Speaker 1: Gregg had always seemed untouchable. He was the type of
guy who could talk a cop out of a ticket
or drunk and half conscious, then somehow get the same
cop to drive him home. So when his sister called
me crying, struggling to get her words out, I thought
something had happened to their mom. When she finally managed
to speak, I had to ask her to repeat herself.
It turned out that the police found Greg's body in
his apartment after his boss called in a wellness check
when he didn't show up to work for two days.
The responding officers broke down the door and found him
in the living room. They wouldn't let the family see
the body. From what his sister had heard when she
had caught the officers on brake discussing the scene, his
limbs were twisted, his spine curved like someone had wrung
him out from both ends, and his eyes were gone.
Ever had done it was sadistic beyond belief. There was
no forced entry or weirdly enough signs of a struggle.
The case was being ruled as suspicious, but that just
meant they didn't ever clue who was behind it. Despite
having a wide net of friends Gregg's funeral was small.
Only a few people made it in person. Jamie hugged
me outside the church. Her eyes were red and a
make up had started to smear, but she still looked
the same, sharp, blunt, unapologetic. The others were there too,
raff and legs. We all grew up together back then.
We used the joke that we were stuck with each
other for life, and for the most part we were. Sure.
We drifted apart for a few years during college, but
we always ended up circling back. But now Greg a
part of us was a closed casket and a photo
on an easel. The priest mumbled his way through a
handful of generalities, though I didn't really listen. I kept
looking around the room, half expecting Greg to appear at
the back and make some sarcastic comment about how weird
it was to watch people cry over you. For a moment,
I thought I saw movement near the exit, but my
brain had been plain tricks on me since the night
I got the call. After the burial, we stood in
a loose, uneasy circle in the parking lot. None of
us seemed ready to go home. Then Jamie brought up
that night at the lake when Greg fell off the
dock trying to chug a beer upside down. We laughed,
then we stopped. The laughter felt wrong. I still don't
get what the hell happened, Ralph muttered. Nobody knew how
to respond. Our silent grieving was interrupted by a man
in his late forties wearing a plain suit with thinning
brown hair. He moved with a kind of tired professionalism
that told me he'd been doing this a long time.
He stopped just outside our circle and introduced himself, Detective Harlan.
Sorry to intrude. His tone was respectful. You were Gregg
Sutton's closest friends, right, We all nodded. I was wondering
if I could ask a few questions. I understand to
day is not ideal, but I found people tend to
remember important things in the hours after a funeral brings
things into focus. I know you people have already been
interviewed and questioned. I'm aware that none of you are
deemed to be suspects, but Jamie crossed our arms. Go ahead.
Did Greg have any enemies? I'm aware you've been asked
this question before, but are you absolutely certain there's no
one from the past someone who held a grudge, maybe
something that didn't seem serious but could have been taken
the wrong way. No, Ralph said immediately. Everyone liked Greg.
I don't mean dislike, I mean resentment anyone he wronged,
even by accident. We looked at each other. I could
tell we were all thinking the same thing. No, I said, finally,
not that we know of. He nodded slowly, understood. Did
he mention anything strange recently, unusual messages, people showing up
where they shouldn't, anything like that? Head the last question,
Does the name Danny mean anything to you? There? It
was his tone hadn't changed, but I felt my chest tightened.
I glanced around. Everyone held the same expression as me. No,
Jamie said, doesn't ring a bell. The detective watched us
for a moment. I could tell he didn't buy it,
but he didn't press. He thanked us, gave us his card,
and walked off towards his car. As soon as he
was out of earshot, Ralph led out a shaky breath.
Danny true Low, I said, a name I hadn't said
aloud in over a decade. Danny had been in our
class from sixth grade until the middle of sophomore year.
He was a thin kid with a quiet voice and
thick glasses. He was always hunged forward, like he was
trying to disappear. He didn't fit in, and we didn't
let him. To make it simple, we bullied the kid.
The last time we saw him, we did something that
was supposed to be funny. A dare Raff said he
couldn't fit. Jamie said we should find out. It was
after school and the hallway was empty. Greg blogged the
nearest stairwell while I held the door down. He fought
harder than I thought he would. He cried, screamed, and begged.
It only made us more determined. I remember the heat
of his shoulder press against mine as we forced him
into a locker. I remember the sound of metal slamming shot,
the way it echoed, and his fists pounding from the
inside while we walked away. I don't know how long
it was stuck, Maybe until the janitor came in the
next morning, maybe longer After that. He was gone, and
that changed something in all of us. The school didn't
make a big deal of it, which in hindsight, was
to be expected. One of the guidance counselors said he transferred.
