Bell Hath No Fury

by Jeremy Waldron

  “Certainly makes me curious to know why he went straight to assuming the case should have been closed.”

  I brought my hand to my brow, shielding the intense low angle of the sun from my eyes.

  “And what was that about creating our own legacy if we so desire? These are just kids. They shouldn’t be worried about legacy at that age.”

  “Unless someone is telling them they should be.” I squinted and I felt my heart pause inside my chest when I finally spotted the young man standing near an entrance on the corner of the building. “There,” I said, pointing.

  We took off, not wanting to let him get away a second time. Once I was within earshot, I slowed my stride. A thick white cloud spewed from his mouth. He was alone, vaping, and didn’t see us coming.

  “You’re the student I saw in Professor Croft’s class, right?” I asked as I approached.

  He stood and stared without saying a word.

  “My name is Samantha Bell and this is my colleague, Erin Tate.” Erin flashed him her friendliest smile. “I was hoping we could ask you some questions about what it’s like to be a student in Professor Croft’s class.”

  He pulled another wop off his e-cigarette and blew thick plumes out of his nostrils.

  “You see, my son was a student at North High. I’m sure you heard what happened there yesterday?”

  The man raised his brows in a manner that led me to believe he was disinterested in anything I had to say.

  “Anyway, I saw you stop in when we were speaking about it to Croft.”

  His head bobbed. “Ah, yes. Now I remember you.”

  Feeling my chest expand with renewed hope, I said, “I couldn’t help but notice how you seemed to recognize the term Patriots of God.”

  The air between us went silent. We stared into each other’s eyes but there was nothing.

  “Are you aware of that term, or do you know what it is?” Erin asked.

  He flicked his narrowed gaze to Erin and kept his Juul device gripped tightly in the palm of his hand. “I don’t know anything about it.”

  “Why did you leave the moment you arrived to class?”

  “I saw Croft was busy so I decided to have a quick smoke break before class.”

  “The boy, Timothy Morris, who shot up North High yesterday, he was in Professor Croft’s class. Did you know him?”

  “Tim hated it when people called him Timothy.”

  I shared a quick glance to Erin. She inched closer. “So, you knew Tim?”

  He nodded. “I’m not surprised he did it.”

  The lines on my forehead furrowed. “Why do you say that?”

  “Tim was an angry kid. He seemed to hate lots of people at that school.”

  “Did he tell you this?” Erin asked.

  He nodded again and flirted with taking another wop off his machine but decided against it. “Tim had mentioned doing something but I never thought he would actually follow through.”

  My pulse grew faint. “Did you report this to anybody?”

  The young man wrapped his lips around his wop machine and took a drag of nicotine. “Like I said, I didn’t take his words literally.” Smoke poured out of his mouth as he talked. “I just thought he wanted to appear tough while blowing off some steam.”

  I didn’t want to fault this kid for doing nothing, but it was hard to believe he hadn’t seen the warning signs.

  “Do you think Croft’s class inspired Tim to take action?” Erin asked.

  “Let’s just put it this way.” His green eyes flicked to Erin. “In order to ace a paper, it’s best you don’t stray too far from Croft’s personal views.”

  My lips parted. “You mean you just tell him what he wants to hear?”

  The student squinted his eyes and pulled off his wop machine again. “It means Croft likes his fat little ego to be stroked.” He turned his head and blew his smoke down his right arm. “If you ask me, politics is toxic and everything can be taken out of context or twisted.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “What I mean is, Croft encourages us to get political. Take on issues that are important to us. Some people get really into it.”

  “And you? What’s important to you?”

  He pulled out his cellphone and checked the time. “Do I look like I care about anything?”

  “You look like a smart kid.”

  He huffed a disbelieving laugh. “I’m only here because it’s a required credit.” His eyes danced between Erin and me. “Look, I better get back inside before I miss too much.”

  I handed him my business card. “Contact me if you remember anything else you can tell us about Croft or Tim. We’re trying to learn why Tim did what he did.”

  The student swiped my card out of my hand. Before he left, I asked, “Hey, what’s your name?”

  He hesitated for a brief moment before saying, “Chandler.”

  Then he headed back inside without another word. As soon as we were alone, I dug out my own cellphone. “Who are you calling?” Erin asked.

  “Allison.” I listened to the line ring. “She’ll be able to track keywords and collect data in real time from the internet. If this group is reforming, it would be nice to know about it before something else happens.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  We were driving to Allison’s office when the dullness inside my chest spread to each of my limbs. I couldn’t get over how Tim’s behavior prior to the shooting went unreported. When the bile in my stomach rose, I quickly swallowed it down. Then I scrubbed a trembling hand over my face and turned to Erin.

  “Do you think Chandler might not be telling the complete truth?”

  Without taking her eyes off her cellphone screen, Erin mumbled, “You heard what he said about politics being toxic.”

  “If what he said was true, Tim confessed to his plan.” Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, I turned to Erin. “The school shooting could have been prevented if Chandler had said something.”

