Brenda made good time on the Indiana Turnpike, but predictably got lost at the unnecessarily complicated I-67 interchange as most strangers to the area do. She finally found her way to Hawthorne with plenty of time before the scheduled news conference. Her first impression was that Hawthorne was not a bad town for this neck of the woods; it was clean and appeared prosperous.

On her drive from Midway, Brenda made phone contact with the stringers from Chicago, who told her that things were pretty quiet on campus, but that the parking situation really stank. They told her that she’d be better off to use the visitor parking at the school’s off-campus parking lot, and take the shuttle bus to the campus. “That will only be a few yards from where the news conference is to be held, and we’ll meet you there.”

True to their word, the stringers met her when she got off the bus. One of them proved to be Bruce Ballard, a very unkempt-looking guy, tall with grubby clothes and a wild expression about him – but she’d worked with him in the past and knew that he was an extremely good cameraman. She didn’t know the other guy, but figured that if Bruce was working with him he knew what he was doing.

By now there were other TV crews around, some of whom she recognized. Some of them were just standing around shooting the bull. One was shooting a stand-upper, and a couple of others were interviewing students, and that one had a small crowd around them. As Brenda tried to take in her surroundings, she recognized a Chicago-based crew from Zweites Deutsches Fernsehen. They were talking to a tall, sharp-looking blonde woman. “I can’t give you any details now that will come out in the press conference,” the woman said in English. “It wouldn’t be fair. But if you’d like me to do an interview in German, I can do that.”

“You speak German?” a Nordic-looking man on the crew asked. “We don’t run across that very often.”

“Ungefähr so, wie ich Englisch spreche, nur mit einem Plattdeutschen Akzent,” she replied. In a few seconds he was interviewing her in German. Brenda could only pick out a few words but could tell that the woman was very fluent. The scene fascinated Brenda, partly because it was rare to see an American doing an interview in a foreign language, but also because the young woman seemed very familiar. She couldn’t put her finger on who she was, but she knew she’d seen her before.

“She’s pretty cool,” Bruce whispered as the interview went on. “A few minutes ago she did an interview in Japanese, I think it was, and she wasn’t hesitating or searching for words, either.”

Eventually the interview ended and the crew thanked the young woman. “That was impressive,” Brenda said, hoping to get some idea of why the woman was tweaking her memory of people, which was usually very good. “I don’t often run across Americans who speak several languages fluently.”

“I speak six languages,” the young woman smiled. “But, Brenda, how have you been? I haven’t seen you in years.”

Who the hell was this girl? Brenda thought. “I hate to admit it,” she shook her head. “But I’m afraid I can’t put my finger on your name.”

“Oh, I remember you. There’s a Tara Evachevski painting of you on my father’s office wall.”

Holy shit! That could only mean …”Susan?” Brenda smiled. “You must have been just a young teenager the last time I saw you. How’s your dad?”

“Getting older, still working, but starting to think about hanging it up since Henry is getting set to take over the paper.”

Brenda remembered Henry McMahon well – he’d been the gateway into the first really big story she’d covered for the Spearfish Lake Record-Herald in the year she’d spent working there. That was a long time ago, she thought – fifteen years, now. She’d come a long way in that time! “How’s he doing?”

“Pretty good. He got married about a year ago. His wife is a doctor, and when she was new in town they hit it off like that. I didn’t meet her until long after they’d gotten married. She’s a really sharp gal, really dedicated to her medical work, and everyone says she’s real good at it. Have you seen Carole and Wendy recently?”

“I try to get up that way when I can, but I’m afraid it’s been a while. I still consider them my best friends even though we don’t see each other very often.”

“I haven’t seen them in a while myself, but I’m not around Spearfish Lake very much any more myself. I didn’t run across them when I was in town for a couple weeks last summer. I was in China for two years before that.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Just about everything,” Susan smiled. “I’m the Student Relations Coordinator and University Ombudsman normally, and I’m trying to develop international programs on the side. The PR director is out of town, a family crisis, so I’m filling in for him. And to top everything off, I’m now the Acting Dean of Students.”

“Wow, you must be busy! How did you wind up doing all that?”

“I’m afraid I was the only person around without something heavy in both hands when the Dean of Students left,” Susan laughed. “Look, I need to talk to a few other people, but as soon as the news conference and the aftermath are over with, let’s have a cup of coffee or something and do some catching up.”

