Insanity (Insanity Series, Book 1)

by Andre Gonzalez

  Jeremy felt his mouth drool and walked to the shortest line he could find. He saw Shelly standing around the other side of the bar. Cunt. He felt his stomach cartwheel at the sight of her, knowing he would need to avoid her at all costs to ensure a pleasant evening.

  The line moved quickly, and soon Jeremy’s bartender was cracking jokes with him while she poured two rum and Cokes. “Make sure you come back and see me.” She winked at him as she pushed his free drinks across the bar. He tipped her five dollars and began his search for anyone he might know.

  He had taken his eye off Shelly for one minute while he spoke with the bartender, and she had made her way around the bar and was now directly in his path. Their eyes locked; he was going to have to talk to her.

  “Jeremy, how are you?” Shelly asked him. A fat bald man stood behind her, sipping a cup of wine.

  “Doing good, how are you?”

  “Hanging in there. This is quite the party, huh?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Have you met my husband? This is Chuck.”

  She stepped aside and Chuck stepped up, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you, Jeremy. I’ve heard lots about you.”

  I’m sure you have.

  “Pleasure is all mine, Chuck.” Jeremy returned a firm handshake. “I was just about to go find our team. Have you seen anyone yet?”

  “Not yet. I’m sure I’ll see you later.”

  “Sounds good, enjoy the party!”

  Because the next holiday party you’ll be nothing but a distant memory.

  Jeremy felt like he was reading from a script. But he was relieved to have gotten the encounter out of the way. Now he could go back to enjoying his night. Jeremy had always been able to separate himself from reality. Sure, he would be shooting his teammates in a few months, but that didn’t stop him from enjoying their company at the party.

  He got to see all of his team at one point or another in the evening. Clark was mostly with his wife in the karaoke room, Janae and Cherie at the bar, Elayna at the silent disco, Mimi and Sylvia at a table near the dance floor. Mark wandered around looking for people to take shots with.

  Mark and Jeremy drank roughly the same amount of alcohol, but Mark was nearly twice Jeremy’s size—he still had some composure by the end of the night. Jeremy, on the other hand, was sloppy, his world spinning. The DJ played “Don’t Stop Believin’” to end the night.

  Is this the only fucking song DJ's play to end a party?

  Everyone filtered out, retrieving their jackets and taking final pictures in front of the giant snowflakes. Mark stood near the escalator, apparently waiting for someone. Jeremy walked up to him.

  “Good party, eh?” He patted Mark on the back, and felt that his suit jacket was drenched in sweat.

  “Hell of a time. Can’t believe they actually flew us all out here for this. So legit.”

  “Right? Not bad for your first holiday party with the company.”

  “Not bad at all. Can I ask you a question?”

  “Okay?”

  “Be totally honest with me.” He was slurring his words slightly. “Are you cool with me? Like, I know you’re professional and all in the office, but are we good?”

  I’m way too drunk to be having this conversation right now. Jeremy realized this, but he didn’t care.

  “Yes, Mark, we’re good.” Mark didn’t seem to notice Jeremy’s dismissive tone.

  “Right on. I know this is a shitty situation for you. I went through the same thing once. Just keep grinding and you’ll get where you’re supposed to be.”

  Motherfucker, I’m older than you. Don’t try to preach wisdom at me.

  “I know. I look forward to working with you and growing more.” Jeremy had learned, thanks to his many years in customer service, how to stroke the ego of assholes.

  “That’s what I like to hear. We can make a great team. Like what I’ve heard about you and Nicole. How do you think the team feels about me?”

  Jeremy paused, but decided, Fuck it. We’re all going down in a few months anyway.

  “Honestly...the team is a bit flustered by all the changes you’re trying to implement. Like you’re trying to do too much at once. I understand you want to prove yourself, but maybe dial it back a bit?” Jeremy used the most polite voice he could muster. The last thing he needed was friction between himself and Mark—that would not look good in court.

