I don’t know how many minutes pass, but then there’s a knock on the door.
“It’s Carter. Open up.”
I…okay, I fuckingsobwith relief while one of the women remove the barricade and unlock the door for him.
He leans against the wall and points at the woman with the phone. “Are you still on with 911?”
She nods, and he motions for the phone and starts speaking to the operator.
We have deputies pointing weapons at us just minutes later, until they realize we’re the good guys. Carter is led out first so he can show them where the shooter’s body is in the nearby kitchen, and apparently where there are three other deceased victims that Carter knows about between the teacher’s lunchroom and the kitchen.
It feels like forever before they get EMTs into the office. I don’t let go of the woman’s dressing until an EMT takes over from me. Then I scramble to my feet to try to find where they took Carter, even though I’m covered with the woman’s blood now. Officers want to get my statement, but I refuse to speak with them until I put eyes on Carter myself.
One of the deputies leads me outside to a mobile command center, a repurposed RV with the sheriff’s office logo emblazoned across its side. Carter’s sitting on the step of the open side door, the tactical vest on the ground next to him, and an EMT checking him out. His sleeves are rolled up, top button of his shirt unfastened, and his tie is loosened.
I run up, fully intending to pull Carter into my arms and kiss him, but Carter stays me with an upraised hand and a stern look. “Owen, I’mokay. Let them clean you up first.”
We remain locked in a silent battle of wills for probably fifteen seconds before I let another EMT take me over to a nearby ambulance to rinse the blood off my hands. Then there’s statements to be given, frantic calls from Susa to answer—and I miss the fucking town hall, obviously. Carter calls Dray to go speak to them for us and explain what happened, although even more people apparently show up to the event after hearing the news reports.
We have to stand in a press conference, where I watch while Carter gives an abbreviated and censored version of events, deferring to law enforcement for details he isn’t sure should be publicized or not.
The man Carter killed was the estranged husband of a teacher. Somehow, he’d managed to sneak onto the campus, and then in through a side door, catching it as a student slipped out to go to their car and sneak a smoke.
Having been on the property before, he knew his way around and knew his wife would be heading to the teacher’s lunchroom, which was located almost directly across from the office. He shot and killed his ex-wife and another teacher before emerging from the teacher’s lunchroom. That’s how he saw the resource officer and shot him. Then he ran for the kitchen area, but ended up cornered in there when the staff locked themselves in the office, which was the only way through to the outside door.
That’s where Carter cornered, shot, and killed the guy, but not before the man killed another lunch worker, a woman who’d gone after him with a butcher’s knife. Fortunately, no students were injured.
It’s close to six that night before we finally walk through our front door.
When Susa flies through our front door and is screaming our names a little after seven, she finds us naked in the big soaking tub in the master bathroom, which is overflowing with bubbles. Both of us are drunk off our asses and already fucked each other silly on the bathroom floor after desperately ripping the ruined clothes off each other. And, according to her, there are over a dozen news trucks parked outside the front gate of our community.
We hand our cell phones off to her for the rest of the evening. She gets to work with Draymond, who also shows up at the house, to put together a press release that she goes and delivers herself in time for it to make the eleven o’clock news shows. She also does a few short interviews, Dray accompanying her in case she needs help.
Meanwhile, as Carter and I—still drunk, because we feel we earned it—sit in bed and eat leftovers while watching the newscasts, he nods.
“She’s good,” he says, pride in his tone.
“Are you okay, Sir?”
After a moment, he slowly shakes his head.
I open my arms to him, and when he tucks himself against me, I hold him tightly and don’t let go.
* * * *
Anyway, that’s how I found myself being interviewed live Sunday morning at our campaign headquarters by Kevin Markos of FNB—Full News Broadcasting—for their morning show. Carter refuses to do any interviews and releases a statement through our campaign office. We are going to attend all the funerals, though, including the full-honors funeral for the fallen deputy.
The woman who was wounded, Cass Pressley, will pull through. We visited her in the hospital one evening, without any press around, so I could see for myself that she was okay.
Carter assures me the phantom feeling of her slick, warm blood between my fingers will go away, one day.
Today is not yet that day. I find myself washing my hands dozens of times a day in hopes that will help.
I wanted to doMeet the Press, but Benchley, Carter, and Susa all agree that having the conservative FNB on our side is worth more than all our TV and print ads combined, because we’ll win over the “stand your ground” crowd despite ourF-minusrating from the NRA. I personally despise FNB and everything they stand for—drumming up fake right-wing hand-wringing crises to generate outrage, and skirting the lucrative edge between ultra-conservatism and conspiracy-theory lunacy. It had once been a well-respected moderately conservative news source, but its sale and acquisition by a global media company quickly led it down a more lucrative and lurid tabloid path.
When you can make Fox News look like PBS, you know you’re doing something wrong.
Kevin Markos was once what I considered a respected journalist, but in the three years he’s been with FNB, I realize he’s just another shill trying to make a buck. He obviously has no personal ethics to be doing what he’s doing. Some people thought him joining the network meant it was shifting back to center, more mainstream, and his presence would help restore a modicum of dignity to their programming.