Some whispered that his parents pulled him out after a breakdown.
There were rumors about his mom showing up in tears
at the principal's office, demanding to know what happened. We
didn't face any consequences, and we stopped thinking about him
until now. I don't think it means anything, Raff said,
could be a coincidence. Someone with the same name. Jamie frowned.
He said, Danny not the full name. Sure could have
been any Danny, But why on earth did bring that
name up in the first place. What if it was him, though,
Leg said. Ralph rolled his eyes. Jeez, don't start, I'm serious,
Leg said. He said the name right after asking if
Greg had any enemies. That means something, Ralph snapped. You
really think some kid we bullied fifteen years ago came
back and twisted Greg into a goddamn pretzel. Raf softened
a little. We were bad, yeah, but we were kids.
I don't feel good about it either, he continued, But
that doesn't mean we jumped to wild ass theories. Greg's dead.
That's horrible enough without spinning it into a revenge fantasy.
We don't even know if Danny's alive. Jamie exhaled through
his nose. Look, if it turns out something more is
going on, we'll talk to the cops right now. We'd
sound insane. You want us to bring up a kid
we bullied fifteen years ago in a murder case. I
shook my head, no, exactly. We agreed not to bring
it up again. We went home, each returning to our
separate houses under the closed street light and the silent
orbit of patrol cars. I lay in bed for hours
with the covers pulled up to my chin, staring at
the ceiling and reminiscing. The next day, raph and I
were at his place, sitting on the couch of the
television on though neither of us was watching it. A
game was playing, but the volume was low, yet neither
of us had the energy for small talk. We hadn't
seen Jamie since the funeral and didn't talk about Greg anymore,
not because we were already moving on, but because we
didn't know how to carry the weight of what happened.
H sat between us like a third person in the room.
We were speaking about some things, trying to crack the
silence that loomed when we were interrupted by an incoming
call on RAF's phone, his mom. He answered it on speaker, Raf,
she said, and a voice cracked half way through his name.
Something happened at Les's apartment complex. He sat forward slowly,
eyes narrowing, already braced. What do you mean someone's dead?
She said, it's bad. Have you not seen the news?
They said? She couldn't finish. You both stared at the phone.
Ralf asked for details. She didn't have many. He hung
up without saying good bye, then turned to me, pale
and still we need to go check up on legs.
On the drive to Lex's place, Ralph drummed his fingers
on the steering wheel the entire time, A nervous ticket
had since middle school. By the time we pulled up
to the complex, who was blocked off with please tape.
Flashing lights turned the lot into a mess of collar
and shadow. An officer out front was talking to a reporter.
She asked if he was related to the sudden case.
The officer said they couldn't comment. The reporter kept pressing.
She mentioned the name we weren't expecting to hear Les.
We got back in the car without saying anything. We
drove straight to the police station. Ralph ran to red light.
I didn't stop him. Our silence had turned heavy, and
there was less shock and more fear. Now we walked
through the glass doors, and we met with a sound
of voices, paper shuffling, and phones ringing. The front desk
officer looked up, recognized us somehow, and nodded us through
without much hassle. Jamie was already there. She sat in
one of the waiting chairs near the front, arms folded,
foot tapping. Her hair was tied back in a loose
bun and looked like she hadn't slept. Her face went
stiff when she saw us. I heard already, She said,
did you Ralph nodded yeah. I wanted to contact you guys,
but I was in such a rush to get to
the police station. I was so scared after find the
count I Jamie stood and walked down the hall with us.
I already told them we need to talk to Detective Harlan.
He's in a meeting. This wasn't a coincidence, I said,
and I hated how thin my voice sounded. This person
is clearly targeting our group, Danny, Jamie said, biting down
on the word. You think it's him, I don't know
who else it could be. We waited. Eventually Harlan came
out of a side hallway. His eyes moved across the
three of us before settling. He didn't look surprised. He
waved us into a back room without a word. Once
the door shut, Jamie spoke, first, we lie to you
about Danny. The detective nodded slowly. I figured, Ralph stepped forward.
