by Jon Athan
“So, trust me.”
Despite their lifelong friendship, Dominick did not trust Mason. He didn't trust the creepy man with the rape van, he didn't trust his priest who gave him a dozen tender compliments, and he couldn't trust a school shooter. He didn't have any options, though. He closed his eyes and allowed Mason to proceed with his plans.
Mason leaned closer to his friend, grinning from ear-to-ear. He placed the muzzle of his gun on Dominick's moist brow. He waited for a moment, purposely trying to frighten his friend, then he pulled the trigger.
Click.
Dominick leaned away from the gun and opened his eyes. The handgun was out of ammunition. Still trembling from the shock, he sighed in relief and lowered his head. He nearly pissed himself, but he was grateful to be alive.
In a soft tone, Mason said, “Like I said: I'd never shoot a friend.”
Eyes full of tears, Dominick nervously chuckled and swiped at the sweat on his brow. He asked, “Why? Why did you really do this, Mason?”
“A lot of reasons, Dom. I'm not one of those self-righteous douchebags who's always on Twitter and Facebook and shit, but I really wanted to change the world.”
“Change the world? How does this change the world?”
“How? Well, it makes people scared and I like that. It also makes people less trusting, which will lead to more chaos. And, all of it will come back to me. I'll be famous forever. Crazy, isn't it?”
Dominick was awed by his friend's lack of sympathy. He stared down at the floor as he contemplated the past. He thought about the times when Mason helped him. He was a mischievous child, but he always seemed genuine.
As Dominick brooded over the past, Mason pulled out his pocket knife. He pressed the button on the handle and the blade snapped out. Dominick glanced up as he snapped out of his contemplation. He stared at the switchblade, eyes wide with fear.
Mason said, “You shouldn't trust anyone, Dom. That just leads to broken hearts.”
“Wha–”
Mason lunged forward and thrust the blade into Dominick's chest. Dominick gasped and fell back. Mason straddled his friend's waist as he dug the blade deeper into his chest. He missed his heart by an inch. He pulled the knife out, causing blood to splatter on his face. Blood dripped from the corner of Dominick's mouth, too.
Mason stabbed his chest again. Dominick convulsed as the blade penetrated his heart. His eyes became hollow, dim and lifeless. Yet, Mason did not stop stabbing him. He repeatedly thrust the knife into his friend's stomach – fifteen stabs. Despite Dominick's early death, he even twisted the blade with each stab to ensure he felt the most pain.
After the fifteenth stab, Mason pulled the knife out and fell back. He caught his breath as he stared at Dominick. He didn't feel any remorse for his savage actions.
He said, “Ten.”
***
Mason returned to the circulation desks. He sat on the table and glanced around. A few shelves fell over during the hectic escape. Textbooks littered the floor. There was a puddle of blood near the doors. The girl who was shot in the rib cage was able to escape the library, but she didn't survive.
A song disrupted the silence – some shitty pop song.
The lone gunman furrowed his brow and glanced around the library. His eyes stopped at a cell phone near the puddle of blood. A ringtone, he thought, I have a caller. He hopped off the desk and approached the phone. The caller ID on the screen read: Mom.
Mason glanced towards the aisles to the left. He could hear the buzzing vibrations from another phone – Dominick's phone. It didn't take him long to understand what was happening. The news was out: there was a shooter on campus and people were dead. Concerned parents were calling their kids. Unfortunately, many of them did not answer.
Mason sighed and shook his head – what a world. He sat at a table in the seating area and contemplated his journey. He had reached the finish line. He accomplished his goal, a double-digit body count, but he was not pleased. Since the conception of his idea, he always feared the final step. School shootings often ended in suicide.
Covered in Dominick's blood, he held the knife to his wrist. His hand trembled, barely nicking his skin. A droplet of blood streamed across his forearm. The blood made him queasy. Killing people was easy, but the sight of his own blood made him sick. He grunted as he lowered the knife. He couldn't cut his wrists.
