That Saturday morning Charles deRidder was piddling around the house. There were any number of little chores that had to be done since he and his wife had just purchased the place anticipating a long stay there; his job as Dean of Students at Southern seemed solid and likely to last for a while.

The TV in deRidder’s house was going; his wife was the kind of person who had to have it on all the time. He wasn’t paying attention to it, since he was concerned with changing a cover plate on a light switch, a job that seemed to require three hands and he was one short. However, when the broadcast was broken into by an announcement of “We have breaking news on a school shooting in Hawthorne, Michigan, from our affiliate in South Bend, Indiana,” he couldn’t help but take notice.

Then, the words “Southern Michigan University” caught his attention, and he turned and watched Kristy Baumgartner’s report with increasing dismay. This was not good news! The shooting was bad enough, but he was the Dean of Students! Why hadn’t he heard about it already? Someone should have notified him! But, no, he had to hear about it on a special broadcast on national television!

His anger got even worse toward the end of the rambling broadcast, when he heard the reporter say that a man named Cody Archer had gone running toward the shooting carrying a gun, and it wasn’t clear how he was involved.

Cody Archer! Now that was a name that angered deRidder to the roots of his soul. A kid by that name had been responsible for most of the trouble he’d gone through in the last several years, and he’d been indirectly the cause of losing his job as superintendent of Spearfish Lake schools!

The young punk had shot and killed two citizens in Spearfish Lake a few years ago and, incredibly, the police and the prosecutor had let him get away with it. Although the shooting had occurred off school property and outside of school hours, deRidder had wanted to kick the kid out of school. A killer like him was a clear and present danger to the other students and the staff of the schools, and there was no reason they should be exposed to him!

Unfortunately deRidder had been talked out of doing what ought to have been done by the high school principal, an old fossil named Harold Hekkinan who ought to have been put out to pasture a long time before. Hekkinan had pointed out that it wasn’t the business of the school, and that Archer had never been any kind of a discipline problem. Besides, kicking the kid out like he deserved would open the door to all sorts of legal issues.

DeRidder had reluctantly come to agree with Hekkinan’s point, but either way it seemed like a risk. Fortunately there hadn’t been any problems for the rest of the year, and even more fortunately that old fart Hekkinan had retired at the end of that year. DeRidder had worked hard at finding a replacement for him, a qualified professional rather than a football coach and sometime history teacher turned principal, and he’d found one in a bright young man named Bryson Payne.

As soon as Payne heard of the problem with the Archer kid, who would be a senior that year, he was willing to take the action that Hekkinan should have done – he suspended that young killer on the first day of school, as a danger to the other students. It was the right thing to do – a known killer like him could have walked into school and shot dozens of people, just like had apparently happened over in the Community Services Center a few minutes before!

But Hekkinan had been right in one respect: kicking Archer out of school had brought down a shit storm of legal troubles. DeRidder had the support of the school board, and convinced them to fight the legal battle. It proved to be both an expensive battle and one they couldn’t win, with a huge punitive award that was still in litigation. Worse, Archer’s father took personal umbrage at what had been a perfectly reasonable decision and had run for election to an open seat on the school board. The board meetings had been tense for the next year, when three more board seats would be up for election.

It still wasn’t clear to deRidder how John Archer got control of the large local foundation that had funded the battle, but that school board election had been the largest and most expensive campaign in the history of Spearfish Lake, or, for that matter, anywhere else deRidder could recall. When the dust settled, deRidder had four actively hostile members out of seven on the board, two more he really couldn’t count on, and only one real supporter. He hadn’t actually been fired from his post as superintendent, but the board had not even agreed to discuss renewing his contract, either.

Then, to add insult to injury, the board had brought Harold Hekkinan out of retirement to replace deRidder as superintendent! Payne was soon out on the street too, and the last deRidder had heard the competent young professional administrator hadn’t found a job better than working in a fast food place. What a shame, to get kicked out on his ass for doing the right thing!

A long and difficult time had followed for deRidder and his wife; he had been unable to find a position in a public school, and he’d been out of work for over a year before he’d somehow managed to land this job as Dean of Students at SMU. Now if there ever was a place that was out of step with reality, this was it! As soon as he’d gotten the post deRidder had sworn that he was going to bring some order to the disorder running rampant in this place. But it seemed like every positive move he made had been blocked by that idealistic old coot of a university president, or that mouthy fair-haired McMahon girl, who had no experience in administration and mostly seemed to get in his way.

