"It must have made you especially angry because your business doesn't seem to be doing well."
"I bet those foreigners don't even know what a lug nut is!" Albert yells.
"Mr. Cochrane, why don't you come into the police station with me," the agent says. He puts his hand on Albert's arm. There is one thing you never do to Albert, especially if you're a stranger and he's agitated—touch him.
Albert swings his fist and it hits the agent in the jaw. The agent stumbles back and falls onto his ass. Albert shakes out his hand as if it hurts, but he still hits the agent with his other fist. The agent pushes himself back up and grabs Albert by the arm. He forces Albert against the wall and handcuffs him. Albert continues to flail as the agent pushes him toward the door. I run around the building, so I am out of sight when the agent and Albert come out into the parking lot.
Albert is placed into the back of the Buick, still screaming about foreigners and good Americans. The agent dials a number on his cell phone.
"Hey, this is Agent Rosenbloom," the agent says into his phone. "I am bringing a suspect in, but I need you to send one of your officers down to look for guns. The suspect is Albert Cochrane. Tell your officers to check his house and Cochrane's Repair Shop…Yep. Thanks."
The agent hangs up and gets into the car. I watch him drive away with Albert still in the back.
The authorities believe Albert has been killing people. The rifle I used, Albert got in a trade a few years ago by a customer who could not afford the work being done on his car. Albert put the gun aside with the intention of selling it, but frankly, forgot about it. I had been taking the rifle to use to practice marksmanship, and since Albert never saw it, he forgot about it. The Smith and Wesson was a gift from one of my father's friends after my father died. Neither could be connected to Albert until they searched his house.
I have three choices, none of which I like—go home and pretend I don't know what's going on; go home and turn myself in; or go home, hide the guns, and try to establish a clear case for Albert's not being involved in the killings. If I kill another person, I would prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Albert is innocent. A serial killer can't murder while he's in the custody of the FBI.
And I have the perfect victim in mind.
~~~~~
Deke, 2005 (Nine Years Ago)
TODAY IN MRS. SHEPHERD'S third-grade classroom, there were Styrofoam balls hanging from the ceiling. Each one represented a planet, except the largest yellow one that was supposed to be the sun. It was entrancing to walk among the solar system and incredible to believe that there was so much more to the universe than what I could see.
I lie in my bed, trying to fall asleep while planets revolve in my mind. All of the outer planets are much bigger than the inner planets, and they orbit the sun slower, but they spin faster. How strange. It's as if the bigger something gets, time changes into this inexplicable thing and you're always on the outside looking in.
I hear the window creak. I look toward it to see Tom slipping into the room. His feet slide in, and then he pulls himself the rest of the way through. When he notices me, he puts a finger to his lips. Shh. I lie my head back down on the pillow. It must be a teenager thing—sneaking out, smoking, dating a new girl every week. I don't get it. If Albert or Dad ever found out, they would be pissed. I imagine telling Dad when he comes home, but I'm not sure if I could betray Tom like this. We're not close, but he's still my brother.
"Deke," he whispers. "Get up. I got you something."
I sit up, rubbing my eyes. He throws something small onto my bed. I pick it up. It's a chocolate bar with a fancy label.
"Where did you get this?" I ask, already unwrapping it.
"Don't ask me and I won't lie," he says. He plops down on his bed. "How are you, little bro?"
"I learned about planets today," I say, eager to tell him everything I learned. I take a bite out of the chocolate. It tastes amazing. I savor the taste, but as I chew, Tom gets out his cell phone and begins to text someone. Probably his current girlfriend.
I barely hear a knock on the front door.
"What the hell?" Tom asks. "It's past midnight. Who's here now?"
I shrug, though I'm sure my opinion wasn't worth anything.
The person knocks louder.
"I'll get it before it wakes up Albert," he says. He leaves the room. I doubt a fire alarm could wake up Albert. I continue eating my chocolate. Minutes pass by. Even though I barely remember it, my thoughts return to that day I found out Mom was dead. There is that same eerie silence and the feeling that I could wait in the cold forever and no one would notice.
