Prologue

Kevin Burns is alone in the house. 

Mom left early for work. Dad? Who the fuck ever knows where Dad is? Probably spent the night at his girlfriend’s house. 

Kevin calmly walks into his parent’s bedroom.

Where does that asshole keep the keys to the cabinet?

Kevin carefully searches through drawers and cabinets. 

For some reason, he wants to leave no trace of a search. 

What the fuck difference does it make?

The same is true of the gun storage and display cabinet.

Don’t want to break into the cabinet, but I will if I can’t find the damn keys. Yes! Here they are!

Kevin finds the keys nestled in his father’s cigar box. He lifts the box and snatches the keys. He also discovers and pilfers a cigar and some matches. I’ll smoke a victory stogie after the deed is done.

He stuffs the cigar and matches in his pocket and walks into the den. He uses the key to open the gun cabinet. 

His father showed Kevin the collection multiple times. Kevin is damned excited about the vast array of weapons, even more so at the prospect of using them on some assholes. 

Dad has no idea guns inspire me, all part of my plan. 

On many occasions, when he and his father debated the Second Amendment, Kevin always took the liberal side of the debate. 

Why do Americans need so many guns? Who needs an AK47 assault rifle? Will the deer shoot back? You’re an expert shot. If someone breaks into the house, and you have to shoot him, isn’t an assault rifle massive overkill?

In truth, Kevin believes none of that. He believes the Second Amendment is sacrosanct and grants him the absolute right to possess any weapon he wants. However, he wasn’t old enough and didn’t have the money to own guns. Today’s plan requires real firepower. His plan is in place, but he continues to go over it in his mind.

Park the Challenger in the south side parking lot. The school officer will be parading around on the north side, like he always does, high-fiving his favorite students. My hands will be full. Some idiot will hold the door for me. I’ll say ‘thanks,’ if I like him. If I don’t, maybe I’ll shoot his ass. 

I’ll get the pressure cooker ready to arm, load Dad’s AK47 and Lugar, walk up the south side steps to my locker, and head toward the center of campus. That’s where the real assholes hang out, center stage, where they can be seen in all their glory. 

Those fuckers are going to die today. Today, it ends for them, the massacre of massacres, a day of reckoning for those who thought I was weak, someone to be ridiculed and picked on. They will feel my wrath, receive my vengeance, and know my power. I will shoot the first person I see who has called me ‘tiny’ or ‘flop ears’ or ‘tard’ or any other of their favorite names. 

You think I’m small? Maybe I am, but my gun is huge. Wait until I shove it down your throat or up your ass! I may walk softly, but I carry a big stick! Ha! Assholes! Once you encounter the size and power of my AK47, you will rethink your notions of size. You’ve been right all along. Size does matter. The bigger the gun, the larger the massacre. 

 After the deed is done, everyone will remember Kevin Burns, school shooter 2020; first of his kind in Michigan and the city of Bloomfield; prime time news on every station.

I’ll kill at least 30 with the assault rifle and another few with the handgun. I might off 35 or so before that dumb-ass school officer, assuming he has any guts, arrives at the school center. You’ll all be dying. I’ll be laughing. Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang! HA-HA, HA-HA, HA-HA, HA-HA, HA-HA! I can’t wait to get there! Death becomes you, all of you, and you become death. Bang—you’re dead. 

I hope some teachers or Principal Adams are somewhere close by. This is your fault. You all could have done something to stop the bullshit, but you chose to look the other way while the so-called cool kids made fun of us. Why? Aren’t all kids important? Or is it just the rich and famous, like Kenny Tracey and his little bro’? 

Hope I run into them. They’re good guys; they never made fun of me. They know how it feels. I remember when people made fun of them for doing it with the priest. Sorry guys, but I need to make a statement, and you’re both kind of famous. So, if I run into you . . .

Maybe their hotshot lawyer daddy will take them to school today, and I can get him too! Now there is a statement! ‘Prominent attorney gunned down by tormented student, details at eleven!’ 

I hope I run into Drew Moss, the biggest prick of all! What an asshole! Perfect example of someone I am looking to hunt down today. Jake Tracey, if I let him live, will thank me. That asshole Moss once gave Jake a serious beat down.

