True Crime Fiction

by Michael Lister

  “Why do it if you hate it so much?” LeAnn asks.

  “Got in trouble. It was this or get suspended. Coach Ace Bighips thinks it’s funny ’cause I hate sports.”

  “What’d he have to do with it?” she asks.

  “He’s the one who decided my punishment. Fucker.”

  She turns to me. “Coach Bowman is not only a coach and teacher and athletic director, he’s also the principal designee. Takes care of most of the discipline around here. Makes more money than anyone in the county—including the superintendent.”

  There’s nothing surprising in that. Coaches are kings in small southern town schools. And many, many are also serving in other positions like athletic director or principal designee.

  “I’m just glad the motherfucker hates me,” Zach says. “I’d hate to be one of the pretty people that gets the Sandusky treatment.”

  That one stops me. He says it in a playful manner, but is it a real accusation?

  As Zach checks his camera, I glance at LeAnn, eyebrows raised.

  She shrugs and shakes her head.

  “Are you saying Coach Bowman has had inappropriate relationships with students?” she asks.

  “Huh? Yeah, no, I was just kidding.”

  “That’s not something to kid about,” she says. “If there’s any truth in it, it needs to be investigated. If there’s not, you could ruin an innocent man’s reputation.”

  “You can’t ruin a coach’s rep. They’re untouchable. Fuckin’ a student would only increase their schoolyard cred, but I was just talkin’ shit. I don’t know anything. We done? I need to get back to shooting the game. I’m missing plays.”

  “Can’t have that, can we?” she says. “Know how important this job is to you.”

  As we reach the bottom of the media platform, Kim is walking up.

  “See why these fine specimens made our lists?” LeAnn says to me.

  I nod.

  “I just hope we haven’t left anyone off who could be the . . .” Kim says.

  “What did Glenn want?” LeAnn asks.

  “Asking what I thought about the probability of us having an actual school shooting,” she says. “Mostly he wanted to know what John thinks. We’re gonna have a meeting in the morning with him and Tyrese and Chip. Said he’d like if you two were there too.”

  “Me?” I ask.

  She nods. “He has a lot of respect for you. Think he’s takin’ it more seriously because you are.”

  “Can you be there?” LeAnn asks.

  I nod. “I will be.”

  “Good,” Kim says. “I’m with Hugh on this one. I feel far better about having you involved. Too much at stake . . .”

  “So,” I say, “we’ve seen everyone on your lists except—”

  “The two who made both of our lists,” LeAnn says. “The two most likely to do it. Mason Nickols and Dakota Emanuel.”

  “They’re not here,” Kim says. “I’ve looked all over for them.”

  “Yeah, me too,” LeAnn says. “Even from up on the media tower.”

  “That’s a real shame,” Kim says. “I really wanted John to meet them. They’re definitely our Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold.”

  274

  I don’t want your fuckin’ thoughts and prayers you piece of worthless shit. I want you to do your damn job and keep us safe. You’re a coward, and a whore bought and paid for by the highest political bidder. You’re paid with blood money, and you have blood on your hands. The blood of the children you not only could have but should have protected.

  That night I dream of Columbine.

  I had spent much of the night after Anna and Taylor and Carla and John Paul were asleep reading about the massacre at the Littleton, Colorado high school and unwittingly took the material into the underworld of dreamscapes and night terrors with me.

  A feeling of floating between disjointed scenes. Observing. Unable to speak, act, influence. Powerless as the unsuspecting victims.

  A bright, sunny Monday on April 20, 1999.

  The day Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold change everything and create a blueprint for school rampage shootings still followed to this day.

  The dream deteriorating into something akin to a drug-induced nightmare. Unmitigated savagery. Unimaginable horror.

  Eric Harris writing his only journal entry for the year. I hate all you people for leaving me out of so many fun things.

  6:15 A.M.

  First-hour bowling class. Eric in attendance, not acting strange.

  Then driving to plant diversionary explosives in a field off Wadsworth Boulevard some three miles from the school.

  Later, at Eric’s house. Somewhere between 10:30 A.M. and 11:00 A.M.