I stumble off my bed and peek out of the bedroom. There is a man wearing the black and blue Army Service Uniform with several ribbons and decorations on it. Tom is holding an American flag in his arms. I can't see his face, but the man's face is somber while Tom is standing up straighter than I've ever seen him stand.
"I'm sorry. I would have waited until morning, but I thought it was wrong for me to delay telling you," the man mumbles.
"I appreciate your consideration," Tom says, his voice sounding older than his thirteen years.
The man notices me and takes a step toward me. Tom puts his hand on the man's chest, stopping him.
"I'll tell him," Tom tells the man.
"Are you sure?" the man asks. "It's a difficult subject. Are you sure I can't talk to your grandfather?"
"He's not here," Tom lies. "You should go. Return to your family."
The man nods. "My deepest sympathies. It is truly the ultimate sacrifice. It will never be forgotten."
Tom shakes his hand. The man waves at me before leaving. Tom sets the flag on the counter. I don't need to ask him what happened. I've watched the news. I know what the presentation of the flag means.
I walk up to my brother.
"Do you want some chocolate?" I ask, setting the chocolate bar next to the flag.
"Goddammit, Deke," he snarls, grabbing the chocolate and throwing it in the trash can. "That could have smeared on the flag. Why the fuck can't you do anything right?"
He grabs the flag, pressing it against his chest, before he opens the front door and walks out of the house, slamming the door behind him.
I stand in the kitchen, utterly alone.
Then, I hear a door open behind me. I turn to see Albert walking out of his bedroom, holding a pistol in his hands, raised to shoot. He lowers it when he sees me.
"What is all of the noise out here for?" he grumbles. "I thought you were a robber."
I shake my head. He walks over to me and pats me on the head.
"Let's go to bed, Deke," he says. "I was so busy in the garage that I never got to ask you about your day. What happened in school?"
"Nothing," I say, realizing that planets are so far away that they could never matter.
As Albert tucks me into bed, not even realizing that Tom is gone, I recognize that this is a pivotal moment. My brother took the American flag and a fierce sense of nationality. All I had was Albert.
~~~~~
Sam, 2014
THE RIPE TOMATO is a classic Italian restaurant. There are red tablecloths, the scent of garlic floating in the air, and silver candelabras with three white candles. I sit down, the hostess hands me a menu and sets another one across from me.
"Would you like a drink?" she asks. "We have a velvety Chardonnay that is loved by everyone."
"Could I just get two waters?" I ask.
"Absolutely."
As she walks away, I unroll my silverware. The salad fork, the dinner fork, the spoon, and finally…the knife falls out. The knife. It could freak out Grace. I take the rolled up silverware across from me and unroll it. I take the knife and set it behind the candelabra. I put my own knife with it.
"What are you doing?"
I glance up to see Grace. She is dressed in a short black dress with white gold chandelier earrings, but the stunning thing about her is her peridot eye shadow, which compliments her green eyes
.
I stand up and pull her chair out for her.
"Wow," she says, sitting down. "Chivalry isn't dead."
"I'm just being a decent person." I return to my seat.
"You're more than decent," she says. She notices her unraveled silverware. She looks up at me, raising her eyebrow.
"Uh, well, there was a knife and I thought…you might not want it near you." I gesture toward the knives behind the candelabra.
"Oh," she says. "That's really thoughtful of you. I hadn't thought of that. I haven't gone out to eat much since the attack."
A waitress walks up to the table and sets down two glasses of water.
"Would you like anything else to drink?" she asks. Grace and I shake our heads, and the waitress walks away.
Grace's looks back toward the knives. "Do you think I'm weird because of the knife thing?"
"What? No," I tell her. "It's completely understandable."
"It's been two years," she says. "You don't think I should be over it by now?"
"No, not if you're not ready to deal with it."
She tilts her head. Slowly she slides her hand across the table with her palm open. I put my hand in hers and she wraps her fingers around it.
