Jesus Christ.
“Sure.” Mark and Shelly headed for the nearest conference room, and Jeremy followed them in. Shelly held a yellow folder underneath her arm that she placed on the table once everyone was seated.
Mark looked down at his fidgeting fingers, avoiding Jeremy’s gaze.
Shelly spoke first. “I thought we were clear after our last talk, but apparently not.”
“I’m sorry?” Jeremy had no idea what she meant.
“Do you still want to work here?”
Jeremy raised his eyebrows. “Yes. I’m very happy here.”
“Then I suggest you start acting like it.” Shelly opened the folder and pulled out two sheets of paper. “This is a PIP. We’ve decided to place you on one for the next thirty days.”
What the fuck? PIP stood for Performance Improvement Plan, and they were given to struggling employees as a way to guide them back on track. It also made them ineligible for bonuses for the remainder of the quarter.
Shelly continued, despite the confusion on Jeremy’s face. “Over the last couple months, your performance has been dipping. The quality scores on your calls are the worst on the team. As a team lead, you should be near the top.”
That much was true. It was hard to do quality work when he didn’t give a fuck.
“Also, I heard about your little conversation with Mark after the holiday party. Extremely inappropriate to tell your manager how he should manage his team. I’m including that on the PIP as well, to document your behavior. That kind of insubordination alone is grounds for termination, but Mark wants to give you a fair chance since you both had been drinking.”
“Shelly, it really wasn’t like that. It was a casual conversation. I wasn’t trying to undermine Mark or anything like that.”
“Regardless, it happened, and this is what we’re doing about it.”
Mark still hadn’t looked Jeremy in the face. His eyes were darting all around the room.
You slimy cocksucker. You set me up for this shit.
Jeremy should have known better than to get into a sticky discussion like that with his alcoholic manager. He’d gotten played. Played hard.
“And finally, your behavior today was the last straw. Mark went out and got you a cake for your birthday and when he came to deliver it to your desk and sing, you were nowhere in sight. No one on the team knew where you’d gone. You just vanished.”
“What time was this?” Jeremy directed his question to Mark, who finally looked at him with weary eyes.
“Eleven.”
“Oh, I just ran down the street to get some fluid for my car, don’t think I was gone more than fifteen minutes.”
“That’s not the point. You can’t just up and leave in the middle of the day. Lunch break, sure. After work, certainly. But at 11 a.m. you need to be accounted for.”
Jeremy shook his head.
“Okay,” he said. “So what happens now?”
“We will all sign this PIP, to commit to you getting back on track in the next thirty days. Now, I’ve done something different, since you’ve been with us for so long. I spoke with HR, and they have offered a package should you want to leave.”
“A package?”
“Yes. It would be a check for a month’s salary, and your benefits would run for two additional months at no charge to you. I want you to think long and hard over the weekend and let me know on Monday if you still want to work here. If not, the offer is on the table and there will be no hard feelings. I understand that we sometimes outgrow our place of employment. It’s natural. Just think about where you fit into the big picture moving forward.”
“Wow. Okay. I really have no intention of leaving, but I’ll think it over.”
“Mark, anything to add?” Shelly asked.
“Yes,” Mark said, clearing his throat. “I’m here for you. If you don’t want to leave, just let me know what you need.”
“Thanks.” He meant it sarcastically.
“Now let’s sign this and get out of here for the weekend,” Shelly said, scribbling her signature on the form before pushing it across to Jeremy. “You’ll get a copy of this for your records, and a copy will be given to HR as well.”
Jeremy signed and slid the paper back to Shelly. “Thanks. Sorry this all happened,” he forced himself to say. I should end you right now, once and for all. How dare you pull this shit on me.
Shelly just stared at him, her face pale and lips pursed tight, then rose and walked out with Mark.
Jeremy stayed sitting at the table, dumbstruck. His mind raced, until he couldn’t even grasp the thoughts he was trying to form.
“Do I move up the plan to the end of January?” he whispered to himself. “She can’t keep doing this. I’m so sick of this shit.”
No, you can’t. Your PIP won’t be over until February 6. If you do anything before then, you can kiss it all good-bye. No jury will believe that you didn’t act out of revenge. It has to stay in March.
Thinking of his plan calmed him. Jeremy decided he would need to fight tooth and nail to keep his employment. Too much time, energy, and money had already been spent to let it all go down the drain. He couldn’t believe all the bullshit he’d just had to sit and watch come out of Shelly’s mouth—but he also knew that he needed to play her way and no other way. If Shelly asked Jeremy to jump off a bridge, he damn well better respond with “When and where?” if he wanted any chance of still being around in March. I’m not sure what I did to piss her off, but that’s irrelevant at this point.
He felt dizzy as he walked out of the conference room, not speaking to any of his teammates as he gathered his things to head out for the weekend. Shelly just tried to pay me to quit. Does she think she can buy my absence that easily?
He would leave on his own terms, and she would know it when that day came.