  Mark nodded, keeping his eyes to the floor. “Thanks for that. I appreciate the honesty. I really should get going, though. We can talk about this more back at home.”

  He turned and walked off and down the escalators.

  “Fucking asshole,” Jeremy said once he was gone. He reflected back to this moment as a key turning point in events that now had him pondering every single detail that led up to his current placement in jail.

  31

  December 19, 2015

  Jeremy jumped out of bed an hour before his alarm went off Saturday morning, and was on the road by seven. He’d been waiting, ever since his return from Seattle, for Saturday to arrive. His first day of taking his new toy out for a spin.

  He drove into the mountains, on unpaved windy roads, into a small town called Sheephorn, a community of cabins used seasonally for hunting and camping. His uncle’s cabin stood at the bottom of a hill, surrounded by hundreds of trees that eventually opened into a clearing of flat land where Jeremy planned to set up his target practice. The closest cabin belonged to the Wells family, roughly a mile away. Jeremy hoped no one would be there, and saw no cars parked in front when he passed it.

  Jeremy wouldn’t be able to go inside his uncle’s cabin, as he didn’t have a key—but he didn’t need to. He parked his car, jumped out, and retrieved his black case from the trunk. The fresh mountain air filled his lungs, giving him the energetic boost it always did. Birds sang from the tall trees, but otherwise the mountain was dead silent.

  Jeremy put his case on the hood of the car, unsnapped the clasps, and flipped back its cover. The AR-15 seemed to glow in the bright sunlight.

  He brushed a hand over the gun, rubbing its barrel and trigger. “Let’s change the world.”

  He grabbed the bag containing his ammunition and targets, which he’d purchased with cash earlier in the week. The hundred-pack of shooting targets and thousand-pack of bullets would surely last him his couple months of training.

  He pulled out the targets and a couple boxes of ammunition. He had twelve training sessions planned, and figured he would practice about a hundred rounds each time. He’d need to purchase more for the actual event. The boxes thudded on his hood where he tossed them.

  Jeremy planned to shoot from the cabin area. He looked around for trees that were roughly thirty to forty yards away. He wouldn’t need to shoot further than thirty yards in the office, so he’d decided to practice inside of this range.

  He picked a couple trees, taped his targets to them, and ran back to his car. “It’s time.” He panted as he opened the box of ammunition and started to slide each round into the magazine. The bullets sparkled with their golden coat, each roughly the size of Jeremy’s index finger. They looked like miniature rocket ships, with their pointed tips and wide bodies. The brass felt cool underneath his fingertips.

  He noticed a slight tremble in his hands. The excitement had been building up for a while now. Having the gun sit idle for two weeks had driven Jeremy more mad with each passing day. The time had finally arrived.

  With the magazine loaded, he picked up his loaded gun for the first time. Its light weight surprised him again. Even fully loaded, it felt like he was holding a two-liter bottle of soda, not a weapon that would help him change the course of history.

  He pulled back on the rifle’s charging handle, and there was an authoritative CLICK! as the first round was loaded into the chamber. He turned off the weapon’s safety with a quick flick of his finger. He couldn’t wait any longer.

  He raised his rifle and pointed toward the targets. He could feel the blood and a rush of
adrenaline bursting its way into his fingertips, which rested on the smooth steel of the hand guard. His right hand fastened around the pistol grip and his index finger found its place on the trigger.

  Don’t forget the kickback on this bad boy. He remembered his uncle’s advice.

  He steadied his arms and lowered his eye to the rifle’s scope. The silhouette on the target sheet wavered with even the slightest movement that Jeremy made. He placed his target on the center of the man’s chest, took a deep breath, and squeezed the trigger.

  The shot rang out and echoed around the mountain, causing birds to flutter from their trees. It sounded like a car backfiring. His shot missed the target and clipped the man’s shoulder, where the black of his body met the white of the paper. As for the recoil, it was no worse than someone poking Jeremy just below his collarbone—but it had been strong enough to move him completely off target.

