Something Must Be Done - a short story
Frozen fish and white wine
She said if I told my dad he’d be really mad. He’d probably leave, then we wouldn’t be a family any more and it’d all be my fault. I probably wouldn’t have noticed, he was hardly ever there anyway. Maybe that’s why she got lonely and why she was so fond of white wine. I suppose it was also the reason that sometimes, when I went to the toilet in the middle of the night, there’d be some guy I’d never seen before. He'd be stumbling about in the hallway, trying to work out how to get back into her bedroom.
My dad was alright when he did turn up, we went to the
football on a Saturday and he always brought presents from his latest trip. Sounds glamorous, doesn’t it? A life of
international travel, flitting from one country to another, seeing the world at
someone else’s expense. Only my dad was a lorry driver and the motorways of
Europe look pretty much the same whichever country you’re in. He’d pick up a
load of frozen fish from a depot a couple of miles south of Hull and set off
for Rotterdam, then Cologne, then Innsbruck, then Genoa. Sometimes he had to
wait a few days for them to find something to bring back. Next time it would be different cities and
I’d try to track where he was on the Large Scale Driver’s Map of Europe he gave
me. Dad slept in his cab every night and lived on burgers and fried breakfasts
from motorway service stations. It was how he met my mum apparently. She was
hitchhiking round Europe; it was her year off between school and university. He
picked her up at a service station just north of Lyon and she didn’t have the
money for a hotel room either.
Mum
told me about it later as though it had been a great romance, two travellers
destined to find each other, discover true love and then bind themselves
together in hopeful matrimony. Then, she said, their union was blessed when she
discovered she was pregnant with me. Of course the dates didn’t quite work out,
she told me just enough to piece together what really happened. I was born
almost exactly eight months after my mum started university, six months after
their wedding. Officially, she decided after one term that college was not for
her, so she dropped out. The reality was that Uni is a stretch for a girl
recently impregnated in a French motorway rest area. My dad was nine years
older and probably seemed quite glamorous to a teenager who’d only been abroad
once in her life. I guess he was in pretty good shape in those days too;
service station cooking hadn’t started to take its toll yet.
Even a ten year-old could see the cracks in their
relationship. My mum always got tense in the days before he was due to return
from a trip, there were a few more empty wine bottles in the trash and maybe a
few more strange footsteps in the hallway at night. There were certainly plenty of mornings when
I had to get my sister out of bed, make her breakfast and get her to school.
Mum had one of her migraines, the kind my dad got when our team won a game and
he disappeared to the pub for four or five hours to celebrate.
When my mum told me it would be my fault if Dad found
out, I wasn’t that bothered for my own sake. It was my little sister; Susie, I
was worried about. She loved my parents like only a seven year-old can. She
never saw the cracks; she just knew she loved her mum and dad. That was the
law.
It must have been tough for a girl who should have gone to college. She had it all mapped out, Mum wanted to be a linguist. She had A-levels in Spanish, French and English and was off to study Modern Languages at university. At what would have been the end of her first year, she gave birth to a baby boy. They christened me Samuel George William Bailey, exactly the same as my dad. Around the time she’d have graduated, Mum came home from the hospital with my little sister. Dad was delivering fish cakes to a wholesaler in Warsaw at the time.
There weren’t too many job opportunities where we lived either, so when she finally had the chance to go out and get some part-time work, there wasn’t much to do but pack frozen fish or stack shelves at the local hypermarket. It was a far cry from being a multi-lingual translator at the United Nations in New York.
It must have been tough for a girl who should have gone to college. She had it all mapped out, Mum wanted to be a linguist. She had A-levels in Spanish, French and English and was off to study Modern Languages at university. At what would have been the end of her first year, she gave birth to a baby boy. They christened me Samuel George William Bailey, exactly the same as my dad. Around the time she’d have graduated, Mum came home from the hospital with my little sister. Dad was delivering fish cakes to a wholesaler in Warsaw at the time.
There weren’t too many job opportunities where we lived either, so when she finally had the chance to go out and get some part-time work, there wasn’t much to do but pack frozen fish or stack shelves at the local hypermarket. It was a far cry from being a multi-lingual translator at the United Nations in New York.
When Dad did come home it was like watching two weary
boxers circling the ring, both wanted to throw a punch but neither could summon
the energy. Mum was barely 29 but probably looked a bit younger. She’d drop us
off at school sometimes, on her way to work. Quite a few of the dads took their
kids, and I could see how she loved the attention.
“Oh come on, that’s never your son, he has to be your little brother, right?”
“Two kids and a figure like that, unbelievable, you must work out all the time.”
“So how long’s your husband away then darling?”
It was like when I stroked our cat’s ears and scratched its neck, my mum wasn’t purring, it just looked like she was.
“Oh come on, that’s never your son, he has to be your little brother, right?”
“Two kids and a figure like that, unbelievable, you must work out all the time.”
“So how long’s your husband away then darling?”
It was like when I stroked our cat’s ears and scratched its neck, my mum wasn’t purring, it just looked like she was.
They held it all together until around the time I
turned ten. The school was running an open day for parents and they were all
supposed to take part in the sporting events. Mum romped home in a sixty yard
dash, carrying a boiled egg on a spoon, her nearest rival a good three seconds
behind. Dad lasted less than four minutes in a game of five-a-side football,
his hamstring gave out just before his heart and lungs from what I could see.
Mr Ferguson, our PE teacher, helped him from the pitch. A chair appeared as if
by magic and the teacher told my dad to put his head between his legs to ward
off the nausea. I noticed the look Ferguson gave my mum; it was like they had a
secret joke that no one else could understand. That wasn’t much of a surprise,
the last time I’d seen him up close, he’d been coming out of our bathroom at
home. It was around midnight and my dad was delivering cod in Strasbourg. As
the teacher saw me at my bedroom door, he put his fingers to his lips; then
smiled and went back into Mum’s room.
Until then my parents got along alright, I suppose.
