Bell Hath No Fury

by Jeremy Waldron

  “Hey Mason.” The voice of fourteen-year-old Lucy from across the street managed to get us all to hit our brakes and pause.

  Lucy stood on her front porch, her tall frame wrapped warm in a hoodie sweatshirt. She smiled and lifted her arm to give a small wave of her hand.

  Erin flicked her gaze to me, holding her hand over her heart as if it was the sweetest thing she had ever seen. I felt my own lips form small curls as I waited to hear what else Lucy had to say.

  “It’s good to see you made it out,” Lucy said.

  “You too,” Mason responded.

  In that moment, the wind was knocked completely out of me. My heart shattered. I was completely heartbroken to be hearing these kids congratulate each other on not winning the mass shooting lottery. I couldn’t recall the last time I had seen Mason interact with Lucy but, because of yesterday, they now had more in common than ever before.

  “Hey Lucy,” I said. “How are your parents?”

  “Hey Mrs. Bell.” Lucy’s eyes drifted over to me. “They’re doing good.”

  “Tell them I said hi, will you?”

  “I will.”

  “I heard about Nolan.”

  A stone lodged in my throat.

  “Yeah,” Mason’s voice dropped, “we’re going to see him now.”

  “Tell him I’m praying for him.”

  Lucy said her goodbyes and ran back inside. Meanwhile, I felt my eyes swell, but before I started to cry, I got behind the steering wheel of my Subaru Outback and started the engine. Mason and Erin followed suit. The right tires bounced on the wheel well when both of them sat at the same time.

  After ensuring everyone was buckled in, I pulled away from the curb. My mind spiraled into a dizzying array of thoughts but I kept coming back to Erin’s theory that Timothy Morris had been trained to shoot. If it was true, that would mean maybe he had an accomplice still somewhere on the loose.

  I glanced to the clock, wondering when I would be receiving an update from King.

  Anxiety spilled out of me and kept my nerves jumpy.

  “Music anyone?” Erin asked, wanting to break the silence that consumed us all.

  No one was interested and I was thankful. I didn’t want to turn on the radio and risk hearing more talk and speculation about what happened. And I certainly didn’t want Mason to have to relive it through the eyes and ears of people who hadn’t experienced it themselves.

  “Maybe we could get Nolan a burger and fries?” Mason suggested.

  I flicked my gaze to the rearview mirror and grinned. “Great idea.”

  Erin shared a look with me and smiled. “There is a Good Times not far from here.”

  A half hour later, we arrived at St. Joseph Hospital munching on salty fries. Everyone’s bellies were full by the time we parked and started making our way toward the building.

  My jaw tensed when I saw them coming. Maybe it was the skills I’d honed, or just a journalist’s natural instinct to recognize the approach. But there wasn’t any question that we were their target.

  “Samantha, hey,” the local TV news reporter, Nancy Jordan, called after me. “Are you here to visit Nolan Dreiss?”

  “I’m not here for business,” I said, knowing it was only a half-truth.

  Her eyes flicked to Mason. “Wait, has anyone interviewed both of you at the same time?”

  “No.” I kept walking. “And we don’t plan to. If that story is ever told, I’ll be telling it myself.”

  I picked up the pace, Erin and Mason one step behind, and we left Nancy in the dust as I stiff-armed my way through the hospital’s entrance.

  Everyone was stuck on Timothy Morris while I was certain that Erin was on to something bigger. This was our angle, our story, and even though I didn’t want to capitalize off Mason’s access to Nolan, I knew we had little choice considering what King said Nolan knew about Timothy targeting Mason.

  Soon we found our way to Nolan’s floor. Natalie had just stepped outside Nolan’s room when she saw us coming. Heavy bags of sadness swung beneath her eyes and her face was lined with grief. With a constricted throat, I stepped up to her and immediately gave her a hug.

  “How did this happen?” she asked softly.

  “That’s what I’ve been asking myself,” I said. “I don’t know.”