"Do you have that Swiss Army knife on you?" she asks. I nod. "Can you get it out?"
"Are you sure?"
"No, but I might as well try to face my fears, right?" she asks.
I pull out the Swiss Army knife from my pocket and set it down on the table. Her grip around my hand tightens and she leans back slightly. Her eyes are glued to the knife.
"Hey," I say, trying to snap her out of it. She glances up at me.
"Sorry," she says. "I'm fine. Can you open it? So the blade part is out?"
I keep watch of her as I slide the blade out. Her whole body tenses and she leans farther away.
"Tell me if you want me to put it away," I tell her, and I feel her hand trembling before I see it.
"Hello!" A waiter exclaims as he steps up to the table. Grace flinches, jerking her hand out of my grasp. "Are you ready to order?"
"I'm sorry," Grace murmurs. "I can't. I'm not ready. I can't do this."
She stands up and walks toward the entrance doors of The Ripe Tomato.
"Did I do something wrong?" the waiter asks, his cheeks red with embarrassment. I grab the Swiss Army knife, snap the blade back in, and shove it back in my pocket. I walk past the waiter as he looks on bewildered.
Once I'm outside of the restaurant, I find Grace lighting her cigarette ten feet away from the doors, next to a cigarette receptacle. I stroll over to her.
"I'm sorry." She puts the cigarette to her lips and inhales deeply. She pulls it away and breathes out a stream of smoke. "I thought I could deal with it."
"You did well considering what happened to you."
"I did terrible. I freaked out in a restaurant."
"You did fine."
I take a step closer to her. I run my fingertips down her arm. I lean in and kiss her. She smiles, kissing me back. I can taste the smoke on her breath along with the fear that still resides in her. I put my hands on her waist and she places her arm on my shoulder so that the cigarette doesn't get between us. As I kiss her, longer and harder, she moves closer to me. Our bodies are fully pressed against each other and I don't even remember the chill of the November air.
Her fingers move down to my hip. They touch the knife hidden in my pocket. After a second of hesitation, she takes it out. She steps back, holding the knife carefully in her hand. She stubs out her cigarette on the receptacle then throws it out. She gazes down at the knife in her hand.
She pulls out the blade, millimeter by millimeter. When it's fully out, she stares at her reflection in the steel.
"Twenty-seven stitches. That's how many I needed after the attack." Her gaze fixed on the knife.
I remember the scars along her abdomen. When I had slept with her, I knew they were from the attack, but that's not how I saw them. They added character to her body—it was art that defined her body as unique…as someone who had fought to get to where she is.
"I was told that if the ambulance had been five minutes late, I wouldn't have survived."
"But you did," I say.
"I did," she agrees. She turns the knife in her hand. Both of our reflections stare back at us. I stick my tongue out and she laughs. She snaps the blade back in, and hands it back to me. I slide the knife into my pocket.
I lean in to kiss her. She doesn't taste like fear anymore.
~~~~~
Grace, 2014
I RAISE MY HEAD, as a Disney song—perhaps from The Lion King—plays, and I search for my phone when I remember I no longer have it. "Is that your morning alarm?"
Sam's hand reaches out and grabs his phone off the hotel's nightstand. "Yes. Don't make fun of me," he says.
"I wouldn't," I say. "You don't want to know what my morning alarm song is."
"Is it worse than the 'Circle of Life'?"
"Absolutely."
"Is it Marvin Gaye?" He begins to croon a Marvin Gaye song. I hit his shoulder and he laughs.
"No. Imagine if I heard that waking up next to you every morning, I would always be late," I say. He cups the side of my face and kisses me. It's soft, sweet, and sincere.
"I'd make it worth it."
"I'm sure you would." I swing my leg over his waist and straddle him. His body tenses and a smile spreads across his face. "But I actually have to work sometimes. And I'm pretty sure that you do, too."
He glances at the clock and groans. "Yeah. I need to get going. Do you need to work today?"