Although I had nothing to compare it with really. They didn’t laugh much but
they never really argued either. Dad was usually away and when he did come home
he just wanted to relax. That meant lots of TV, the odd trip to watch the
football, and afternoons and evenings slumped on the sofa. Most nights he was
ready to sleep before I was. As I headed upstairs he was already snoring. A
couple of nights a week he’d go down the pub and, around midnight, there’d be
crashing and banging as he fumbled with his keys, the front door, the coat rack
and anything he could find in the kitchen once he rolled in. The following
morning he’d be on the sofa when I got up for school. Mum wouldn’t let him
sleep upstairs when he came home drunk.
Dad was losing his hair too, just like my granddad, and Mum hated that. The photo of their wedding day was of a tall slender groom with thick black hair, next to a bubbly, pretty blonde girl in a simple white dress. Mum could still get into that outfit, she told us so at least once a week. Dad looked about twice the size he’d been on his wedding day, a dead ringer for my granddad; beaming out from the other photo that sat on the dresser. I used to watch my parents look at each other, it was like neither cared much any more, they were going through the motions. The day we got back from the school’s parent’s day I saw another look in my mum’s eyes… contempt.
Dad was losing his hair too, just like my granddad, and Mum hated that. The photo of their wedding day was of a tall slender groom with thick black hair, next to a bubbly, pretty blonde girl in a simple white dress. Mum could still get into that outfit, she told us so at least once a week. Dad looked about twice the size he’d been on his wedding day, a dead ringer for my granddad; beaming out from the other photo that sat on the dresser. I used to watch my parents look at each other, it was like neither cared much any more, they were going through the motions. The day we got back from the school’s parent’s day I saw another look in my mum’s eyes… contempt.
Earlier that week, we’d all been to the supermarket
together. Dad was struggling to extract a trolley from a row at the entrance to
the shop. A member of staff appeared suddenly,
“Don’t worry, I can help your father with that.”
We all realised he was talking to my mum not to me.
That afternoon my dad left for the depot, he’d be away for two weeks. At seven p.m. a babysitter arrived and at seven-thirty a horn sounded outside the house. My mum looked like a movie star, make up she never bothered with when Dad was around, and a new dress that looked a little bit too small for her. She gave us both a kiss and I nearly choked on her perfume. I reckoned she’d bathed in it. Mum said she wouldn’t be back too late.
I played with Susie for a while until it was time for her to go to bed, then I left the babysitter to watch a movie and went upstairs too. I was allowed one hour on the internet every day, but Mum never checked. I could chat to people all over the world, I didn’t have many friends in England. Things that seemed boring in books came alive on the screen. I could watch films on YouTube and I loved surfing the web. Just follow the links and it’s amazing what you can discover. There were sites I knew my parents wouldn’t want me to see but neither of them knew about setting parental controls. They said I was a good boy and they knew they could trust me. I wasn’t really bothered about those sites anyway. A lot of boys at school had pictures on their phones; they used to stand around giggling at images of naked women. It didn’t mean much to me.
“Don’t worry, I can help your father with that.”
We all realised he was talking to my mum not to me.
That afternoon my dad left for the depot, he’d be away for two weeks. At seven p.m. a babysitter arrived and at seven-thirty a horn sounded outside the house. My mum looked like a movie star, make up she never bothered with when Dad was around, and a new dress that looked a little bit too small for her. She gave us both a kiss and I nearly choked on her perfume. I reckoned she’d bathed in it. Mum said she wouldn’t be back too late.
I played with Susie for a while until it was time for her to go to bed, then I left the babysitter to watch a movie and went upstairs too. I was allowed one hour on the internet every day, but Mum never checked. I could chat to people all over the world, I didn’t have many friends in England. Things that seemed boring in books came alive on the screen. I could watch films on YouTube and I loved surfing the web. Just follow the links and it’s amazing what you can discover. There were sites I knew my parents wouldn’t want me to see but neither of them knew about setting parental controls. They said I was a good boy and they knew they could trust me. I wasn’t really bothered about those sites anyway. A lot of boys at school had pictures on their phones; they used to stand around giggling at images of naked women. It didn’t mean much to me.
Finn
On my computer I could play games, I could control the player in front of me, I could make him do things no real human could do. He was a hero, a leader, his friends looked up to him and everybody respected him. Finn was my best friend, he was a Major in Special Forces and through him I’d reached the seventh level of Behind Enemy Lines, there were only three more to go.
It was after midnight when I heard my mum come back. The routine was the same as always. The taxi that dropped her off waited, so the driver could take the babysitter home. Mum rushed up the stairs, she always checked on Susie first, so I had time to switch off the computer and the lights, and pretend I was asleep when she looked into my room. It would be no more than five minutes before there was a knock at the front door. I never understood why they didn’t use the bell; they made plenty of noise once they came inside. There would be footsteps on the stairs and then some giggling, my mum saying; “Shhhh”, “The kids are asleep,” “Don’t wake them up.” After a few minutes there would be more noises from her room, groaning, sighing, they’d be saying stuff I couldn’t quite hear and then the bed took on a life of its own. Noises I only ever heard when Susie and I played trampolines when our parents were both out of earshot. If I needed to pee, I just waited until the noises stopped, within a few minutes someone would go to the toilet, they’d head back to the room and then it was safe for me to go too. That night I was bursting, I’d heard the man press the flush but I hadn’t heard him go back to my mum’s room. I was sure he must have done, it was ages since he’d used the toilet. I opened my door just a crack and there was Mr Ferguson in the hallway. Another door was open too and he was standing there, staring into the room. He wasn’t doing anything, but he was totally absorbed by what he was looking at. It wasn’t my mum’s room he was staring into. It was Susie’s.
My dad said goodbye the day after the funeral. He
wouldn’t even acknowledge my mum existed. When he looked at me it seemed to be
with despair, as though there was nothing more he could do for me. They found
Susie’s body seventeen hours after my mum got the phone call saying she’d not
gone back to class after the lunch break. They wanted to know if she’d been
picked up and my mum forgot to tell them. She hadn’t. They arrested Mr Ferguson
the following day. He wasn’t much of a master criminal. It seems he planned on
taking Susie somewhere near the river, he must have told her something special
to make her get in the car. We both knew you never did that unless Mum or Dad
gave you permission. Two kids who were dodging lessons saw Ferguson’s Volvo by
the bridge, as soon as they heard about Susie they went straight to the police
and told them who owned it.
