The Victim

Lance Cullers was thinking about the girl who sat next to him in class today. How had he not noticed her before? She was a tall blonde with incredible legs. He’d had trouble concentrating on what the professor was saying because of those legs. The highlight of the day was when she’d smiled at Lance when he caught her eye. Was that a signal? Next week he’d definitely say something to her. Maybe think of a question to ask or a comment to make. It had been two months since Lance had broken up with Seneca. Who was he kidding, she’d dumped him. Hurt like hell at the time but he’d bounced back. He was totally ready for that chick in class, Definitely talk to her next week. Lance looked at his watch, about quarter to five. Not much to look forward to the rest of the day. Laundry, dinner, studying then to bed fairly early cause he had an early morning class. Maybe smoke a joint with Rob. Should call home and see how Mom was doing. She’d been down with the flu for a week. Lance thought back to class. He was obsessed with that chick’s legs. He imagined her naked. Oh man, he thought, to really see her naked would be incredible. But was Lance setting himself for disappoint? Girls like that usually had boyfriends. Hell she was probably living with someone. Lance thought maybe he’d be better off asking out that new girl who’d moved into his apartment complex. What was her name? Sarah? Yeah that’s it. She’s cute. Sarah is cute and the mental image of her yesterday wearing cut offs and smiling at himwas his last thought before the bullet entered the back of his skull. There was a moment, a fraction of a fraction of a second of pain then blackness. Nothing. Lance fell to the ground with a thud. Dead.

Twenty-three years old. Grew up in a comfortable suburban home with a younger brother and an older sister a dog and a cat and two wonderful parents. It had been a mostly idyllic childhood. Lots of friends, a few enemies. Some really cool teachers and some who were jerks. The broken arm when he was nine. The first joint when he was twelve. First kiss when he was thirteen. The trip to Yellowstone. The trip to New York. The trip to Disneyland. His first NFL game. Loss of virginity at sixteen. Being really good at football, making all conference but later the realization he wasn’t good enough for college ball. The girlfriends. Marci senior year. They were so close. So happy but she went back east for college. There was the incredible freedom of college. Meeting new people from all over the state and outside the state and even from outside the country. Getting drunk sometimes. Great parties. Finally getting interested in school. Settling into a history major. The first trip to Europe. Seeing London and Paris. In the MA program. The decision to  someday be a high school teacher and football coach. His brother Sean doing great getting a football scholarship to Notre Dame. Big sister Deena getting in law school. Life had had some ups and downs but Lance had mostly been happy and there was so much to look forward.

Had been. He was laying face down on the street now. No warning. Just dead in an instant. No future. No present. Just a past that would only exist in other peoples’ memories. Their versions of HIS life.

The person who’d shot Lance was on the roof of a three-story apartment building. His name was Corey and he’d actually been a Freshman English with Lance before dropping out of school. As soon as he’d shot Lance shot a girl who was walking toward Lance and had just realized that she knew Lance from a party. She was going to say hi but then saw him fall. Almost before she could react a bullet hit her in the forehead and she too was dead.

It was a busy street just off campus with lots of students leaving for their residences or coming to campus for an evening class or to study. It took a few seconds after the second victim fell before people reacted. Some screamed. Some hid behind a car or tree. Others ran. Several made 9-1-1 calls.

The first two targets were easy but now people were moving erratically or hiding. Corey started shooting wildly. Most of his shots missed but he did had four people. Two died, one instantly, one later that night. Two were injured. 

Corey scrambled down off the roof  he’d used as his sniper’s nest, using the fire escape. He’d do the rest of his damage on foot then use his pistol  to shoot himself. He ran into a store and started shooting. Two more people died and two more injured. For some reason he couldn’t make himself go beyond the first cash register. He felt it unsafe to go further into the store. Corey stepped outside and immediately started shooting into a laundromat. One person got a superficial wound. He looked up and down the street. There was nothing interesting and all the noises blended together and sounded like obnoxious white noise. Corey’s head hurt like hell. He noted some of his victims laying in the street. More than anything else it made him think of the video games he played. But he couldn’t find anyone else to shoot. He looked up at an apartment and saw faces in the window. He started shooting. He wounded two more people.

Then the cop cars came. Corey crouched into a shooting position. A police sharp shooter who Corey couldn’t see was in position. Corey took aim at a police car and fired. In the next instant the sharpshooter’s shot hit Corey in the throat. For a second, almost two, Corey felt horrible, the rush of blood, the choking in his throat the incredible pain but then he too was dead.

In the aftermath people were baffled. Sure, Corey’s father said, Corey had struggled with mental problems but nothing all that serious, some depression, social anxiety. He’d had trouble making friends and had had no luck meeting girls. But there was never the slightest indication…..

The victims were mourned. Six dead. Another paralyzed. Memorial services were held. There was a candlelight vigil. Crisis counselors were on hand. Families of the victims expressed sorrow, shock and anger. Everyone was angry. Everyone was saddened. Journalists and commentators picked over the story for a week. Politicians spoke of the tragedy of this senseless violence, they offered thoughts and prayers. One of the state’s senator’s offered a gun control bill. It died in committee.

It was as dead as Lance Cullers.