  This time, he wasted no time pulling the trigger. Then again. And again. He did this ten times, until the magazine emptied. The spent shells were scattered on the dirt below him.

  As he practiced, he mentally planned his attack. I walk in to the office. Shelly is at her desk, facing away from me. I poke her in the back with the gun and pull the trigger as soon as she turns around. People start screaming and running like headless chickens. I aim, focus, and pull the trigger until the screaming stops.

  Jeremy walked to his target on the tree. Three had hit the man’s chest, one hit his head, three more hit the paper, and three were unaccounted for, probably stuck in another nearby tree.

  Not bad for the first time. He’d shot pistols plenty of times before and was pleased to find that the rifle learning curve wouldn’t be as steep as he’d feared.

  He reloaded his magazine with ten fresh rounds, realizing he would need to buy more magazines. In his research, he’d found that the state of Colorado prohibited the use of magazines that held more than ten rounds. Other states didn’t have the same law, and he was sure one of the neighboring conservative states would sell him a thirty-round magazine.

  Jeremy took his time shooting the remaining ninety rounds in his practice for the day. He improved with each round, and felt much more comfortable by the end of the day. He had the kickback under control and now felt his mission would be easier than he had envisioned.

  I could do this next week. I feel ready.

  His favorite part of it all was the powerful feeling he had with each pull of the trigger. The adrenaline didn’t wear off until he fired his last round of the day. He felt one with his rifle; by the end of his practice session the rifle felt like an extension of his body.

  I need to stick to the plan. The timeline is perfect—rushing into things only makes the probability for mistakes greater. And one mistake could cost me my life.

  Jeremy couldn’t recall a time he’d had so much fun shooting. He knew it would take some time to master, but using his own AR-15 was truly special. He wondered what would happen to his gun if he was arrested and eventually released on the insanity plea. It would sit in evidence for a bit, but once he was deemed an innocent man, would it be returned?

  For now, he could only focus on one thing: practice, practice, practice.

  *****

  Jeremy’s day-to-day life soon became immersed in his experiment, until it was hard to tell one from the other. He would go into work, do enough to get by and remain unnoticed, then go home to plan and dream about March 11. His experiment gained power in his mind, demanding his full attention, overtaking the constant reminder that he would be ending the lives of people he truly cared for.

  The only time his mind cleared was over the Christmas holiday, which he spent with his parents. They wanted to hear all about school and the job and how life was for their little Jer Bear. As far as he could recall, those things were all going just fine. His winter semester had wrapped up the week before Christmas, leaving his work nights free to dream. And plan. He also enjoyed the break from Dr. Siva, not wanting his mentor to have any insight into his master plan. Spring semester would be a joke as he knew he would be leaving only two months in.

  The work days went by in a flash. After years of trying to improve himself every day at the office, Jeremy no longer gave a shit about his future with the company, and it was a relief. But he still needed to stay employed, in order to carry out his experiment. Shooting up his office after being fired would appear too much like vengeance and be a sure ticket to a guilty verdict.

  *****

  Going into his fourth week of practice in the mountains, Jeremy nearly had his rifle under control. He practiced hitting his targets in rapid succession, and successfully connected at a high rate. His self-control slipped away when he went to his uncle’s cabin. He would start shooting and not want to stop. On one visit he fired more than three hundred rounds, pushing his rifle to its limit as it heated up underneath his hands. That was also useful information: how many rounds it could fire in a short period of time.

  Jeremy started to hold his rifle every night, wanting to make it as much a part of him as possible. For fun, he would pull the trigger as many times possible in sixty seconds, keeping track of how much faster he became over time. He averaged around seventy “shots” by the time his index finger had strengthened into what felt like a piece of stone.

  Jeremy thought his rifle needed a name, and struggled to find the right one—until one night when a modern-day King Kong movie came on TV.