Susie’s DNA was all over the passenger seat, her footprints were clear to be seen; from where the car had been parked to where they found her body. The police told us she must have tried to run. Ferguson followed but then they reckon she fell and hit her head, he saw she wasn’t breathing so he made a dash for it. He pretty much admitted it all in his first interview. Debbie, the babysitter, confirmed it was the same car that had been picking my mum up from home when Dad was away.
Susie’s DNA was all over the passenger seat, her footprints were clear to be seen; from where the car had been parked to where they found her body. The police told us she must have tried to run. Ferguson followed but then they reckon she fell and hit her head, he saw she wasn’t breathing so he made a dash for it. He pretty much admitted it all in his first interview. Debbie, the babysitter, confirmed it was the same car that had been picking my mum up from home when Dad was away.
For two years, there were no more babysitters, no more
late night encounters with strangers in the hallway and no more football with
Dad when he came back from his trips. I never saw him again. Mum was OK, she
still took care of herself I suppose, it was habit. She still got a few
admiring glances at the school gates but she shrugged them off. We never talked
about Dad, of Susie or of Mr Ferguson. It was like none of them ever existed.
I went to school, she went to work. In the evenings she cooked dinner and we watched TV for a while. Then I went to my room and logged on, she’d fall asleep in front of a movie, sometimes with a glass of white wine to send her on her way. It was OK, I still had my on-line friends and I still had Behind Enemy Lines, Finn was a Colonel in Special Forces and I’d reached level nine. I had quite a following in the chat rooms and loads of people wanted to know the secret of my success. Things were going OK; I couldn’t see how anything would change any time soon. Mum was working for a bloke she used to go to school with, he’d gone to University when she got pregnant with me. Michael had written a few books and was pretty famous apparently. She told me one day they might be turning one into a movie. It barely registered at the time.
That’s why it was such a surprise when she finally brought him home.
“Sam, I want you to meet Mike.
“Hello,” I said as politely as I could, without taking my eyes off the TV.
“Mike’s going to America. Isn’t that amazing? He’s going to be living in California.
“Cool.”
“He wants us to go with him.”
“Huh?”
“Mike wants us to go and live with him in America. I said yes.”
I went to school, she went to work. In the evenings she cooked dinner and we watched TV for a while. Then I went to my room and logged on, she’d fall asleep in front of a movie, sometimes with a glass of white wine to send her on her way. It was OK, I still had my on-line friends and I still had Behind Enemy Lines, Finn was a Colonel in Special Forces and I’d reached level nine. I had quite a following in the chat rooms and loads of people wanted to know the secret of my success. Things were going OK; I couldn’t see how anything would change any time soon. Mum was working for a bloke she used to go to school with, he’d gone to University when she got pregnant with me. Michael had written a few books and was pretty famous apparently. She told me one day they might be turning one into a movie. It barely registered at the time.
That’s why it was such a surprise when she finally brought him home.
“Sam, I want you to meet Mike.
“Hello,” I said as politely as I could, without taking my eyes off the TV.
“Mike’s going to America. Isn’t that amazing? He’s going to be living in California.
“Cool.”
“He wants us to go with him.”
“Huh?”
“Mike wants us to go and live with him in America. I said yes.”
So long suckers
Sam Bailey had an
uninterrupted view of the sport’s ground from the classroom window. Kenny van
Bergen was captain of the school football team, a hot tip for USA Today High
School Player of the Year and on the fast track to a career in the professional
game. That day he was running one-on-one blocking drills with coach Harrison.
At least Sam thought that’s what they were doing. He wasn’t that much wiser
about the game than he’d been the day he arrived from England. Sam was looking
at the two people he despised most in the entire world.
It
was thirty days since the last shooting, it happened just one hundred miles
from where Sam was standing. All people had talked about that day, was whether
such a terrible thing could happen at their school. Sam was certain it could.
Two boys armed with automatic weapons had walked into the lunchroom and opened
fire. They had been in lessons all morning and everyone said later they behaved
perfectly normally. There was no indication as to what was about to unfold. The
bell rang to indicate the end of morning lessons, Chad Collins and Donny Weaver
carefully stowed their books in their lockers and then walked out to the
parking lot where all seniors left their cars during the school day. The
thermometer on the science block wall said it was thirty-four degrees and the
two boys got plenty of quizzical looks and the odd catcall as they marched back
into school wearing floor length leather coats. It looked like a scene from a
movie and that should have been the clue. Their blogs revealed Chad and Donny
had watched a scene just like that, over and over in the months before, and
they were going to recreate it. The filmmaker used blanks; the two boys planned
to do things properly. The coats had deep inside pockets, Donny’s hid a
Springfield M1A, Chad’s a Yugoslavian Zastava M70. Donny had a Sig Sauer handgun
for the planned finale. They entered the lunchroom at 1.05 p.m. Four seconds
later the first gunshots were heard. At 1.12 p.m. the boys turned, stared at
each other for a moment and nodded, then Chad knelt on the floor. Donny looked
up at the CCTV camera and smiled, then fired his handgun into the back of the
younger boy’s head. Fifteen seconds later, the footage revealed, he turned the
weapon on himself.
Christie Davis, anchor at Channel 84 News was first to
report on the blog the boys posted that morning. Chad explained how they argued at length as
to who would use the handgun in their dramatic finale. He said they tossed a
coin and Donny won. The post was entitled “So long suckers, see you in hell.”
It detailed the rationale for the attack.
“America is no longer in the hands of Americans. It’s sold out to the Jews, the Muslims, the Gays and the Spics. Big Corporations run this country now and they don’t care about ordinary working people. They send our young men to die in wars, so they can sell more oil, they don’t pay their taxes and the only God they worship is MONEY. This is a warning to all of you, unless you rise up and take America back, there will be more of us, more true Americans who will lay down their lives so the world knows what is happening here. So long suckers.”
“America is no longer in the hands of Americans. It’s sold out to the Jews, the Muslims, the Gays and the Spics. Big Corporations run this country now and they don’t care about ordinary working people. They send our young men to die in wars, so they can sell more oil, they don’t pay their taxes and the only God they worship is MONEY. This is a warning to all of you, unless you rise up and take America back, there will be more of us, more true Americans who will lay down their lives so the world knows what is happening here. So long suckers.”