  “I understand what you’re saying, but phrases like I’ll kill you and drop dead get thrown around daily without it actually ever bearing fruit. No one takes those words seriously. How could you expect a man Chandler’s age to think differently?”

  “This is different.”

  “We don’t know what Tim’s exact words were. It’s only different in hindsight.”

  “No, but Chandler said he wasn’t surprised to learn that Tim was the one behind it.”

  “Do you really expect school administrators or the police to be able to sift through what’s real and what’s not?”

  “Yeah, I do.” My tone remained even. “If it means saving lives, then each threat needs to be treated as such.”

  Erin twisted her spine and angled her body to face me. “Then tell me this, do you still think Professor Croft might be more involved than what he’s leading us to believe?”

  Staring ahead, I said, “The fact that one student thinks he has to regurgitate Croft’s personal views in order to ace a test is enough to make me think that Croft is doing more to push his personal agenda than teach the constitution.”

  Erin narrowed her eyes in deep thought. “King mentioned the Patriots of God fighting to protect traditional values.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Then would that also apply to Constitutionalism?”

  “Like the theories of John Locke?”

  Erin nodded. “As well as the founders of our republic.”

  “Okay, I see where you’re going. Let’s say the Patriots of God did consider themselves modern day knights put here to protect the Founding Fathers’ ideals. What does that have to do with Chandler or Croft?”

  “When I first saw it, I thought it was a class project they were working on—all those posters—but now I’m thinking it wasn’t that at all.”

  I flashed Erin an arched look.

  “I bet it was protest signs.” Erin stared and waited for a response. When I had nothing, she said, “Chandler’s not wrong, you know. Politics ca
n get toxic. If Croft wants to push his own agenda, standing up to protect the constitution the way he sees it, what better way to do it than to make your voice heard?”

  “Chandler said Croft encourages his students to get political.”

  There was a sparkle in Erin’s eye. “What could they be protesting?”

  “What could they not be protesting? The election is nearly here and this governor’s race has been anything but dull.” I flipped on my blinker and made a right turn. “But I can’t see how the Patriots of God relates to any of that.”

  We pulled into the back of Allison’s small Tudor house she’d converted into an office space and parked.

  “Either Croft knows and is keeping his involvement a secret, or his students are up to something and are using his class as an incubator for recruitment.”

  I sighed and felt my breath catch in my throat. The thought of it being either scenario prickled my scalp. Opening my door, we scampered around the house and entered Allison’s office from the front.

  Patty O’Neil, Allison’s Chief of Operations, was the first to greet us. “Hey, Sam. I’ve been praying for you and your son. We all have been.”

  “Thanks.” A soft murmur fluttered over my lips.

  “Allison is in her office. She’s expecting you.”

  “I’m here.” Allison approached with a playful grin pulling at her lips. “Sam, how is Mason’s friend doing?”

  “He’s doing well, considering.”

  “The office has been rooting for him.” Allison glanced to Erin and winked. “Susan told me about wanting to meet up for drinks—”

  I flashed her a questioning look.

  Allison cocked her head to the side. “She didn’t tell you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, I’m sure it slipped her mind. I got the impression she’s having an equally tough day and needs some girl time.” Allison told me the details and I promised her we’d make it but I wanted to remind her about Pastor Michaels’s vigil.

  “Of course I’ll be there,” she said. “But that’s not why you’re here, is it?”

  I shook my head. “I need your help.”

  Allison’s smile evaporated into thin air. “I was afraid of that. Let’s talk in my office.”

  We followed Allison to the back and found ourselves taking a seat the moment Allison closed her door. It was quiet while Allison took her spot behind her desk.

  Allison leaned back and clasped her hands over her stomach. “Catch me up on your day and I’ll see what kind of help I can be.”

  Over the next several minutes, I shared the details of our visit with Nolan before moving on to the discovery Erin made and King later confirmed.

  “A second shooter, huh?” Allison’s head shook with disbelief. “I assume this is something that needs to be kept secret? Because I haven’t heard it being mentioned in the news.”

  “Top secret,” I said.

  “Then how can I help?”

  “It’s something Nolan heard the shooter say.”

  Allison’s expression pinched.

  I inhaled a deep breath before I said, “We need to know if the Patriots of God group is back.”

  Allison’s eyes flickered like a candle in the night. Her shoulders tensed when she murmured, “I haven’t thought about that in a very long time.”

  Erin tipped forward in her chair. “We have reason to believe that the organization might have regrouped.”

  Allison flicked her gaze to Erin. “And you want me to do what?”

  “Confirm if Timothy Morris was a member,” I said. “Crawl the web and see if you can pick up any chatter that can also confirm if the organization is regrouping.”

  Allison rolled her gaze to the window. She stared with a nervous expression tugging her eyebrows awkwardly. If anybody understood the implications of a group like the Patriots of God, it was Allison. “It now makes more sense what Timothy was saying in his Facebook Live video.” She turned back to face us. “His words mimicked things I used to hear my parents talk about when racial tension was high in this city.”