  Videotaping final farewells.

  Eric holding the camera for Dylan.

  Dylan saying, It’s about half an hour before our little judgement day. Just know that I’m going to a better place than here. I didn’t like life too much and I know I’ll be happier wherever the fuck I go. So I’m gone.

  Dylan holding the camera for Eric.

  Eric saying, I just wanted to apologize to you guys for any crap. To everyone I love, I’m really sorry about all of this. I know my mom and dad will be fuckin’ shocked beyond belief.

  11:09 A.M.

  Planting duffle bag bombs in the cafeteria.

  Returning to cars to wait.

  Eric in a long black duster, a backpack filled with pipe bombs, a utility belt holding shotgun shells, pockets stuffed with crickets and 9mm clips.

  Eric carries a 12 gauge Savage Springfield pump-action shotgun and a Hi-Point Carbine 9mm semi-automatic rifle.

  Dylan in a Wrath T-shirt, black cargo pants, long black duster, backpack, cowboy boots—a single large-caliber copper-jacketed bullet in the right one.

  Dylan carries a 9mm TEC-9 semi-automatic handgun and a 12 gauge Stevens double-barreled sawed-off shotgun.

  Both boys wear a single glove with the fingers partially cut out to protect their shooting hands, both have a match striker for lighting explosives taped to their arms, and they have seven knives between them.

  11:17 A.M.

  The time Eric calculated the cafeteria will be the most crowded.

  Explosives in place.

  Waiting.

  Eric and Dylan outside the school—one at the west entrance, one at the east, waiting, ready.

  The moments before everything changes, the point just this side of the line that will forever divide before and after Columbine.

  When the bombs begin to explode, those not killed or incapacitated by the blasts will run from the school—out of classrooms and the cafeteria, down the hallways, through the doors . . . and into the gunsights of Eric and Dylan, who plan to pick them off as they do.

  But then . . . nothing.

  Something’s wrong.

  Where is the HaHaHa? Where is our fun?

  No explosions. No easy targets fleeing for their lives into the actual deathtrap designed for them.

  What is it? What happened? Why didn’t the bombs go off? Fuck!

  Whatta we do now?

  Improvise, of course. If the little sheeple won’t come to us, we’ll go to them.

  11:18 A.M.

  Diversionary explosives detonate in the Wadsworth field location. A deputy dispatched, the fire department notified.

  11:19 AM.

  Rachel Scott having lunch with Richard Castaldo in the grassy area next to the west entrance.

  A pipe bomb launched, partially detonating.

  Go! Go!

  Two gunman pulling their guns from beneath their trench coats and shooting at Rachel and Richard. Rachel hit four times, killed instantly. Castaldo hit eight times in the chest, arm, and abdomen.

  Eric removing his trench coat, letting it fall to the ground, aiming his 9mm carbine down the west staircase toward three students—Daniel Rohrbough, Lance Kirklin, and Sean Graves.

  Then turning, firing at five students sitting on the grassy hillside opposite the west entrance.
Michael Johnson hit in the face, leg, and arm. Running. Escaping. Mark Taylor shot in the chest, arms, and leg, falling to the ground, feigning death. The other three getting away uninjured.

  Students at first believing it’s a prank.

  Business teacher Dave Sanders knowing better.

  Dylan, on his way to the cafeteria to check on the explosives, encounters Lance Kirklin.

  Please help me, Lance says.

  Sure, I’ll help you, Dylan says, and shoots him in the face.

  As Dylan is doing this, Eric shoots down the steps at students sitting near the entrance to the cafeteria, wounding and partially paralyzing Anne-Marie Hochhalter.

  Eric squealing, This is what we always wanted to do. This is awesome!

  Dylan returns from the cafeteria and he and Eric fire more rounds—this time toward the soccer field. No one is hit.

  They then walk into the west entrance, slinging explosives as they do.

  Art teacher Patricia Nielsen, assigned to hall duty, stepping out asking, What’s all this about, to student Brian Anderson.

  Brian saying he recognizes the boys from his video production class. They’re probably making a movie.