In
the seven minutes between the time the boys entered the lunchroom and when Chad
was shot, they fired over five hundred rounds of ammunition. Four teachers and
eleven children were killed, twenty others were seriously injured.
Sam had watched every second of the TV coverage. In minutes TV crews were despatched to the scene and news of yet another high school shooting was being reported in every country in the world. Iranian TV cited it as yet another example of how western society was barbaric and Godless, European channels shook their collective heads in disbelief at the lax gun controls of their American neighbours and the BBC showed British policemen patrolling the streets of Britain, unarmed. Policing by consent they called it. The British public were grateful for the history lesson; few of them had seen a policeman on the streets of their towns for years.
Sam had watched every second of the TV coverage. In minutes TV crews were despatched to the scene and news of yet another high school shooting was being reported in every country in the world. Iranian TV cited it as yet another example of how western society was barbaric and Godless, European channels shook their collective heads in disbelief at the lax gun controls of their American neighbours and the BBC showed British policemen patrolling the streets of Britain, unarmed. Policing by consent they called it. The British public were grateful for the history lesson; few of them had seen a policeman on the streets of their towns for years.
The US President was quick to express his outrage.
“Something must be done to make sure this never happens again in the schools or on the streets of this great nation. It is time for every American to stand up and be counted. To say no.” He paused to scan the faces of his audience. “Our children must be able to walk without fear, to know when they are in the care of our schools they are safe from harm. I call on Congress to take the action all Americans are crying out for; there can be no more guns without proper controls.”
The President paused again, his eyes slowly swept the room. He knew from thousands of hours of media training that this would indicate to his audience that he was confident and in control. As he faced the TV cameras, he creased his brow just slightly and set his jaw just as he’d done over and over again in practice. On the Six O’clock News, viewers all over America would see a man who felt their grief but could, and would, do something about it. Catching a glimpse of his Chief of Staff’s barely perceptible nod of satisfaction, the President continued.
“I understand the constitution and the proud history of our nation. I understand the rights of every American to carry a gun, but the people of the United States have sent us a clear message. They recognise appropriate checks are needed and they are looking to us, their elected representatives, to make sure that happens. There is no more time, we cannot have the blood of any more children on our hands.”
The ovation was long and wildly enthusiastic. America had once again been shaken to its core, but this audience knew that something must be done and here was a President who was determined to act. In the hours that followed there would be much discussion as to what it was that he had promised to do. All that was certain was that he was going to do something.
“Something must be done to make sure this never happens again in the schools or on the streets of this great nation. It is time for every American to stand up and be counted. To say no.” He paused to scan the faces of his audience. “Our children must be able to walk without fear, to know when they are in the care of our schools they are safe from harm. I call on Congress to take the action all Americans are crying out for; there can be no more guns without proper controls.”
The President paused again, his eyes slowly swept the room. He knew from thousands of hours of media training that this would indicate to his audience that he was confident and in control. As he faced the TV cameras, he creased his brow just slightly and set his jaw just as he’d done over and over again in practice. On the Six O’clock News, viewers all over America would see a man who felt their grief but could, and would, do something about it. Catching a glimpse of his Chief of Staff’s barely perceptible nod of satisfaction, the President continued.
“I understand the constitution and the proud history of our nation. I understand the rights of every American to carry a gun, but the people of the United States have sent us a clear message. They recognise appropriate checks are needed and they are looking to us, their elected representatives, to make sure that happens. There is no more time, we cannot have the blood of any more children on our hands.”
The ovation was long and wildly enthusiastic. America had once again been shaken to its core, but this audience knew that something must be done and here was a President who was determined to act. In the hours that followed there would be much discussion as to what it was that he had promised to do. All that was certain was that he was going to do something.
A respected and long-standing Congressman expressed
his horror at the events that unfolded that day:
“I must remind the President; he is talking about changes to the constitution of the finest and freest country in the world. We must not panic and ride roughshod over the rights of millions of law-abiding and God-fearing citizens just because of a few who might have severe mental health issues. I implore Congress to review the funding of all programmes designed to support anyone who might have psychological problems. It’s not guns that kill; it’s the person that pulls the trigger. We must never forget, only madmen would have done what we saw today.”
“I must remind the President; he is talking about changes to the constitution of the finest and freest country in the world. We must not panic and ride roughshod over the rights of millions of law-abiding and God-fearing citizens just because of a few who might have severe mental health issues. I implore Congress to review the funding of all programmes designed to support anyone who might have psychological problems. It’s not guns that kill; it’s the person that pulls the trigger. We must never forget, only madmen would have done what we saw today.”
Donny Weaver’s aunt was interviewed, although only in
silhouette, the family had already received a number of threats. She was able
to provide pictures of her nephew growing up. He was, she said, such a happy
child. He didn’t have that many friends, Chad Collins excepted, but he got good
grades and the family were confident he’d be going to college in the fall.
Until this happened.
“I knew that boy since he was so high,” she made a gesture with her hand just outside camera shot. “He was just the sweetest kid, he did not have a single bad bone in the whole of his body. Nobody could have foreseen this… and I mean nobody.”
“I knew that boy since he was so high,” she made a gesture with her hand just outside camera shot. “He was just the sweetest kid, he did not have a single bad bone in the whole of his body. Nobody could have foreseen this… and I mean nobody.”
The throng of TV crews grew outside the school gates
each day as the teachers and pupils tried to return to normality. The lunchroom
was to be demolished and another built by an anonymous benefactor. Reporters
searched desperately for a single person who could say they saw it coming, that
they had been suspicious of the two boys for years, maybe they already had a
criminal record, or the police had been told about some nefarious activity. All
they found was a group of shell-shocked people whose view of the world had been
picked up and shaken until it bore no resemblance to what they knew before.
A member of the National Rifle Association reminded
his TV audience that their country was free because of the constitution and the
rights enshrined within it. He pointed to the chaos in countries around the
world that had no such protection. Dictatorships that knew their people were
powerless to resist, fundamentalist governments that ruled by terror, and
medieval kingdoms that subjugated their people through the fear of what would
happen to them in the afterlife. America was a modern, democratic state
protected by a written constitution that had given its people the right to bear
arms for over two centuries. If politicians chose to tamper with it, they
should be willing to bear the consequences. He was asked if that was a threat.