  “Do you remember your parents speaking about the Patriots of God?”

  “Not much. They were good at making me believe the world was better than it is.”

  “Can you hack into Timothy’s social media accounts?”

  “If they’re still active,” Allison confirmed with a single nod.

  “And if not?”

  “It would be much harder.”

  “But you could still do it?”

  One side of Allison’s mouth curled as she bounced her gaze to Erin. The three of us smiled, hopeful that not all was lost and buried somewhere deep in cyberspace.

  “We need to know what Tim has been posting leading up to the school shooting and if there are any obvious links to a second shooter. There is no telling if the shooter is planning anything new or if yesterday was it.”

  “I’m not sure how long it will take but I’ll start working on it today.” I pushed myself up, ready to leave. Before I could land fully on my feet, Allison said, “Sam, have you watched the news recently?”

  “No. Why?”

  Allison curled her fingers over her laptop keyboard and said, “There is something you should see before you go.”

  I was slow to lower myself back down into my chair. As soon as I sat, Erin reached over and took my hand inside of hers.

  “This happened ten minutes before you arrived.”

  Allison flipped the computer screen in my direction.

  I leaned forward and watched as Rick Morris spoke passionately to TV news crews. It was evident he was unable to take his wife’s advice and keep his anger contained. Gripping a white cross in his hand, he looked directly into the camera lens and said, “Your children are not as innocent as you would like them to be. They are equally as guilty as the dark light you’re casting my son in. And if you want to label Tim a dark villain, I will make certain you soon learn who the true villain really is.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The door chimed as the Sniper entered the small gift shop. The clerk working the front register stared and greeted him as he entered with a single nod.

  The Sniper grinned back and quickly looked away. He was on a mission and didn’t plan to linger longer than he had to. It was too risky, even if his involvement hadn’t been discovered. He was walking on thin ice, his strategy of deception a gamble to go all-in.

  Strolling toward the gift aisle, nerves kept him jittery. He couldn’t help but feel that the police were on to him—that they would see through his disguise of hiding in plain sight. His fears were all inside his head, of course. None of it was real. Even with his constant desire to nervously glance around, check to see if he was being followed, he kept his eyes pointed straight ahead, choosing confidence over fear.

  He focused on his breath, listening to the blood thrash loud in his ears.

  Weaving through the store, he kept searching for the item he needed—the item that would help remind him of his mission, the item that would signal to the world who he was and what he was fighting for. It would be his calling card, his beacon in the night.

  Sounds surrounding him soon disappeared as he intently focused. His feet felt heavy as bricks. He wondered if he shouldn’t have taken his chances at a larger box store instead of this little shop. He was here now, so he would take what they had on offer.

  The Sniper kept looking. He would search this entire store before giving up. He wasn’t a quitter. He fought on, got up when knocked over, and refused to be pushed around.

  Then, suddenly, he caught sight of what it was he was after.

  He felt his spine pull straight. Despite the urge to run toward it, he purposely slowed his approach with the hopes of not drawing attention to himself.

  Feeling lightheaded, his head spun as his vision faded into a dark tunnel. Slowly he walked, staring at the flag. The colors of red, white, and blue were electric in the light but it was the shining object attached to the
top that he was after.

  Dropping to one knee, he reached for the white eagle perched above the American flag. Stroking it with his thumb, it was cool to the touch. It blasted him with a sudden surge of incredible power. He felt strong knowing many great men had fought and died for these colors. And, once he brought the white eagle to the white cross, the symbol of his heritage would be reborn.

  A wave of heat moved beneath his collar.

  His heartrate increased, along with his sense of power.

  Standing, he floated back to the register like a ship set sail. The same man who’d greeted him when he arrived was still standing at the only open checkout. His dark eyes followed the Sniper all the way to the front.

  The Sniper gripped the flag tighter inside his hand and lowered his brow as he studied the man’s dark complexion.

  “Find what you’re looking for?”

  The Sniper nodded without saying a single word.

  Scanning the barcode, the price rang up. “It seems everyone wants to purchase these with this year’s election. I suppose it’s the rising patriotism that is encouraging the sales. Well, these and the little white crosses.”

  The Sniper swept his gaze up and stared into the stranger’s eyes.

  “After what happened yesterday.” The cashier paused and hoped the Sniper would say something. “So sad.” The man sighed and dropped the little flag into a plastic bag. “Ten-thirty-three.”

  The Sniper reached to his back pocket, opened his wallet, and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. Handing it to the cashier, he kept his gaze pointed to the counter. It was important he wasn’t recognized. He didn’t want to be remembered.

  “Your change,” the cashier said.

  Snapping out of his thoughts, the Sniper opened his palm and let the money drop into his hand. He left the store without saying a word and soon found himself tucked safely behind the steering wheel of his car, driving by North High.

  He could still see TV news vans lingering at the scene of his crime. Police were working, combing the scene for evidence. Though it crossed his mind, he hadn’t come here to tempt the authorities into learning that Tim hadn’t acted alone. The Sniper had another location on his mind.