This is the second of two of my short stories I'm posting in the aftermath of the mass shooting in Indianapolis last week. This story was published in the Speed City Chapter Sisters in Crime anthology MURDER 20/20, which is still available.
In The Deepest Darkness
by Stephen Terrell
Whoever
curses his father or mother,
his
lamp will be extinguished in the deepest darkness.
– Proverbs 20:20
Six Weeks After the
Darkness
The
priest’s words echoed off the high ceilings and cavernous emptiness of the
church. The first sunlight streaming through stained glass images of the
Stations of the Cross dimly lit pale statues of the saints. A dozen worshipers
for morning mass were scattered in the first few pews, but Hanna Carmichael sat
in the back row, an observer rather than a participant.
Without moving his head, the priest
subtly slid a small scrap of paper resting on the pulpit to where he could see
it. He recited the words familiar to the faithful, which he had long ago
memorized. “Remember our brother . . . ”
The priest looked at the slip of paper.
“David Edward Carmichael, who has fallen asleep in the peace of your
Christ, and all the dead, whose faith you alone have known. Admit them to
rejoice in the light of your face.”
A few moments later, as Hanna
unlocked her car, she heard footsteps hurrying behind her. She turned to see
the priest scurrying toward her. “Wait please,” he said, through quick breaths
that showed exertion.
Hanna stood, keys still in hand,
but did not say anything.
The priest, his graying black hair
and paunch showing the onset of middle age, stopped just beyond an arm’s length
away. “I need to get more exercise,” he said breathlessly. After a few seconds
he continued. “I’m Father Glenn. I saw you in the back of the sanctuary. Did
you know the person we remembered in the service?”
“He was my son,” Hanna said in a
matter-of-fact tone. “My cousin Ellen attends your church and requested you say
the mass for David.”
“Ellen McQueen?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, I know Ellen well. She’s such
a wonderful woman.”
“She is. She made the request.
Today would have been David’s seventeenth birthday.”
Father Glen dropped his eyes and
shook his head somberly. “I am truly sorry for your loss. A loss at such a
tender age is always an unspeakable tragedy. I hope the service today provided
you with some comfort.”
“I know you mean well, Father. I
know it helped Ellen. She’s very strong in her faith. She believed she was doing something for
David . . . something for me. I’m grateful for that. But when you lose a son,
it’s all pretty hollow.”
“The loss of a young person is
always a challenge to our faith. But we must find comfort in the Lord’s
promises of comfort and life everlasting. What happened to your son, if you
don’t mind me asking?”
“David was killed in a school
shooting.”
Father Glenn’s hand covered his
mouth which was open in shock. “That’s just, well, just horrific. When did this
happen?”
Hanna’s eyes shifted and stared off
into the distance. After a long silence, she said, “Six weeks ago.”
***
Three Years Before
The Darkness
Alan Carmichael slammed his cup on the breakfast nook,
coffee sloshing over the edge of his cup. “You coddle that boy too much. He
needs a firm hand.”
Hanna’s eyes flashed with rage.
“Taking your belt to him is not being firm. Why don’t you take out your
handcuffs and put them on David like one of the thugs you’re arresting?”
“ I’ve never hit that boy with a
belt,” Alan said, ratcheting his voice down several decibels. “I know I said
I’d take a belt to him. That’s what my mom did to me. But I’ve never done it.”
“You just can’t yell and threaten
him. He’s your son.” Hanna walked to the toaster and put two slices of bread in
the slot. She turned back toward her husband, taking a deep breath. “I know
he’s difficult. But he’s a good kid at heart. You just have to be patient.”
“I try, but it’s frustrating. I
spend time with him. I take him out to the shooting range with me. He likes
that well enough, but I think only because it’s like those damned video games
he’s always playing. He just spends so damned much time up in his room playing
those video games. I tried to take him bowling or to a football game, but he’s
not interested. He doesn’t have any friends. I just don’t know what’s wrong
with him.”
***
Three Weeks Before
The Darkness
David banged
hard into his school locker, then lost his balance. As he fell, his books and
papers flew from his hands and scattered across the hallway.
“Better watch where you’re going,
David,” the tallest boy said, his voice in a sing-song taunt. “You have trouble
walking?”
The three boys who crashed into him
laughed uncontrollably as they walked on down the hall.