  “Samantha, promise me something.” Natalie clung to me tighter. “If you tell this story, don’t let the shooter win the spotlight.”

  I closed my eyes and whispered in her ear, “I’ll do my best.”

  When Natalie released me, she reached for Mason. I smiled as I watched Natalie hug him as if he was her own. “Nolan is so excited to see you.”

  “We brought him a burger.” Mason held up the paper bag.

  Natalie smiled. “He’ll love it. Why don’t you go give it to him?”

  We watched Mason disappear into Nolan’s room, stepping to the wall to let a nurse pass by. “Natalie, I would also like to ask Nolan some questions. With your permission, of course.”

  Her brow furrowed. “About what?”

  “Has Nolan talked about yesterday with you?”

  Natalie dropped her chin into her chest and I watched her hand tremble. Staring at her feet, she murmured, “A little, but I haven’t had the courage to ask too many questions.” Her gaze swept up and landed on me. “I’m afraid it might trigger him.”

  “I understand.”

  Natalie flicked her gaze to Erin, then back to me. “You know something, don’t you?”

  Keeping tight-lipped, I nodded.

  “What is it?”

  I shared a look with Erin.

  “Sam, if I’m going to allow you to interview my son, the least you can do is show me the same respect by telling me what you’re hoping to learn.”

  My tongue swiped over my bottom lip before I said through a cracking voice, “According to Nolan, the shooter was looking for Mason.”

  Natalie gasped.

  “It’s why we’d like to speak with your son,” Erin said. “Figure out if maybe Nolan knows more about the shooter’s motive and if he said anything else that might be useful to the investigation.”

  “Is this not finished?” Natalie’s eyes darted between mine and Erin’s. “I heard he killed himself. What does it matter now?”

  “The police will want to ask the same questions,” I said. “I assume they would also like to know if this case is closed or needs to remain open.”

  Natalie closed her eyes and compulsively nodded her head.

  “It also matters to the families who would like to see some kind of closure when trying to understand why their child or father died in yesterday’s events,” Erin added bluntly.

  Natalie blew out a heavy sigh before finally agreeing. “But, please, don’t push him if he doesn’t want to talk.”

  I reached for Natalie’s shoulder. “I promise we won’t.”

  Turning on a heel, I knocked on the opened door. Mason turned and smiled. Nolan managed a small smile as well. “Hey, Nolan. It’s good to see you.”

  “You too, Mrs. Bell.”

  “Mom, look at the scar Nolan is going to have.”

  Nolan peeled back his hospital gown and I watched his face fill with pride.

  “Mason, would you mind giving us a moment to speak with Nolan alone?”

  Mason stole a fry off Nolan’s tray and said, “If she starts harassing you, just holler.”

  The boys laughed and seeing them get back to being teenagers filled me with hope that maybe they would be able to move on from this with only minimal bruising.

  I pulled up a stool and took a seat next to Nolan. Erin shut the door and I asked Nolan how he was doing.

  “Sore, and a little tired, but otherwise I’ll be fine.”

  “We’re very thankful for that. I know your Mom is, too.” I paused to collect my thoughts. “I was hoping to ask you some questions about yesterday. Do you think you’d be up for that?”

  Nolan’s smile flat-lined. He cast his gaze to his hands—his
fingers fidgeting with the bed sheet. “I didn’t tell Mason what I told Detective King.”

  “Neither did I. And we can keep that a secret for now if you would like.”

  Nolan shook his head. “Mason should know.”

  “Why do you think Timothy Morris wanted to find Mason?”

  Without moving his head, Nolan rolled his eyes to me. “To shoot him.”

  Hearing that Mason was a target never got any easier, and hearing it from Nolan somehow made it even more real than before. “Do you remember how Timothy phrased his words to you?”

  Nolan cast his gaze back to his hands. His eyebrows pulled together as he filed through his memory. “I was hiding under the library table when I saw him come straight toward me. I remember my heart feeling like it was about to explode inside my chest I was so scared. Then he asked where Mason was. I told him I didn’t know. Maybe went back to class.”