We knew him a long time ago. We went to
school together. His name is Danny Truieloh what happened? We
bullied him? I said hard. It wasn't teasing, It was
full and cruelty. We pushed him out of that school,
maybe out of his mind. We locked him in a
locker and left him overnight. Then he was gone. The
detective took a breath and rubbed his jaw. You didn't
mention that, no, Jamie said, because well, we didn't want
to bring him up. We thought we were all being
weird of conspiracy theorists. You think he's doing this after
all these years. He was the last person we ever hurt.
I said, Danny going away changed us. We felt guilty.
He looked at the table, then back at us. We've
had that name at both scenes. Danny, no other traces
or clues. Whoever did it definitely knew Greg and now Les.
If you're saying this person might be Danny Shruillo, then
that gives me something to go on. We'll start pulling
rend records and see what we can dig up. If
you think you'll target, I'll make sure patrols stay in
your area in case this person comes back. Find him.
Raf said, please. After we left the station, I couldn't sleep.
I kept picturing my dead friends. I waited until morning
and then started calling around. The high school secretary remembered me.
She didn't remember Danny, not until I gave her his
last name. I lied and told her it was for
an old alumni project. She gave me the principal's name
from that year and said he'd retired but might still
have some information on him. I contacted Raff and Jamie
about it, and we all tried getting as much information
as we could. Later that day, Jamie sent a message
in the group chat and she told us she drove
to the local records office. She had a hard time,
but apparently she managed to get something. Danny's parents were
found dead in their home less than a week after
he moved. Both bodies showed signs of massive internal trauma,
blunt force and tearing. No weapon was recovered and no
one was arrested. The case was marked undetermined and closed
after eight weeks. The report was cold and clinical. He
was relocated to a state facility, new residents sealed per
court order. That was it. There was no trace of
him after that. It was as if he disappeared completely.
I stared at the block of text on my phone.
My hands were shaking, but I didn't notice until my
phone started to slip from my grip. I used to
think guilt was something you felt in moments right after
something happened, or when someone confronted you about it. But
it wasn't like that. It spread. It pushed into your
ribs and your spine and made it hard to breathe.
I knew what we did to him was cruel. I
knew that for years, but I never thought about where
he went, or what came next, or who he had
become to survive. Jamie came over the next night. I
heard a knock and felt a flash of panic in
my chest before I saw her through the people. She
was holding two coffees in a tray and a fast
food paper bag. Her hands were shaking slightly. I let
her in and we sat in the living room with
the TV off. I keep hearing him, she said after
a while. Gregg I nodded, yeah, I am. I haven't
slept since they found legs. I'm scared to close my eyes.
I feel like something is watching me when the lights
go off. I told her I felt the same. We
laughed for a second. The laughter came quick and shallow,
with no weight to it. We sound crazy, she said,
Probably are, I replied. Then we went quiet again. The
conversations after was short and awkward, but he felt good
to be in some one's presence. I'm sure that's why
she came over in the first place. We parted ways
shortly after that. She texted me the following afternoon. The
police approved it. I'm going into protective custody. They're placing
me in a secure prison unit. It's the safest place
they've got. I called her immediately. She didn't answer. Ten
minutes later, she sent a voice message, I'm sorry, I
can't keep doing this. I'm losing my mind. Every sound
at night makes me flinch. I barely eat. I'm scared
I'll end up like Gregg and Les, and I don't
want to die screaming. This place is safe and you
guys should probably do the same. I texted back that
I understood. I told her we'd miss her and that
i'd stay in touch however I could. She replied with
her thumbs up and a broken heart emoji. Later, Raph
and I sat together in his living room. He'd packed
a duffel bag, but didn't know where he wanted to go.
He said he didn't trust any systems meant to protect people.
I didn't argue. I felt the same, and we decided
that we would be going into anything like protective custody.
He ended up crashing on my couch that night. We
made a deal to stick together for now. We had
each other, we had a weapon, and we had police
patrols circling the block. We tried pretending life could go on.
Ralph kept sleeping on my couch and I stopped logging
into work entirely. We stocked up on groceries, though most
of what we bought stayed unopened. I didn't say it
out loud, but we both believed Jamie was safer than us.
She was supposed to be the one that made it.
The call came from the detective, not the news. He
didn't speak right away. I remember his breathing more than
his voice. He came through the speaker like it'd been
running or pacing. When he finally said a name, my
legs buckled. I sat down on the floor next to
the coffee table, while Raft stood frozen by the door.
They found her that morning, dead in her cell. Her
body was destroyed, and somehow there were no traces. The
prison's availing system had failed overnight. All footage from a
wing was blacked out. Between three o two and three
seventeen a m. Three guards were found unconscious outside a unit,
and again that name, Danny Raph and I sat in silence.