David clenched his jaw tight,
grinding his teeth to fight back tears and rage. He leaned to begin gathering
his things.
“Assholes.” It was a soft voice
behind him. David turned and saw Constance Griffith standing behind him. Even
with a look of disgust on her face, Constance was gorgeous. She kneeled next to
David and picked up his scattered papers as David retrieved his books. “Those
guys are such immature dicks,” she said. Constance handed the papers to David.
“Hope you’re not late to your next class.” With that, she headed down the
hallway in the same direction the boys had gone.
***
Eight Days Before The
Darkness
David sat by
himself at a table for four in the school cafeteria. His daily routine of two
sloppy joes, fries, and a Snickers Bar he brought from home were nearly gone.
Sounds and laughter of lunchtime conversations reverberated around the room,
but David was oblivious. He had been planning this moment for the past two
weeks. He kept his eyes fixed across the
room where Constance Griffith sat with three other girls. They were carrying on an animated
conversation punctuated by fits of laughter.
David looked at the scrawled note
he had pulled from his pocket. “Do this now!” David took a deep breath, then
stood. In tentative steps he walked across the room to where Constance and her
friends were sitting.
“Hi Constance,” he said, his voice
barely croaking out the words. No one turned to notice him. He tried again. This time the words boomed
out as if he were yelling across the entire cafeteria.
Constance jumped a bit, then
turned. Her faced showed puzzlement and perhaps a little concern. But she
recognized David and gave a polite smile. “Why hi, David. I didn’t see you
there. Can I do something for you?”
David had rehearsed his lines for
hours in his bedroom with the door closed. He had tried different words – cute,
clever, romantic. They all worked perfectly. But now as he stood here, he
couldn’t recall any of them. And his courage deserted him.
Looking down at his hands that were
folded in front of him, David talked in a voice barely above a whisper. “I, uh, well, I, uh, just wanted to thank you
for the other day. When those guys knocked me into the locker and you helped
pick up my books, that was very nice.”
Constance smiled broadly. Her
cheeks flushed with a hint of pink and puffed out so that her smile covered not
just her mouth, but her entire face. “There’s no need to thank me. Lots of
people would have helped. I just happened to be there.”
Constance started to turn back
around, but David started speaking again.
“I’d like to do something to thank
you. If you’re not doing anything Saturday, maybe I could take you to a movie.”
The smile dropped off Constance’s
face, her mouth forming an open “O.” In an instant, David knew he made a
horrible miscalculation.
“I, uh, don’t think so, David. I
already have plans for the weekend.”
David knew that it didn’t matter whether she had plans or not. He hung his head even further and turned to walk away.
As he walked away, David heard the
words behind him.
“Did
that perv just ask you for a date? Oh my God. He really did, didn’t he.”
“Be nice,” Constance said.
“Did he really think you’d go out
with someone like him. Oh my God. Can
you imagine kissing him?”
Then he heard a sucking sound,
followed by all of the girls laughing.
***
Seven Days Before The
Darkness
The morning after being turned down by Constance,
David walked through the school in a fog. Somehow, he made it from one class to
the next, but at the end of each class, he could not recall a single thing that
happened the previous hour. Through the edges of the fog, it seemed that everyone
was looking at him, pointing, laughing. He knew it was his imagination, that no
one in the entire school even knew he existed. Not even his teachers. So often
he wished he could just disappear. And if by some miracle it happened, no one
in the school would even notice.
Lunch period came. As always, David
went through the line by himself, ordered the same food he did every day, then
carried his tray to a table against the wall where he sat eating by himself. As
he ate, he sensed eyes on him. He looked up and saw several people quickly look
the other way. At one table, a girl looked at him, then laughed and shared what
was on her phone with the girl sitting next to her. At another table, two boys
were laughing and one pointed directly at him.
It wasn’t David’s imagination.
David lowered his head and
concentrated on his sloppy joes. When his tray was empty, he reached into his
backpack for his Snickers bar.
Curt Marcum, a boy who had been in
David’s classes since elementary school, took a seat across the table from
David. Freckle-faced and lacking social graces, Curt was an outsider, too. But
his easy-going nature and willingness to help those who didn’t have his
unfathomable ability in math and science left him free from being the target of
taunts and bullying.
“Hey, David.”
David looked up surprised. No one
had sat with him at lunch since he started high school. “Hi, Curt. What’s up?”
