While dangling in agony on my chain from the closet rod, I notice the only other thing hung on it, in the shadowy part of the narrow space: a plain metallic coat hanger, over which a long coat is loosely wrapped.
After a while, the coat becomes a presence of its own. It smells of sweat and gunpowder. It is black, its inner lining is greenish. At the bottom of its hem, there is a streak of blood, which brings back to mind the view I had the other day in front of the elementary school from under the belly of a car.
The shooter stood there, at the other side of the vehicle, and all I could see, while cowering to avoid being hit by his bullets, was the hem of his coat, flaring at the bottom, and the muzzle of his semi-automatic gun.
But that’s not the only weapon he has, curtesy of his father who must have stashed the tools of his trade away before his last robbery. Paul discarded this weapon immediately after the school shooting, but he has at least one more weapon: an airgun, which he uses to shoot at targets and at rats.
Until now, I’ve had my suspicions. At this point, I know for sure. I’m in the presence of the person who perpetrated that horrific assault. That day, I was protected from him, at least to some degree, by the metal body between us. Not so now.
I’m exposed to him in plain view.
“Hey, hey,” says the punk, with a snap of his fingers. “Don’t you doze off, Ash darling. Not while I’m talking about what I do best.”
He drones on an on, winking at Timmy and at me, boasting about the remarkable features of his airgun, how it’s able to fire in both semi-automatic and full-automatic modes, how it can reach a rate of over one thousand and four hundred rounds per minute, and how it has a realistic blowback action for lifelike shooting.
Clearly ecstatic over all these details, he goes even further, comparing his airgun to his other weapon, the deadlier one: a heavy-duty machine gun. At the moment, it rests on the top shelf of the closet, right above my head.
Meanwhile, at his direction, Timmy is sticking target papers on the wall. From time to time, he picks up another translucent paper from the pile on the floor and glues it on top of this or that target. At this point, the entire width of the wall is plastered with copies of Brian’s face. Each bullseye has his deadly stare.
Timmy has a desperate stare on his face, especially when casting a startled look at his brother’s dead faces. In spite of the fear, the child seems to have come to a decision on how to survive this ordeal. At every step of the way, he seems not only to obey his captor but also to play along with him.
Overkill
Paperback ★ Hardcover
Audiobook
The last thing Ash expects when she lands in Clearwater, Florida is to be stalked by a troubled teenager. If that's not bad enough, she is caught in a shooting spree next to the nearby elementary school. The cops think it’s an attempt at mass killing, but Ash wonders if the only victim was specifically targeted by the killer. Will she manage to identify him and have him arrested before he comes after her?
