Chapter Four
At sixteen he decided to learn to use a gun.
He and Rebecca were walking through her neighborhood when he told her.
"Why?" she asked.
He smiled.
"Simply because it's necessary."
She decided to take his word for it.
It had started two weeks ago, with the bomb threat.
The principal had privately came to him and played him the tape. It had taken two days, but he had gotten it.
Unfortunately, he decided to talk to the kid to confirm it.
Just a quick conversation, just to be sure.
"James!"
"Uh... yeah?"
The subject glanced back at his girlfriend, who had kept walking.
"I was just wondering what your favorite class is?"
"Uh... what?"
"I'm taking a poll. Of the classes that your taking, what's your favorite?"
At this point, James seemed to get his bearings.
"Fuck off."
He walked away.
Voah smiled.
This was his man.
Unfortunately, he didn't have much to smile about.
James didn't confess, but his friends did for him. He was expelled.
Three days later was when the problems started.
Voah stepped of the bus and walked up his street, pausing to gaze at the leaves falling from the trees.
A car was parked at the top of his cul-de-sac, but he didn't give it a second glance.
That was a shame.
He paused to get his mail, and that's when James stepped out of the car.
Voah didn't see him until the baseball bat smashed the side of his head. He barely saw him after that, his glasses knocked to the ashphalt, his darkness biting into the edges of his vision.
Two more swings left Voah unconscious, and another was what broke his ribs.
James walked back to his car and drove off, leading the heavily-injured Vanquisher next to his mailbox.
An hour later his neighbor's came home and found him. They called an ambulance and he was on his way to the hospital within ten minutes.
He was there for another four days, and was in a wheelchair for a few days after that. As he walked with Rebecca, he leaned heavily on his crutches.
A week later he bought some ammunition for his father's revolver, as well as a silencer for the gun.
He took it into his backyard and aimed it at the ground.
With a huge band, a bullet forced itself into the dirt as Voah was blown backwards with the recoil, knocking him over.
He looked on the internet. Apparently, silencers don't work with revolvers.
He ordered a handgun with his dad's credit card, which was a risk in itself. He was just hoping his dad wouldn't examine the bill too closely.
When it arrived, he practiced with it. It took four months of shooting at trees, piles of leaves, and squirrels to perfect his aim, but he could hit a target at fifty yards.
He carried the gun with him wherever he could, mostly illegally. He made a point to carry it after he made an I.D., in case another attack like James' occured.
It was fortunate he made this his policy.
Before his 18th birthday he will have killed someone.
He and Rebecca were walking through her neighborhood when he told her.
"Why?" she asked.
He smiled.
"Simply because it's necessary."
She decided to take his word for it.
It had started two weeks ago, with the bomb threat.
The principal had privately came to him and played him the tape. It had taken two days, but he had gotten it.
Unfortunately, he decided to talk to the kid to confirm it.
Just a quick conversation, just to be sure.
"James!"
"Uh... yeah?"
The subject glanced back at his girlfriend, who had kept walking.
"I was just wondering what your favorite class is?"
"Uh... what?"
"I'm taking a poll. Of the classes that your taking, what's your favorite?"
At this point, James seemed to get his bearings.
"Fuck off."
He walked away.
Voah smiled.
This was his man.
Unfortunately, he didn't have much to smile about.
James didn't confess, but his friends did for him. He was expelled.
Three days later was when the problems started.
Voah stepped of the bus and walked up his street, pausing to gaze at the leaves falling from the trees.
A car was parked at the top of his cul-de-sac, but he didn't give it a second glance.
That was a shame.
He paused to get his mail, and that's when James stepped out of the car.
Voah didn't see him until the baseball bat smashed the side of his head. He barely saw him after that, his glasses knocked to the ashphalt, his darkness biting into the edges of his vision.
Two more swings left Voah unconscious, and another was what broke his ribs.
James walked back to his car and drove off, leading the heavily-injured Vanquisher next to his mailbox.
An hour later his neighbor's came home and found him. They called an ambulance and he was on his way to the hospital within ten minutes.
He was there for another four days, and was in a wheelchair for a few days after that. As he walked with Rebecca, he leaned heavily on his crutches.
A week later he bought some ammunition for his father's revolver, as well as a silencer for the gun.
He took it into his backyard and aimed it at the ground.
With a huge band, a bullet forced itself into the dirt as Voah was blown backwards with the recoil, knocking him over.
He looked on the internet. Apparently, silencers don't work with revolvers.
He ordered a handgun with his dad's credit card, which was a risk in itself. He was just hoping his dad wouldn't examine the bill too closely.
When it arrived, he practiced with it. It took four months of shooting at trees, piles of leaves, and squirrels to perfect his aim, but he could hit a target at fifty yards.
He carried the gun with him wherever he could, mostly illegally. He made a point to carry it after he made an I.D., in case another attack like James' occured.
It was fortunate he made this his policy.
Before his 18th birthday he will have killed someone.