“Sure, I’d like that,” Brenda smiled, while inwardly she was excited. Susan couldn’t have been more than, oh, mid-twenties, but apparently she was something of a wheel around this place. And, as an old friend, or at least an old acquaintance, she might be very useful in finding the story behind the story, which was Brenda’s specialty. In this business she knew she had to take the breaks where she could find them, and this could be a huge break!

*   *   *

Now finally back in uniform, Chief Bascomb decided he’d better at least stop by the police station to check on things there. The work at the scene of the shooting seemed to be under control, but who knew what could have happened back at the station?

When he got to the station, he found Claxton sitting in the Desk Sergeant’s chair, looking rather dejected. That was something the chief knew still needed to be dealt with. At least he was in a rather better mood than he’d been in when he’d been forced to send the sergeant away from the scene of the shooting so he couldn’t make more of a fool of himself than he already had.

He called Claxton into his office and closed the door. “John,” he said quietly. “Do you realize just how badly you fucked up out there today?”

“I’m sorry,” the sergeant replied. “I’ve thought about it a lot. I made the decision based on the information I had at the time. There were reports of a second shooter, and I was trying to be careful.”

“You were probably right in keeping the ambulance crews out of the building until the building had been cleared,” the chief said. “But to keep armed officers with vests back from the building is another story, especially knowing there were wounded civilians and a communicating officer inside. There was a school shooting out west a few years ago where the incident commander made a similar decision. There were armed shooters inside, and they killed several people while the officers were standing around outside with their thumbs up their collective asses. They wound up looking like shit as a result. I don’t think the media has picked up on it here yet. At least, if they have, I haven’t heard any questions about it, so maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“There wasn’t much media on the scene when that happened. I think only Kimball from the Reporter was there.”

“That may be worse, since he’s local, he’s not dumb, and he’s more likely to find an angle the out-of-town media will have overlooked. All we can do is to hope for the best, but maybe I’d better give the editor over there a call so they can grill me about it. Maybe I can keep the shit from turning into a shit storm. But, John, the way you acted when you went into the room was really stupid and arrogant. What’s more, it tells me you lack situational awareness, and that really concerns me.”

“I was following procedure.”

“And you also knew that Archer was in there and had the situation under control, at least in that room. Look, John, I don’t know what to do about you and today is not the time for me to make a decision. You do adequately on the desk, but not great. In the field, well, I don’t think I want you back in a patrol car, at least not now. I’m going to give you a week off so we can both think about it, and then we’ll see what we can do. I don’t want to make up my mind before then.”

“Thanks, Chief,” the sergeant replied. “I was worried you were going to do worse than that.”

“It’s not off the table yet, but I know in situations like this we both need time to settle down and get things in perspective. See me a week from Monday, and we’ll see what happens then.”

*   *   *

The news conference, half an hour or so later, proved to be interesting. After Susan introduced herself as the Acting Dean of Students, she said that while neither the local police chief nor the university president could be present, she had statements from both of them. She briefly reiterated what had happened in the Community Services Center that morning, then got on into things that hadn’t come out before.

“A few minutes ago we received some news on the casualties,” she said. “We have one student, Elise Simpkins, who is still in critical condition at Hawthorne County Hospital. She was the most seriously wounded of all the people in the room and there is no prognosis at this time. Two other students, Darrin Wallace and Milo White, were less seriously wounded. They will be kept overnight for observation at the hospital, but they are expected to be released in the morning. Two other students, Alan Jahnke and Logan McBride, were lightly wounded, and have been treated and released from the hospital. Another student, Jack Erikson, received a very minor wound and was treated on the scene. A final student, Laura Delacroix, was hit, but the bullet glanced off an article of clothing. All of those I just mentioned who are not currently in the hospital, along with some others who were in the room, are present and will be available for interviews at the conclusion of this news conference.”

“Nobody dead?” a reporter called.

“So far, nobody but the shooter,” Susan replied. “And we are hoping for Ms. Simpkins’ sake that it will stay that way. We have Hawthorne City Police Officer Cody Archer to thank for that.”

“What about the reports that Archer has been expelled from this school?”

“Totally false rumors,” Susan replied. “Mr. Archer was and is a student in good standing at Southern Michigan University, and we are extremely proud of him. I will admit that there was some initial confusion about his status since he was working in plain clothes at the time of the incident, but that has been totally resolved.

