A teenage boy in a Falmouth High School windbreaker said. “And let her go.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Art said.

  “It doesn’t matter. Now let her go.”

  “Make me.”

  “Okay,” Brendan Hernandes, Kyle’s cousin, said as he cocked back his right arm and snapped a lightning-fast right jab, smashing Art in the nose.

  Tony lunged at Brendan, who stopped him with a sidekick to the solar plexus. Tony grabbed his stomach and doubled over in pain.

  “Hey, what’s going on here?”

  Kyle looked up from the floor to see Brendan’s father, Marty, standing at the foot of the stairs. His massive bulk filled the entire deck. A small crowd gathered on the sidewalk.

  “This kid beat us up,” Art said, holding his nose. “He attacked us for no reason.”

  “He’s lying,” Carla said from behind Marty. “I saw the whole thing. Art and Tony started it. They were bullying Kyle. They do it all the time.”

  “I need statements from all of you kids, including you, Brendan.”