Then his fortunes changed. The daughter groaned and dropped her arms at her sides before she stormed past Soward up the sidewalk.
“Hold it, young lady!” Soward shouted, turning her back to Ken, gifting him with a wide target. “Don’t you dare walk away.”
Ken lined up the barrel with her upper back. As he curled his finger around the trigger, he remembered the look Hannah gave him moments ago.
“Is that how you act in front of your friends?” Soward snapped. “You throw tantrums when you don’t get your way?”
“No!” Her daughter screamed from the sidewalk. “I don’t!”
“Oh, so you treat them with respect?”
At ten feet away, with nobody looking, Ken couldn’t have asked for a better shot. Soward’s eyes were on her daughter, who was arguing from the sidewalk. Had the Escalade not been blocking the girl’s view, she might’ve seen Ken.
Might’ve cried out in terror.
In warning.
But she never got the chance.
Ken reeled his gunhand back inside.
“The fuck?” Robby whispered. “You stupid? Take the shot.”
“No,” Ken said, glancing at Hannah. “Not while her kid is around.”
Robby gawked. “But you can’t hit the girl from this angle.”
“He can still damage her,” Hannah said. “She’ll never forget this if she sees it.”
She wouldn’t see it.
Outside, Soward followed her daughter up the sidewalk. The moment she left the snubnose’s range, Ken sank back into his seat and exhaled.
Robby pounded the dash. “Goddammit! We could be on the interstate now.”
“Shut up,” Hannah said, her tone thick with emotion. “He did the right thing.”
“Great. Real great. Now what’s the right thing to do? Can we go home and shoot Glinski?”
“No,” Ken said. “Soward’s still the target.”
Chapter 56
Never in his nastiest nightmares had Ken imagined becoming a school shooter. Back when Columbine struck, he was a boy living in LA, and the tragedy petrified him until summer vacation. Fast-forward to 2012, the year of the Sandy Hook massacre, when he’d been student-teaching. He’d wept openly in front of his class upon hearing the news, promising them that if such a horror were to spread through his hallways, he’d do whatever was necessary to prevent it. In the years since, he’d always hoped he’d muster the courage to stop a potential school shooting.
Now, as they parked in an unmarked faculty space, he sought the courage to start one. He only hoped his students wouldn’t be forever scarred by his act of vigilantism.
“What’s next?” Robby asked, rocking back and forth. “March into Soward’s office and shoot her?”
“Idiot,” Hannah said, “have you heard that gun go off? The whole school will hear it. If someone decides to play hero and tackle Ken, we’re fucked.”
“She’s right,” Ken said, sitting on his gunhand. The urge to shoot Robby was steadily rising with each of his brother’s bad ideas. “Once I shoot, the security guards will come running. They’ve got two guards on staff, both armed with Tasers. If I get zapped, it’s game over.”
“Any way to stop the guards?” Hannah asked. “Can Angela help us?”
“She called off sick,” Ken said. “Anyway, avoiding the guards will be tough. One guy patrols the first floor by the metal detectors. The other’s on the third floor near Soward’s office.”
“Wait, metal detectors?” Robby asked. “How you getting past them?”
“Getting in is easy. See that door?” Ken pointed at the rear of the building to a black metal door with a Do Not Enter sign pasted to it. “That’s an emergency exit. It’s locked, but teachers sneak out before homeroom for a smoke.”
“Okay, then what?” Robby asked. “March into Soward’s office and shoot her?”
“Not with the guards prowling,” Hannah said. “He’s gotta lure them away from her office. Ken, what if Robby goes in with you?”
“Fuck that,” Robby said, wiping his sweaty face. “Look at me, I’m a mess. If I set one foot in that building, everybody’ll freak out and sound the alarms.”
Ken slapped his thigh. “Robby, that’s perfect!”
“What is?”
“Sounding the alarm. If I pull the fire alarm, that’ll occupy the guards.”