  A tear rolled down Nolan’s cheek and I reached for his hand. “And what did he do after you told him that? Did he believe you?”

  “Tim kept saying weird stuff,” Nolan continued after a minute of silence.

  “What kind of weird stuff?”

  Nolan shook his head. “Something about how he was a patriot of God, put here on earth to cleanse it of its sins, or mistakes. Something like that.”

  Hovering over my shoulder, Erin asked, “Did you see Tim shoot his gun before he turned it on you?”

  Nolan nodded. “He was spraying bullets across the walls. We heard him coming and someone screamed for us to hide.”

  “Did he appear to be comfortable with his weapon?”

  Nolan flashed a quizzical look.

  “What Erin is asking is, did Tim appear to take aim when firing his weapon?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you think he shot you on purpose?”

  Nolan nodded. “I know he did.”

  “You know?” Suddenly, I felt lightheaded.

  “He told me so.” His voice was so small, so quiet.

  Natalie’s words rang in my head but I couldn’t stop. I had to know. If this was Mason in the hospital bed, I’d ask him the same questions. “What did he say?”

  Nolan looked me directly in the eye and said, “Tim said that he was going to let me live so that someone could tell his story.”

  “But he still shot you?” Erin sounded surprised.

  Nolan lifted his gaze to her. “Because, according to Tim, a hero is always remembered but a legend never dies.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Sniper couldn’t settle down. Still running on the adrenaline high after yesterday’s attack, he paced back and forth, drumming his fingers on his thighs. The TV flashed, its light flickering across the walls.

  He was hidden safely inside the darkened bedroom. Now that he had managed to gain national attention, he had the curtains drawn. The drapes were so thick he couldn’t tell night from day.

  He stopped to pause and listen.

  No one knew of his secret but soon they would be looking for him.

  The news anchor was speaking of Timothy Morris when they switched over to the police captain. Hot, thick breaths spilled from his nostrils. A grin tugged at his lips. He liked everything he heard. The captain couldn’t reveal too much into their investigation, but the Sniper assumed they were still trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together.

  “Good luck.” He smirked.

  It was all going according to his original plan. Perhaps even better than he would have expected. Now all he needed was to hear the final list of confirmed dead to know if he was ready to move on to his next attack.

  When the program flicked to a commercial, he threw his fists in the air and cursed the screen. He was dying to hear more, wanted to hear the victims speak for themselves. Their stories would glorify his genius and water the revolution he’d set out to finish.

  Turning to face the bed, he glanced at his rifle.

  His heart fluttered inside his chest. He felt his cheeks blush with sudden warmth.

  The guitar case in which he carried his rifle lay open on the floor next to him. He was proud of that, too. The brilliance in disguising his weapon to be carried in the open for all to see.

  It was easy to move undetected in a city that appreciated the arts. Musicians were a dime a dozen and no one suspected a thing. Not even Pastor Michaels.

  When the news came back on air, it was a fresh cycle to start the top of the hour.

  The Sniper lowered himself to the edge of the bed, feeling it sink beneath his weight. He leaned forward, propping himself up on his elbows that dug into his knees.

  Shaking his head, he knew how they would speak of Timothy. Timothy was a boy who was lost. A troubled student; a recluse; an angry loner who was bullied. So many excuses, so little answered.

  “You only know half the story.” He chuckled.

  Yes, the Sniper knew Tim Morris was all those things, but that wasn’t the reason why he did what he did. Again, he thought himself a genius for the puzzle he had left behind for the investigators to piece together. All he needed was enough time to keep them at bay to allow him to complete his mission. Then, his name would live in infamy.

  The news anchor touched his earpiece. “I’m just learning that,” he looked up into the camera lens, “we now have the names of the confirmed dead.”

  Reaching for the remote, the Sniper turned up the volume not wanting to miss a name about to be read off.