33
February 8, 2016
The month following Jeremy’s birthday was grueling. He had to try hard at his job, to maintain a high level of quality work. On top of that, he had to fake a perky and energetic persona to the rest of the team.
Despite not wanting to do it, it felt great to be needed again by his team. They came to Jeremy for everything, surpassing Mark in most cases.
He also made an effort to rebuild his relationships with Shelly and Mark, cracking jokes and keeping the mood light in team meetings. He had never realized how much work it took to do his team lead job well. The work week drained him like never before, making him feel slightly delirious by Friday afternoon.
When February 8 arrived, Jeremy went into his meeting with Shelly and Mark with his head held high. He knew he had succeeded and would be staying around a little longer.
Shelly closed the door and sat down. Mark looked at Jeremy with a wide grin.
“I’m so glad you decided to stay and work your way through this,” Shelly said. “Your turnaround has been impressive. The old Jeremy is back and I’m so happy to see it.” Her tone was light and pleasant, a 180 from their last conversation.
“So am I,” Mark said. “I never knew the ‘old Jeremy,’ but seeing you work so hard lately has been a real treat. I look forward to working with you and helping this team grow.”
“Thank you.” Jeremy flushed at the praise. He never thought he’d receive so many kind words from these two dipshits. “I suppose I just needed that wake-up call. After so much heartbreak last year, it was hard to stay motivated. But I know what I want in life, and I need to be right here in this office.” He laughed inside, knowing that wasn’t a lie, but also was not the truth Mark and Shelly were hearing.
“I love hearing that,” Shelly said. “We want you here. You have so much knowledge and are too valuable to the team.” Jeremy knew it was all just an act. She had just tried to pay him off, and now couldn’t stop gushing praise?
“What happens now?” Jeremy asked, ready to get the meeting over with.
“Well, nothing,” Shelly said. “The PIP ends on today’s date, as we agreed. Since we are s
atisfied with your performance, you just go back to normal. Let’s just put all this behind us.”
They all stood and walked out together, small talk flowing. Jeremy was amazed at how predictable it had all become. It felt like the same scene on a never-ending loop. Was that just how things went in corporate America?
34
February 26, 2016
Jeremy maintained his high level of work over his remaining weeks. From the time he was freed from his PIP he had exactly thirty-two days until show time. February went by in a breeze and March loomed.
Jeremy continued his training in the mountains, and by the end of the month was hitting the silhouetted man in the chest at least 70 percent of the time. He spread out more targets, on different trees at different distances. His performance improved so much that he no longer felt like he had to even aim. He could just whip King Kong in the direction he wanted and connect with every shot. It became second nature to shoot with accuracy and that excited him, giving him a high he had never felt before.
He felt ready in terms of the execution he would need to carry out on March 11, but he still needed to plan out the details for the day itself. There were plenty of matters to take into consideration, so he returned to the notebook.
Jeremy sat on his bed, notebook spread open between his crossed legs, and answered each question after thorough thought.
“When?” It was a question he hadn’t asked before and it was an important one. Eight in the morning would be tricky as people would still be filing in for the morning. And not everyone started at exactly eight, so that was out.
“Eleven.” Jeremy said it like a revelation. Two can’t work. Not on a Friday. A lot of people take half days on Friday and will be gone by two. Eleven is perfect. Everyone will be in, it’s right before lunch.
He circled 11 a.m. and grinned. It would also give him time for some last-minute schmoozing with everyone. In case there were any survivors, they could attest that Jeremy had acted normal, just like any other day, before he started blasting.
The notebook would have to be burned or disposed somewhere far away. Jeremy could drive an hour north of town and find a dumpster in a remote area. That would be less messy than dealing with its ashes.
“King Kong and my bag will be in the trunk. I’ll go get it all at eleven.” This seemed like an obvious detail, but he didn’t want to assume anything and have a slip-up on the big day.
He had the magazines—he’d bought ten, which each held thirty rounds, online, with an alias, fake email address, and using a gift card that he had purchased in the grocery store with cash. There was no trail of his order that could easily be tied back to him. He’d even had it shipped to his office, to avoid his home address altogether. All he needed to buy now was the ammunition to fill those three hundred rounds.
Three hundred should be plenty. There’s only 120 employees in the office. I can shoot everyone twice if I need to. He knew not everyone would be shot—especially the sales team, since they were on the second floor—but the higher the body count, the bigger the following the trial would have.
“Distraction and locking the doors,” he whispered. A distraction could be anything from fireworks to a bomb—something to divert everyone’s attention right before he started shooting. He wasn’t sure what to use, and planned to come back to that detail.
As for locking the doors—that would be easy. All the exterior doors of the office building were double doors with pull handles. A long, solid object to run through the handles would be plenty, to keep the employees from opening the doors. One door would need to remain accessible, for him to enter the building with his rifle and bag. The main entrance would be best for that since it was the furthest door from where the shooting would occur, leaving his coworkers a difficult escape. The back and side door would have to be locked.
