“I heard what Allison said.” Mason raised his chin, still looking me directly in the eye. “She’s right. We can’t hide here. It’s not going to do us any good.”
Nodding, I wondered what else he might have heard. Cooper jumped off Mason’s bed and nudged his head against my thigh. Rubbing his ears, I said, “King is here. I think he would like to see you.”
Mason’s gaze lifted a second before I heard King’s deep voice travel from over my left shoulder. “Hey buddy.”
I glanced over my shoulder and smiled at King, appreciating all he had done up to this point and over the years. He was like a father-figure to Mason and nothing was more comforting to me than knowing King was here now. Gavin would be proud, I thought.
“Where is Nolan?” Mason asked him. “Is he all right? Did you get him out?”
“He’s hurt pretty bad but the paramedics were able to get to him.”
“What hospital is he at?” Mason whipped his head around and stared wide-eyed at me. “We need to go see him.”
“We don’t know those details yet,” I said.
Mason looked to King. “But you do, right?”
“We’re still working on it,” King said somberly. “In the meantime, how about we go see what Pastor Michaels has going at the church?”
Mason dropped his head, stared at the floor for a brief pause, then nodded.
King gripped my shoulder as he side-stepped around me to hook his hand around Mason’s neck. Then he pulled my son under his arm and guided him into the kitchen.
Following their lead, I offered Mason food but he wasn’t hungry. Telling the girls our plan, I tucked the two massive bags of Chinese in my half-empty fridge and prepared to leave. With Mason already stepping out the door, I grabbed King’s hand and said, “Thank you.”
“Stop, Sam.” His friendly gaze put butterflies in my stomach. “You don’t have to thank me for loving your son.”
“But I do.” I smiled.
We all shuffled out of the house, locking the front door on our way out. I knew that if it weren’t for King, I didn’t know where I would be today. Mason took to him better than anybody and, together, they remained strong—even in the face of adversity.
“We’ll follow you,” Erin said, standing behind her opened driver’s side door.
I nodded and dropped into the front seat of King’s car. Mason was tucked into the backseat and the girls were with Erin. It was a short drive to the community church and, as King drove, I stared out the window thinking about the Facebook Live video Allison had seen.
Questions rolled around my head like dice and I wondered how I could get my hands on it. I needed to hear what the shooter said, see what he looked like, and know if he was a lone wolf or if there were more. The dangers that would follow my son through this world were everywhere. Even with the shooter dead, it didn’t feel complete. There were still too many questions left unanswered, not to mention the gaping hole today’s event left in my heart.
When we pulled up to the entrance, the parking lot was as full as Sunday worship. I flicked my gaze to the cross, shining bright on the outside wall, and smiled. King parked in an empty spot in a dark corner and I stepped out to little sound. Misty clouds of breath billowed in front of me as I breathed in the wintery air.
The girls parked three spaces down and quickly met up with us. King met me near the trunk, pressing his large hand in the small of my back. We shared a quick glance before I latched onto his arm. With Mason off to my side, our small group made our way to the entrance. The snow-covered ground crunched beneath our feet as we walked. Not one of us said a word.
A member of the church greeted us at the door and Mason was quick to recognize other families from the school, many of whom regularly attended Pastor Michaels’s sermons.
The choir sang and the organ played. With each step further inside, my emotions began spilling out of me. Tears prickled the backs of my eyes and everything was so beautiful that it had me choking up all over again.
I spotted Pastor Michaels off to the side, edging the wall, holding the hands of a teenage girl. We locked eyes and I nodded and waved. King took an empty pew in the back and we all followed him. We sung and held hands, searching for peace and understanding in a familiar place each of us knew well. In our home of spiritual refuge, we hoped to find answers to why, but mostly we wanted to show that love would overcome evil.
When I closed my eyes, memories came to me in waves. The day Gavin first brought me to his place of worship. The day Pastor Michaels officiated our marriage. The countless Sundays I attended sermon after Gavin had passed.
A gentle touch to my shoulder and Pastor Michaels was there, greeting us all. Then he requested to speak to me alone. “I promise not to take you away from your family for very long.”
I squeezed Mason’s hand and worked myself to the end of the bench, my brain trying to guess what could be so important that Pastor Michaels had to speak with me now.
He took me to somewhere quiet and, when he turned to face me, he held his opened palms out for me to take. I dropped my hands inside of his and felt his warmth radiate and transfer to my core.
“It’s good to see you, Samantha.” He smiled.
“Good to see you too, Pastor.”
“I know it is a bit late but I wanted to personally congratulate you on breaking the serial killer case open.” His genuine smile spread.
“Thank you.” I dropped my gaze to our entwined hands. “But none of that matters now.”
The pastor lowered his gaze. “You were there today?”
I nodded. “I was.” Flicking my gaze up to meet with his, I added, “The shooter took his own life.”
“The Devil comes in many forms.” He paused, then asked about Mason.
I turned my head and let my gaze travel to my son. Blowing out a shaky breath, I said, “Detective King discovered the shooter was specifically targeting African American students.”
