Bell Hath No Fury

by Jeremy Waldron

  Erin scrolled back up to Sam’s face.

  She was an easy target, Erin thought. Not only was Sam a great investigative reporter, but she was also female.

  “You should feel intimidated by us,” Erin muttered under her breath.

  She and Sam had already proven what they were capable of doing when locking in on a story. But knowing Mason had been singled out by the shooter only intensified things. She knew that this story would be different than any others she had worked on before.

  This one was personal.

  Reaching for her phone—worried for Sam—she quickly reminded herself that Sam was with King. The small television in the corner of her office stole her attention. Erin turned to the screen and listened.

  “This just in,” the news anchor started. “We have just learned the name of yesterday’s school shooter. His name is Timothy Morris. He was a senior, set to graduate in the spring—”

  Erin spun back to her computer and typed a quick inquiry into the search bar. Keeping one ear on the television, she watched her screen populate with hundreds of hits. Clicking the first option, Erin quickly learned the basics of who this young man was.

  Timothy Morris was called smart, loved books, and looked happy.

  Erin didn’t need to see yesterday’s video to ask who purchased the weapons used or whether Timothy acted alone.

  She turned back to the television.

  The news anchor kept showing clips of Timothy. The people interviewed had plenty to say about him. Each interviewee wanted to be an expert on the life we all wanted to know more about. To Erin, the images she saw online of a happy kid didn’t line up with the images being painted of Timothy as a monster.

  Erin’s brows knitted as she tapped the end of her pen on her legal notepad.

  A minute later, she flipped the channel to CNN. Rolling her eyes, the talking heads were already guessing to why the shooter did what he did. Of course, little of it was actually based on fact, nearly all of them speculating and assuming Timothy was like past school shooters. Erin knew better than to make such grandiose assumptions until the official police report was released and clicked the television off.

  Her phone dinged with a message.

  She glanced to the display screen and saw that it was an email from her source.

  After a quick message back, she opened the email. There, waiting for her inside, were the names of yesterday’s victims along with a link to a digital yearbook.

  Feeling eager to solve the mystery, Erin quickly matched the names of each victim to a face.

  “King was right,” she said to herself.

  All the victims were of color except for Nolan. Even the two cops were African American.

  A minute later, she had the two police officer’s faces pulled up on her screen. “How did Timothy manage to kill you two and not Nolan?” The discrepancy in marksmanship didn’t make sense.

  Erin fell back into her chair, her mind churning with possibility.

  Did Timothy intentionally keep Nolan alive because they shared the same skin color? Or did the shooter get knocked off his shot when firing on Nolan? Because there was no way a person could kill two officers wearing protective vests and miss their shot on a student who wasn’t.

  Erin flipped her browser back to Timothy Morris and said, “Someone taught you how to shoot, but who?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mason sat across from me at the kitchen table with his head hanging to his chest.

  Gripping a cold apple between my fingers, I stared at him counting his vulnerabilities. He appeared so fragile. And it wasn’t even his innocence that I was thinking. Mason knew how to navigate his world—this city—better than most kids his age. But now I had to decide if maybe I should reign in his freedom until I was sure this danger had passed.

  “Did you know him?” I asked of the Timothy Morris, deciding how best to ask my son what might actually be going on inside the high school’s walls where he spent so much of his time.

  “I didn’t see him.” Mason reminded me he was in the bathroom at the time of the shooting inside the library.

  “No, but I know you know who he was.”

  Mason’s body seemed to freeze. He appeared frozen stiff. There were no signs of life, like the walking dead, he was so quiet.

  “Mason,” I set the apple down and splayed my hand flat on the table, “it’s important we talk about this together.” I paused, hoping to get some kind of response. When there wasn’t any, I continued, “I don’t expect you to manage this on your own. We’re in this together even if it doesn’t feel that way.” Tipping forward, I slid my hand closer to him. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

  The cords in Mason’s neck tensed and I watched him make a fist with one hand.

  “It’s okay to be scared,” I said.

  He sniffed and blinked his eyes. “I can’t stop hearing the pops of gunfire.” He wiped his nose with the backside of his hand before adding, “Each time I close my eyes, my head fills with screams and all I can hear are the people crying.”

  My ribs squeezed the air out of my lungs. I drowned in my own sorrow, my pulse faint. Not wanting to lie, I knew the noises Mason was hearing might live with him forever. It broke my heart to know that Mason would have to battle the demons of PTSD just like his father had. I couldn’t tell him that. At least not now.

  Mason lifted his head and stared beneath a heavy brow. “I was scared I was going to die.”

  I was sure of the answer, but I still had to ask him, “How did you get blood on your shirt?”

  “I ran into the library looking for Nolan. That’s when I found him with King.”

  “And King told you to leave?”

  Mason nodded.

  Standing, I skirted around the table and let my arms fall around my son. “You did the right thing. You survived. Even Pastor Michaels said there is a reason for it.”

  “It’s not fair, Mom.” Mason snapped, getting my eyes to bulge.