The only good thing that he could see was that she’d mentioned she didn’t plan on being there long, and when she left maybe he might be able to make it up to Payne by bringing him on board to replace her. Maybe the two of them would be able to start turning this place into a real university, rather than some idealistic city on a hill.

But that was then, and this was now. Could the Cody Archer who had been involved with the shooting here be the same kid who had caused him so much trouble in Spearfish Lake? It was possible, but then it was a fairly common name, so maybe it wasn’t either.

DeRidder set down his screwdriver and went to his home office where he had his university-issued laptop. It only took him a few moments with his access level to get Archer’s records up on the screen.

Sure as hell! Cody Archer, and down the screen a little bit, under hometown was listed “Spearfish Lake, Michigan.”

Well that, by God, was going to be the end of that! That little shit of a killer had gone too far this time! Whether he’d been involved with the shooting or not, several witnesses reported him carrying a gun on campus, which was both a danger to the students around him and a clear violation of school policies. Now, at least deRidder knew this time he could do the right thing. He changed to his e-mail program and started an e-mail to Archer, using his student e-mail address shown on his records:

Cody Archer:

You are immediately and permanently suspended as a student at Southern Michigan University for violating university rules and policies in carrying a deadly weapon on campus. If you are found on campus again, you will be subject to prosecution.

Charles deRidder

Dean of Students

DeRidder punched “send” with a great deal of satisfaction. Perhaps it wasn’t all the Archer kid deserved for causing him so much trouble, but maybe he could come up with some other ways to add to the payback.

He wasn’t sure of the actual procedures to be followed in a suspension – he’d glanced at the university policies regarding them but not actually read them – but that was something his secretary could work out on Monday.

Feeling more than a little bit victorious, deRidder closed the laptop, and went back to finish changing the switch cover.

*   *   *

DeRidder wasn’t the only one watching Kristy Baumgartner’s report from the Southern Michigan University campus. Far away, in an office in a tall building in New York, several staff members of the World News Network were also watching, among them a redheaded senior correspondent by the name of Brenda Hodunk. “That looks like it’s going to be a real mess,” she said to the news director on duty, Fred Appleby.

“Yeah,” Fred agreed. “No telling yet how many dead there are, but it seems likely there ought to be some. I’ll bet the big guys are warming up their charter jets already.”

“Seems likely. That’s not far from South Bend, which isn’t far from Chicago,” she replied. Unlike most of the staffers, who were from the east coast if not from right there in New York, she knew a lot more of the geography beyond the Hudson River. She was from the Midwest, after all, so it gave her a much wider view of the country than some others had. “Is there anyone from there we could get to cover it?”

“There are a couple stringers we could send for a quick report,” Fred replied. “I’ll get them moving. But it seems likely to me that the story is going to be deeper than that. There ought to be some backgrounders, human interest stories, and the guys I’d send won’t be up to that. I’m guessing this will be in the news for several days.”

“Seems likely to me,” Brenda replied. “There’s always something that can be pulled up out of a story like that.”

“That’s for sure,” Fred agreed. “Brenda, you’re the next one up to chase a story out in the sticks. See what you can do about getting a flight into Chicago or South Bend or somewhere close to wherever this place is. Plan on several days, and get me some good footage. I’ll give you the contact information on the stringer cameramen out of Chicago.”

“OK, chief,” she replied, swinging to the computer on her desk. “Chicago is probably a better bet than South Bend. I’d imagine there aren’t a lot of flights in and out of there.”

“Whatever you think,” Fred replied. “We’re going to be depending on you to keep us up with the big guys again.”

“I’ll do my best,” she said as she started checking WNN’s favored airline reservation site. Within seconds she had a flight set up from LaGuardia to Midway and was working on getting a rental car reserved. In a minute or so she had that arranged too. “Gonna be tight getting to LaGuardia,” she said. “Any chance I can get a ride?”

“I’ll have a taxi waiting downstairs,” Appleby told her. “They somehow seem to get through traffic better than I can.”

“Good enough,” Brenda replied. “I better get moving.” She kept a small carry-on bag in the office, ready to go instantly – when things like this came down there was no time to pack!