He glanced towards the wall to his left. To his surprise, there was a television near the seating area. The TV sat on a cart. The library appeared to be reserved by a second period class to watch a documentary. The TV depicted the main menu of a DVD – the class didn't even get to start the feature presentation.
Before his very eyes, the screen blackened on its own. A dark, warped face appeared on the screen.
Through the speakers, the TV asked, “What are you doing, Masey? You're running out of time. The police will be raiding these rooms any minute now.”
Surprised, Mason stuttered, “You–You're here, too?”
“I'm everywhere. I'm on your TV, this TV, that TV... My power is infinite, kiddo. You should have known that by now. I mean, look at how far I've brought you. You've reached the end of the line thanks to me – thanks to my knowledge and influence. TV... TV is the most important thing in your life, but that's a story for another time. Talk to me, champ. What's going through your mind?”
Mason stared at the knife and said, “I can't do it. I killed... I killed everyone I could find, but I can't kill myself. Maybe I wasn't ready for this.”
“You were ready, Masey. You have to think positive, okay? You've made it this far and that's a big accomplishment. Thousands of people wish they could do something like this, but they're never ready for it. Even if you don't kill yourself, you're going down in history for this.”
“So... what do I do?”
A sigh emerged from the speakers. The TV said, “You have a few options, but you have to choose quickly. The cops aren't going to wait very long.”
“I know. Just... Just tell me what to do. Please.”
“Alright, alright. Settle down. Let's see... You can follow the shooters before you and kill yourself. That is the preferred route. You see, it takes the opportunity of vengeance away from the grieving families and it makes the cops feel like failures. Speaking of cops, here's your second option: go out there and try to take them out with you.”
Mason nodded as he considered the option. If he killed the cops with a knife, he would become a legend among people like him. He would go out in a blaze of glory, too. However, he wasn't sold on the idea of dying.
Mason asked, “If I do that, I'd definitely be killed, right?”
The TV responded, “Of course. But, if the cops are caught on tape killing a teenager with a knife, you have the potential of causing a few riots. You're a killer, but people will still fight for your 'rights.' We've reached that point in society.”
“That's cool and all, but... Do you have any other options?”
“Well, you can turn yourself in. You'd go through a long court process and you'd end up in prison. I'd say it would be terrible if you got a life sentence. You'd probably be shanked in the yard. If you get a death sentence, that's a different story.”
“What do you mean?”
The TV explained, “Death row isn't as bad as people think. You get your own cell and you don't have to talk to anyone. No one will have the opportunity to kill you in the yard. It would be like having your own place. It gets better, though. You'll have your own room, you can get an education, you get free healthcare, you can get yourself a computer, and you can even get one of me – a television. And it will all be paid for by the families of the victims and people like them.”
A glimmer of hope sparkled in Mason's eyes. Death row sounded like paradise to a recluse like him – paradise row. Death – he wasn't a big fan of the word, though. He imagined himself strapped into the electric chair, dying at the will of another man.
Mason said, “Death is death... It doesn't ma
tter if I do it or if they do it. Even if I go to death row, I'd still die.”
“That's right, Masey. You don't have to worry about that, though. Most people on death row don't die for years. Hell, 25-percent of death row inmates die of natural causes! You don't have to worry about death on death row. That's one of the benefits. So, what will it be?”
Mason juggled his options. He couldn't easily accept the first two – he couldn't kill himself and he didn't want the police to kill him. He considered turning himself in, but the possibility of receiving a life-sentence frightened him.
Teary-eyed, the shooter held the knife to his wrist. He could see his life flashing before him – images of his family and friends drenched in blood. The blade nicked his wrist again as his arm trembled uncontrollably...