Except pulling the alarm without being seen would be impossible. There were only three fire alarms on the third floor—one in the east, central, and west hallways. A guard usually hovered around the west hallway, near Soward’s office. Meanwhile, the other hallways were flooded with kids at this time of day. Ken could wait until homeroom started, but by then Soward would’ve left her office to participate in the morning broadcast. That could occupy her till classes started at 8:25. Beyond that, he wasn’t sure of her schedule.
He couldn’t risk waiting. He needed to shoot her in the privacy of her office before homeroom.
“Robby, I need a favor,” he said. “Once I’m in Soward’s office, I’ll need you to pull the alarm on the first floor.”
“No fucking way,” Robby snapped. “I didn’t come this far to get arrested.”
“I can’t do it myself. I need to be in Soward’s office when the alarm goes off.”
“Then make Hannah do it.”
“She’s in no condition to.”
“Neither am I—I’m trying to stretch the last of my dope and it’s killing me. Every cell in my body hurts like a mother, I can’t sit still. I want to leap through the windshield right now and scream. I can’t go in there, Ken. I fucking can’t.”
Ken gritted his teeth. He glanced outside, struggling to picture a scenario where he could pull the fire alarm and confront Soward in her office. It was unrealistic. If the bell rang, she would likely join the mass of students and teachers filing out. Once that happened, he’d have to shoot her in front of countless witnesses. That would ruin his chances of a clean escape. This couldn’t work unless someone else pulled the alarm.
“Robby, please,” Ken said.
“I’m not doing it,” Robby said.
“You have to. I can’t be two places at once.”
“Then go home and shoot Glinski.”
“Not that again!” Ken snapped. “Robby, come on. I just need you to sneak in, climb one flight of stairs, and pull the alarm next to the auditorium. If you’re lucky, nobody’ll even see you.”
“If I’m lucky? When have I ever been lucky?”
“Right now,” Hannah said, wincing as she sat up straight. “Because I’m gonna pull that alarm for you.”
Ken was taken aback. “Hannah, you can barely walk. If you pass out or something—”
“I’m pulling that alarm,” she insisted, her voice sharp with conviction. “I owe you that much.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“The hell I don’t.” She winced again. “My whole cross-country trip with Michelle—it wasn’t her idea. I lied about that. It was my idea. Michelle did the legwork, but I planned everything. I made sure we found your father’s name and address. This whole vendetta was mine.”
Robby pounded the dash. “You bitch!”
“Let her finish,” Ken said.
“I’m the reason your father’s dead, Ken,” she said. “I’m the reason that gun is in your hand. If we’re being honest, I deserved that bullet you put in my side. What I didn’t deserve was you kidnapping a doctor to save my life. You should’ve let me die, but you didn’t.” Her eyes turned glossy. “You saved me like I was family or something. Up till now, I was too bitter about losing Michelle to realize that. Hell, I was actually planning to steal that gun from you once you dropped it. I was gonna ditch you. Can you believe that? Can you believe how low I’ve sunk?”
Ken rubbed his forehead. This was a lot to take in. He was too tired and anxious to process it. All he knew was that they were running out of time. He could sort things out with Hannah once Soward was dead.
“H
annah,” he said, “are you strong enough to climb stairs?”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to pull that stupid alarm. If I pass out or get caught, so be it. Leave town without me. Got that?”
“Yeah. Once I’m in, I’ll leave the backdoor open enough so it doesn’t lock.” He pointed to the emergency exit. “If you climb those stairs to the second floor, on your right will be an empty hallway leading to the auditorium. Beside the auditorium doors is a fire alarm. Pull it, then hurry outside.”
“When should I pull it?” she asked.
“Three minutes after I enter the building. That’ll give me enough time to reach Soward’s office.”
Hannah checked her phone. “Three minutes. Got it.”
Ken removed his hoodie and donned his jacket. The pockets offered better coverage, and he needed every advantage he could get. Before reaching for the door, he rubbed Hopper for luck and got his palm licked. “I’m going. Robby, be ready to motor.”
“Hang on,” Robby said, face scrunched with thought. “If she pulls the alarm, won’t everybody spill outside? We’ll have trouble escaping unnoticed.”
Ken hadn’t considered that.
“Want me to wait elsewhere?” Robby asked.