In a few minutes she was in a taxi, and the driver, though he didn’t speak much English, understood the word “hurry!” This was far from the first time Brenda had set out on such a trip. She was good at what she did, and she had an Aherns award and part of a Pulitzer along with several other honors to prove it.

World News Network was a small operation next to the big guys like NBC, ABC, CBS, and CNN, and they didn’t have resources like charter jets on call to get them to a scene of breaking news quickly. But they usually managed good coverage, especially on things like this, at least partly because Brenda and some of the other WNN staffers had a habit of digging a little deeper than the superficial. Some of those stories might not make the evening news roundup, but would make the WNN Newsmagazine that ran most days, often with several repetitions over a couple of days. The way the newsmagazine show was set up there was the time to get into more depth of stories, and Brenda was particularly good at doing features for it.

In her heart Brenda was a reporter – it was what she was and all she ever wanted to be. As far as she was concerned she was at the pinnacle of her profession and liked it there. All too often reporters on the big networks were pretty faces, mostly shining before the camera while a producer did the digging and the background work. There were a couple such media queens working for WNN, but Brenda wasn’t one of them. She preferred being her own producer, doing her own digging, and she was good at it. There had been times she’d even been her own cameraman, her own editor – setting a camera running and doing a standup in front of it, or setting it up and letting it run itself for an interview. That was considered a valuable talent to have around WNN, where staffing was tight at its best.

There no doubt was a story at this Southern Michigan University, and from what Brenda could see the Baumgartner girl had done a good job on quick coverage, assuming it was somewhere close to the truth, always questionable on first-reaction stories. But she knew there had to be a story behind the story, and it was her job to find it.

*   *   *

Brenda was still going through security at LaGuardia when the ambulance people in the Community Services Center room where the shooting had happened finally felt they had Elise stabilized enough to transport her. She was still bleeding internally, but blood expanders were helping to keep her alive; her vitals, while not strong, were at least stable. It was with a good degree of relief that Cody and Jan saw her being wheeled out of the room still alive.

Milo and Darrin had already been taken from the room and were on their way to the ER if not there already. It was still less than an hour since the shooting had begun.

Kristy Baumgartner was outside the building with her news crew from the local TV station, and she was live on both local and national television as they watched paramedics roll Elise out of the building on a gurney and load her onto a waiting ambulance. “We understand that this is the last of the victims to be taken out of the room where the shooting occurred,” she said into the microphone she held. “We don’t have her name yet, though we do know it’s a woman. Details are still very unclear about what happened inside the Community Services Center at Southern Michigan University, and we don’t know if there are any dead, or how many if there are.”

As the ambulance crews loaded Elise, Kristy went back over the little that she knew about the incident, things that she’d already said several times before. While most of what she said was right, at least as far as she knew, it wasn’t until just about that time that back in the room of the shooting, Vixen happened to notice a small spot of blood on the back of Jack’s shirt. “Jack,” she said. “Did you get some blood on your back while you were helping out?”

“I don’t think so,” Jack said. “Why? Am I bleeding or something?”

“It looks like you might be,” she said. “Not much though.”

Jan was standing right next to them, and she asked him to turn around. She pulled up his shirt, and found a tiny wound, still seeping a little blood. “Yeah,” she said after a moment. “You were hit, but it looks very minor. It might have been a bullet fragment or something.”

There were still a couple of EMTs in the room, and Jan called one of them over to help. A couple of sterile wipes were enough to clean the tiny wound, probing revealed no foreign matter, and no more than a gauze pad and a piece of tape was needed to stop the slight amount of bleeding. “I don’t think you even need to go to the ER,” the medic said. “But if it gets painful or shows signs of infection, it might not be a bad idea.”

“I’ll keep an eye on it,” Jan promised. “But it doesn’t look like any big deal to me, either.”

Chief Bascomb had been watching the exchange. “That makes seven hits,” he commented. “I sure hope there aren’t any more.”

*   *   *

DeRidder changed a couple more switch cover plates in the living room. He didn’t really think they needed changing, but his wife insisted on the new look, and it was easier to just do it than argue about it.

But, as he was changing them, he realized it was something he shouldn’t be doing at all. There had been a shooting at the Community Services Building and students were involved, so that made it his business. As Dean of Students, he really ought to be there, just in case something called for his attention.

“OK, that’s that,” he told his wife. “I better go over to the college and see what’s up with this shooting.”

“But I need you to change the switch covers in the kitchen, too,” she whined.