Smokers hung out near the back door, so once the coast was clear, he’d have to lock it and act fast before the next group of puffers decided to take a mid-morning break.
“Then what?” he asked. He flipped back to the map he had drawn of the office, and traced a path with his pen. If he entered from the main entrance, he could go into the office either through the lobby or through the side door in the hallway. The side door opened directly behind Shelly’s desk, and he wanted to start there anyway. Logistically, he would be protected there, should someone try to make a move on him: his back to the wall and the rest of the department in front of him on the open floor. Shelly would be shot first; how everyone would react from that point on, he had no way of predicting. People would probably duck under their desks, others might make a run for the side exit, and maybe others would try to run across the office toward the front entrance. Would anyone try to attack him?
Jeremy pondered this, running through in his mind the seating chart of everyone in the office. Mark was certainly big enough to take him down if he wanted, but would he?
He decided it would be best to not leave it to chance: he would shoot Mark second. Mark’s desk was only twenty feet from Shelly’s, so it shouldn’t be an issue. After that he would be showering bullets across the room. If people bottlenecked at the barricaded side exit, he would take them all out.
When he was done shooting, he needed to lay low before the police arrived. Drop his weapon and wait for the show to really begin. Once they arrived, he needed to act insane from that point forward. This part, he had given a lot of thought. He would remain silent unless spoken to, and then would only give short responses. He needed to seem distant, lost in his own mind, regardless of who he spoke to after his arrest.
Jeremy shook off the thought. That was getting too far ahead.
It’s all done. I’m ready.
A final shooting practice would serve as a tune-up. He had learned to keep the images of his soon-to-be-dead coworkers out of his mind, numbing himself emotionally to the relationships he’d developed during his time at the company.
Jeremy cleared his mind of the thought. He always had a clear conscience when he laid down for bed each night and this night was no different. All he could think about while he dozed was that soon his life would change forever.
35
March 6—Sunday
It snowed in the mountains, but not enough to keep Jeremy from driving to his final tune-up. Five days stood between him and his date with destiny, and his nerves were starting to work on his conscience. He still hadn’t felt any guilt, still believed in what he was doing, but the enormity of his experiment was overwhelming.
He would be all over the news for weeks and months—maybe years, depending on how the legal process played out. Politicians would use him as an example of why guns needed better regulation, and doctors would use him as another reason mental health needed to be taken more seriously. The weight of the world bore down on his mind, heart, and soul. Did others before him feel the same in the days leading up to their history-changing event? Did Lee Harvey Oswald have doubts the week before he pulled the trigger? It was a lonely feeling, and he supposed he would need to get used to that. He would be in prison during his trial and, if things went right, a solitary ward at the mental asylum afterward. Loneliness was a sickening feeling.
Jeremy learned to clear his mind of all this shit when it came time to shooting. His thoughts were clear, and his aim true. He expected his final outing to be his best, and that was exactly what happened. Ten targets were arranged across the stand of trees, some near, some far. He hit each target with ease.
On his third reload, he hit each target twice within the same magazine. That was when he decided he was ready. Friday morning would be no different. His targets might move—but his hands moved faster, he was sure of that.
Jeremy fired his final practice round, a perfect head shot, then took a step back to inhale the clean mountain air. The smoky residue from the gun barrel filled his lungs, and he smiled. Nature had a way of reassuring him that everything would be alright. He packed up his rifle and left his uncle’s cabin for the final time.
> On his way home, he stopped at a gas station in Golden, roughly a half hour away from his apartment. The brisk air made him shiver when he stepped out of the car, causing the notebook to tremble in his hand. He stared at its black-and-white-freckled cover and brushed his fingers over it.
“So long, old friend. Thanks for helping me get this far.”
Jeremy peered around to make sure no one was watching him, and dropped the notebook into a trash can next to the gas station’s entrance. He drove off, looking into his rearview mirror as the trash can and gas station faded away.
“That’s it,” he said. “No more proof that this was all planned.”
*****
March 7—Monday
Jeremy had hated Mondays since he was in high school, but this Monday was different. He had energy, and went into work perky for the day ahead. Knowing what was coming at the end of the week, Jeremy wanted to make sure to have closure with his closest friends at the office.
He and Clark went to lunch Monday, and as always it turned into a venting session.
“I’m so sick of Shelly’s shit,” Clark said. “It feels like it’s some sort of game to her. I’ve worked with some incredible managers in the past, and she is by far the worst.”
Jeremy nodded. “I know, man. Every day gets worse. You should start looking elsewhere. You and I both, for that matter. We have no future at this company.”
They finished eating their burgers and headed back to the office. On the drive back, Clark said, “I’m really sorry for the way you’ve been treated. You should be managing a team somewhere in the company right now. The way she treated you really opened all of our eyes. If you’re not immune to Shelly’s wrath, then who is?”
“Thanks, Clark. I’m sure we’ll both move on to better things soon enough.”
Insanity (Insanity Series, Book 1) Page 17