I open the garage door and look at Abby’s black BMW, shiny and beautiful as ever. It’s such a weird feeling seeing it here. I had such a traumatic experience the last time I thought I was in it.
I fire up the GPS and less than ten minutes later, I find the shady-looking gun store. I can see why the reviews were bad. The location alone is enough for me to give it one star. Perhaps bringing the BMW here instead of my Cavalier was a bad idea.
When I walk in I see an old man behind the counter, his black rottweiler standing next to him. He reminds me of Cujo and my heart races, thinking more and more that this is a bad idea. When I look around, there’s an assortment of guns in all shapes and sizes. I consider looking for a shotgun that’s similar to the one I had in my dreams, but I’m not here for entertainment. I’m here for a small killing machine.
There’s a glass shelf at the counter where the storeowner is standing. This is where the pistols are. I walk up, afraid the old man is going to start talking to me. I’m sure anything that comes out of my mouth will sound stupid. Ready to get out of here, I point to the first one I see.
“I’ll take that one,” I say a little too loudly. The old man gets out of his chair and makes his way up to the counter. He looks down at the gun, then looks up at me.
“This one?” he says as he points to the correct gun.
“Yes,” I say.
With a bit of a drawl, he says “Very well. Do you need ammo for it, too?”
“Yes, please.”
He reaches under the counter and picks up a box of bullets. Thank God I didn’t have to figure out the ammo on my own.
Then he asks, “Will that be all?”
“Yes, sir.” As I say this, I know this step is the most important in the operation. Will he ask for my driver’s license? Will he be able to pull up my information just with that? Do I fill out a form and then he runs a background check later?
All of the answers turn out to be a big no. What happens instead, I couldn’t have predicted in my wildest dreams.
“Very well, meet me over here at the counter. Will you be paying with cash or credit today?”
“Cash,” I say more excitingly than I want. Abby and I always have a thousand dollars in cash tucked away for emergencies, which comes in handy in this situation.
He rings me up and says, “OK, that will be $323.47.”
I hand him the money, and he takes a moment to put it in a nice little box and paper bag. Before I walk out he says, “Have a nice evening, sir. Be careful.”
At this point, I can’t believe what just happened. No background check, no nothing. It was like I went to the grocery store to buy eggs. I couldn’t have written a better script for how this turned out. By paying with cash, I can’t be traced. The only way someone could find out I bought this gun is if there was a surveillance camera, but there didn’t appear to be one. Thinking back, I realize I should have worn a ball cap or something to hide my face. I shouldn’t be too picky, though; I just walked in and bought a gun without having to give away any information.
When I get home, I do some research on how incredible of a feat this was. I make sure to use all the encryption tools I know so I can’t be tracked by what I’m searching. As it turns out, buying a gun this way in Ohio isn’t extraordinary at all. In fact, it’s quite normal. Most storeowners will ask for your name and some other information, but it isn’t required.
For the rest of the evening I figure out how to load it, which is simple enough. I’m tempted to go outside and fire a test shot, but the last thing I need is for the neighbors to call the police.
Instead, I cozy up by my bed and read a book. It’s a lonely feeling being here without Abby. I hope she’s doing OK. Once I’m ready to go to sleep, I think about what tomorrow will bring me. Like the days in my coma, I never expected anything bad to happen, but something always did. Tonight, I fall asleep optimistic that tomorrow will be a pretty boring day.
Chapter 24
When I wake up, I realize I’ve slept in later than I have in the last ten years. Usually, it doesn’t matter how late I get to bed; I always wake up before eight o’clock. This morning I turn over and see it’s 8:40. I can feel it too. It’s like I just woke from another coma.
I put on a pair of my jeans and tuck the gun away in my belt. This probably isn’t where the hoodlums conceal it, but I fear shooting myself in the leg and this seems like the safest place to put it.
Wondering what I should do today, I realize I haven’t checked the mail yet. Did anyone put a stop mail request in? I guess we’ll find out.
When I step outside, it’s a warm day. It’s much nicer than normal for this time of year. The sun is out and it warms my skin. I think in this moment how sweet it is to be alive and healthy again.
What I see next though will change my life forever.
Parked across the street, there’s a man sitting inside a black car with his window down. He appears to be reading something. I walk toward him, my right hand reaching toward my gun. When he finally looks up, he smiles at me then returns to whatever he was reading. He must sense that I’m still walking toward him because in another second or two he looks back up at me. His smile fades, likely because I have a determined look on my face.
I pull the gun out of my belt and fumble around to turn off the safety, trying to keep my eyes on him.
“Wha… What are you doing mister?” he says.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” I ask as I point the gun at him.
“Nothing sir, I’m afraid I’m lost and I was looking down at this here map to see where I went wrong.”
I’m standing a few feet from him, and I can’t see the map to tell if he’s lying. I look over at the car, making sure the man stays in my peripheral vision. It’s not like the futuristic car from my coma.
“Where are you trying to go?” I ask.
“I… umm… I was looking for the highway.” His stutter and hesitation make me think he’s trying to come up with a story.
“Well, where are you coming from that you got lost?”
“Uhh, I’m not sure. Mister, please. Please don’t hurt me.” The words he says and the expression on his face don’t match up. His forehead scolds and he has a look of evil in his eyes. He only makes this face for a split second, but it’s the split second I need to close my eyes and pull the trigger.
The gun blast is loud, much louder than I ever would have expected. When I open my eyes I see I’ve connected with my target. The top half of his body was blown over to the passenger side, his head bleeding all over the seat. I can’t bear to look at what I’ve just done. Holy shit. I’ve just shot a complete stranger and immediately regret it. I look around to see if anyone is looking but don’t see anyone.
Contemplating what to do next, my first option is to walk back in the house and pretend I don’t know anything. Eventually someone will find the man. When they do, they’ll no doubt come knocking on my door. Will I be able to lie and say I don’t know anything? I’m not sure I will. Also, I have the murder weapon on me and I’m pretty sure police will be able to trace the gun back to me. My other option is to drive off with the car and get rid of the body. This seems to have even more loopholes that could land me in prison for the rest of my life. Fingerprints, people driving by seeing me, blood getting on my clothes, not to mention how the hell am I going to get home? That option seems out of the question.
I think I might be able to lie to the police, but what do I do with the gun? I have to get rid of it, but not in the house because I know they’ll find it. Burying it in the ground would look incredibly guilty, and would also be easy to find with metal detectors.