Curt leaned in and lowered his
voice. “David, I just don’t think it’s right what’s going on. I want you to
know I have nothing to do with it.”
David’s mind was blank. “What do
you mean? What’s going on?”
“The stuff Angie Blankenship
started about you on social media. There’s just no excuse for it. And I told
her so.”
“What stuff?”
“You haven’t seen it?”
“No. What are you talking about.”
“Oh, Jesus, David. I don’t want to
be the one to tell you.”
David’s voice rose. “Tell me what?”
Curt looked away, his mouth tight.
After a long moment, he turned back to face David and pulled out his phone.
“You sure you want to see this?”
“Show it to me,” David demanded.
Curt punched his phone to life and
scrolled until he found what he was looking for. He handed his phone to David. The social media post showed more than 200
“Likes” and “Laughing” responses, and a long list of replies.
David glared at the screen, then
read:
“That perv David Carmichael asked
Constance Griffith for a date. Can U imagine. Can you imagine kissing that
pimple faced freak? Ewwwwwwwwwww!”
The first reply was even worse:
“Deformed David Carbuncle?” Attached to the post was a photo showing
David’s school yearbook photo superimposed on a boil oozing puss. There were so
many laughing face emojis that David couldn’t count them all.
Post after post followed. “I wouldn’t kiss Carbuncle with your
mouth.” “Hey Constance, I’ll give you
$20 if you stick your tongue in Carbuncle’s mouth.” “I’ve seen his pecker in gym. Maybe it should
be TW Carbuncle – for Teeny Weeny.”
David fought the urge to throw the
phone. He slid it back across the table to Curt. He looked across the cafeteria
and it seemed that every eye was on him.
David swiped his tray, sending it
flying across the room. He stood without saying anything and walked out of the
cafeteria and out of the school.
***
Two Hours Before The
Darkness
Alan Carmichael sat at his desk in the detective squad
reviewing incident reports from the previous night. As he sipped on his third
cup of coffee of the morning, he made notes about the follow-up investigation,
and filled out the assignment sheet on which detective would handle the matter.
He always kept the most interesting cases for himself.
The phone on Alan’s desk buzzed.
“Detectives. Carmichael speaking.”
“Alan, we’ve got a shooting on the
west side.” It was the familiar voice of Assistant Chief Ben Truman. “One of
our young patrolmen, Gary Storey, answered a call to a domestic. When he got
there, he found a woman dead on the front porch, her husband still standing
over her, swearing at her.”
“Is the guy in custody.”
“Yeah. Pretty open and shut. But I
think this is Storey’s first murder scene. He seems pretty shook up. Can you
take it?”
“I’m on my way. Be there in 15.”
***
Thirty
Minutes Before The Darkness
“Get up, David,” Hanna shouted as she pounded three
times on the door to David’s room. “You
haven’t gone to school all week. You have to go today. Otherwise they’re going
to kick you out.”
There was no sound. Hanna tried the
door, but it was locked. She cursed under her breath about allowing David to
have a lock on his door. She hit the
door again. “Get up!”
This time there was a response, but
only the series of F-bombs were understandable, then something hit the door
from the inside.
“I’m not going to tolerate this.
You can’t say those things in this house.”
“Whatcha gonna do, mommy?” The
sarcasm dripped from each word. “You going to call daddy at work and tell him
to bring the handcuffs home and arrest me?”
“Just stop it. I don’t know what’s
wrong, but you have to go to school.”
Hannah heard moving and thrashing
around inside David’s room. The
commotion lasted for minutes without a single word being spoken. Finally, the
door flew open. David, wearing a wrinkled t-shirt and the same jeans he had
worn all week, barged out of the room. “
“Get out of my way, bitch,” he
yelled. As he passed, David’s backpack crashed into Hanna, knocking her into
the wall.
Hanna stood in the upstairs hall,
rubbing the place where her shoulder banged into the wall. She could hear the
sounds from downstairs as David thrashed around. The refrigerator opened and
closed with a slam. So, too, did the cabinet doors. There was a rattling of
dishes and silverware.
Hanna’s heart pounded in her throat
and her breathing was hurried and short. She walked into her bedroom and sat
down hard on the edge of the bed, trying to remember the techniques Dr. Oz had
taught on his show to reduce stress.