After the call ended. He put his head in his hands.
I could hear him whispering to himself. He didn't cry,
but he shook hard enough that the glass on the
table rattled. Detective Harlan came to the house later that day.
He looked like hell. Look, he said, voice low. I
understand you boys don't want to be placed in police custody,
not after what has happened. But I say this as
a friend, not as a government body. Now, pack your
things and get the hell out of here. We didn't reply,
but he continued, I've got nothing to go on, he said, solemnly.
We're increasing patrols, I've pulled favors for federal assistance. But
this person, who we assumed is Danny Truillo is skilled
to a degree I've never witnessed in my life. The
thing's happening at these scenes don't make sense. I've seen
twenty year veterans from it, and what was left of
that girl. He shook his head and stood, we'll keep
a car outside, but if I were you, I damn
it all to hell and go as far away as
you can. After the detective left, rap and I decided
to follow his advice. I brought up a plan. Said
we could go west, stay with my cousin, disappear until
this all blew over. We wanted this case solved, we
truly did, but we were too scared. Raff said going
west would still mean being close. Jamie was in a
maximum security location and Danny somehow got to her, repacked
our things, decided we'd start the following morning, drove until
we reached the coast, and then decided from there. I
woke to the sound of something pounding that night. It
took a few seconds to understand what I was hearing.
My mind was still fogged with sleep. I sat up
and reached for the gun instinctively. I'd replayed what if
situations hundreds of times my mind already. The pounding came again,
three dull thuds, somewhere on the other side of the house.
I called out a Raf. No answer. I moved toward
the hallway, keeping the gun raised. I tried not to
think about why. The air smelled sour. I tried not
to think at all. RAF, I whispered, still nothing. I
reached the door to the guest room and stood outside it.
I could hear something moving on the other side, a wet,
dragging sound like wet meat pulled across the wood floor.
My fingers closed around the doorknob. I turned it and pushed.
The door opened slowly, hinges creaking loudly. The smell hit
me first, rot and bile. The room was dim. The
blackout curtains kept most of the light out, but there
was enough from the hallway to make out shapes. Raf
was on the bed, oh what was left of him.
His body was bent in half, his spine cracked backward.
One arm had been torn, cleaned off, and tossed against
the wall. His jaw hung open from one hinge, the
tongue swaying beneath it. It, on the other hand, was
hunched over him. The creature looked up when I stepped inside.
Its skin was tight and gray, pulled so thin. I
could see every bone beneath it. Saws ran up its
back and neck, leaking a dark yellow fluid that clung
in thick strings. Its arms were long, ending in hands
that dragged down to the floor. Each finger tipped in
what looked more like bone than claw. Its chest with uneven,
wet breaths. It didn't move. I raised the gun and
emptied the clip into its torso each shot hit, but
it didn't fall or seemed phazed at all. It stepped
toward me like the bullets had annoyed it. I turned
and bolted down the hallway behind me. The door exploded.
I felt pieces of it bounce off my back. The
thing was moving faster now I could hear its feet
slapping the floor. I reached the bedroom, slammed the door,
and locked it. I grabbed the dresser and pushed it
in front of the frame, then the bookshelf. My breath
came too fast, my chest climbed down in waves. I
could barely see straight. I darled nine one one, but
before the operator could even pick up, glass burst behind
me in an irruption of sound and wind. It came
in all at once, the window imploding inward, spray sharps
across the room. Hands grabbed me from behind. One clamped
around my wrist, the other gripped my shoulder. The next
thing I knew, my feet were off the floor and
a voice was barking into my ear. Move He dragged
me through the broken window frame, and I hid the
lawn hard. My shoulder slammed into the dirt. I rolled,
tasting blood in the back of my throat. Behind us,
the bedroom door cracked open. Get up, the man said,
He bawled me again. We ran through the yard, past
the clapsed garden bed, over the gravel path that tore
up my souls. My legs moved on instinct, powered by
nothing but fear. I didn't even know what was going
on anymore. There was a car parked two houses down.
We got to it, and the man yanked the door
open and shoved me inside before climbing in after me.
He started the engine without hesitation. It spluttered and groaned,
but it roared to life. We peeled away from the curb.
I turned to the man behind the wheel, heart pounding.