Predictably, he replied it was a promise.
The interviewer asked him for his solution, he said that it was simple.
“The vulnerable have no chance against a strong, fit, healthy criminal unless they have a gun. God made men,” he said, “Samuel Colt made them equal.” He smiled proudly as though the quote was original.
“There are bad people out there and the only way to deal with them is to arm the good guys. We need trained guards in every school in the USA, then days like today would simply not happen.”
“What do you think of reports that school teachers across America are taking lessons at gun clubs?” asked the reporter.
“I applaud their initiative and welcome the fact they are willing to take action to protect our children when the people we have put on Capitol Hill just stand and stare, and hatch plots about which of our freedoms they are going to take away next.”
The interviewer asked him for his solution, he said that it was simple.
“The vulnerable have no chance against a strong, fit, healthy criminal unless they have a gun. God made men,” he said, “Samuel Colt made them equal.” He smiled proudly as though the quote was original.
“There are bad people out there and the only way to deal with them is to arm the good guys. We need trained guards in every school in the USA, then days like today would simply not happen.”
“What do you think of reports that school teachers across America are taking lessons at gun clubs?” asked the reporter.
“I applaud their initiative and welcome the fact they are willing to take action to protect our children when the people we have put on Capitol Hill just stand and stare, and hatch plots about which of our freedoms they are going to take away next.”
As the interview came to a close, a schoolboy logged
onto a hugely popular web site, took his mother’s credit card and bought an
AR-15 rifle. The advertising told him it was equipped with an 18" target barrel,
ambidextrous safety, an extended bolt catch and a winter trigger guard. The
Armalite telescope mount had been reamed for parallelism. He wasn’t too sure
what any of that meant only that it sounded really cool. It cost his mother one
thousand four hundred dollars plus thirty dollars shipping. She’d never notice,
her boyfriend picked up all her bills and was far too successful to notice a
few dollars on her gold card, and she was out of her head on booze most of the
time anyway.
Three streets away, William Matheson, Principal of
Ridgevale Heights High School flicked the off button on his remote control. He
was late for a teacher’s meeting but had wanted to see the end of the
interview. Ever since the shooting, parents had been phoning, e-mailing and
even calling at his home. They wanted to know how he would make sure it could
never happen at Ridgevale Heights. Something must be done, they told him.
Parents were counting on him and he knew exactly how to respond. He had no
intention of being the guy giving the next interview on TV, saying he never
thought it could happen at his school.
Sam Bailey heard the bell for the afternoon session and picked up his books. He hated being late for lessons.
Sam Bailey heard the bell for the afternoon session and picked up his books. He hated being late for lessons.
Feeling secure
My mum was worried I would miss my friends when we
moved. Why would I? I carried them around on my laptop; I could talk to them
any time I wanted, wherever I was in the world. It seemed like an age since we
first set out for America.
I’m not sure my mum ever really loved Michael, but he was clearly besotted with her. Had been since he was nine years old apparently. I think she just wanted to get out of England. Everything there reminded her of what happened to Susie and how everyone thought it was her fault. They said as much on the TV news, it was like it was fair punishment for a woman who was screwing around behind her husband’s back. Another kid went missing about six months after Susie died, but the news reporters all said how she came from a happy family, the mother wasn’t a drunken whore, the father wasn’t away all the time and they were both good Christians. They deserved to get their child back alive, not like my mum.
I’m not sure my mum ever really loved Michael, but he was clearly besotted with her. Had been since he was nine years old apparently. I think she just wanted to get out of England. Everything there reminded her of what happened to Susie and how everyone thought it was her fault. They said as much on the TV news, it was like it was fair punishment for a woman who was screwing around behind her husband’s back. Another kid went missing about six months after Susie died, but the news reporters all said how she came from a happy family, the mother wasn’t a drunken whore, the father wasn’t away all the time and they were both good Christians. They deserved to get their child back alive, not like my mum.
For twelve years our home was a small town four miles
south of Hull on the east coast of England. Suddenly we were thrown into a big
city, in the loudest, brashest, most self-confident country in the world. The
boys at school couldn’t understand that I’d never seen a pitching glove, they
laughed when I asked why you’d wear a helmet to play football and were totally
incredulous when I said I’d never played basketball in my life. They enjoyed
teaching me for a while, that is to say they loved watching me try and fail at
these bizarre new sports. I’d like to have said, had they been their English
equivalents, I’d have been OK. The truth is, I was pretty crap at those too.
Sport was ritual humiliation and my new classmates could hardly wait to see how
I was going to screw up next. The only thing I ever hit with a baseball bat was
my own left knee. I never made or caught a single pass on the basketball court
and my only function on a football field was to provide tackling practice for
the jocks.
The big guys stood and laughed, the little guys joined in, grateful it was someone else in the firing line for a while.
The big guys stood and laughed, the little guys joined in, grateful it was someone else in the firing line for a while.
Michael said I was sure to be a hit with the girls,
“They just love a British accent.” The
first girl I spoke to was Tammy; she was a cheerleader and Miss Popularity. I
told her my name, that I’d just come from England and that it was nice to meet
her. I guess a Humberside accent doesn’t have quite the same impact as an
English prince or one of those actors shipped in to play the villain in most
Hollywood movies.
“Are you gay?” she demanded. I could feel myself flush with embarrassment and tried to stutter a convincing denial. I failed. It was taken to be a confession.
I ate lunch alone, I prayed I’d survive the humiliation of sport and resigned myself to the fact that no self-respecting girl was going to show an interest in an English “gay-boy.” Even one who desperately wanted a girlfriend.
“Are you gay?” she demanded. I could feel myself flush with embarrassment and tried to stutter a convincing denial. I failed. It was taken to be a confession.
I ate lunch alone, I prayed I’d survive the humiliation of sport and resigned myself to the fact that no self-respecting girl was going to show an interest in an English “gay-boy.” Even one who desperately wanted a girlfriend.