“And Mason was one of them?”
I nodded, unable to look the pastor in his eyes. “He shouldn’t have made it out alive today.”
“But he did.” The pastor smiled. “The Lord chose him to live. There is a reason for it, Samantha.”
My head was still nodding when I said, “He doesn’t even know.” The pastor’s head pulled to the ceiling and I watched him glance to my son. “I haven’t been able to tell him, or figure out if I even should.”
“The answer will come to you when you’re ready.”
I stared into his eyes and we both shared a knowing look. “I should warn you that today’s event, though assumed to be isolated, might not be.”
The pastor released my hands, turned to his church, and smiled. “Hatred and bigotry walk through my doors every day. We can’t make decisions for others, but we can certainly show them that there is an alternate path. One of kindness and compassion and forgiveness.”
Pastor Michaels glanced over his shoulder, then back to me. “Have you recently received threats?” I asked.
The pastor looked away, shaking his head. “I’ve seen a steady stream of visitors today but nothing compared to this.” The pastor grinned then dropped his gaze back to mine. “Sam, there is talk of a vigil being held tomorrow evening. Would you be able to help spread the word?”
I told the pastor about the Times being under new ownership and its uncertain future. “I’ll see what I can do.”
He thanked me and said, “Bring Mason. Keep him involved. It’s important he doesn’t lose hope.”
“I will.”
“It will be good for him.” His slender hand landed on my shoulder. “We’ll get through this together.”
Chapter Fourteen
I couldn’t sleep. There was too much on my mind. Slipping out of bed, I went straight to work. First, I checked my email to see if Dawson responded to my request for a slot in today’s paper to mention the vigil. There was nothing and I feared it might have been too late. Then I went searching for the Facebook Live video.
Threading my fingers together, I leaned back in my chair.
Ignoring my own emails piling up, I couldn’t stop thinking how Mason’s name was on a kill list. I thought about hate crimes, racism, and bigotry in today’s complex world and it left me speechless. The shudder down my spine seemed never-ending.
So many questions spiraled between my ears. I kept asking myself if I was the reason for Mason being targeted.
I didn’t need to read what people were saying about me. There was plenty of it, and I could already guess. Threats were nothing new to me. I received them weekly in some form of another, but lately there did seem to be more of them since solving the serial killer case. But none of them were because of my race, and none—that I knew about—were directed at Mason.
In exposing The Lady Killer, I had ruffled a lot of feathers in an extremely powerful community. It seemed like everybody was taking sides and you either hated me or loved me. But was it revenge directed at my son? Or was it simply jealousy of my newfound fame and I was an easy target to express their hatred for great journalism?
My stomach flexed involuntarily.
Normally, these were the kinds of things I would choose to ignore. It wasn’t worth the wasted energy. But this was different. This was personal. People were killed because of someone’s hate and that bothered me a great deal.
Tipping forward in my chair, I opened up a blank word document and started writing my column, reporting on the horrific events of yesterday from a mother’s perspective. It was my way of coping, explaining the unexplainable. The words poured out of me like water. An hour passed in the blink of an eye and I snapped out of my head when King greeted me from behind.
“Did you get any sleep?” he asked.
Pulling away from my keyboard, I spun around and said, “Not much. You?”
“About what you’d expect.”
He was a sight for sore eyes. Refusing to leave me home alone, I did what I thought I wouldn’t do; I asked him to sleep over. Even with me insisting he sleep on the couch—still wanting to keep things slow for Mason—he agreed and I appreciated the gesture. It felt good to be kissed goodnight—to have a man in the house again. All night I considered myself lucky to have my son home and unharmed, yet still worried about how this would all play out.
I extended my arms and reached for King’s hands.
Pulling him closer, he asked what I was working on. “I can’t help but feel that maybe I was the reason Mason’s name was on the shooter’s kill list.”
“Sam, don’t beat yourself up about this.”
“It makes sense,” I pleaded. “My face is plastered everywhere and not everyone likes what I have to say.” Beneath that, and what I couldn’t admit to King, was how old memories resurfaced and reminded me of the bigotry I’d experienced during my marriage to Gavin.
King tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Mason is home. He’s safe.”
“But will he remain safe? Like you said last night, there is still a lot unknown.”
“You need someone to blame?” He raised his brows. “Blame me.”
“What? Why? No.”
King lowered his tailbone and sat on the edge of the desk. Turning his gaze out the window, he said, “I can’t stop thinking how I let Mason get out of my sight minutes before the shooting began.” He rolled his neck and looked me directly in the eye. “If something happened to him,” he cleared his throat, “I would have had to live with that the rest of my life.”
I stared into his ocean colored eyes, realizing that I wasn’t the only one wanting to take the blame. After a moment of silence, King’s phone rang from his pocket. He gave me a pained look, but we both knew he had to take it. He stood and pressed his lips against my forehead, then walked out of the room. I closed my eyes and sighed.