  Nielsen approaching Eric and Dylan.

  Eric leveling his carbine and firing, glass shattering, pelting Nielsen with fragments of metal and glass shards.

  Her shouting, Dear God! Dear God! Dear God!

  Inside the school now, in the main hallway, encountering teacher Dave Sanders and a student helper attempting to evacuate students and secure the school. They turn and run.

  Dylan and Eric firing.

  Sanders hit twice. The student gets away.

  Smoke. Alarms. Gunfire. Explosions. Chaos. Pandemonium. Confusion.

  A short while later, as Eric and Dylan are distracted with other things, another teacher drags Sanders into the science room where some thirty students are hiding. Sanders is severely injured, bleeding out. A handwritten note appears in the window for the cops and emergency services gathering outside—One bleeding to death.

  Throwing bombs in the hallway, firing more rounds.

  You still with me? Eric says. We’re still doing this, right?

  11:29 AM.

  Eric and Dylan enter the library, Eric yelling, Get up! All jocks stand up! We’ll get the guys in the white hats!

  No one standing.

  Eric saying, Fine, I’ll start shooting anyway.

  He fires his shotgun at a desk. Evan Todd, hiding beneath it, pelted with wood splinters.

  Eric and Dylan walking to the opposite side of the library, shooting, reloading, killing Kyle Velasquez.

  Eric saying, Come on, let’s go kill some cops.

  Dylan and Eric firing out the windows in the directions of the police. Officers returning fire. Eric and Dylan moving away from the windows.

  Firing more rounds at fleeing students and cops.

  Dylan firing a shotgun at a nearby table, injuring three students. Daniel Steepleton, Makai Hall, Patrick Ireland.

  This is for all the shit you put us through, Dylan says.

  Dylan removing his trench coat.

  Eric firing under a desk, hitting and killing Steven Curnow, then doing the same under a nearby desk, hitting and wounding Kacey Ruegsegger.

  Kacey, hit in the neck and shoulder, crying in pain.

  Eric saying, Quit your bitching.

  Eric stepping over to a table across the way and hitting it with his palm, kneeling, saying Peek-a-boo just before shooting Cassie Bernall in the head. The weapon recoiling, striking him, breaking his nose.

  Momentarily dazed, Eric hesitates, then eventually turns toward the next table. Bree Pasquale sitting next to instead of under it.

  You want to die? Eric asks, still woozy.

  No, please.

  Eric distracted, but taunting.

  Dylan seeing Patrick trying to help Makai, his head rising above the table, shoots him again, twice in the head, knocking him unconscious.

  Dylan moving again. Another set of tables. Seeing three athletes. Calling to Eric, Hey, Reb. There’s a nigger over here.

  Eric leaving Bree, joining Dylan, the two of them taunting Isaiah Shoels, one of sixteen black students at Columbine, with racist remarks before Eric kneels and shoots him in the chest.

  Dylan kneeling, firing, killing Matthew Kechter.

  Eric yelling, Who’s ready to die next?

  Eric throwing a CO2 cartridge under the table where Daniel Steepleton, Makai Hall, and Patrick Ireland are crouching. Makai grabbing it and throwing it toward the other end of the library.

  Eric then moving toward a set of bookcases, jumping up on one and shaking it, firing more rounds.

  Dylan shooting a display case, then in the direction of the closest table, hitting and injuring Mark Kintgen. Turning, firing again, this time in a different direction, hitting Lisa Kreutz and Valeen Schnurr, and killing Lauren Townsend.

  Valeen Schnurr screaming, Oh my God, oh my God!

  Do you believe in God? Dylan asking.

  I do.

  Why? Dylan asking, then walking away.

  Eric approaching a different table. Two girls crouching beneath. Bending down, looking at them. Pathetic, he says.

  Eric then moving to another table and shooting two rounds, injuring Nicole Nowlen and John Tomlin. Tomlin attempting to get away. Dylan kicking him. Eric taunting him. Dylan shooting him several times and killing him.