“Tell you what,” Ken said. “Once Hannah’s in, drive up the street to the McDonald’s we passed. We can both meet you there. Hannah, you saw that McDonald’s, right?”
“Yep.”
“Good.” Ahead, the school’s back door opened, and out stepped a teacher with an unlit cigarette. The timing couldn’t have been better. “Now unless there are any other questions, I’ll be reporting to the principal’s office.”
Chapter 57
Ken shoved the third-floor fire doors open and rushed into the central hallway. Students gossiped in every direction. Some goofed off and laughed at videos on their phones. Others gathered around a scuffle, two boys slamming each other into the lockers. Metallic thuds boomed. Ken ran straight past them. He didn’t bother to break up the fight. He needed to keep moving.
Stick. It. To. Soward.
Stick! It! To! Soward!
By the time he reached the western hallway, his knees were pumping and his shoes squeaked. He yelled at people to get out of his way. “Move!”
Students looked at him speed past like he was crazy. A gym teacher with a pathetically fake tan raised his fist and mockingly cheered him on.
“Run, substitute, run!”
The snide remark drew Ken’s glare. He pictured the man’s brains—if he had any—oozing down the locker. The image tempted Ken like a T-bone steak, but he buried his gunhand deeper into his pocket. He kept yelling, picking his way through the crowd, until he collided with someone.
The impact dropped Ken on his ass. Above him towered a security guard.
“Where’s the fire, Fujima?” The guard winced and rubbed his gut, which resembled a lump of snow in his white polo. The man’s eyes drifted to Ken’s pocket. “Whaddaya hiding in there? Brass knuckles?”
“I need to see Soward—now!” Ken shouted as he jumped to his feet. Before things could escalate, he yelled the first excuse he could think of. “It’s about Pete Chang—about why he overdosed.”
The guard flinched. “Jeepers. What happened?”
“I’ll discuss it with Soward,” Ken said. He sidestepped the guard and beelined for the principal’s office with a full head of steam.
Stick. It. To. Soward.
Stick! It! To! Soward!
Students backed away, clearing a lane for him. He realized they would all remember him like this. They would forever see him as the psycho who stormed up the hall and murdered their principal.
At this point he didn’t care.
At this point the gun was ravenous.
He barged into her waiting room and stopped, standing tall with his shoulders back.
“Mrs. Soward is with someone,” the administrator said. “Have a seat.”
“No thanks.” Ken dashed for the principal’s door. The admin launched up from her chair, dropping a Boston cream on her paperwork as she attempted to block him. He shoved her outstretched arm aside and jerked open the door to the torture chamber.
Dark and stuffy, the room carried a dusty odor that dried his tongue as he spoke. “Principal Soward, we need to talk. It’s important.”
Soward scowled behind her desk, her facial muscles fighting to maintain a professional demeanor. A gray-haired man sat with his back to Ken. Horrible history would soon be made in this room, but first the guest needed to leave.
“Sir.” Ken tapped the guest’s shoulder. “I need to speak with the principal.”
The man turned to face him: Officer Isaacs, wearing a checkered button-down.
The moment Ken recognized him, he wanted to blow the man’s forehead open. Isaacs must’ve intuited this somehow, because his baggy eyes stretched wide with panic. Maybe he feared Ken, or maybe he feared being associated with yesterday’s tragic shootout. Either way, in all the years they had been neighbors, never had Ken seen Isaacs so shaken. Sitting there in the low chair, without his uniform or weapon, he looked like half a man—like a teenage troublemaker desperate to avoid detention, suspension, or whatever punishment awaited him.
“You need to leave,” Ken said, glaring him down. “Right now.”
“Mr. Fujima, how dare you!” Soward snapped. “Get out of my office.”
“I’m not leaving. You and I need to have a discussion.”
“Forget it. Officer Isaacs and I are giving a drug awareness presentation immediately after homeroom. Your silly discussion can wait.”
Ken glanced at the clock. “No, actually it can’t. It’s about Pete Chang.”
Soward showed no reaction.
