Chapter 11

What to do first? Find a weapon or the address?

I knew where I was going to get the weapon. That was going to be my first step. Dad had guns at home in his gun safe. One of those should get the job done.

On my way back home, I hashed out my plan. I was going to keep it simple. The more complicated a plan was, the more you needed to take care of, and the more could go wrong.

When I got home, the girls sat on the front porch. Neither of them looked particularly happy. Originally I had planned to try to sneak in, get a gun and be gone before anyone even noticed that I was home. That part of my plan was definitely out the window. Now I had to face the music.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Sarah wasted no time. She was scowling at me, which looked exceptionally cute on her. I could not help myself and started smiling. That was the wrong thing to do.

Both of them started to light into me, how irresponsible it had been of me to leave without a word, how they had been worried about me, why I had not had my cell phone with me and how I could do that to them. They did not give me a chance to respond. When they were finished, they got up without another word, turned around and walked into the house, shutting the front door behind them.

For the second time that day, the girls shut a door in my face. That might just be my chance to go along with my plan, I decided. With the girls being mad at me and likely back in Sarah’s room, I could sneak in and get a gun. That way, it was only me that got into trouble. If I could save Heather and Sarah and my parents, it would be worth it. In the end, I was just the stupid boy that time and time again failed to kill himself.

I went to the back of our house and spied through the door of our back porch into the kitchen. Nobody was in there. Silently I opened the door and sneaked into the house. Dad’s gun safe was in the basement. Slowly I went to the staircase, opened the door and took one step at a time trying not to make a sound. I knew where he kept the key hidden.

At this point, I suspect that you are wondering why my parents kept guns in the same house I was living in, a certified suicidal teenager. Everybody knows that that is a recipe for disaster. In my opinion, it is hardwired into parents to believe that this only happens with other people’s children. It simply does not matter, how much evidence there is, parents will refuse to believe it. In my case, that meant, that I had access to guns basically all the time if I wanted to use them. Now you are asking yourself why I never tried to kill myself with a gun. A really good question. In the US, about 50% of all suicides are being done with firearms. Nearly all of those shoot themselves in the head. Depending on the type of firearm used, there are certain risks of failing. A shotgun in the mouth aimed at the back of the skull has a very high success rate. The results of failed attempts also vary greatly. Just search the net for pictures of failed attempts with guns to the head. Then you will know one reason why I never planned to go that way. And if you succeed, there will be a very low chance that your family will allow the casket to be open. Yeah, it is really interesting what you think about while planning your suicide. You need to check the lethality of your chosen method, the agony you will be in, possible consequences if you survive, what it will look like when your family finds you and dozens of other things. I envy people who just do it on impulse, never going through this thought process.

After opening the safe, I was trying to decide which gun to use, when I heard someone coming down the stairs. I had just enough time to close the door and look unsuspicious when dad came into the room. He looked at me strangely. His eyes went from me to the key that was still stuck in the door to his gun safe and then back to me. He frowned at me. Could it be possible that he knew what I was planning to do?

Dad walked right past me, locked the gun safe and took the key. He told me to meet him in the living room. Maybe he was not as nice about it, using one or two explicits. Somehow he did not seem happy at all.

I followed him up the stairs. When we entered the living room, all three women were already waiting for us. At that moment, I knew exactly how the lamb must have felt when it was being led to the slaughter. The transformation on their faces as dad told them about what he found me doing in the basement was almost comical. Almost. Even I was not stupid enough to smile at them.

That did not save me from being berated by three females. For the second time that day, I had to listen to them bitching and ranting. This time they did not pull any punches. While they laid out the stupidity of doing anything by myself, I took my time sitting down on the floor. They did not even notice that I was not listening to them. None of them had yet provided a better plan. As if that little fact stopped them from pointing out all the flaws in my plan.

The doorbell rang and stopped them, at least temporarily. Dad went to open the door. Two mean looking guys in suits entered the room a few minutes later. Dad introduced them as Jack and Jim, two of his friends who were going to help us with the judge. Just the day before dad had said that it would take about a week for them to get together for a first planning meeting.