Sanctuary
was my bedroom. Michael was doing pretty well, we had a great house and there
was nothing he’d deny my mum. She and I still operated the same routine, since
we’d lived in England. Dinner, followed by TV, then I headed for my room and
she fell asleep in front of a movie. Michael was away quite a bit, promoting
his books and trying to tie down a movie deal. Mum still liked a drop of white
wine from time to time; she said it calmed her nerves. The city scared her and the channels she
chose to watch on TV made a point of suggesting that we were all in imminent
danger of being slaughtered in our beds. That’s why she bought a gun. Michael
went berserk when he found out; he had faith in the forces of law and order and
could see no reason why anyone needed to arm themselves. It was the only time I
ever saw them argue. Michael was determined she should get rid of it. My mum
said if the gun went she was going too. She didn’t feel safe in the house
without it.
It felt so long since we arrived in America. My life
still revolved around the classroom and my bedroom. I still ate lunch alone,
the jocks sneered at me and girls still gave me that look that said I shouldn’t
even bother. I just wasn’t their type.
Behind Enemy Lines was a thing of the past. Finn had moved on and was a Battalion Commander in Earth Defender, Universal Conflict. That day I’d unlocked level thirteen, there were only five to go. I had plenty of friends on-line, I even had some fans. Suki from Missouri said she was desperate to meet Commander Finn and Katerina from Berlin said if I was ever in Germany she hoped I’d come to see her. Finn would have been delighted to meet both of them, but the thought just paralysed me with fear.
Behind Enemy Lines was a thing of the past. Finn had moved on and was a Battalion Commander in Earth Defender, Universal Conflict. That day I’d unlocked level thirteen, there were only five to go. I had plenty of friends on-line, I even had some fans. Suki from Missouri said she was desperate to meet Commander Finn and Katerina from Berlin said if I was ever in Germany she hoped I’d come to see her. Finn would have been delighted to meet both of them, but the thought just paralysed me with fear.
I was having lunch on my own again. The door burst
open; it was Principal Matheson, clearly looking for someone. He was as bad as the kids, he’d heard the
jibes about me being gay but did nothing and I’d heard him talk about Brits who
couldn’t hack it in a real man’s sport. Whoever he was looking for, I hoped it
wasn’t me.
Arming the good guys
As Sam Bailey was eating lunch, Principal Matheson of
Ridgeview Heights High School was on his way to the administration wing. He
wanted to call a meeting of all male teachers, to be held before the lunch
break finished. It wouldn’t take long, he wasn’t planning on a discussion, he
had an announcement to make. This was something the ladies on the payroll would
not have the stomach for, they would not be required. Once his staff had
gathered, he explained he had no intention of being the next Principal to stand
in front of a TV crew and apologise for the fact that the latest massacre was
on his watch. Matheson quoted the NRA spokesman almost word for word.
“When there are bad people with guns, there is only one thing you can possibly do. You have to arm the good guys.”
He demanded that every male member of staff sign up for firearms training forthwith, the school would pay the fees. There were murmurs of concern, maybe even dissent but no one was willing to stand up to the Principal. The first training session was arranged for five p.m. that evening and everyone would be there. There was to be no discussion as he was about to give a very important TV interview, there would be cameras and he expected his teachers to come along and show their support for his ground-breaking initiative.
“When there are bad people with guns, there is only one thing you can possibly do. You have to arm the good guys.”
He demanded that every male member of staff sign up for firearms training forthwith, the school would pay the fees. There were murmurs of concern, maybe even dissent but no one was willing to stand up to the Principal. The first training session was arranged for five p.m. that evening and everyone would be there. There was to be no discussion as he was about to give a very important TV interview, there would be cameras and he expected his teachers to come along and show their support for his ground-breaking initiative.
A bleeding heart
Six months passed since the day Principal Matheson
stormed through the lunchroom. It was firmly fixed in my mind. I watched his
interview over and over on TV. I watched a man who was terrified there would be
an attack on his school because that would be so very bad for his career.
I still checked my blog every day but no one ever left a comment, nobody ever subscribed to my posts. That was because I was Sam Bailey, why would anyone want to read my blog? Yet Brigade Commander Finn’s pages received six thousand hits a month and I could barely cope with the e-mail traffic. As Sam, nobody was interested at all. There was one thing I could be absolutely certain about; by Christmas, millions of people from all over the world would have read it. I would make my final post on the day I left for school for the last time. The police would want to read it; they’d be looking for clues. They were there for sure.
I’d written about the bullying, I’d tried to explain there was more to life than sport. I did a piece about girls and how I hoped one day they might see they couldn’t all have the captain of the football team. They’d want someone who’d respect them and take care of them. I did get one reply to that post; it said “Faggot.”
I still checked my blog every day but no one ever left a comment, nobody ever subscribed to my posts. That was because I was Sam Bailey, why would anyone want to read my blog? Yet Brigade Commander Finn’s pages received six thousand hits a month and I could barely cope with the e-mail traffic. As Sam, nobody was interested at all. There was one thing I could be absolutely certain about; by Christmas, millions of people from all over the world would have read it. I would make my final post on the day I left for school for the last time. The police would want to read it; they’d be looking for clues. They were there for sure.
I’d written about the bullying, I’d tried to explain there was more to life than sport. I did a piece about girls and how I hoped one day they might see they couldn’t all have the captain of the football team. They’d want someone who’d respect them and take care of them. I did get one reply to that post; it said “Faggot.”
When my mum died, I wrote about that too. It was in
the papers but, even then, nobody was really interested in what I had to say.
She’d been sure that a gun would keep her safe, and every night she checked the
locks on every door and window. For ages she harangued Michael until he fitted
sensors, lights and CCTV so anyone coming onto our property at night would
trigger an alarm, the whole area would be lit up and the fleeing villain would
be caught on camera. If that failed, she kept a handgun in her bedside drawer,
it was always loaded and she knew how to use it.