Chapter Nineteen
Breaking News
“Details are still coming to us out of the western part of California where police have been responding to a shooting at Pinewood Valley High School,” Malcolm Scott reported as he stared into the camera. “The shooting is being reported as the deadliest school shooting in the state of California. So far, ten have been reported killed and several more injured. One suspect has been captured and the police are searching the school for any other accomplices or explosives. They're doing amazing work out there. Again, this is Pinewood Valley High School and reports have been coming in since 9:03 A.M. It is... a dark day – a very dark day.”
He stared down at the stack of papers on the table and sighed, dismayed by the tragic news. Through his slick black hair, pearly white teeth, and dapper suit, it was difficult to see if he was playing a role or if he was truly sympathetic.
The reporter coughed to clear his throat, then he said, “As we wait for more details on this tragedy, we've set-up a round-table to discuss the facts we have in-hand. We have enough to discuss the whys and the hows, which is important. It really is. To my left, we have political commentator Martin Brown and Mothers Against Gunners representative Shannon Page. To my right, we have WPPKA commentator Cameron Washington.” He turned towards his left and said, “You both have had very strong opinions and I think now is a good time to respectfully present those opinions. How do we stop something like this from happening, Mr. Brown?”
Sweat glistening on his brow, Martin Brown nervously smiled and adjusted his cheap tie. The bald spot at the center of his head glistened, too. He ran his fingers across his wispy mustache and leaned forward.
Martin said, “Listen, this is a... tragedy. Unfortunately, it's a tragedy that could have been avoided. If there were armed police officers on campus throughout the day, they could have stopped this kid from shooting up his entire school. They could–”
“That is wrong,” Shannon Page interrupted, her blonde hair bouncing on her shoulders as she shook her head. She said, “More guns won't solve this problem. There was an armed officer on campus, as a matter of fact, and he did not stop him. He did–”
“He did not stop him because police are being crucified left-and-right across the country for using their guns, even when force is justified. He could have–”
“He could have used a taser. He could have used some pepper spray. He doesn't have to shoot a kid to stop him. We don't need more dead kids. It's tragic enough already. We need–”
“I'll tell you what we need,” Martin interrupted – again. “We need people like you to stop attacking our men and women in blue. A police officer – Scott Webb, I believe – is dead because of this young psychopath.”
Malcolm waved and said, “I have to step in. You both have different opinions. Very different, obviously. I think our audience would like to hear from Mr. Cameron Washington.” He turned to his right and said, “It's good to have you back, Mr. Washington. You've seen this before. I think we're all sick of seeing news like this. It makes me physically ill. But, you've reported on it, you've written books on the subject... How do we stop this from happening?”
Composed, Cameron pushed his glasses up and said, “Well, we have to start paying attention. Don't get me wrong, I believe guns are part of the problem. However, even if this kid did not have access to a firearm, I think he still would have hurt his classmates. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe injuries with knives and acid have been reported. So, this is a case, like many others, where we failed to help this kid before he snapped.”
“I'm sorry to cut you off,” Malcolm said. “More details are coming in on this tragic shooting at Pinewood Valley High School.”
The reporter held his hand to his ear and nodded, as if he were listening to someone. Stony-faced, he stared down at his stacks of paper and shook his head. Still, the sincerity behind his expressions and gestures was debatable.
He said, “The Pinewood Valley police have conducted a thorough examination of the suspect's home. For those who missed it earlier today, the suspect is Mason Williams, a 13-year-old student at the targeted school. Three bodies have been found in the home. His father was shot dead, his mother was apparently strangled to death, and a young girl who... who may have been bludgeoned to death days prior to the shooting were found in his home. With this grisly discovery, we're looking at thirteen deaths.”
Although the participants differed in opinions, the group shared the same response to the news – sorrow and disgust.
Malcolm continued, “This may be interesting to our discussion, as well. We're hearing Mason had an addiction to violent movies – extremely violent movies, to be exact. This is coming from discoveries in the house as well as interviews with friends. Mason was apparently a recluse who enjoyed violent movies and violent video games. Could there be a... a link here, Mrs. Page?”
