Parker W Dickson

The streets had been flooded with Fulton county police cars and news vans for the past two days. Officers protect the Jennings’ residence from the savage press, only hoping to catch someone at a weak point in order to get the first story. Milton, Georgia had always been quiet, up until now. The sun began to rise on March 12th 2015. It was a Thursday morning, two days after the incident. Just as the sun begins to rise, outlining the houses down the street, reporters began to creep out of their vans, sleepily slinking out into the dark world, coffee already in hand.

A single car rolls through the street, headlights illuminating the entire street. The Chevy Impala, fully blacked out with tinted windows, slowed as it approached the Jennings’ house. The officers in the driveway allowed the car to pull in, knowing by the plates and stickers that the lead investigators were the occupants. Once the car, was parked Officer Montez stepped out, his suit matching the darkness of the morning, only contrasted by his white dress shirt. He dwarfed the officers serving as escorts, towering over them at 6’4. The headlights still beamed, slightly reflecting off his bald head. Moments later, Officer Boredough stepped out, his suit matching that of Officer Montez. His shaggy blonde hair covered over his forehead, he was about 5’11, but was dwarfed by Montez. He was clearly a newer investigator, mimicking Officer Montez in order to look professional. They made their way to the door, silently waving to the officers that had spent all night on guard. It was 7:15 am, just when investigators informed the Jennings family they would be arriving. Montez knocks, his large fist against the door twice, within moments a middle-aged woman answered the door. 

She had clearly been crying, her eyes were puffy and had dark circles under them presumably from lack of sleep. Her clothes were disheveled and her brown hair was in a messy bun. This must be Mrs. Jennings. She quickly realized the men at her door were the investigators she had spoken to the day before and opened the door. Both men stepped in with a, “Good morning Ma’am”. “Good mornin’” she replied, her southern draw peeking through her dull tone, clearly exhausted, “Wou-would you gentlemen like any coffee?” she offers, trying to be a gracious host. The officers decline but do follow her into the kitchen. Montez motions to the dining room table just a few steps away and asks, “Ma’am maybe we should sit down while we talk”. Agreeing Mrs. Jennings walks over to their four-person table, still set for the dinner intended for two days ago. The officers follow, they all sit down. One seat remains empty, as it would from now on. Boredough begins, “Well Ma’am we have a few questions for you, would it be alright if we recorded them?”. “That’s fine, I just-just don’t know what would help.” She sighs, looking mostly at the floor. Boredough takes a recording device from the inside pocket of his suit and places it on the table, hitting the record button.

He nods to Montez who begins with, “Ma’am could we begin with your name and your relation to Richard Jennings?”, “My name is Bethany Jennings and I am…well, was his mother.” She begins to tear up, her breathing intensifies. “Mrs. Jennings, could you please describe for us the morning of March 10th 2015? Any details you remember will help.” Montez asks in an almost tender yet stern voice. Mrs. Jennings gathers her thoughts, wipes her eyes with tissues from a box on the table and begins, “Well uh uh…” she struggled to begin. “It was just like any other day. I woke up at 6, or maybe 6:30? My husband woke up at about the same time. James had an important meeting so he got dressed quickly and headed out of the room earlier than usual. After that I uh…I think I got in the shower. Yes, that’s right! Then I got dressed. I walked to Richards room…” tears began to run down her face and she started to breathe heavily, struggling to speak. “I tried to make sure he was up.” Wiping tears from her eyes as she continued to account for her morning. “He was still sleeping so I shook him a little to try and get him up. But I gave up and walked into the kitchen to start breakfast. James told me he had to go so he kissed me and we said our “I love you”s before he headed out. I heard him go into Richard’s room and talk to him for a few minutes before leaving. After a little while Richard walked into the kitchen ready for school, he didn’t say much but grabbed his breakfast and started walking out the door. I should have asked him if he was okay. Why didn’t I try to talk to him?” She began to sob again, tears dripped down her face. “When I realized he was on the way out I shouted to him that I love him, but…but it was answered with the slamming of the door. That was the last conversation I had with my son, one sided. I barely…barely even talked to him.” Her crying drowned out any other words after that, it was an inaudible mess. 

