Chapter 10

As Steele drove to the next survivor’s house listed in the police report, he thought back to what had happened at the hospital. Hope Langer was suffering. At fifteen years old, she had had dreams. Those dreams were stolen from her by two pieces of metal entering her body. From a gun fired by Pete Bargas. Steele thought back to the girl’s mother. Her anger. Rage! It wasn’t going to be easy for Elena to live in Cactus Point.

Should I bring Elena back home with me? Would she even come with me after I tell her it was her son?

Before Steele could answer his questions, he arrived at Luke Webster’s house. It looked like all the others in Cactus Point, although there was a loft. But, like the others, it needed a fresh coat of paint on the stucco. The small town had come under hard times. And now the shooting. No wonder people were angry. He waited at Luke Webster’s front door after ringing the doorbell. Why even ask questions? Why make them relive the tragedy. Add to their suffering.

The door swung open. A man with a recessed hairline and reading glasses sitting on the tip of his nose eyed Steele from above the spectacles. A newspaper was tucked under his arm.

“Who are you?” the man said.

“My name is Lincoln Steele. I’d like to talk to Luke Webster.”

“Why?”

“I’m gathering information about the school shooting.”

“Why Luke?”

“He was there.”

“Damn right he was there. Shot twice.”

“I hope he’s okay. Is he?”

The man’s face softened. “He’s doing better every day. Thanks for asking. Is this really necessary?”

“I’m sorry, but it is.”

“My name’s Matt Webster.” He held out his hand.

Steele shook it. “Thanks so much. I won’t be long. Your son’s been through enough already.”

“Hey, Luke,” Mr. Webster shouted as he led Steele into the house, “get down here.”

A boy soon trudged down the steps from the loft in his bare feet. He wore gray cotton shorts and a black tee-shirt with the Cactus Point High School logo on the front. He had the classic V-shape with broad shoulders, big chest, and flat belly. His brown hair was cut short and his jaw square. His eyes were locked on Steele.

“This is Mr. Steele,” his father said. “He has some questions for you.”

The boy nodded, but didn’t say anything. He was big for sixteen years old.

“Looks like you play defensive end,” Steele said.

“We don’t have a football team.”

“Not enough kids?”

“Not enough money. Just baseball. Are you recruiting?”

Steele chuckled. “No. I wish that’s why I was here. I have some questions about the shooting.”

Fear showed in the boy’s eyes and his fingers twitched. “What about it?”

“You were in Mr. Blackburn’s class.”

“Yeah.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Luke pressed his palms together, interlocked his fingers, and squeezed them. “I don’t really remember much. It’s like a dream.”

“I know. I’ve been in situations like that as well.” That was a lie. Steele remembered every detail of every battle he had been in. “But anything you can remember will help.”

“It was first period. I was half asleep when we heard a bang. Mr. Blackburn stopped talking. I thought it was a car crash coming from outside. And then we heard screaming and sounds like pop, pop, pop.

“Some of us jumped out of our seats. Mr. Blackburn yelled at us to sit down. We did. The screaming and popping sounds continued from the other room. It all happened so fast, but it was like it was in slow motion. We just sat there and Mr. Blackburn, well, he just stood there staring at us. Or maybe at the wall behind us. I don’t really know. And then Mr. Blackburn ran to the door and looked outside. We heard two more shots and he fell. All of a sudden there was no noise. Everyone in the room sat still. I think some of the girls were crying. I guess we were all in shock.

“Then Pete shot Mr. Blackburn again and came into the room. He—”

Steele held up his hand. “How did you know it was Pete Bargas?”

“I didn’t at the time. His face was covered and he wore a hood. But I found out later it was Pete.”

“So you didn’t recognize the shooter?”

“Not at the time. His face was covered. But it was Pete.”

“Did you tell the police that?”

“I told them what he looked like. They found him later.”

“Then what happened?”

“He started shooting. I don’t remember much after that. I think I jumped up and felt like I got punched in the chest twice and fell to the floor. The shooting went on for a little longer. It seemed like forever, though. And then it was quiet and then more shooting outside the classroom. I didn’t move. I was scared stiff. I laid there for a long time. Or so it seemed. And then the sheriff’s guys came into the room and helped me.”

“Is that all you can remember?”

“That’s all.”

“Did the shooter say anything?”

“No.”

“And you didn’t see his face.”

“No, it was covered. And it happened so fast.”

“Thanks so much. I know it’s painful to talk about it.”

Steele turned to Mr. Webster and held out his hand. “Thanks so much. I won’t bother you or your son any longer. I hope Luke has a full recovery.”

Mr. Webster walked Steele to the front door. In a low voice, he said, “Luke’s been depressed. Do you think he’ll ever get over what happened?”

“That’s up to Luke. He won’t forget, but he can move on. I’ve done it on many occasions. I’ll leave you two. Thank you for your time.”

The two shook hands and Steele went to Bria Henry’s house, the last survivor listed on the police report. Her mother answered the door and let Steele in. She called her daughter after bringing Steele into the living room.

A fifteen-year-old girl ran down the hall, her brown ponytail bouncing on her back. She skidded to a stop in her stocking feet when her green-gray eyes locked on Steele.

“Honey,” her mother said, “this man has questions for you about what happened at school.”

Bria’s eyes turned dull and she looked down. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“It won’t take long,” Steele said. “Just a few questions.”

She looked up. “Why?”

“I need answers.”

“It’s over with. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Steele studied the young girl. Her head was down. Her bottom lip quivered. Her fingers curled into fists and tightened. She kicked the floor with her toes.

“I know it hurts to talk about it,” Steele said.

The girl shrugged with her eyes still lowered. She chewed her bottom lip. One fist pounded her thigh.

“I think you better leave,” the girl’s mother said to Steele.

“May I talk to you privately?” Steele said to the mother.

The mother turned to her daughter. “Honey, go to your room.”