  “King Kong. It’s perfect.” He stroked his rifle as he said it in a trance. “King Kong fucks shit up, just like you will.”

  He patted the gun and put it in its case with the care of a parent laying an infant down for sleep.

  32

  January 8, 2016

  When Jeremy wasn’t talking to his rifle, he was trying to keep his cool and not strangle Shelly. The year had given way to 2016. New calendars hung around the office, and Jeremy felt giddy seeing them, knowing it was only two flips of the page until March. He wondered what the weather would be like that day. March was as predictable as a wild jungle cat. It could be ten below and blizzarding, or 75 and sunny.

  January 8 was Jeremy’s birthday. It would be his last birthday in civilization for a while, but he didn’t care to make it extra special. He normally took off the day from work and spent it up at the casinos, but gambling required concentration he simply didn’t have anymore, so he opted to keep the day normal, go to work, and meet his parents for dinner in the evening. Being a Friday, he could plan to make a trip to the casinos if he still had the itch on Saturday morning.

  The morning started off like any other. He made a couple calls, played some ping pong with Clark and Elayna, and even treated himself to doughnuts for breakfast. When eleven o’clock rolled around, Jeremy had free time on his calendar and decided to make a quick run to the auto parts store down the street. He had been meaning to get some power steering fluid for his creaking car, as the last thing he needed was to run into any car troubles as March approached.

  He bought the fluid, filled it up under the hood, and was back in the office a half-hour later. When he returned, Mark saw him and walked away frantically to Shelly’s desk.

  What’s his deal?

  Jeremy’s relationship with Mark hadn’t improved, or worsened. They understood their situation and accepted it. They could work together just fine, but Jeremy wasn’t going to be inviting him out for drinks afterward.

  Jeremy logged back into his computer and was checking his email when he saw Mark reappear with Shelly. He held a chocolate cake decorated with Batman figurines, “Happy Birthday Jeremy!” written on top in blue.

  “Happy birthday to you!” Mark started the song, and the rest of the team joined in, singing as they gathered around Jeremy’s desk. They all applauded after the song and Mark placed the cake on his desk, along with a knife.

  “Thank you all. I could use some chocolate right about now.” Jeremy started cutting the cake when reality sunk in again. This is the last time I’ll be eating birth
day cake. I don’t think they give a shit about your birthday in jail. “I haven’t worked on my birthday in a while. Thanks for making it special.”

  “Of course, man. I hope you have an awesome weekend and get to relax a bit.” Mark smiled as he spoke, but Jeremy sensed that something wasn’t quite right. Shelly returned to her desk, not hanging around for cake.

  Jeremy didn’t concern himself with whatever was happening with Shelly and Mark. They always seemed to be up to something, with plenty of closed-door meetings. But Jeremy knew that Shelly fed on drama, to help herself feel relevant.

  “A lot of the higher-ups in Seattle wonder what she does all day.” Nicole had told him this over drinks one evening after work. No matter how distant Jeremy felt, Nicole always brought him back to Earth. She was a true friend, and he appreciated that she was still around the corner after she moved to a new team. He would make sure Nicole wouldn’t be harmed on March 11.

  Jeremy ate his cake, savoring every bite of chocolate that clung to the inside of his mouth, knowing it might be the last cake he ate for a long time.

  The rest of the afternoon Jeremy spent cleaning up his email inbox and chatting with his friends. He had to fight off the thought of his friends possibly—likely—dying in a couple months, by his hand.

  These are good people. But the experiment is bigger than them. It’s their purpose. Their destiny.

  He repeated these words to himself.

  Three o’clock rolled around, and Jeremy had mentally checked out for the weekend, along with everyone else. He had just wrapped up his final scheduled call for the day and had an hour to burn when Shelly and Mark approached him at his desk.

  “Hi there. Can we borrow you for a second?” Shelly asked. Whenever she greeted him in this manner, he knew it wasn’t to chat about their weekend plans.