The investigators excused themselves from the table, leaving the grieving mother to collect herself for more questions later. They made their way through the kitchen, with a path leading to the stairs. Up the stairs was Richard’s room, Montez and Boredough needed to figure out what was the catalyst for this middle schooler to commit such a terrible atrocity. Looking around the room nothing stuck out. The walls were covered with posters from popular movies and bands, clothes were thrown about everywhere, a desk with a laptop, a small tv and Xbox resided in the corner, across from a full-sized bed still messy from that Tuesday morning. Taking a closer look Montez asked, “Boredough, wouldn’t you say some of this stuff is a little intense for a middle schooler?” Boredough replied, scratching his head, “What could make a seemingly normal kid turn into a mass killer?” he eyed the assortment of old sports trophies on the shelves over the bed.

Montez then sat at the desk and began going through the laptop. A window was already open, it was self-titled. “Boredough check this out, I think it’s a sort of blog. I suppose we can really get into this kid’s mindset.” Both investigators peered onto the screen and read journal entries going back months. “Look at this one, ‘I can’t believe Charlie is leaving me, he’s my only friend but he doesn’t even care enough to stick around’ or this one, ‘Another black eye today, I can’t wait until I can make them pay. I can’t wait till then look up at me and beg for their lives’.” Montez looked over at Boredough who continued finding entries, “Montez check this out” pointing at an entry title ‘Dear Mom and Dad’, “its titled from the 9th maybe it’s a farewell?” Montez scrolled down to read. The entry began, “Mom and Dad, do you even care? All you ever do is argue with each other, never even realizing the pain I’m in. Without Charlie I’m alone. Nobody cares about me, I’m invisible to everyone except when those assholes decide to beat me up. Maybe you’ll pay attention after tomorrow. Then everyone will know about me and finally respect me. I’m going to burn that hell hole of a school down to the ground”. 

Montez stood up, taking a step back and shaking his head, “He felt abandoned, like nobody cared. The only way he thought he could get attention is by lashing out with violence. But where does someone so young learn to be so cruel?” Boredough sat down and looked through the other tabs, a Facebook page was open. Montez tried to shake off the chilling posts they had read and went back to diving into the rest of Richard’s life, browsing through the movie and videogame selection near the tv. Boredough searched through Richards posts, which were still few and far between. “The only pictures he posts are with Charlie, I’m guessing by the last name they are brothers.” Boredough nodded to himself. He continued analyzing the photos and posts, every picture had a few kid’s comments with things like “faggots”, “Gay”, and even “kill yourself” all over it. The more recent posts were much darker, Richard posted about hating himself and other kids. One post he was contemplated ending it all, and the same kids commented encouraging it and telling him he would be doing the world a favor. “Montez, it looks like it was more than just occasional fights, these kids were ruthless” Boredough turned to look at Montez who looked as though he too was onto something.

He stood up and spun around, “Tarintino?” showing a few disks of the director’s movies, “That’s pretty gruesome, even for my taste. So, I guess this was his source material for the violence. But what would he be doing with these?”, a shout from down the hall interrupts Montez’s response. “They’re mine. I left them here. I should’ve taken them to college. He was always trying to take them so he could copy me.” A young man, probably late teens or early twenties moves in front of the door. This curly brown hair covered his forehead and got in his eyes as he looked down towards the ground. His pale pointy chin sticking out from all the hair, completing the figure of his face. He leaned against the door frame of Richard’s room and he had his arms crossed, which covered some sort of zombie design on the t-shirt he was wearing. “So, I take it you’re the brother?” Montez asked. “Yeah, I’m Charlie. Ricky always wanted to play my games and stuff so I guess after I left he helped himself. I knew I should have taken them with me.” He avoids eye contact; the depression and guilt can be heard in every word. Boredough began, “It’s not your fault, you shouldn’t blame-” he was stopped by a quick elbow from Montez. “Is there anything you can tell us about Ricky that may help? What about any friends from school?” Montez asked. “Well” Charlie began, “first off, he didn’t really have many friends. After I graduated two years ago he has been pretty much on his own. Mom said he sometimes would come home with bruises on his face and his stuff would get stolen, so I guess he’s been getting bullied too.” He released a deep sign, continuing to stare at the same spot on the floor, “then there was his anger management. He went to a therapist for a while, which I guess helped but over the past year it got really bad again. I suppose that may be because of the bullies or something.” He shrugged, unsure of what else to say.