  One by one, the faces of the dead were shown on the screen before the news anchor cut to a reporter in the field. “That’s right, Kyle, fourteen are still in critical or stable condition, including sixteen-year-old, Nolan Dreiss, who we are being told came out of surgery early this morning.”

  As if reacting with his sixth sense, the Sniper reached for his rifle and stood. Gripping the cold metal with both hands, he said, “Tell them your story, Nolan. Let them know that the terror reigned down yesterday is only the beginning and that the legend will never die.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Here, take some money for food.” I opened my purse and handed Mason a twenty-dollar bill. He crumbled it into the palm of his hand. “If you decide to leave early, call me. I’ll come and get you.”

  Mason cast his gaze to his shoes.

  “Did you hear me?” I gripped his shoulder and ironed my hand down his arm.

  He lifted his gaze and nodded.

  “If Nancy Jordan tries to talk, tell her to get lost.” The corners of his lips curled. “In fact, tell any reporter who tries to talk to you to do the same thing. Got it?”

  “Don’t worry, Mom. I got this.”

  “I know you do, sweetie.” I released Mason’s arm and turned to Natalie. “Thank you for letting him stay.”

  She shook her head, not a problem. “Go get ‘em, Sam. I want to know why as much as everyone else.”

  As difficult as it was to leave Mason, I knew he was in good hands. There was plenty of work that still had to be done, and Erin and I hurried out of the hospital on a renewed mission to find some answers to our growing list of questions.

  Erin waited until we were outside before talking her way through a plan. Stopping one foot outside the door, I scanned the area for any sights of Nancy Jordan. I didn’t want her approaching Mason without my consent, and I knew she was hungry for a story—hungry enough to skirt the line I had drawn in the sand earlier and go against my wishes.

  When Erin caught up with what I was doing she said, “Maybe she went to the school.”

  I exhaled a breath of air and glanced to Erin. “What do you think the shooter meant when he said, a hero is always remembered but a legend never dies? It sounds familiar.”

  We began walking, Erin already on her phone searching for something.

  “Maybe that he’s the legend and Nolan is the hero?”

  I felt my face tense as my thoughts churned.

  “That makes sense, right? I mean, you heard what Nolan said. Tim wanted him to tell his story of what ha
ppened.”

  “But Nolan is no hero.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  Picking up my pace, I lengthened my stride. “I’m thinking Tim wanted to be the hero that never died. Of course, now we know that isn’t the reality. He had to know that he wasn’t going to walk out of there alive. Whether he killed himself or the police did him the honor, he was a dead man after he committed his first murder.”

  “Okay, then what about the legend?”

  When we were within sight of my car, I stopped and turned to face Erin. “The legend is the story.”

  “That Tim wanted Nolan to tell?”

  “Or one that we haven’t learned yet.”

  Erin’s expression pinched.

  I raised my brows and stepped around my car, unlocking the doors. “There is something else Nolan said that I can’t stop thinking about.”

  Erin opened the passenger door.

  Staring over the windshield, I said, “Tim said he was a patriot of God put here to cleanse the earth of its mistakes.”

  “What do you think he meant by that?”

  “We know he was targeting Mason as well as other African American students. I assume Tim was referring to Mason’s mixed race when speaking of cleansing the earth of its mistakes.”

  Erin paused and I watched the blood leave her face. “Have you ever heard that phrase before?”

  I shook my head. We were both settled into our seats when Erin mentioned how Nolan made her believe that Tim was shooting from the hip. “He didn’t have the skills required to kill those officers. Not with their training to defend themselves.”

  “Only an expert could make those shots.”

  Erin picked up her phone when I asked, “How many rounds did the officers shoot off?”

  Staring over the dash, Erin swiped through her phone, digging through the notes she’d made earlier this morning. A minute later she turned to me and murmured, “None.”

  I gnawed on the inside of my cheek. “It’s not adding up.” My head was still shaking back and forth. “It was like these officers weren’t prepared, or didn’t even confront the shooter.”