“Now, if I may continue. Hawthorne City Police Chief Charles Bascomb has allowed me to release what information we have on the shooter. His name was Kyle Reed, and he was a 1982 graduate of Hawthorne College with a degree in theology. Hawthorne College previously occupied this campus before closing in 1993. For the information of those who may not know, Southern Michigan University took over the closed campus, and opened in 2001, so other than being on the same property, there is no connection between the two. Reed was born in 1960 in Millville, and police have been unable to locate any living relatives. His last permanent residence appears to have been in Kingston, where he was apparently an itinerant street preacher. He was arrested earlier this month in San Francisco for disturbing the peace, but was released after a three-day psychiatric hold. There is no information yet available about how he got here from there, or where he got the firearm used in the incident. The police are working on that and hope to have more information at some point in the near future.”

“You’re saying he was homeless?”

“I don’t want to just come out and say it, but it appears that way,” she replied. “The police are working on that, too.”

“Is it true he yelled something about Southern Michigan University dishonoring the Hawthorne College religious tradition before he started shooting?”

“That is my understanding, but I was not present. I have several people here who were on the scene, and you can ask them about that. I would reiterate, however, that Southern Michigan University has no connection with Hawthorne College other than occupying the same ground. We are a unique institution of higher learning and we’re proud of it. We believe in preparing serious students for serious careers, as our president, Dr. Mark Thompson has often said. We deliver excellence in higher education to our students, and we demand excellence from them in return. We are not interested in students who are slackers, and we work our students hard to help them to become the best they can be.”

“What about this Archer? When can we interview him?”

“Not today,” Susan told the questioner. “He’s still involved with the initial investigation of the shooting. Possibly tomorrow, and I doubt if I’ll know before morning.”

Another reporter spoke up. “Is there any truth to the report that this Archer shot two other people a few years ago?”

“That report is correct,” Susan replied, and gave a brief and considerably less icy version of the story she’d told in Dr. Thompson’s office a few hours earlier, leaving out the ramifications with the school, of course. If reporters were willing to dig into that part of it, it was fine with her, but she was under specific orders from Dr. Thompson to not trash deRidder – or at least not yet. That could change, depending on any statements he might make to the press.

“I might add,” Susan went on, “That after the shooting, Cody Archer’s family took in the girl he rescued and nursed her back to health. When she turned eighteen, she changed her name to Archer, to honor them and to leave behind a name she felt was a disgrace. Her name is Janice Archer, and she is also a student here at Southern Michigan University. She is now an emergency medical technician and a registered nurse. If Elise Simpkins survives, it will be in no small part because Jan was immediately on the scene to render first aid. I expect Ms. Archer will also be available for interviews, perhaps tomorrow. We at Southern Michigan are very glad that both of the Archers were on the scene today and acted as quickly and responsibly as they did.

“Now, if there are no further questions, the students here who were at the shooting will be available for individual interviews. Let’s keep it to an hour since these students have already had a very trying day. In addition, I will be available for individual interviews in German, French, Spanish, Japanese and Mandarin.”

“You speak six languages?” someone asked.

“Actually seven, but I doubt there will be anyone here who will want to interview me in Sichuan. While I’m the Acting Dean of Students, my main function here has been to work on the development of an international studies program.”

“That’s pretty awesome!”

“Not really,” Susan smiled. “I’m just your typical Southern Michigan University graduate who the university helped make the best I could be.”

*   *   *

Dr. Thompson had good reason not to want to be at the news conference – several of them in fact, the biggest one being that if someone asked him about deRidder he was likely to say what he actually felt. Wilt had reported back that deRidder was off the campus, not without some issues, but at least he was gone.

Still, Dr. Thompson was interested in what was happening at the news conference, which was being carried live on the South Bend television station. Susan really handled it well, he thought, and she got in several good, positive plugs for the university in her statements without being overbearing about it. It was easily a better job than the current PR director could have done.

It hadn’t even been two months since he’d hired the girl, and realistically, it had been on a whim. He’d known her as a student for years, of course, and he’d liked her. She’d already done a lot for the university and she was really showing her stuff today. He also knew that she considered the job as just a chance to stop and catch her breath before she was off on another overseas job, and that was a shame. There was so much more she could contribute in the future!