What the hell was that thing? I asked? And who
even are you? He looked over at me slowly. His
face was worn down to the bone. Deep creases were
carved across his cheeks and forehead. His eyes darker than
I remembered anyone's eyes being, watched me for a second,
longer than felt comfortable. It's me, Danny, he said. My
mind refused the process. He told me this man couldn't
be the same kid we stuffed into a locker. This
man looked like he'd walked through deserts and lived in
parking garages. His beard was wild, patchy around the jawline,
thick in the middle. His voice carried gravel in every word.
You're Danny, trueilo, He nodded. Before I could respond, he
spoke again. I just want to say I forgave you,
he said a long time ago. I wanted to speak,
but I let him continue. I used to lie awake
every night, he said, back when I lived at home.
I used to pray to anything that might have been listening. God, demons,
shadows on the ceiling. I didn't care what it was.
I just begged for something to take them all away.
Everyone who hurt me, my parents, the kids at school,
anyone who made me feel smaller than dirt. His hands tightened,
and the steering wheel. And one night after you guys
stuffed me in a locker, I was more adamant that
something answered than ever before. And something did answer. He
stared ahead again, eyes glassy expression. Still he wasn't recalling
it like a memory. He was reciting it something he
told himself so many times the words had become carved
into the inside of his skull. The first to go
were my parents. I found them in the living room.
My dad's back was snapped in half. My mom she
looked like she'd been folded into the carpet. The police
said it was some kind of free collapse. They moved
me into a home two towns and that should have
been the end of it, but it wasn't. He finally
looked at me again. He kept going every name I
had ever whispered in anger, every person I wished harman,
every curse I made with tears in my eyes. It
hunted them down, one by one, sometimes years later, sometimes
across the country. His voice dropped lower. You were the
last because you were far. That's it. You lived too far,
and it took time. I didn't know what to say.
I didn't know it would last this long, he said.
I thought it would burn out or turn on me.
I tried to keep ahead of it. I really did.
I moved every six months. I tried attacking it, and
every you could think of I've probably tried it. It
didn't help. I'm sorry about Gregg, I'm sorry about Les
Jamie Raff. I tried my best. The car sat in
silence for a long time. Danny's story drifted through the
air like a bad smell that wouldn't leave. I turned
toward him, my voice catching before it escaped my throat.
How do we stop it? He didn't answer right away.
He reached between the seat and the center console and
pulled out a dented metal firmace. He unscrewed the lid
and took a sip. The smell that rose up was
sharp and chemical. My stomach turned. I've been preparing for years,
he said, testing things. I don't know if It's alive
in the way you and I are, but it reacts
to pain. I've harmed it before, so it can die.
How I've built something that might work. Ammunition soaked in
a mix I've been tweaking for the better part of
a decade, silver powder, industrial salt, lye, iron fillings, a
few other things. He reached into his pocket and took
out a single round. The casing shimmered, not with polish,
but something deeper, something buried in the metal. He held
it between his fingers with care. I created the first
version of this bullet a few months ago. I hit it,
and that was the first and only time I've ever
heard it make a sound. My throat was dry. How
many of those do you have? Three? And that's enough? Maybe?
I leaned back, mind racing. Every instinct in me was
telling me to run, to take whatever car I could
find and disappear into the back roads until the fuel
ran out. But there was nowhere left to run. I'd
seen what happened to people who tried hiding. What do
you need from me? I asked Danny looked over his
voice quieter. Now it needs bait, and you're the last
name left. I nodded. There was nothing else to say.
We made it to an abandoned house. Eventually the porch
leaned toward the dirt. We drove in under the moonlight
and killed the engine a few hundred feet back to
avoid drawing attention. Inside the house was worse. The walls
were covered in pages, scribbled diagrams, symbols, names, ingredients. Half
of them I didn't recognize. The other half made my
skin itch. There were dozens of shellcasings lined up on
a cracked bugshelf. A single mattress lay in one corner,
soaked through with old sweat. Danny opened a chest in
the back and pulled out the weapon. It was a
hunting rifle, heavily modified, with wire wrapped around the barrel
and scratches etched into the stalk. He held it like
a man holding a relic, not a tool. I'll take
the shot, he said. You stay in the center of
the room, try to distract it. We waited. Hours passed,
the moon drifted. Every sound made my muscles twitch. I
sat on the floor with the empty gun from my
house across my line. It was useless now, but I
couldn't let go of it. At some point the wind died.
Danny raised the rifle without a word. The door exploded inward.
