Insanity (Insanity Series, Book 1)

by Andre Gonzalez

  “The state of Colorado prohibits gun registration [CRS 29-11.7-102].”

  Check.

  “Colorado allows a person to carry a firearm in a vehicle, either loaded or unloaded. Handguns (ones with barrels under twelve inches) are allowed in homes, businesses, or cars, as long as they’re not concealed [CRS18-12-105(2)].”

  Check.

  “Thank God for the NRA,” he whispered under his breath. All Jeremy needed to do to obtain his weapon of choice was pass a background check—which would be a breeze, with nothing more than a couple of parking tickets on his record.

  He set out on a search for which gun to buy. His uncle’s M-16 weighed on his mind. While he couldn’t buy the military-issued firearm, he could buy one like it. When he searched for which AR-15 to purchase, there were hundreds of results. Prices ranged from as low as $120 to well above $1,000. He read reviews, and advice from experts.

  An hour of research led him to the Smith & Wesson M&P15 assault rifle. Reviewers raved about its performance and light weight. The matted black color of the gun looked polished to perfection.

  It’s beautiful.

  The price tag of $700 was also beautiful, another one of the reasons customers raved about it. He had the money to buy it right now.

  This will be the only paper trail I can afford to have. They’ll run a background check, and there will be online records of the transaction. Ammo I can buy in person with cash. I’ll need to let some time pass between the purchase and the plan. Can’t let it seem obvious.

  He checked his calendar. November 22.

  March? Should be enough time to practice and get acquainted with my new toy.

  He sat back and looked at the computer screen, the button to buy looming.

  Will this hold up in court? Can this be seen as premeditation, or could I still appear insane?

  He thought back to the cases he had studied. How the gun was obtained was never relevant to the case. If a mentally ill person meant to do harm, they would get their hands on a gun one way or another.

  Jeremy pulled out his credit card, entered the info. His purchase needed to be shipped to a local firearms dealer, so he chose the one nearest his house: Mile High Armory.

  He provided his social security number for the background check, and his home address. The confirmation screen told him that the Mile High Armory would contact him as soon as his order arrived at their store, in about a week.

  That’s it? He stared at the confirmation in amazement. It was that easy to buy a machine that could help him kill dozens of people in a matter of seconds?

  He logged out of the computer and packed up his backpack to leave. As always, no one paid him any attention.

  This would be his final trip to the library. The research was done, the gun purchased, and there was nothing left to do but wait: for March, when he planned to carry out his plan and change the face of mental health forever.

  *****

  The gun arrived promptly on November 29, a Saturday. He missed the call, but the employee from Mile High Armory left a message informing Jeremy was free to pick up his purchase at any time.

  He saw the voicemail flashing on his phone, dropped what he was doing, and headed for the Mile High Armory, just a five-minute drive away.

  Nerves started to rattle their way into his gut. He wasn’t sure why he felt anxious. Could his conscience be trying to throw him off his plan?

  This thing is bigger than me. I’m gonna change the world and help people. His reassurance had started to sound like a broken record, even to himself.

  People buy guns every day. Just be cool, act normal. Don’t stand out as a nervous person, the clerk might recall that later.

  He arrived at the storefront, a nondescript building with a plain sign that showed the company’s name. It was in a strip mall, surrounded by a nail salon and a Mexican restaurant. The handful of people shopping and minding their own business put Jeremy at ease.

  “See, nothing to worry about. Just doing normal, everyday shit. I’m gonna go and get my gun, then maybe grab a taco next door. Totally normal.” He spoke to himself before killing his engine and getting out of the car.

  The stench of rubbing alcohol from the salon next door stung his nostrils as he approached the gun store. He noticed a small NRA sticker on the door, similar to the one on his uncle’s truck.

  A bell chimed when he pulled open the door, and he walked into a nearly deserted store. A man in a cowboy hat stood in the far corner of the room, holding up two scopes side by side, peering into each of them. The clerk behind the counter looked up from a book he was reading. He wore thick-framed glasses that were black like his slicked-back hair.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” he greeted. Jeremy had assumed that gun shop owners and employees all spoke like country folk, so he was surprised when the man’s accent sounded no different than his own.

  “Good afternoon,” Jeremy said, approaching the counter. He extended a hand to the employee. “My name is Jeremy Heston. I believe you called me about an hour ago for a pickup.”

  “Ah yes, Mr. Heston,” the man said, returning the handshake. “My name is Charlie, and yes, your order has arrived. Let me go to the back and grab it. If you could get your ID out for me that would be great.”

  Charlie the gun dealer. Jeremy took a mental picture of the man, knowing he would likely see him in court in a year or so.

  Charlie went to the back and returned seconds later with a large brown box about a yard long. He placed it on the counter and patted the top. “Your ID please, and we can open her up.”

  Jeremy handed his driver’s license to Charlie, who held it up and looked at it from every angle to make sure the water marks underneath the plastic were legit.

  “Thank you, Mr. Heston. Now let’s take a look at what you got here.” Charlie pulled out a switchblade and cut down the seam of tape. He opened the flaps and pulled out a black case that housed the rifle. He pushed the case toward Jeremy.