Moments later a middle-aged man barged into the room, “Go to your room Charlie, you don’t have to talk to them.” He said, then turning towards the investigators he said, “You make my wife cry then start questioning my son? Haven’t you people already done enough?” He began to get louder and angrier. “Mr. Jennings I assume? We aren’t trying to cause any trauma, we are just trying to understand the reason for Richard’s behavior.” Montez explained, sternly yet calmly. “You’ve ruined our lives! It’s your fault he’s gone!” Mr. Jennings protested. Boredough interjected, “Sir, the officers on the scene did everything they could to resolve the conflict peacefully.” Tears began to slowly stream down Mr. Jennings’s cheeks, “Well they didn’t try hard enough!”

The investigators knew they weren’t going to make any progress with Mr. Jennings so they started walking back down stairs the investigators could hear the tv, news reporters had finally gotten their story. They could all be seen outside of the Jennings’ home sharing the tragic story. Boredough stopped and looked at the screen as they flashed the pictures of a once happy kid while telling what had happened on that Tuesday, March 10th 2015.

Boredough thought back to reading the case report, that was the real story. According to that Richard had been planning for months and decided that would be the day. Before leaving the house, he crept into his dad’s office and grabbed his dad’s handgun with two boxes full of ammunition. We quietly put them in his bag and walked out the door. He rode the bus to school like he always did, he went to his classes like he usually did, but today was not going to be a usual day. Once the bell for lunch rang he went to the bathroom and loaded the gun, then placed it between his body and waist of his pants in order to surprise everyone. He walked into the lunch room, pulled out his gun and began firing. He began targeting the kids who bullied him, the kids who beat him up and called him gay for posting pictures with his brother. He singled them out and killed them. Six people were dead in the first fifteen minutes of his attack. Students laid on the ground, paralyzed. Some tried calling 911, and eventually police and SWAT were dispatched.

By the time they got there the kill count was up to eleven. Richard had begun to blame his old friends, the ones that bailed on him because he wasn’t cool enough. He blamed the girl who rejected him from the middle school dance. He even blamed the highest achieving student, top athletes, and best artists because he thought they made him look worthless in comparison. He was angry at the world and blamed everyone in it, intending to punish them. The sirens became audible, the police just outside. This was sweet relief for the victims, unsure if the nightmare was going to end. But it sent Richard into a panic, the police were already at the doors to the lunchroom ready to break them down. In a last-ditch effort, he grabbed a hostage, a girl he barely knew, but she was his bargaining chip. The SWAT team breached in, men with large shields moved in to cover the escape of the other kids. The SWAT team leader attempted to negotiate with Richard but he kept backing up, trying to get more space away from them. Once the room was clear of students the rest of the team moved in. 

Nine fully equipped SWAT team members aimed right at Richard and his hostage. The negotiator continued to try and talk him down but Richard was getting more frantic and upset, yelling at them to leave and saying they are messing it all up. Richard flipped back and forth between pointing the gun at the officers and back at the head of his hostage. It was decided the situation had unraveled too much, they were going to have to take Richard out. The team began moving in, they pushed up and got an angle on him. To be sure they would get the hostage out alive and to stop the situation from escalating the order was given to take the shot at Richard. A single shot was fired, the team moved in to secure the hostage and check on Richards status. Paramedics rushed in to try to save any victims and to save Richard. They were all already gone. The death count was twelve, Richard among them.  