The guy who killed her used a trick he’d seen in a movie. He was hanging around the local supermarket. They ran a service where you could drop a shopping list into the store. Someone packed the items and delivered them within four hours. He followed her home. It was eleven a.m. when he banged on the front door and shouted the name of the supermarket. She never really stood a chance. The police said she put up a pretty good fight. Mum and I had gone shopping the day before and she bought a heavy ceramic fruit bowl. It was found smashed on the kitchen floor and there was blood on its base. They were sure the blood belonged to her killer. The glass door to the hallway was shattered and the few pieces of furniture lining the corridor beyond had been overturned, as though she was trying to block the path of her pursuer. Her shoes were found at the bottom of the stairs, one had a broken heel. Her assailant must have been close behind, otherwise she might have tried to open the front door. The key was in a drawer, there were two bolts and a heavy chain, I guess she decided she didn’t have time. Mum had thought about what she’d do in this situation. She even talked me through it when she’d had a glass or two of Chardonnay. She knew she just had to make it to her bedroom and that was where they found her. The drawer where she kept the gun had been pulled out. It was lying on the floor next to her body, but there was no weapon.
The guy who killed her used a trick he’d seen in a movie. He was hanging around the local supermarket. They ran a service where you could drop a shopping list into the store. Someone packed the items and delivered them within four hours. He followed her home. It was eleven a.m. when he banged on the front door and shouted the name of the supermarket. She never really stood a chance. The police said she put up a pretty good fight. Mum and I had gone shopping the day before and she bought a heavy ceramic fruit bowl. It was found smashed on the kitchen floor and there was blood on its base. They were sure the blood belonged to her killer. The glass door to the hallway was shattered and the few pieces of furniture lining the corridor beyond had been overturned, as though she was trying to block the path of her pursuer. Her shoes were found at the bottom of the stairs, one had a broken heel. Her assailant must have been close behind, otherwise she might have tried to open the front door. The key was in a drawer, there were two bolts and a heavy chain, I guess she decided she didn’t have time. Mum had thought about what she’d do in this situation. She even talked me through it when she’d had a glass or two of Chardonnay. She knew she just had to make it to her bedroom and that was where they found her. The drawer where she kept the gun had been pulled out. It was lying on the floor next to her body, but there was no weapon.
Michael had finally decided he wasn’t going to argue
with her anymore. Two days earlier, he waited until she was in the shower and
then he took the gun and buried it in the garden. He had to explain it all to
the police when they told him she’d probably been murdered with a gun she
bought for herself from a local dealer. He knew that could not possibly be the
case. The policeman who dug it up was a keen gardener.
“Dicentra Formosa,” he said, pointing to the drooping deep red flowers. “Also known as the Pacific Bleeding Heart.”
Michael had hidden the only thing that might have saved Mum’s life. I was pretty certain that he’d go to his grave feeling responsible for her death. That was the clincher.
“Dicentra Formosa,” he said, pointing to the drooping deep red flowers. “Also known as the Pacific Bleeding Heart.”
Michael had hidden the only thing that might have saved Mum’s life. I was pretty certain that he’d go to his grave feeling responsible for her death. That was the clincher.
I fantasised about what I’d like to do to Mum’s
killer, to the jocks who rejoiced as I fumbled another catch and the girls who
wouldn’t give me the time of day. I shared some of those thoughts with my
non-existent on-line following. It never
occurred to me that I’d ever put those thoughts into action. Until the day I held a gun in my hand for the
first time, the cool smooth handle, the short stubby barrel. It looked like a
toy. Then you got to pull the trigger and you could feel the adrenaline rush.
It was all so easy. I finally understood that thing someone said about Samuel
Colt. About how God had made men but Colt had made them equal.
That’s when the idea began to form in my mind. That’s when I started to write the blog that I would post on my final morning. Nobody had been very interested in my story up until then. I was certain that was about to change. I could order everything I needed on-line. I re-read the stories about Collins and Weaver, how they thought they were standing up for Americans. It wasn’t going to be like that this time. I was just tired. Tired of being scared of my own shadow, tired of jumping every time the Principal came into view, tired of the sneers and pitying stares of everyone who walked through the gates of that school. Commander Finn had completed his mission on Earth Defender, Universal Conflict. There was only one more thing I wanted to do.
That’s when the idea began to form in my mind. That’s when I started to write the blog that I would post on my final morning. Nobody had been very interested in my story up until then. I was certain that was about to change. I could order everything I needed on-line. I re-read the stories about Collins and Weaver, how they thought they were standing up for Americans. It wasn’t going to be like that this time. I was just tired. Tired of being scared of my own shadow, tired of jumping every time the Principal came into view, tired of the sneers and pitying stares of everyone who walked through the gates of that school. Commander Finn had completed his mission on Earth Defender, Universal Conflict. There was only one more thing I wanted to do.
Breaking News
The camera was not quite in focus, the reporter was
still trying to get the microphone wiring out from under her feet and the
make-up girl had barely exited the shot. They had to roll because it looked
like the crew next to them also had the latest crucial development in the
story. Who could get it out first?
“America is in shock this afternoon at news of another high school massacre. This time at Ridgeview Heights High School. Principal Matheson, who was recently interviewed by this channel to explain his reasons for arming all male teachers in the school, is believed to be amongst the victims. Survivors report only one gunman; he entered the school gym at two-thirty this afternoon and opened fire. Principal Matheson was speaking to the school’s football team ahead of Saturday’s big game against neighbouring Broadvale High. Also present in the gym, was the cheerleading team from Ridgeview. At this time, there are no confirmed survivors of the attack. Witnesses believe the gunman then turned his weapon on himself. A coherent story of what happened in the gym is yet to emerge but many pupils are in no doubt as the identity of the shooter. They saw Sam Bailey walking towards the building at two-twenty five p.m. carrying a large canvas bag. As he got to the door of the gym he opened the bag and removed an assault rifle and a shotgun. Seconds after he entered, gunfire was heard. This went on for several minutes, during which time students and teachers alerted the emergency services. There was a pause, then a single shot could be heard, witnesses say they believe this is when Bailey turned his weapon on himself. The immense scale of this tragedy emerged as we sought to establish Bailey’s background and motives. We learned he was English by birth and had few friends at the school. He was the classic loner. But this is far from the typical student rampage story. Sam Bailey came to the USA at the age of twelve, sixteen years ago. He graduated from Ridgeview Heights only to return to the teaching staff having gained his degree. He featured prominently in Principal Matheson’s recent promotion of the decision to arm Ridgeview’s teachers. We have this footage of the interview Mr Matheson gave to Christie Davis at the time:
“Mr Matheson, you say the way to defeat those who use guns for evil is to arm the good guys.”