Shannon nodded and said, “Of course it is. These video games, they train our kids to kill. They're so realistic nowadays. They show our kids how to reload weapons, how to aim properly, and how to kill. They desensitize them.”
“If there's one thing we can agree on, it's the video games and the movies,” Martin said as he wagged his finger. “I don't believe guns are responsible for these tragedies. A gun is an inanimate object. It does not speak. The video games, the movies... They have a voice. They brainwash our kids. That's where the influence comes from. A gun can't do that. So, we shouldn't be talking about banning guns and destroying the Constitution. No, take the games and movies away if you want this to stop. Force them to be family-friendly.”
Malcolm furrowed his brow and asked, “Are you talking about censoring movies and video games?”
“Censorship is a strong word and it's thrown around too often. Restricting something is not synonymous with censorship. We have to make that clear.”
Malcolm turned towards his right and asked, “Mr. Washington, in your research, have you seen a link between violent video games and gun violence?”
Cameron said, “It's really a little of everything, so we have to take everything into consideration. We often skip over mental health issues, though, and that's a problem. We have to start talking about everything.”
Malcolm closed his eyes and waved, cutting off his guest as he considered his options. He needed to drive the conversation into the most controversial subject. Unfortunately, mental health was not a popular topic. Mental health was treated as a buzzword by politicians looking to get re-elected. A politician's Twitter account was more popular than the real issues.
Malcolm said, “We discuss mental health quite often. We have to ask, though: do violent video games and movies trigger these types of shootings?”
“They can serve as triggers, sure, but it's not absolutely definitive. I mean, if that were the case, then any violent image could be blamed. That includes images we show on news programs like this. Think about it this way: there are millions of people who enjoy 'violent' video games and movies without reacting violently. So, they can be triggers for certain people, but–”
“But, if video games and movies can trigger such a violent response, shouldn't they be regulated?” Malcolm interrupted, disregarding Cameron's statem
ent about news programs.
“Regulated,” Martin said. “That's the correct word. It's not censorship, folks. It's regulation.”
Shannon huffed, then she said, “If you ask me, guns should be regulated.”
The group spiraled into another argument, constantly interrupting each other to get the last word. Each person was trapped in a bubble of ignorance, refusing to listen to one another. They were not searching for solutions at the round-table discussion. They were simply looking to push their agendas and defend their beliefs.
Cooperation, respect – regardless of beliefs, those were things of the past in the United States. Common sense was an archaic concept.
Interrupting the live argument, Malcolm said, “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. One of our affiliates has obtained a clip of the suspect, Mason Williams. Let's play that now.”
The clip depicted Mason being dragged out of the school – alive. Blood leaked from his wrist and stained his handcuffs, but the boy survived. He refused to kill himself. He couldn't help but smile as reporters recorded him from afar.
Shouting over the police officers' demands to get back, a man shouted, “Why did you do it?!”
Mason tried to stop to answer the reporter's question. He nervously chuckled as he was dragged away from the crowd.
He leaned back and shouted, “My TV told me to do it!” He grimaced and grunted as a cop violently tugged on his arm. With a smirk on his face, arrogant and devious, Mason leaned away and said, “It's fifteen, okay? I beat 'em. I did it. And I didn't have to kill myself!”
Mason was pulled away and placed in the back of a cop car. In the backseat of the cruiser, he lifted his arms behind his back and tried to wave at the cameras. He smiled and mouthed a few words, but he could not be heard. The cruiser sped away, taking Mason to the closest police station for processing.
As the clip ended, Malcolm said, “Wow. That is some... truly chilling stuff. We're not exactly sure what he was talking about when he mentioned the 'fifteen,' but I'm sure we'll find out soon. He could have been talking about more murders. We'll see. One thing that caught my attention was the TV-thing. He said, 'My TV told me to do it.' What do you think about that, Mrs. Page?”
