Chapter 4 #5
“Living on a ranch, you learn things. All the chores that need doing because there are always chores. How to ride. How to mend fences and cattle guards. You learn to use machines, tools. What to watch for in case your animals get sick. How to shovel manure. How to clean stalls. How to care for the saddles, the bit. How to herd cows. And if an animal hurts itself, beyond fixing, you do the merciful thing. You put them down. It was Mom who taught me how to shoot. She was better than Dad. He loved that about her. No one could hit a target like my Mom. She had this rifle. It was her granddad’s.
She cared for it, kept it clean and oiled.
It was the first gun I learned to shoot.
It was big. It hurt when the stock slammed against my shoulder.
But my mom was there, right behind me, and when I fired that first shot when I was six, she cheered for me, even though I’d missed the target.
We were only ten feet away, but you would have thought I hit the bull’s-eye with how happy she was.
She looked so wonderful in that moment. I can remember it like it happened yesterday.
“I didn’t have my own gun. We had plenty. Rifles. Pistols. A shotgun to scare off coyotes. They were stored away in a gun cabinet, which was locked. But the key was always sitting in the bowl near the back door. Anyone could use it if they wanted to.
“I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t let them suffer.
I took one of the guns. A Glock 9. It uses nine-millimeter bullets.
I checked to make sure it wasn’t loaded first. Daddy said that a gun can load itself when you’re not looking, so you always have to check.
The magazine was empty. Standard-capacity magazine for the Glock 9 holds fifteen bullets. I loaded up each and every one.
“I used thirteen of them. When most everyone was out in the fields, I called one of the ranch hands into the barn. I told him I needed help with something. His name was Bill. Good guy. Older, had been on the ranch for almost fifteen years. Always smiling. I shot him in the back of the head so he wouldn’t suffer.
It wasn’t as loud as I expected it to be.
He fell down and didn’t move. I put some sawdust around him to keep the blood from spreading.
And then I called for the next ranch hand.
And the next. All seven of them. Not a single one knew what was coming because I didn’t want them to suffer.
I wanted them to leave before they could.
I don’t think they saw the other bodies before they died.
“Mom and Dad came back. I was in the house. They were early. I thought I had more time. They asked where everyone was. I said I had something to tell them. We sat at the kitchen table. I told them I was scared. That I didn’t like the idea of waiting.
It felt bad. Why wait for something that’s going to hurt?
Why should we just sit here and not take matters into our own hands?
Why are you looking at me like that? Don’t be afraid. Don’t be sad.
“Dad went first. Then Mom. They didn’t have a chance to react.
Boom, boom, and then they lay down at the table and went to sleep.
I didn’t want to track sawdust through the house, so I put down towels.
It didn’t work very well, but I felt better.
See what I’d done? I’d helped them. I’d kept them from suffering.
Like Chris, it was over in an instant. I spent the rest of the day lying in my bed and listening to birds out the open window.
I slept a little and when I woke up, I’d forgotten my parents were dead, but only for a couple of minutes.
They’re still inside, where I left them.
They don’t look like they used to, not anymore. It smells bad too.
“I tried to use the gun on myself. I put the barrel against my head and counted to ten. By the time I got to six, I was already putting pressure on the trigger. But by the time I got to ten, I couldn’t go through with it.
I don’t know why. I didn’t want to suffer.
I didn’t want to be here when the fire came.
I didn’t want my skin to melt off, or the marrow in my bones to boil. So why couldn’t I do it?
“I called the police three days later. No one answered. I called again. And again. And again. Finally, at about one in the morning, someone picked up. He said he was a deputy. He was crying. I asked him what was wrong. He said he was so scared. That he didn’t want the world to end.
I told him I understood, and that I had killed my parents.
Could he please come and arrest me? He laughed at me.
He laughed at me and said that it didn’t matter, not anymore. And then he hung up on me.