  I stepped back. “I know, sweetie, and as cliché as it is to hear, it’s the way this world works. We can only decide for ourselves how we want to move forward.”

  He rolled his eyes and turned away. “There must be something I can do to make this right.”

  “You’ll know it when the time comes.” I stepped back around the table and lowered myself down into the chair. “I’ll be honest with you, Mason. Things won’t ever be the same. You have an incredible support system surrounding you. You can talk to any one of us.”

  Mason’s brows pinched as he kept staring out the window.

  King entered the kitchen a minute later. I smiled, letting my eyes drift down his sport coat. “Would you like to eat before you leave?”

  “I’ll get something on the way.”

  Mason spun around in his chair. “Nolan made it out of surgery,” he told King.

  King lifted a fist and Mason bumped it. “That’s excellent news.”

  I nodded when King glanced to me. “We’re going to see him later this morning.”

  “Are you okay with me leaving?”

  My gaze softened, appreciating King’s caring words. “We’ll be fine. You have work to do.”

  “I’ll call you later.” King squeezed my shoulder, said goodbye to Mason, and I watched Cooper follow him to the front door. As soon as he was gone, I turned back to Mason.

  “Did he sleep on the couch?” Mason asked.

  “I thought it would be nice if he stayed with us.”

  “Because you’re scared?”

  I held Mason’s eyes inside of mine and nodded once. I realized, then, that asking Mason to talk about his feelings from yesterday was too much too soon. Even I couldn’t muster the strength to voice my fear. My anger. My complete loss of control. So I changed the subject. “Tell me what you know about the shooter.”

  Mason slumped in his seat and groaned.

  “They said his name is Timothy Morris, did you know him?”

  “Not really.”

  �
�But you did know him?”

  “Everyone knows everybody.” Mason looked me in the eye when he spoke. “There are no secrets in that school. There is nothing anyone can hide. Eventually, everything gets out.” Mason paused and gave me a questioning look. “Why do you want to know, anyway? Are you going to write a story about it?”

  “Would it bother you if I did?”

  Mason shook his head.

  “It’s all very confusing, as you can imagine.” I brought my elbows to the top of the table and threaded my fingers together. “I can’t stop thinking about my meeting with Principal Craig a couple weeks ago when he said you were fighting.” I arched a brow. “Do you remember that?”

  “We don’t have to go over this again.” Mason’s mouth turned down. “I already told you it was nothing.”

  My other brow raised. “But you never told me who was bullying you. And what did they say to make you want to fight them?” I replayed what Mason said that day inside my head. You should have heard what they said about me. I couldn’t get it out of my mind and I deeply regretted not asking more about it at the time.

  “I don’t want to repeat it.” Mason’s eyelids drooped.

  When I pulled my head back, my shoulders rolled forward. “Did they say something about you being of mixed race?”

  “People say all sorts of things about race. It’s just people joking around.” Mason seemed confident in his assessment. “Tim never talked to me. He was a loner. A recluse who everyone picked on.”

  “Did you pick on him?”

  When Mason hesitated, I feared the worst. The knots tangled in my stomach with paranoia that things might escalate if Timothy wasn’t an isolated case and things were as bad as Mason was making me believe.

  Erin entered the house, knocking the snow off her boots, just as I was about to ask Mason his thoughts on school. I peeked my head around the wall and greeted her.

  “I hope you’re ready to work,” she said, hitting the brakes the moment she saw Mason. “Oh, hey, Mason.”

  After Mason said a quick hello, I told him, “Honey, why don’t you go take a shower and get ready for our visit with Nolan.”

  Mason headed to the back of the house and Erin quickly gave me a questioning look. “Nolan? Did you find him?”

  I caught Erin up to speed.

  “That’s great news,” she said. “About Nolan, I mean. Awful about what these kids are saying to each other.”

  Picking up the apple again, I paced the kitchen floor and began expressing my grievances. “I feel like I need to blame someone, someone other than the shooter who is already dead.”

  “Careful, you might get what you ask for.”

  I stopped and looked to Erin. There was a glimmer in her eye that made me suspicious. “What are you talking about?”

  “In my scouring of the web this morning, your son isn’t the only one whose life is being threatened.” Erin raised her wrinkled brow. “Yours is, too.”

  I shook my head and pursed my lips. “C’mon, really? No one really means harm against me. It’s just their emotions responding to the articles I write. I’ve been receiving threats long before yesterday.”

  “Maybe so, but something tells me that these new threats against you might be designed to lure you in.”

  “Lure me in? What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t mean to frighten you, as this is only a theory, but look at what I found.” Erin dug out a manila folder filled with printed papers from her shoulder bag and began spreading them out across the table. I stood over her, assessing the data. “There is a discrepancy in the shooter’s skills as a marksman.” Erin rolled her neck to meet my gaze. “How did the shooter kill two cops wearing protective vests but only injure Nolan?”

  “Okay, I see your point.” I pinched my chin. “But what does this have to do with me?”

  “Either there was a second shooter, or Nolan got lucky. Because somebody clearly knew how to shoot.”