From below, Hanna heard the sounds
of David rooting around like an angry bear. Doors opened and shut, furniture
scraping across the floor, muttered curses.
“Bye, bitch!” she heard, and the
front door slammed.
Dreading what she would find, Hanna
got up and walked downstairs. She looked out the window in the door and saw
David getting into her car, her spare car keys in his hand. She started to open
the door, then paused. She just could not face the confrontation.
The engine started up and the tires
squealed.
Hanna opened the door and looked
out. David had backed out of the drive. As she watched, he accelerated away
toward the school. In the morning sunlight shining through the car windows, she
saw a glint off black metal leaning against the passenger window. As her car disappeared around the corner, a
shiver ran down Hanna’s back. “Oh God,
no.”
***
Eight Minutes Before
The Darkness
Alan Carmichael took one last look at the
blood-splattered front porch and the lifeless body of Mary Henderson, then
slipped his notebook into his shirt pocket and walked toward where Gary Storey
was standing under a small maple tree smoking a cigarette.
“You know you’re not supposed to
smoke in uniform.”
The patrolman turned sharply. He
pulled the cigarette from his mouth.
“Sorry, Lieutenant.”
“Your first murder scene?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve not seen anything
like that before. Her face was just gone.” The young patrolman started to drop
the cigarette.
“Finish your cigarette,” Alan said.
“The first one is always tough. At least you didn’t lose your breakfast. That’s
what I did on my first death scene.”
Storey nodded and gave a sheepish
smile.
“I’m done here,” Alan said. “Crime
scene boys will be working here for the next couple of hours. Stick around for
crowd control until they’re done. That will give you a chance to catch your
breath. If your commander says anything, tell him I didn’t want any nosey
neighbor screwing with the scene until the techs are done.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t care if you sneak a
cigarette. You probably need it. But don’t let anybody see you.”
The radio on Storey’s shoulder
crackled.
“All units. All units. 911 call
reports possible school shooting underway at St. Benedict High School. Repeat,
possible school shooting underway at St. Benedict’s. All nearby units respond.
SWAT is being called.”
“That’s my son’s school.” Alan
said. “We’re five minutes away. Tell them we’re responding. And don’t forget
your vest.”
Alan ran to his unmarked car. He
grabbed his Kevlar vest from the back seat and threw it on over his dress
shirt. Sliding in behind the wheel, he
started the car, put it in drive, and pushed the accelerator to the floor.
***
Deepest Darkness
David pulled his mom’s sedan into the St. Benedict
High School parking lot. There were a few spaces open in the back row, but
David saw that handicap spaces closest to school entrance were open. “Screw it,” he said aloud, and whipped the
Toyota around the aisle and into the handicap spot.
David stepped out of the car and
grabbed for his dad’s 9 mm Glock that he had taken from the cabinet where he
knew it was kept. The gun slipped through his sweat-drenched fingers and nearly
fell to the pavement, but David finally got it in his grasp. He wiped his hands on his jeans, racked a
round into the chamber, and slid the gun behind his back into his belt. Then he
pulled the shotgun from where it was propped against the passenger seat. He
took a deep breath and walked toward the school entrance.
David heard the first sirens in the
distance. There were two from different directions. Then more. It became a
wailing symphony growing louder with each second.
Pulling the shotgun to his
shoulder, David hastened his pace to the glass double-door entrance. Inside, a woman was locking the door. It was
Mrs. Smithson, the principal. As the first police cars squealed to a stop,
David took aim and let go with a blast.
One glass door shattered, sending
shards and fragments exploding like crystal snow into the morning light. Mrs.
Smithson was blown to the floor by the blast. As she scrambled to get away,
David took aim and fired again. The second shot blew out the bottom half of the
door, but Mrs. Smithson was now on her feet, running around a corner and out of
view.
David heard more cars stopping. The
sound of the sirens was all around. Then came an amplified voice. “Stop! Put your gun down and get on the
ground!”
David stood still but did not turn
or lower his gun. Everything went still. Then David heard his dad yelling
behind him.
“It’s my son. It’s my son. I’ll
handle this.”
David turned to see his dad
standing on the sidewalk about 50 feet away. Behind him was an array of police
and emergency vehicles. More than 20 armed officers wearing bullet-proof vests
pointed their weapons directly at David.