"No, but I need to be at the high school at five to set up for the middle school fall dance. Do you think you could take me with you when you go to the school if I don't get my truck back in the next eight hours?"
"Are you sure you want to go to the school? Especially after hours?" he asks.
"I have an officer following me, so I'm not too worried. Besides, the other option is to be alone in this hotel room. I really can't let the school down any more than I have. They already think I'm a flake that brings shooters to their school."
"Well, I've met some of the parents and teachers and I can tell you that most of them are crazy. They don't know what they're talking about."
~~~~~
Deke, 2014
WOODS ON THREE SIDES surround the lacrosse field. It seems to be one of the few parts of uptown Murray that hasn't been overtaken by commercial buildings. I rest my shotgun on a fallen mossy log. A van drives up to the field and two teenagers get out, carrying their lacrosse sticks, helmets, and pads.
I wait, but only students arrive at the field with a few parents staying to watch practice. Dr. Meadows is late. I knew I couldn't go after Miss Ellery anymore. The police would be watching after her. But, Dr. Meadows still could have seen something and his death is certain to get enough attention that the police will have to drop Albert as a suspect.
After most of the team is on the field, throwing the ball between each other, the Dodge Charger drives into the parking lot. Dr. Meadows gets out alone. My shotgun is aimed near the bleachers where the team has set up a water cooler. My finger is itching to pull the trigger, but I have to wait. I get one shot. If I miss, the team panics and they will be running all over. They will block my chance of hitting Dr. Meadows a second time and they could run over here into the woods. I can't risk it.
My whole body tenses as Dr. Meadows walks up to the water cooler as he talks to the team. There's two players in front of him. I can't take the shot. I have no issues with middle school kids—unless I have to. This will determine if Albert goes to prison or not for the rest of his life. Albert won't survive in prison. His old age is one thing—his racism will become a whole new issue behind bars.
Then a young woman with black hair appears with a young man carrying a camera. Lexi. Annoying Lexi with her stupid film. Anger changes into amusement as she and the man set up a camera and some lights. It would certainly knoc
k her down a few pegs if Dr. Meadows was shot while she was filming. That would teach her true terror.
It would be perfect. It would not only give concrete proof that Albert is innocent in the murders, but it would also create more publicity. People will avoid coming into Murray after they see the video of a doctor and lacrosse coach getting shot. If their children aren't safe, then it's not worth moving to the town.
The lacrosse team puts on wind jackets with a logo of a swimmer on the back. Lexi directs the boys to run as if they are terrified. Her cameraman has trouble catching the men as they run, so Lexi takes the camera and holds it. She stays with the team as they run down the field, screaming as if something is chasing them. I wait for her to be pointing the camera at Dr. Meadows.
Then she points the camera right at me.
There is a millisecond, in which my only thought is, essentially, oh. Oh, I've been caught. Oh, it's over. Oh, Albert will forever be known as the grandfather of a killer with two family members dead and one in prison.
The next millisecond, my thoughts change to a different word—no.
Lexi turns her head, dropping the camera.
"He has a gun!" she screams. She grabs two of the middle school kids and pushes them away from the field. There is a moment of confusion in which nobody moves except Lexi. Then…
"Everybody get off the field!" Dr. Meadows yells. "Get away from the woods!"
Parents rush to their kids and yank them toward the parking lot. The other kids runs with them while Dr. Meadows and Lexi make sure that every kid is heading in the right direction. Adrenaline pumps through me so fast that I feel like I could explode. I am the weapon of mass destruction.
I eye Lexi over the gun barrel. I had come here to kill Dr. Meadows, but now Lexi has definitely seen me. She hasn't said my name yet, so this is my only chance. She turns away from me to help a kid who fell down as I pull the trigger.
Lexi falls to the ground. I had been aiming for her chest, but since she turned and bent down, I'm not sure where I hit her. I try to aim for her again, but Dr. Meadows has already scooped her into his arms and is running toward the parking lot.
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