  Eric walking back over to where Lauren Townsend lies lifeless. Not far from her, Kelly Fleming, like Bree Pasquale had been, is sitting next to instead of under the table. Eric shooting her in the back, killing her instantly. He then shoots at the table behind her, hitting Townsend and Kreutz again, wounding Jeanna Park.

  Then the two mass murderers meet in the middle of the library and reload.

  Eric noticing someone hiding nearby, asking, Who’s there?

  It’s me, John Savage. You know me, Dylan. What’re you doing?

  Oh, just killing people, Dylan responds.

  You going to kill me?

  What? Dylan asks.

  Are you going to kill me?

  Dylan hesitates, then, Nah. Go ahead. Get out of here.

  Savage running out of the library.

  As soon as he’s gone, Eric fires a round toward Daniel Mauser and grazes him.

  Mauser fighting back, throwing a chair at Eric, Eric firing again, hitting Mauser in the face and killing him.

  Dylan and Eric moving again, randomly firing under another table, injuring Jennifer Doyle and Austin Eubanks and fatally wounding Corey DePooter.

  It is now 11:35 A.M. Eric and Dylan killed ten people in the library and injured many more.

  This just isn’t as fun anymore, is it? Eric asks.

  Maybe we should start knifing people, Dylan says.

  They then move toward the main counter. Eric throws a Molotov cocktail toward one end of the library, but it doesn’t explode. He then goes around the counter and Dylan joins him.

  They find a student wearing a hat.

  Lift your head so we can see you, Eric says.

  He does. It’s Evan Todd, wood splinters still embedded in his skin.

  Dylan says, Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t off you right here and now.

  I don’t want trouble.

  Eric saying, You don’t know what trouble is.

  You used to call me a fag, Dylan says. Who’s the fag now?

  Dylan turning to Eric, Should I kill him?

  Eric, still dazed, his nose bleeding badly, not responding.

  The taunting continuing, eventually Eric and Dylan walking away.

  Dylan shooting a TV. Throwing a chair at a computer station. The two boys walking out.

  Seven and a half minutes in the library. Twenty-two students shot. Ten killed. Twelve wounded.

  When Dylan and Eric leave the library, the survivors begin to sneak out.

  For the next twenty-seven minutes or so Dylan and Eric wander around the school, aimlessly,
directionless, randomly shooting, examining their undetonated bombs, talking, shouting out threats, reloading.

  All the while the cops wait outside and Dave Sanders bleeds out.

  Today’s the day the world ends, Eric says. Today’s the day we die.

  Reentering the now mostly empty library.

  After firing a few rounds through the windows at the cops below, they kill themselves, Eric firing his shotgun through the roof of his mouth, Dylan shooting himself in the head with his handgun.

  White middle-class teenage boys, rampage, mass-murdering little monsters, dead now because they chose to be.

  The initial attack over, the residual trauma never will be.

  Columbine echoing through time, waves of insidious inspiration, ripples of rampage like radiation infecting the ill minds and imaginations of other lost, lonely boys.

  275

  You never really think anything like this can happen to you until it does. I will never be the same. Not ever. Am I glad to be alive? Of course. But is part of me dead? No question.

  I wake the next morning feeling agitated and unrested, but knowing when the shooting will take place.

  After not enough time with Anna, Taylor, Carla, and John Paul, I drive to Pottersville, through the town and to the high school.

  On the drive over, I speak to Reggie by phone, receiving her permission and blessing to help Potter County with this possible shooting, being reassured that they have everything in Gulf County in hand.

  Entering Potter High through the gym, I rush through the commons and over to the back corner between the stage and the bank of microwaves.

  Finding Kim and LeAnn’s offices empty, I walk over to Tyrese’s.

  There I find Tyrese, Kim, LeAnn, Chip Jeffers, Ace Bowman, and Hugh Glenn.

  “John,” Glenn says. “I’m glad you could join us. We were just talking about what our response should be. How far we should take this. Do we warn everyone and risk creating a panic or do we continue investigating in secret?”

  “We’ve got to do all we can to protect the students and faculty,” Tyrese says. “We can’t take a chance with something like this. The potential devastation is just too great.”