Alan and David stood unmoving,
frozen like statutes. Slowly Alan holstered his service handgun and held open
palms toward his son. Cautiously Alan moved his hands to his jacket and undid
the straps on his Kevlar vest, then dropped it to the sidewalk. With deliberate
motions, Alan began walking forward.
“David, let’s all take a deep
breath and calm down.” Alan’s voice was calm but firm. “All you’ve done so far
is a little bit of vandalism. That’s no big deal. We can handle that. You don’t
want to do something that can’t be undone. Come on, son, put the gun down and
let’s talk this out.”
David hesitated, then dipped the
barrel of the shotgun ever so slightly.
Alan continued to walk. When he was only two steps away, he reached his
hand out for the shotgun. David moved the weapon a few inches, paused, then
held out the gun. In a single, sharp movement, Alan grabbed the barrel. David
shook his head. “No,” he shouted and snatched the Glock from its resting place
in his belt. David fired three fast shots into Alan’s chest.
A barrage of gunfire exploded from
the officers perched behind their cars. David staggered backwards, then fell
into the blanket of glass shards covering the sidewalk, blood pouring from
every part of his body.
***
Six Weeks After The
Darkness
Realization dawned on Father Glenn’s face. “That was
your son? The one at St. Benedict’s? I heard about that. Your son was the
shooter?”
“Don’t worry, Father. The only
person he killed was his dad.”
“He shot his dad?”
“He was a detective; one of the first
cops at the scene. He tried to talk David down, but David shot him.”
The priest stood motionless.
Silent.
“You want to take back your
prayers?”
Father Glenn placed a hand on
Hanna’s shoulder. “Of course not. Those who are troubled, who are tormented,
deserve our prayers, too. Only God is to judge.”
“That’s not the way most people
think. That’s why Ellen requested the mass for him here. None of the churches
in our area would say anything for David. She thought maybe people around here
wouldn’t know his name. I’m sorry if she caused you any trouble.”
“He’s your son. No matter what he
did, that doesn’t change. I will keep him and your husband in my prayers.”
Hanna’s stoic expression remained
unchanged, but a solitary tear rolled down one cheek. “I appreciate your
prayers for my son. My husband, too. But if there is a god, if he is so good,
then why didn’t he help my boy before he died? David was deeply troubled. We
tried everything, but there was no help for him when he was alive. If there is
a god, why didn’t he give David a chance to find peace in his life?”
“We can’t know God’s plans. All we
can do is have faith and pray for His mercy and love. I’ll pray for you, too.”
“Mercy?
What mercy? There was no mercy for David. As for your prayers, you can save
them. I’m past that.”
“No one is past the reach of
prayer. If we open ourselves to Him, God will grant forgiveness and peace, even
to those who suffer more than they think they can tolerate.”
Anger flashed in Hanna’s eyes. “You
know the Bible, don’t you?”
Father Glenn nodded. “Of course.”
“You know Proverbs 20:20? A son that curses his parents will be
extinguished in the darkest pit. Something like that. That’s what the priest at
our local church told me when I asked about a service for David.”
Father Glenn shook his head. “That
is awful. He should not have done that. I believe in a loving, forgiving and
merciful God, not a vengeful God who turns his back on those in need.”
“There are some things beyond
prayer, beyond forgiveness.” Hanna wiped away her tears and her face
hardened. “You see, I made the calls.”
Father Glenn looked at her, not
understanding. “Calls?”
“When David drove away, I saw the
shotgun in the car. I was afraid of what he might do, so I called the school.
Then I called 911.”
They stood motionless, looking at
each other. In a nearby chokeberry bush, a mockingbird trilled its vibrant
morning songs, changing cadence every few seconds. The song went on undisturbed
for minutes, with no other sound. In a world of such momentary beauty, it was
difficult to imagine the horror of that morning at St. Benedict’s.
Finally, Father Glenn spoke, his
voice so soft it could barely be heard above the songbird. “But if you hadn’t
called, so many other children may have died. It took someone brave, someone
who cared about others, to make that call.”
“It took someone scared. I was so
damned scared that I couldn’t think straight. You think I would have sacrificed
my son for any of them?”
The priest lowered his eyes as if
in prayer. “My child, that is exactly what God did.”
“I’m not God!” Hanna shouted. “My
son and my husband are dead, and I’m responsible. So, go say your prayers for
someone who wants them, and leave me in my own darkness.”