There ought to be something he could do to keep her … and maybe there was. Not right now, with all the other hassles going around, but soon.

*   *   *

Susan continued to monitor the interviews going on around the steps of Tottenhaven Hall. She’d had to give follow-up interviews to the German- and Spanish-language news crews, but they were basically just ground she’d covered in the news conference.

Finally, after an hour, she called the interviews to a halt. “I think we’ve bothered these students enough for one day,” she said. “They’re tired, and they have every reason to be, so I think it’s time to turn them loose. I know several of you are facing broadcast deadlines, anyway.

“I doubt there will be any breaking news overnight, but I will be available here at seven tomorrow morning in case anyone needs information or an interview for morning news shows. At that time I should know about whether and when Cody and Janice Archer will be available for interviews. There may be further statements at that time, or there may not be. About the only other item I anticipate is further word on Ms. Simpkins. I doubt if the police will have any additional word about what they’ve learned about Reed, but if there is I’ll try to pass it along to you. After that, I should be available at my office inside this building most of the day, so feel free to call on me. Those of you who are looking for additional background about the university, well, we welcome your interest and I’ll try to help you where I can. However, as far as I know we’re planning on being back to normal class schedules on Monday, and while we still welcome your interest we’d like to minimize disruptions, so your courtesy is requested.”

Things started to die down after that. Some of the television crews started to pack up, since they had broadcasts to work on, either themselves or back at their networks.

Just inside the door of Tottenhaven Hall, Jack, Vixen, Alan, Summer, and Laura gathered for a moment. “I don’t know about you,” Vixen said, “but I’m tired, I’m hungry, and I don’t feel like cooking. I just want to go sit down somewhere and get my mind off of all this.”

“We don’t want to go to the dining hall,” Alan said. “I’ve told the same damn story over and over to enough news crews to hold me, and I’d like to get away from it for a while.”

“Me, too,” Jack agreed. “What would you say to grabbing the shuttle bus and going out to the Cherokee? We can drive out of town to some place where there aren’t likely to be any news crews.”

“You’re thinking the same as me,” Summer agreed. “As much as I like this place, I need to be out of here for a while. Bremusa is over at the hospital and she has my cell number if there’s any further word on Darrin or Elise. I don’t think we want to go too far away in case she needs Alan and me for a Circle again.”

“There’s a place in Bradford, about fifteen miles from here,” Laura suggested. “I’ve stopped there a couple times. The food is good, it’s right off the Interstate, and it’s far enough away that we likely won’t be recognized.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jack said. “Maybe if we time it right we can get on a shuttle bus that’s already pretty full so we won’t have news crews following us.”

“Do you think maybe we ought to ask Susan if she’d like to come along?” Vixen asked. “She’s put in a tough day, too.”

“We could ask,” Jack replied. “But she’s still going to be up to her butt in news people.”

“Oh, hell,” Vixen replied. “I’ll go over and ask her. I agree, she’ll probably say no, but I think we ought to ask.”

“Go do it,” Jack told her. She took off in the direction of their housemate, while the others stood around, too tired to talk very much.

In a minute or two Vixen was back. “She said she can’t go, she has too many people she needs to talk to yet. But she said that all of us in the house really need to get together after this dies down a little.”

“Yeah, no fooling,” Jack agreed. “Hey, for what it’s worth. I don’t know if the cops are done with Cody and Jan yet, but I’ll bet they wouldn’t mind getting the hell out of town for a while, either.”

“I’ve got their cell numbers,” Vixen said. “I’ll give one of them a call.”

“Do it,” Jack replied.

It only took a quick punch of the auto-dialer on Vixen’s phone for her to be talking to Jan. “They could get free now,” Vixen said after a moment’s conversation. “But they’re afraid if they go outside they’re going to be cornered by media, and they don’t want to deal with that if they can help it.”

“I don’t blame them,” Jack replied. “Look, let’s go get the Cherokee, and maybe your car, Summer. Tell Jan we’ll call right before we get back to the north door of the Community Services Center. They can run outside, hop in and we’ll be gone before anyone could catch up with them.”

Vixen explained what Jack had in mind to Jan. “She said that it sounds like a plan,” she reported. “They’ll be waiting just inside the building for me to call her back. Let’s go grab a shuttle bus.”

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