The news reporters shortened the story to, Richard Jennings, a well-liked kid who took a turn for the worst. They blamed it on a mental disorder, saying that because he was unstable he couldn’t handle the pressures of life and seeing the violence in the media around him, thought that he could act like that. They even went so far as to say that the victims, that the investigators knew to be his bullies, were his best friends. They framed it as a happy kid who slipped for an unknown reason. They demonized his hobbies, like playing videogames, claiming that without them he would have continued with his happy life. Boredough clenched his fists, “They have no idea what they are even talking about.” Montez put his hand on Boredough’s shoulder, “They’re just looking to be the first to get the story out. You can’t let it get to you.” Boredough nodded as they continued to search through the house. Walking past the office the investigators saw the gun safe, still open and still empty. With little investigating they could tell it was merely unlocked, it looked as though it had never been locked in the first place. 

Continuing through the house both officers were overwhelmed by the number of old baby pictures hung up leading back towards the kitchen. Family portraits, birthday parties, even family vacations and trip to Disney. Yet as the kids got older and older less pictures were taken. There were, less portraits, less birthday parties, and less vacations. The smiles shrank smaller and smaller in every picture. The most recent, a picture of Richard from the first day of school this year, appears as though he is miserable, there is no trace of a smile. They make it through the hall into the kitchen once more, Mrs. Jennings was still sitting at the table, staring blankly into the backyard. The sun was now pouring in, brightening up the darkness that was living in the house. Reruns of the new reporter’s fake story defiled the air.

As the investigators re-entered the kitchen Mrs. Jennings turned, tears still filling her eyes, and asked, “Why do they keep saying he was sick?” the tears fell down her cheeks, “He-He-He wasn’t sick!” she began to cry again. Montez replied, “Ma’am, you don’t need to pay attention to them, they are just trying to get a story. I’m sorry that you’re stuck in the middle of it. Our officers will keep them away from your family until they move onto their next story.” He nodded gently, “Thank you for answering our questions, I am sorry for any unpleasantries I may have caused. My condolences.” Montez then began for the door. Boredough turned to the grieving mother, “My condolences ma’am, don’t hesitate to call for anything. Here, it’s my personal number” he said handing her a white card from the inner pocket of his suit, “Let us know if there is anything we can do to help. Again, my condolences.” He bowed his head for a second, then turned and followed Montez out the door. 

The door opened and the men stepped out into the sea of camera men and reporters, nudging their way back to the Impala. Stoic, unmoved by the barrage of questions, the men got into their car, slowly backing out of the driveway, then driving again down the street. Boredough turned towards Montez asking, “So why do you really think he did it? How could a middle schooler kill eleven people?” Montez took a deep breath and after a moment he said, “The kid was alone. He felt isolated and unimportant, his parents wouldn’t pay attention to him and his only friend was off miles and miles away in college. He got the shit beat out of him every day, then he got bullied online too. His life was spiraling out of control. I guess he just wanted to feel important and to get attention.” His eyes remained on the road, never moving. Blurting out another question Boredough asked, “But why so violent? There are other ways of getting attention.”, Montez shook his head, “It’s not about getting people to just pay attention, he wanted them to care. The violence occurred because he was angry, he was lashing out at those who had been making his life hell. Remember the blogs?”

Boredough thought back, remembering what Richard had said in his blogs about his bullies. He wanted them to be on their knees begging him for their lives. “It was about the control Boredough, He wanted to be the one to dictate what happened instead of having things happen to him instead. With that gun, he was the most important person in that room and he got to decide exactly what happened, he decided who lived and who died. That was the ultimate control in his head, so that’s what he set out for.” Montez continued. “And the games? The news said they caused his violence, what do you think?”, “No. They didn’t help, maybe they even gave him the idea for the gun but rage and hatred were what drove him to this. Neglect, Isolation, loneliness, abuse, and anger are what turned that smiling little boy into the kid who murdered twelve people.”, “Montez it was eleven. He killed eleven.”, “He died too. He could have grown up and become a parent or a business owner but instead he is in our morgue. He robbed himself of a life too.” They rode in silence down the street after that. The sun beating down, on their black car. They both knew the unfortunate truth that this wouldn’t be the last time they had a case like this, not even close.