  “Would you like to do the honors?” Charlie asked him.

  “Yes, thank you.” Jeremy flipped up the clasps that held the case closed, letting it pop open a couple inches as he glanced over his shoulder. He lifted the lid all the way back, revealing his rifle and its beautiful glow from the fluorescent lights above.

  Charlie whistled. “She’s something else. When you gonna take her out to the range?”

  “Hopefully tomorrow,” Jeremy replied mindlessly. He ran his fingers over the rifle, feeling its cool steel beneath his fingertips. His eyes bulged in amazement at how big the rifle looked despite its light weight.

  “Am I good to go?” he asked, still not breaking his trance.

  “Yes sir. Just need you to sign that you received this fine firearm today. Let me lock her up for you.”

  Charlie pushed over a piece of paper, closed the lid, and snapped the clasps shut. Jeremy signed where needed and pushed the paper back.

  “You’re all set. I threw your copy of the receipt inside the case for you.”

  “Thank you, Charlie, you’ve been a big help.”

  “Pleasure is all mine. You need any ammo or anything?”

  “Not today. Pretty sure my uncle has some extra he wants to give me.”

  “Fair enough. Well, then, have a great time with your new baby there. Look forward to seeing you in the future.”

  You have no idea.

  Jeremy nodded, and grabbed the case off the counter. It hung down to his knees, but felt no heavier than a book. He focused on walking at a normal pace out of the store despite wanting to break into a sprint to his car. He noticed no one in close proximity and walked to his car, rifle case banging against his thigh with each step.

  See, totally normal. No one cares.

  He felt instant relief. It reminded him of his first time inside a marijuana dispensary. He had been nervous to enter, and wondered what the big deal was when he left. Was there someone from the morality police sitting outside dispensaries and gun shops waiting to see who goes in an
d out? Of course not.

  He tucked his case underneath some blankets in his trunk. His mind raced, still in the grips of the adrenaline rush.

  Where am I going?

  That God-like feeling had consumed him again. He had a weapon that could kill dozens of people in seconds in the trunk of his car, and no one knew. It made Jeremy want to go to Shelly's house and shoot her on the spot, but he knew he needed to clear his mind and stick to some sort of plan.

  He would buy some ammunition and take his new “baby” to the shooting range.

  He sat in his car and spoke to himself. “Just go home. Make a schedule for visits to the shooting range, and buy the ammo tomorrow.”

  Jeremy did just that. Everything was in place now.

  30

  December 2015

  Two weeks passed, and Jeremy still hadn’t paid a visit to the shooting range. In fact, he’d decided against it. Becoming a regular at a shooting range was a terrible idea. If anyone started to notice his visits, his whole plan would go to shit.

  He would need to practice his shooting in private—make trips to the mountains, find some deserted space, and set up targets. His uncle had property in the middle of nowhere, but it was at least a two-hour drive with no traffic to get there. Jeremy would need to make it work.

  He drew up a rough calendar in the notebook, starting from December and running through the end of March. He’d never been much of a planner, but he wanted to plot out each day for the rest of his time in civilization, knowing he may likely never see freedom again.

  The company holiday party was set for the following weekend. Lloyd was flying every single employee to Seattle for a company-wide meeting on Friday, followed by an elegant party in the Washington State Convention Center. Jeremy would fly out Thursday night and return Sunday afternoon.

  He considered taking his new toy with him to Seattle and shooting it at a range up there. No one there would remember him and his quick weekend visit, but he figured coworkers would likely ask to hang out, pulling him away from any potential free time he might have.

  Jeremy circled every Saturday following the holiday party, stopping on March 5. That gave him two and a half months to familiarize himself with the rifle. He drew a star over March 11.

  Setting a date made the whole thing feel suddenly real. There was a schedule to follow.

  He’d need to make the most out of each visit to the mountains. He planned to leave the apartment at eight in the morning, arrive by ten, shoot for two or three hours, and be back home by four at the latest.

  Still have my evenings free.

  Jeremy grinned a relaxed smile. Everything else would take a back seat to his experiment. He felt inspired for the first time in months. He knew the reason for his existence, and couldn’t wait to share it with the rest of the world.

  *****

  The morning of the holiday party started at eight with a team meeting in the company office, a forty-story skyscraper overlooking both downtown Seattle and Elliott Bay. Everyone enjoyed meeting one another in person for the first time, and Shelly gave a phony speech about how much she loved all her new co-workers, calling them the best team she had ever worked with.

  Jeremy had believed that the struggles of life in the corporate world were the same in any business or company. His belief was confirmed when he met Joey Dreher.

  He had worked with Joey and communicated with him over chat and emails, but meeting him in person showed Jeremy the truth. Joey’s experience at Open Hands practically mirrored that of Jeremy’s time at E-Nonymous. Joey even looked like Jeremy: short, light-skinned, thin, with brown hair.

  Joey had worked with the company for four years. He grew into a leader and earned the title of a senior account manager, the equivalent of E-Nonymous’ team lead. He had mastered every aspect of his position and more, only to be passed up for numerous promotions.