“The next morning, a family came. I had forgotten to check the reservations. Everyone else had canceled, so why hadn’t they?
They pulled up in their SUV. The boy came out first. He was so excited.
He had wanted to ride horses all his life.
They were supposed to stay in the house with us.
Like before, when other people did it. He said he’d been reading about our ranch.
Was it true we had twelve horses? Was it true we had hundreds of cows?
“We did. I told him as much. I asked him if he’d like to see them. He said yes. His parents said they wanted to take pictures before coming into the barn. I told them not to go inside the house because the floors had just been mopped for their arrival. It needed time to dry.
“I almost couldn’t do it. The boy was so happy.
I thought he’d burst out of his skin. He couldn’t see the others.
I had put hay on top of them. The smell wasn’t bad.
It smelled like a farm with something sweet on top, like newly spoiled meat.
But then I thought about Chris, and how he didn’t suffer.
I thought about the ranch hands. My parents.
I was doing the merciful thing. He didn’t make a sound as he fell.
His parents must have heard the shot because they started yelling, asking us if we were all right.
I told them yes, we were, but their son had tripped. Could they come in and help?
“They did. They came running. I thought that was strange. What did it matter if it happened now or three weeks from now? It was all going to be the same end. The dad got there first and though I tried to keep him from seeing inside, he did. He started screaming. I couldn’t have that.
Boom, and down he went. The mother came in only a few seconds later.
She didn’t go for her husband or her son.
She went after me. I was startled. She didn’t make a sound.
Punched me in the eye, and I fell back against one of the pens.
The gun went off. Boom, that was bullet number twelve going into the barn floor.
She didn’t stop. Her lips were pulled back over her teeth.
I’d never seen a person look like an animal before, not like that.
Her eyes were … black. She looked like a monster.
I almost dropped the gun. She came for me again, boom, down she went. Thirteen bullets. Two left.
“I didn’t know where to go. I didn’t want to stay at the house because my parents were swelling.
I couldn’t stay in the barn because the floor was sticky.
So I just started walking and walking and walking and then I got so tired, I lay down on the ground.
Rain fell on my face, my lips. It was cold.
I let it fall in my mouth, my throat. And then you two came and found me and now I’m here.
I still have the gun. See? It’s right here.
Funny thing, isn’t it? Not very big. Two bullets left.
I could have put more in, but I didn’t think I needed to.
Plenty enough for one more person. But, for some reason, I still can’t do it.
I still can’t pull the trigger. Thank you for the ride.
I really appreciate it. Would you like me to help you?
A bullet for each of you. We can even go into the barn.
It’s nice in there. Quiet. You can hear yourself think, even if the thoughts aren’t very nice.
“I know what’s going on in your head. I can see it on your faces.
She’s crazy, you’re thinking. She’s out of her mind.
But that’s not right. I’m thinking more clearly than I ever have before.
Maybe that’s what I’m meant to do. Help others like yourself to keep you from suffering.
If I can’t do it to myself, then at the very least, I can do it for others.
Would you like that? Do you want me to ease your suffering? ”
She looked at them with dead eyes—cow eyes, Don thought hysterically, the Glock 9 sitting in her lap, her finger on the trigger.
She’d pulled it from a pocket in her dress.
Don couldn’t move, didn’t think he’d taken a breath since halfway through her story.
Rodney’s back was pressed against the driver’s door, his body twisted so that he faced Amelia.
If he reached for her from behind, she could still get off a shot.
If Rodney went for her, same result. He believed her when she said she knew how to use it.
Sweat trickled down his brow, the only sound coming from the cooling tick tick tick of the RV’s engine. He almost didn’t believe it, that this girl had killed her parents, others. Twelve people in total, if she was telling the truth. But then, she had a gun, so why wouldn’t she be?
Rodney said, “I appreciate the offer.” His voice was slow, even. “It’s very kind of you to suggest something like that, but my husband and I can’t stay. We have somewhere to be.”