Mom and Dad will weep. They’ll say they had no idea. Bunch of crap, of course; they’re responsible. Them and those assholes who have picked on me since fucking grade school are responsible.

 ‘You’re a loser. Work harder. Get better grades.’ But did they do anything to help me? Did they provide the tools? No! They made sure I was someone who others ridiculed. Others dressed in brand name clothes while I wore hand-me-downs from my loser cousins – shirts for five bucks, pants for ten at Sam’s Club, and second-hand stuff from the Salvation Army Thrift Shop. 

Mom? Dad? News flash: Life sucks. You made it that way. Your parenting skills suck. I should stay home and kill you guys first, but who knows when either of you will be home? Dad’s getting drunk or laid, and Mom, the ‘responsible one,’ is out making a living so Dad can piss it away on booze, guns, and broads. Does she know the truth about her husband? Sure she does, and she’ll have to live with an asshole for a husband and a mass murderer for a son. That’s punishment enough for any woman, right?

Fucking school. I can put up with a lot. I’ve got thick skin. Life was never great, but I could cope until I went to that fucking school. Everything in that place is rotten to the core. Teachers, principals, students, even the janitors and cooks are assholes. These people are supposed to be molding young minds—well, you shitheads failed big time with my young mind. It’s time to pay for your failure. 

Who the fuck invited you to mold my mind anyway? It’s my damned mind! You can’t tell me how to think or what to do. It’s my life and my mind. I’m going to kill every damn one of you hypocrites. Feel my wrath! 

Jesus saves, but he can’t save your sorry asses!

Chapter One

Kenny Tracey studies himself in the mirror. He’s now eighteen years old and a senior in high school. The person staring back at him is no longer a boy. The ‘adult’ version of Kenny looks increasingly like his late father, handsome face, with piercing green eyes. 

Kenny tries hard to keep his dad in his thoughts, but he’s at a point where he hardly remembers him. Jim Tracey died in a tragic work accident when Kenny and his younger brother Jake were kids. Kenny knows if his dad were still alive, he’d be proud of him. 

Kenny is going to Michigan State University in the fall. His senior year in high school is almost behind him. Assuming he gets through his Chemistry final, he’ll be off to college in the fall. Kenny remembers his dad’s favorite saying and cherishes the memory: 

The key to success is a solid education.

 Kenny looks forward to a new beginning where everyone doesn’t know him as the boy with the lawsuit against the priest and the church. He’ll be just one of thousands of college students on the MSU campus.

Kenny finishes brushing his teeth and combing his hair. He wipes down the sink and counter, turns off the lights, and bounds down the stairs. Jake calls to him from the upstairs hallway.

“Hey, Kenny.”

“Morning, squirt,” Kenny chirps. 

He’s been calling Jake ‘squirt’ since the day he was born. Jake doesn’t mind, that is, until recently.

“Stop calling me that. I’m as big as you, and I’m still growing. Be careful what you wish for; I might be calling you‘squirt’ soon.”

Kenny doesn’t respond. There’s a good chance Jake’s prophecy will come true. 

“Ready to go?”

“Two minutes. I’ve got to brush my teeth and comb my hair.”

“For all of the freshman and sophomore girls?”

“Yeah. Jealous?”

“I get all the girls I want,” Kenny grumbles. “I’ll be in the car.”

“Be right down. Got any finals today?”

“One. You?”

“I have two.”

“What classes?”

“English and History.”

“Easy-peasy. Study?”

“I’m ready. You?”

“Chemistry.”

“Shit.”

“Shit is right. That stuff is Greek. I’ll be in the car.”

Kenny walks out to his car. His step-dad, the famous attorney, Zachary Blake, bought Kenny a Jeep Compass after he got his driver’s license. In return, Kenny must maintain a 3.0 or better average and drive his 16-year-old brother anywhere he wants to go, especially to school every morning. Kenny and Jake have a great relationship, and Kenny is happy to chauffeur his younger brother around. A 3.0 average isn’t too difficult for Kenny. 

Kenny is quite wealthy from the trial and resolution of his case, but his mother, Zack’s wife, Jennifer Tracey Blake, has tied the money up in a complicated trust. She doesn’t want the case proceeds to spoil her sons or deter them from getting a quality education. Zack is extremely successful, and the boys have a nice life. Limited access to their money has caused no family problems.