“They’ll keep,” he told her. “I really ought to be there.”

“But this is your day off.”

“Sometimes that doesn’t matter,” he said, pulling on a sport jacket over the casual clothes he’d worn for the household chores. “I don’t know if there’s any real trouble over there, or what.”

*   *   *

“Cody,” Chief Bascomb said as they watched Elise being wheeled down the hall. “You realize I have to suspend you with pay until an investigation is completed, don’t you?”

“I figured you would,” Cody told him. “I can use the time to get caught up on my studying, anyway.”

“You may not get much time for that,” the chief replied. “Look, the facts of the matter are pretty clear-cut to me, but it’s department policy, after all. Besides, we haven’t had a mess like this in years. I’m pretty sure it’s going to be investigated six ways from Sunday just to make sure all the i’s are dotted and the t’s are crossed, just so we’re covered if some bleeding heart decides you violated that bozo’s civil rights or something.”

“Well, yeah, I can see that.”

“Besides, part of the reason that policy is in place is because when an officer gets involved in a situation like this, well, sometimes it doesn’t go well with them. Second thoughts, remorse, things like that.”

“I don’t think I’ll have much of a problem with it,” Cody told him. “I’ve been through this kind of thing before, and I didn’t have many issues that time. There was a lot of aftermath, and some of it I’m still dealing with, but I never had any remorse for what I had to do. The fact that that joker was shooting this place up, not to mention that he could have killed several kids, and then he started aiming at me, I don’t think I’m going to have any this time, either.”

“Probably true, but you never know,” Bascomb told him. “But it’s department policy, and that’s that. Besides, you’re going to be busy with the investigation. It may have only taken a second or two for you to do what you did, but people are going to be picking at you for hours. Just to keep things from being too in-house, I’m going to ask the sheriff and the state police to have officers involved in the investigation, and they’ll probably be picking at it from every angle they can think of.”

“You’re probably right.” He let out a sigh and added, “Well, there goes any hope of getting caught up on my studying.”

“Sorry about that,” the chief shrugged. He raised his voice and said, “While we still have several people here who went through the shooting, I think it would be best if we got some preliminary interviews done and notes taken about what actually happened. I realize it may be a little traumatic for some of you, but maybe it’ll be best to do it while it’s fresh in everyone’s mind.”

*   *   *

DeRidder drove directly to the Community Services Center, and was surprised to find a parking space next to a fire hydrant. Under the circumstances he decided to use it. He knew that technically he should have driven to the parking lot a couple miles away and taken the shuttle bus, but he wasn’t sure it would be running under the circumstances. Besides, he thought it was asinine that senior administrators like him had to park away from the college and take the shuttle. That was another thing where that crazy old fart running this place had his head right squarely up his ass! Senior administrators like the Dean of Students shouldn’t have to put up with such petty bullshit! If Thompson wanted to make an example of himself, that was one thing, but senior administrators ought to be shown a little bit of respect! That was one thing that he was going to change as soon as he could!

As he got out of the car he noticed that a news crew was there – probably the crew that had made the broadcast and brought the shooting to his attention in the first place. Without any hesitation, he headed over to where the dark blonde reporter was interviewing a student about what had happened in the building nearly an hour before. He overheard the student telling the reporter, “I saw Cody Archer running toward the shooting carrying a gun, and right after that there were three more shots. We didn’t hear anything after that.”

There were a couple more exchanges before the reporter ended the interview. “Miss,” he spoke up. “I’m the Dean of Students here,” he said. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Yes,” she replied. “We’re still very unclear about the details of what went on inside the building. Do you have any idea of how this Cody Archer is involved?”

“No idea,” deRidder replied, noticing a camera pointed toward him. “But it doesn’t matter. If Cody Archer was carrying a gun on campus, which several students like this young man have reported, he was in clear violation of a campus policy. I’ve already expelled him from this college. The young man is a killer, and no matter what happened here today, he’s a known killer and doesn’t deserve to be present on a peaceful campus.”

“A known killer?” Kristy said, the surprise evident in her voice.

“Yes. Several years ago, in a town where I was then the superintendent of schools, he shot down two citizens in cold blood. For whatever reason he wasn’t prosecuted, but he was suspended from school as a result. In the interests of safety, we couldn’t have a known killer running loose among the student body of a high school, and we can’t have it here, either.”

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