“If that’s the case,” Isaacs said, rising from his chair, “where might I find the nearest restroom?”
Probably shat himself the second he saw me, Ken thought.
Soward hesitated. “Try the second floor. Ask my assistant. She’ll escort you.”
Without making eye contact, Isaacs hurried past Ken and shut the door behind him.
“Sit, Mr. Fujima.” Soward reached for her pencil jar and drew out a pair of scissors. She began cutting colored strips of plastic with words printed on them: Peter Chang: Drawn Across Our Hearts. “Explain why you so brazenly interrupted my meeting.”
He eyed the clock. Three minutes had passed. No telling what was going on with Hannah. She could’ve collapsed on her way upstairs or been stopped by a teacher. The alarm might never sound.
Stay positive, he told himself. Buy Hannah some time.
“Answer me.” Soward cracked her scissors against the desk. “If you don’t, I’m calling security.”
“I know.”
“You know? If you know I’ll call security, then talk.”
“You misunderstand.” He leaned closer. “I know.”
“Know what? What aren’t you telling me?”
“You already know.”
Soward blinked, dumbfounded.
He held his glare. “Don’t deny it.”
“I’ve had enough of this.” She reached for her phone. “Security will escort you out.”
Ken thrust his gunhand across the desk.
Soward froze. Speechless. Her fingers hovered above the phone; her expression melted from snide contempt to timid hesitation.
“Hands on the desk,” he said.
She obeyed, pressing her trembling fingers on the plastic clippings.
Time moved at half-speed. Maybe slower. Ken no longer had a pulse. Unlike in the parking lot, his conviction remained clear. There were no kids around to be impacted by what would come next. No reasons to reconsider. Soon as the alarm rang, he would apply a few pounds of pressure to the trigger and end this.
Soward swallowed hard. “What do you want?”
“Justice.”
“For the teaching position? Fine, it was nepotism. I admit it.”
“Don’t play coy.” He gritted his teeth. “I know what ha
ppened here in this office. I heard enough details to know you deserve what you’re about to get.”
“What details? What’re you talking about?”
“Pete Chang.”
“What about him?”
Ken sneered. “Playing innocent won’t save you.”
“Playing innocent?” Her voice cracked. “What am I on trial for? Can you explain before you shoot me and terrify every student, teacher, and parent in the country?”
He checked the clock.
C’mon, Hannah.
“When Pete visited your office,” he said, “you crossed a line.”
“How?”
“By ordering him to paint your toenails.”
“Toenails?” Soward rocked nervously in her chair. “What’re you talking about? I never made anyone paint my toenails. I don’t know who put that idea in your head, but it’s not true. As for Pete, he visited my office once since school started. It was a morning when my assistant was right outside. He wanted me to green-light a fundraiser for the art club. That was it.”
“Not what I heard.”
“What did you hear? Who told you?”
“Angela Marconi. Pete told her you forced him to paint your toenails, shave your legs, and…other things.”
“I’ve never—never—done anything like that.” Her shoulders rose and sank as she breathed. “Either Angela lied to you or Pete lied to her.”
Ken scratched the trigger guard. “Did you say the same to Angela when she confronted you on Thursday?”
“Thursday?” Soward blinked. “Angela hasn’t confronted me about anything since last year when I denied her a pay raise.”
He launched from his seat and stretched the gun to within inches of her nose. She turned away, whimpering, but Ken ordered her to stare into the gun. When she did, he said, “Tell me the truth and I’ll allow you to write a goodbye letter to your family. Or do you even care about them at all, you sick sociopath?”
“Of course I do!” she snapped. “And I would never do anything to bring harm or humiliation upon them. My two youngest kids attend this school. If you think I would ever molest someone their age, you’re the sick one.” Her conviction stirred a slight doubt within him. “I would never do something like that to a student. Even if I were loony enough to consider it, I still wouldn’t do it because I would never—never—bring such shame upon my family.” She took a deep, defiant breath. “That’s the truth, Mr. Fujima. Now, if you still plan on shooting me, let me write that goodbye note.”
Entry Wounds: A Supernatural Thriller Page 24