“That’s exactly right, our teachers have a sacred duty to protect these children and I’m going to make sure that is exactly what they do.”
“But Mr Matheson, who gets to decide whether someone is a good guy?”
Matheson stepped back so the camera could pan along the row of male staff members, Sam Bailey was standing at the end of the line.
“These guys are teachers, it’s their job to protect our kids and I am making sure they have the means to do it.”
“America is in shock this afternoon at news of another high school massacre. This time at Ridgeview Heights High School. Principal Matheson, who was recently interviewed by this channel to explain his reasons for arming all male teachers in the school, is believed to be amongst the victims. Survivors report only one gunman; he entered the school gym at two-thirty this afternoon and opened fire. Principal Matheson was speaking to the school’s football team ahead of Saturday’s big game against neighbouring Broadvale High. Also present in the gym, was the cheerleading team from Ridgeview. At this time, there are no confirmed survivors of the attack. Witnesses believe the gunman then turned his weapon on himself. A coherent story of what happened in the gym is yet to emerge but many pupils are in no doubt as the identity of the shooter. They saw Sam Bailey walking towards the building at two-twenty five p.m. carrying a large canvas bag. As he got to the door of the gym he opened the bag and removed an assault rifle and a shotgun. Seconds after he entered, gunfire was heard. This went on for several minutes, during which time students and teachers alerted the emergency services. There was a pause, then a single shot could be heard, witnesses say they believe this is when Bailey turned his weapon on himself. The immense scale of this tragedy emerged as we sought to establish Bailey’s background and motives. We learned he was English by birth and had few friends at the school. He was the classic loner. But this is far from the typical student rampage story. Sam Bailey came to the USA at the age of twelve, sixteen years ago. He graduated from Ridgeview Heights only to return to the teaching staff having gained his degree. He featured prominently in Principal Matheson’s recent promotion of the decision to arm Ridgeview’s teachers. We have this footage of the interview Mr Matheson gave to Christie Davis at the time:
“Mr Matheson, you say the way to defeat those who use guns for evil is to arm the good guys.”
“That’s exactly right, our teachers have a sacred duty to protect these children and I’m going to make sure that is exactly what they do.”
“But Mr Matheson, who gets to decide whether someone is a good guy?”
Matheson stepped back so the camera could pan along the row of male staff members, Sam Bailey was standing at the end of the line.
“These guys are teachers, it’s their job to protect our kids and I am making sure they have the means to do it.”
The
End
Author’s note
I don’t claim to have the answer in the
debate as to how arms should be regulated in the USA or any other country.
Seeing reports of High School shootings in America, it is easy to point to lax
gun controls and that is surely part of the cause. Britain would claim to have
stronger regulation but tragedies at Hungerford, Dunblane and in Cumbria show
that provides no guarantees. I was
shocked that the perpetrators of these crimes had access to guns but also
dismayed when a Norfolk farmer was imprisoned for using a legally held firearm
to defend himself. I have no solution, if I had, this would be a learned
dissertation setting out the detailed changes required to make gun crime a
thing of the past.
All I am seeking to do with this short story is to give a single example as to why knee jerk responses to any problem almost always have unforeseen consequences. Often the very people one is trying to protect are those who suffer most with an ill thought out solution. Issues such as these can rarely be fixed with a single act or a piece of legislation. More likely they require a raft of small well thought out steps, changes in attitude across wide sections of society, maybe even a new generation of children; educated to think in a different way to their predecessors. I suspect gun control is one of those issues and politicians who say, “We must put a stop to this now” or “It must never be allowed to happen again,” are either delusional or just worried about tomorrow’s polls. Complex problems rarely lend themselves to simple solutions. I do not have the answer to this problem, all I can offer is a fictional piece highlighting how quick fixes rarely fix.
Intractable issues have become a source of considerable fascination for me. I have worked extensively in Asia and have a particular interest in how the region is portrayed in western media. My favourite cities are Hong Kong and Bangkok. Mention Thailand and most people will think of the country’s infamous sex industry. Many westerners know nothing of the country beyond its reputation for go-go bars and ladyboys, some imagine it is little more than a haven for drug dealers and paedophiles. Everyone has a view and many who comment on the infamous Thai sex industry believe it could be stopped tomorrow, if only there was the political will. It is also a complex problem, which does not lend itself to quick solutions. Once again, I have no answer; all I can do is tell stories that try to add a little more background to the debate.
All I am seeking to do with this short story is to give a single example as to why knee jerk responses to any problem almost always have unforeseen consequences. Often the very people one is trying to protect are those who suffer most with an ill thought out solution. Issues such as these can rarely be fixed with a single act or a piece of legislation. More likely they require a raft of small well thought out steps, changes in attitude across wide sections of society, maybe even a new generation of children; educated to think in a different way to their predecessors. I suspect gun control is one of those issues and politicians who say, “We must put a stop to this now” or “It must never be allowed to happen again,” are either delusional or just worried about tomorrow’s polls. Complex problems rarely lend themselves to simple solutions. I do not have the answer to this problem, all I can offer is a fictional piece highlighting how quick fixes rarely fix.
Intractable issues have become a source of considerable fascination for me. I have worked extensively in Asia and have a particular interest in how the region is portrayed in western media. My favourite cities are Hong Kong and Bangkok. Mention Thailand and most people will think of the country’s infamous sex industry. Many westerners know nothing of the country beyond its reputation for go-go bars and ladyboys, some imagine it is little more than a haven for drug dealers and paedophiles. Everyone has a view and many who comment on the infamous Thai sex industry believe it could be stopped tomorrow, if only there was the political will. It is also a complex problem, which does not lend itself to quick solutions. Once again, I have no answer; all I can do is tell stories that try to add a little more background to the debate.
Matt Carrell
I hope you will check out my books on Amazon:
Vortex
Thai Kiss
Thai Lottery, and Other Stories from Pattaya, Thailand
Slips, Trips & Whiplash