Jake comes running out of the house, hops into the passenger seat, and throws his loaded backpack into the back seat in one fell swoop.

“You got everything you need? You don’t want to have to call Mom or Dad to bring you something later,” Kenny warns.

“I’m good.”

Kenny looks at his younger brother. They’ve been through a lot together, including that terrible episode with the priest and the trial. They’re both tough kids, but they worry about each other. They have each other’s backs.

“So, how did you enjoy your sophomore year, squirt? Meet any ladies you want to talk about? Need any pointers?”

“From you, stud? Ha! I don’t see you bringing anyone home to meet the folks.”

Kenny starts the car and backs down the drive. 

“I’m doing fine in that department, thank you very much. I just don’t broadcast my conquests.”

“Sure, Kenny, sure. Conquests, that’s hilarious! So, what are you going to do about Chem?”

“I’ll pray for a ‘C.’ It’s a required class. I had no choice. You’ll see. You’ve got to take it, too. In college, I can do a liberal arts curriculum. Science and I are not compatible. I could have gone to Michigan if it wasn’t for science. At MSU, I’m going to load up on English, business, social studies, and stuff like that, go to law school and get a job in Dad’s office when I graduate.”

“I feel your pain. I don’t like science or math either, but I do okay. Maybe I’ll go to law school, too. Then we can all work together at the law firm. Blake, Tracey and Tracey, Attorneys at Law. Nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“We’re partners, now? Ahead of all those people who already work there?’

“We’re family.”

“I don’t think Dad sees it that way. If you want to advance in his office, you have to earn your success. Nothing’s handed to you.”

“Okay by me. I don’t expect anything for free. It’ll be a tough seven years. You up for it?”

“State’s a party school. I’m going to meet chicks, have a good time, party, and go to class in my spare time.”

“That won’t work, Kenny, not if you want to work for Dad. There is such a thing as too many parties, you know.”

“Too many parties? Not possible. Seriously, though, I’ve looked through the prospectus. There're so many interesting things to learn about, and I’ll have four years to explore and experiment. That’s plenty of time. I want to have fun, too. I can decide on a major, later.”

“Sounds like a plan. Don’t wait too long.”

“I can’t wait too long. A liberal arts curriculum prepares you for nothing except for more school. Maybe I’ll hedge my bet, get a business degree. But I want to go to law school and work for Dad.”

“This is the twenty-first century. How about looking at twenty-first-century careers like tech or environmental stuff?”

“Tech and environmental stuff, as you call them, require science and math. They’re certainly important and topical fields. We should all know about and consider environmental issues, regardless of what we decide to do for a living.”

“You're right. If you concentrate on the environment, maybe you’d use it in your career. Even if you became a lawyer, you could specialize in environmental issues. You could be an environmental lawyer. Isn’t that a thing? Maybe you could work for a green company or something.”

“That’s certainly possible, but, again, there's that science crap and, besides, Dad’s a trial lawyer. I don’t think he handles environmental cases.”

“He does if there’s money in it. Someone has to protect poor old Mother Earth.”

“I went on the MSU website the other day. The professor that teaches an introductory class on environmental issues has his own section on the site. He’s got a clever little eco-game on the site. Every action has a reaction. You shoot a wolf that protects a deer. The deer has babies and eats all the grass, and that screws up the ecosystem.”

“So, you could get a job as a teacher and teach elementary students about the balance of nature.”

“No, I told you already. I want to work for Dad.”

“Teaching is a good alternative if law school doesn’t work out.”

“That’s true, I guess.” 

Kenny turns into the school entrance. 

“Here we are. Where do you want to park?”

“North side.”

“North it is.”

“My first class is right there.”

“You’re lucky I like you. Mine’s on the other side. Damn, I’m looking forward to summer. Can’t wait to be done with Bloomfield High and off to college.”

“And leave me all alone with two goofy adults?”

“Mom and Dad aren’t so bad.”

“I know, but you won’t be around to protect me or make me look good.” Jake chides.

“Funny. Got your phone?”

“Yeah.”

“Text me when you’re done.”

“Will do.”

“Have a great day. Good luck on your finals.”

“You too.”

Kenny and Jake enter the north side school doors and split at the first hallway. Kenny heads south. At the same time, Kevin Burns walks north, from the south side entrance, on a collision course with Kenny Tracey.