My article wasn’t finished, but I closed the document and leaned back in my chair. There was no way I could blame King for anything that happened yesterday except keeping Nolan alive. At least, I hoped he was still alive.
Alex walked back into the room and put a hand on my shoulder. “That was my lieutenant calling.”
His tone made me tense. He’d learned something, I could tell. But I didn’t know if I wanted to hear it.
“Sam, they’re releasing the name of the shooter. I thought you might want to hear it before it’s all over the news.”
I nodded and stood. “I want to know who did this to our community.”
King paused before saying, “Timothy Morris.”
The name meant nothing to me. I’d never heard it before. Now I’d live with that name for the rest of my life.
King took my hand and I met his eyes. They held an understanding that told me I didn’t have to say anything. He would live with the name forever, too. It would color one of the darkest days of our lives but we would endure.
“I’m going to shower and head to the school,” he said. “If I come across any answers to your questions, I’ll call.”
“Thank you,” I whispered and watched him disappear into the bathroom. As soon as he closed the door, the house phone rang.
Lunging for it, I answered.
“Samantha, it’s Natalie.”
“Natalie, thank you for calling me back. How are things?” I held my breath.
“Nolan had a long night in surgery but is expected to make a full recovery.”
“That’s wonderful news.” My legs wobbled. “Mason will be thrilled.”
“He’s already asking to see Mason.” Natalie sounded exhausted.
“Mason would like that.” We arranged a time and promised to see each other then. As soon as I set the phone down, Mason strode into the kitchen running a hand through his messy hair. “Hey, baby, how did you sleep?”
He shrugged. “Who were you just talking to?”
“Nolan’s Mom.” The corners of my eyes crinkled.
“How is he?” Mason perked up.
“He had a long night in surgery but is doing well. He would love to see you.” I smiled.
“Can we go now?”
Lowering myself into the kitchen table chair, I said, “No, honey. He needs to rest first.”
“When?”
“Soon.” Cooper came in from the living room to greet Mason. “Can I ask you something?”
“What about, Mom?”
My heart skipped a beat. “The shooter.”
Chapter Fifteen
Erin Tate sat behind her computer in her home office pouring over past school shootings. Digging through what seemed to be endless headlines from around the country—many of which she was familiar with already—she was looking for patterns.
With pen to pad, she scribbled off notes. Her lips fluttered soft whispers as she scanned the text, reading aloud to her quiet, empty house.
Keeping her personal emotions at bay—as hard as it was—Erin didn’t have to argue the fact that the country was experiencing a sickening epidemic. After yesterday, she still couldn’t believe how close it had hit to home. There seemed no end in sight.
Without looking, she reached for her coffee mug and curled her lips over the rim. Realizing she had already finished her second cup for the day, she told herself she didn’t need any more. Already buzzing with energy, she kept working.
Nearly every shooting was performed by a male—just like yesterday’s shooting spree. Some of them were blamed for lacking maturity while other outbursts were blamed on unfulfilled masculinity and an over-exposure to violent video games. But, to Erin, these excuses only skimmed the surface of what was actually going on.
Biting the pen cap between her teeth, Erin still didn’t have the name of the shooter. She only knew the gender. It was a start, but to learn who this person rea
lly was she would need to know his name.
Flicking her gaze to her wooden trimmed wall, her mind quickly took her back to last night. Remembering what King said about the investigations’ early assessment being a hate crime, Erin curled her fingers over the keyboard and began typing.
Turning her attention to the high school’s social media page, it didn’t take her long to get sucked down a rabbit hole. Here, she found herself navigating through a half-dozen student social circles, getting a feel for the lives of these kids. Her lips parted as she read and scanned everything these teenagers publicly posted. There was little filter and she couldn’t believe half of what she read and saw.
Backing away from her monitor, her mind painted a picture of what it was like to be a student at North High. There was racism and hate, bullying and harassment. It was all happening online, out in the open for all to see, and Erin could only imagine what it was like to experience the same kind of language in person. Was the school administration doing anything about this?
Erin had never read such awful things. She had read how children killed themselves over things like this but, until now, she never realized the magnitude of what was actually happening. It was so different than her own high school experience that she remembered with fondness.
She kept scouring the web.
Inside, she wanted to believe that these were only sick jokes, a cruel game between peers, but she would be a fool to think otherwise.
Sitting in the church last night, she couldn’t help but notice how as soon as the doors closed and everyone began filing out to go home, everyone divided themselves up by race. She thought about it for a long time, thinking how we was the cause of our own crimes.
Erin went back to the internet browser and one funnel led her to the next before finding herself coming to an abrupt halt. Her lips parted. She stared with dry, unblinking eyes, unable to believe how quickly she’d found herself staring into the hazel colored eyes of her friend, Samantha Bell.
Only a second ago she was in the circle of teenagers and now, suddenly, she had managed to jump portals and find herself snooping the online profiles of her peers. Shaking her head, Erin wasn’t at all surprised to see adults acting in the same disgraceful manner. An online mob had formed and together they called journalist hacks, phonies, and even wished some in the profession would die.
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