  I swept my gaze to Erin’s. “So what? I still don’t see the connection. You think they’ll come after me next? That they only let Nolan live because they couldn’t get to Mason, which was their way of getting to me?” Suddenly, she was making sense.

  Erin shrugged. “It’s worth exploring.”

  I stared at the data, thinking back to my concern earlier. Erin, too, thought I might be the reason Mason was targeted. As much as I wanted to discredit the idea, I knew we had to see if the theory checked out. “We need to ask Nolan.”

  Erin smiled. “My thoughts exactly.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Susan stopped mid-stride to read the text message from Benjamin.

  Holding her breath, she opened her phone and scanned the screen.

  I’m sorry but I have to cancel lunch. Work is rather hectic at the moment.

  Susan pressed her lips tightly together and stared at Benjamin’s words. Wanting to not be disappointed, even though she was, she knew that he was doing good work. After his abrupt departure yesterday, she had learned later last night that her boyfriend was called to emergency surgery in response to yesterday’s event. When she reminded herself of that, feelings of pride bloomed across her chest.

  You’re doing great work, Doctor. See you when I see you, Susan messaged back.

  Lifting her head, she continued making her way to her office. Suddenly, the air cracked with the sound of a gunshot.

  Ducking, Susan whipped her head around to look in the direction of the noise.

  Feeling her heart hammer against her ribs, she scanned the street for danger only to realize the sound was actually a car backfiring and not a gunshot. Her nerves were jumpy. Though she might not admit it, she was plagued by nightmares with images of yesterday still filling her head.

  Forcing herself to stand taller, Susan brushed her bangs straight and clutched her handbag tighter between her fingers. Calming her pulse to slow, her heart was still heavy with agony for the community and the open threats King had learned about Mason.

  Susan’s steps were small but she began walking once again.

  In her head, she prayed that today would be better than yesterday. She couldn’t see how anything would ever get any worse but she wasn’t willing to put it to the test. Remembering what Pastor Michaels said last night about now being the time to express kindness, Susan relaxed, believing in the power of love.

  With her chin held high, she stepped into a chaotic office.

  Her brows pinched with sudden concern.

  Darting her gaze around the room, none of her staff bothered to turn and greet her. Their attention was glued to the television. Stepping forward, her colleague, Carly McKenzie, turned to Susan and whispered, “The name of the shooter has just been released.”

  Susan stared, reading the name Timothy Morris as it flashed across the bottom of the screen. It meant nothing to her. Just another ugly reminder of the evil people were capable of committing.

  “The Governor is standing by and is about to comment for the first time on yesterday’s event,” the TV news anchor told her audience.

  Susan set her bag down near her feet and folded her arms, curious to hear what Governor John Scott had to say. She watched him step up to a podium and greet the members of the press. Then he began speaking of the tragedy, briefing the citizens of Colorado on the investigation, before mentioning a vigil being held tonight at Pastor Michaels’s church.

  Susan watched, thinking of Benjamin, but mostly of Sam and Mason.

  When the Governor opened the podium for questions, a reporter asked, “Is there a victim’s fund? And, if so, where can people send their donations?”

  The Governor covered the microphone with one hand and tipped back to consult with his Chief of Staff. A second later, the Governor removed his hand and said, “Donations are being taken by the United Network of Colorado Charities organizer, Extraordinary Events.”

  Susan gasped, feeling her heart freeze. The Governor just mentioned her company. “Did anybody know about this?”


  Her small staff of a half dozen shook their heads, equally as shocked as she was.

  Carly stepped closer. “Did you not know about this?”

  Sweat poured down Susan’s back and her blood pressure went through the roof. “I wouldn’t be asking if I did.”

  Bending down, Susan swiped her handbag off the floor and hurried into her office. Falling heavily into her chair, she opened up her computer and checked her emails. There was nothing from the Governor, no notice from anybody asking if this was something her company could handle. Shaking her head, she knew that she wasn’t prepared for the sudden influx the Governor predicted was coming.

  Holding her knotted stomach with one hand, Susan now regretted agreeing to take on the United Network of Colorado Charities as a new event to organize and manage. It was a lofty idea at the time, but now it seemed impossible.

  When Carly stepped into her office, Susan lifted her eyes, and said, “Who authorized this?”

  “I’m as surprised as you are.”

  “Did anyone contact you?”

  Carly shook her head.

  Susan’s body felt heavy. “We’re not ready for this,” she whispered. “Nor are we set up to handle something this large with no notice.”

  “What if we contact the governor and say we can’t meet his request?” Carly proposed.

  Susan flicked her gaze over Carly’s shoulder and glanced to the television. Her head spun in circles when she saw her website’s address prominently displayed across the bottom of the screen. “Too late, it’s already coming in.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  An hour later, Mason was showered and dressed and the three of us were saying goodbye to Cooper as we stepped out of the house on our way to visit Nolan. The air was brisk and I tugged on my jacket collar to fight off the cold, but the sun was shining strong.