  Joey told his story to Jeremy as the team walked to the convention center for their company awards show and meeting. The two hung back, chatting. They’d had an instant connection.

  “Do you ever think about just leaving it all?” Jeremy asked. “Just quit, say fuck you, corporate America, and go sell candy on the beaches in Mexico?”

  “I’m sure those people are happy and not stressing about some bullshit every second of the day.” Joey shook his head. “None of it makes sense to me at the end of the day. We go to school, get degrees, get a job, and work our way up to pay off those degrees. It seems like the most backward shit. You work your ass off—for what?”

  “Just hoping someone else likes you enough to help your career,” Jeremy cut in. “You never have real control. It’s all smoke and mirrors.” He paused, thinking about how much to say. “I’m looking into other options. Working for myself.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I can always open my own practice. Help people. I’d rather get into research though. I’ve got some theories I’d like to try and prove. Maybe I should look for a job as a college professor. They pay you to go out and do research in your field. Could be perfect.”

  “I’m sure the politics are just as bad, though, working in education. You’d still be shackled by the college dean and their agenda.”

  “True. I just feel like my time is up here. I’ve hit my ceiling and there’s nowhere to go now but down.”

  “I know exactly how you feel. How much you wanna bet all the awards today go to the biggest ass-kissers in the company?”

  *****

  The award show was massive. The room was bigger than a football field, and tables filled the space in front of the stage, which stood elevated at the front of the room. Lunch was served and the show started promptly at noon, with Lloyd as the emcee.

  The first half-hour consisted of Lloyd’s usual speed-talking, reviewing the company’s numbers for the year and the vision going into next year. It had been the company’s highest-performing year. Stock prices trended upward and Lloyd expected nothing but continued growth.

  After his presentation, every manager in the company lined up at the side of the stage. Each would present an award for their best performer. Shelly stood ten back in line, and Jeremy waited as the first nine announced their winners.

  Maybe I could win. I’m sure I was at least considered. He hated that he still cared.

  Finally Shelly stepped up to the podium and adjusted the microphone to her level.

  “The account management team has gone through so much change this year. It’s had its ups and downs, and while the whole team has kept the pedal to the metal, one person stood out from the rest. Janae Ortiz, come on down!”

  Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Predictable,” he said to himself as the room flooded with applause. Jeremy watched Janae walk onstage to hug Shelly, receive her glass trophy, and return to her seat—and he watched Mark watch her the whole way too.

  Jeremy felt the familiar anger boil up yet again. Shelly had her way of ruining his day whether she meant to or not. He watched her walk offstage to return to her table.

  I’m taking you first. You’re part of the experiment, but you’re for me.

  He imagined it, felt it. Pulling the trigger on Shelly would feel liberating. He daydreamed about it for the remainder of the show, not bothering to hide his bulging erection.

  *****

  Jeremy cleared his mind after the show. He had four hours before the holiday party started, plenty of time to change clothes and grab dinner before heading over. While he normally wouldn’t show up to a party at its start time, this one had an open bar, and he intended to get as drunk as possible.

  All his friends had planned dinner with their significant others. They invited him to join, but he didn’t want to deal with the awkwardness. Maybe I can find a random sales girl at the party to hang out with later and possibly hook up with at the end of the night. This could be my last chance at anything casual.

  Jeremy changed into his suit after a couple shots of rum, and went to a burger joint. He sat at a corner table over
looking the restaurant and noticed some familiar faces from the company, but no one he knew on a first name basis. He watched a basketball game on the TV above his table while he ate his burger and fries. His buzz hit, and it felt great. He felt loose, clear-headed, and ready for a long night of partying.

  He paid his tab around 6:45 and left for the convention center. The night was young in downtown Seattle, and many people were starting their night out. Groups of people passed Jeremy and paid him no attention, laughing at one another’s lame jokes and hogging all the space on the sidewalk. A light drizzle started, and people took shelter under building overhangs, clearing the sidewalk for Jeremy. When he arrived at the convention center, his suit jacket was a darker gray from the moisture.

  The building was warm. He rode the escalators up to the grand terrace and saw the party as soon as he arrived at the top.

  A line for the coat check wrapped its way down a hallway. Photo booths were set up everywhere, and photographers were snapping Open Hands employees posed in front of giant snowflakes towering in the background. Fake snow fell from the ceiling onto the main entrance, creating an indoor winter wonderland.

  Holy shit. Jeremy had been to plenty of holiday parties with 400 people or so, and had always thought of those as large events—but this made those seem like mere gatherings. Lloyd had said 1,500 people were expected thanks to the two companies merging.

  An archway above the entrance read “Welcome to the Open Hands holiday party!” in human-size letters. He looked around and saw no familiar faces.

  An usher greeted him and handed him a map of the venue. A map?! How big is this party? The map showed the venue divided into three sections: the main dance floor, a karaoke room, and a silent disco.

  The main dance floor was straight ahead. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and the room was lit only by the flashing lights that moved to the beat of the booming dance music. Between Jeremy and the dance floor stood a circular island with eight bartenders inside it. Lines had started to form in front of each bartender.