It moved through the door, leaving no trace behind. His
chest rose and fell in quick jerks. Plus spilled from
the holes in his shoulders. His head tilted as it
found me. Danny fired. The creature shrieked, a high, rattling
sound cut straight through my brain. It reared back, Smoke
rising from the impact point. His chest steamed. The flesh
there blistered and pealed. It lunged. I talked behind the
table while Danny reloaded the thing through the couch aside
and slammed its clawed hand into the floor. Outan seconds earlier,
wood split open. I rolled and kicked out at its ribs.
It didn't flinch. Danny shouted and fired again. This time
it hit the spine. The thing screamed again, louder, and
twisted in itself in mid air. His body started to
clapse inward. His torso folded over its own shoulders, cracking
like ice under pressure, It swung toward Danny. I moved
before it could reach him. I grabbed a fire poker
from the hearth and jabbed it into the side of
its skull. Its head snapped to the side, black icos
spilling around the wound. The stench hit hard, my eyes watered.
Danny raised the rifle one last time and fired into
its throat. That did it. The body froze, Its lips
trembled and bent inward, collapsing against its own weight. A
low moan echoed through the room. Then it fell apart
into ash. I dropped the poker and stood, coughing through
the smoke. Danny leaned against the wall, one hand pressed
to his ribs. The silence after the creature fell apart
pressed on the inside of my skull. My ears rang
not from the volume, but from the vacuum that followed it.
Dust drifted to the air where it had been. Danny
dropped the rifle and slid down the wall. His knees
gave out first, and he ended up sitting on the
floor with his back to the crumbling dry wall. His
breathing was uneven, and he had one arm pressed against
his ribs. I saw a line of red seeping through
his shirt, trailing down from beneath his elbow. He looked
up at me through strands of sweat drenched hair. We
did it, he said, I nodded, I didn't have anything
to say. My throat was raw and my chest ached
dan He motioned for me to come closer. I stepped
over to him. He reached behind and pulled out a revolver.
He didn't lift it toward me. He held it between
his knees. I need you to shoot me. I stared
at him. What in the side? Nothing vital enough to
look real? I took a step back. Why would I
do that? Because the police are going to need someone
to blame. They're not going to take this story and
put it in a report. You know that. He tilted
his head and met my eyes. His voice stayed, calm,
You shoot me. Tell them I lost it. Tell them
I killed your friends, came for you next. You fought back,
barely survived. I take the blame. It's over, and you
go home. That's insane. You've saved my life. His gaze
didn't waver. I crouched next to him and grabbed his arm.
There has to be another way. There isn't. He pressed
the gun into my hand. No one's gonna believe what
we saw. You know that. You can barely believe it yourself.
I can see it all over you, what we killed
didn't leave proof. There's no body or explanation you can
give to the copse. They'll think you snap too, unless
you have some one to point to. I'm not doing this.
Danny leaned back and let his head rest against the wall.
His eyes closed for a moment, then opened again. If
you don't do this, they'll keep digging. You'll end up
locked away, worse blamed for it. They already think I'm
a ghost. Make it real. I sat there, gripping the revolver,
feeling its weight press into my palm. You don't owe
me this, I said. He didn't answer. I raised the
gun slowly, hands trembling. I aimed at the soft space
below his ribs. Do it, he said. I pulled the trigger.
Then he groaned and slumped sideways, one hand clamping down
over the wound. Blood poured between his fingers and darkened
his shirt. He didn't scream, he didn't even fall fully.
He slid until his shoulders hid the floor, then gave
me a small nod. Call them, he said, through his teeth,
Tell them it's over. I did. The sirens reached us.
Twenty minutes later. I stood outside, blood on my shirt,
hands raised gun on the ground, They moved fast, weapons drawn,
shouting commands. I gave them the story Danny told me
to give. The detective didn't argue. Danny was loaded into
an ambulance under heavy restraint. I never saw him again.
The press latched onto the narrative, a local tragedy, a
case with decades of history. An unstable man allegedly traumatized
by years of bullying returned to take revenge. Authorities called
it her revenge, free rooted in trauma and delusion. The
public swallowed it whole. I was left empty in a hollow.
Everyone that surrounded me was now dead. I spent a
few months organizing funerals and accompanying grieving parents and siblings.
I would later to find out that Danny died in custody,
wounds from the bullet I had given him. I wrestled
with that for a while. I had killed him twice,
the first time in a locker and the second time
with a bullet, and I don't know which one I
regret more