The Willow Grove Shooting
When word of the tragedy spread through Willow Grove, the sentiment expressed by members of the small New England community was universal.
"This is the last place you would expect something so terrible to happen!" an astonished resident declared.
"Willow Grove is one of the safest places on earth," his neighbor insisted.
"It's the kind of place where people leave their doors unlocked at night," another affirmed.
After that Friday afternoon in late September, however, the unsuspecting denizens of Willow Grove, Massachusetts, learned what the inhabitants of similar small towns across America were painfully aware of: no place is safe. Violence cannot be confined to crowded urban areas; it finds its way to all our neighborhoods. It seeks out males and females, young and old, rich and poor alike.
Police officer Luke Goodell woke that Friday morning, expecting the day to be like any other. In his two years on the force, the most serious crime he had to contend with was arresting the mayor's teenage daughter for shoplifting a bottle of perfume at the mall. Mostly, he handed out speeding tickets, responded to disturbances of the peace or searched for missing pets. By Friday evening, however, his seemingly idyllic life would be drastically altered.
"I ... I can't believe it. I ...," he began, unable to control the tears that coursed down his face.
"Take your time, patrolman," Detective Elston Verney advised, his voice conveying the empathy he felt for a fellow lawman forced to endure such a difficult ordeal.
"I can't believe I killed Seth Lampman!"
After having openly admitted to shooting Willow Grove High School's star quarterback, Luke leaned over and vomited in the wastepaper basket. Verney handed the young police officer a handful of tissues and offered him a drink of water. Once Luke regained some of his composure, the interview continued.
"Why don't you tell me what happened, from the beginning," Elston instructed.
"My partner, Tucker Penfield, and I had just finished our lunch down at Rita's and returned to our patrol car. Tucker got behind the wheel, and I was buckling my seatbelt when the call came on the radio. Someone had heard shots at the high school. We were only four blocks away, so we took the call."
Luke closed his eyes, wishing he could travel back in time to early afternoon and relive the preceding hours. If he could, he never would have been the first police officer to enter the school.
"When Tucker and I got there, I saw students running out the front doors. I immediately called for backup and an ambulance. Then my partner and I both took out our guns and went inside the building. We passed one of the teachers who told us the shooter was in the library."
"Do you know the name of the teacher?"
"Yes, it was Mrs. Warrender. I had her for algebra in my sophomore year."
Luke sadly shook his head at that brief memory of his high school years. Back then, his greatest worry had been passing a chemistry exam.
"As we neared the library," he continued, "we found two victims in the hallway: one male and one female. I checked the boy for signs of life, and Tucker checked the girl. Both were deceased. A shot rang out, and moments later we entered the library."
The memory of what had transpired next brought on a renewed bout of tears.
"I'm sorry ... I ... You must think I'm being ...."
"No," Elston quickly reassured him. "I can't imagine how I would feel if I were in your place. Thank God I've never had to use my gun."
"When I went through the door, I saw Seth Lampman pointing the gun at Michelle Callison, who was on the floor begging him not to shoot. In my peripheral vision, I saw the other victims on the ground. They appeared to be dead. Suddenly, Michelle moved, Seth put his finger on the trigger, and I ... I raised my gun and fired. I should have shot to incapacitate him, but all I could think about at the time was that he was going to kill that poor girl unless I stopped him."
"I'm sure every officer on this force would have done the same thing. You shot the shooter and saved an innocent girl's life. You're a hero, Officer Goodell."
"Then why do I feel so goddamned awful?" he asked before vomiting into the wastepaper basket again.
* * *
After what seemed like hours, Luke's interview finally came to an end. Upon its conclusion, Detective Verney consulted with the chief of police and then told the patrolman he was to take a few weeks off.
"You mean I'm to be suspended pending an investigation?" Goodell asked forlornly.
"No. When an officer is forced to use his gun in the line of duty, it's standard procedure for the department to give him time off—with pay, of course."
The detective talked as though policemen shooting people was a common occurrence in Willow Grove when, in fact, this was only the second such case in the town's three-hundred-year-long history. The first one had been back in 1836 when an officer shot a fleeing burglar in self-defense, and, even then, he had not killed the man, only wounded him in the leg. Still, there was a book of standard operating procedures that spelled out guidelines to follow in such circumstances, and lawmen loved to go by the book.
"You'll need to see Dr. Redmayne, the department's psychiatrist, before you return to duty," Elston continued. "He'll want to make sure you don't show any signs of post-traumatic stress disorder."
"Forensics took my gun; do you want my badge?"
"That won't be necessary. This isn't a suspension. You're still on active duty. Just think of it as sick leave or personal time."
Luke nodded his head, rose from the chair and headed toward the station's front door.
"Wait a second," the detective called. "Don't go out that way."
"Why not?"
Elston pulled back the blind slightly and revealed a throng of reporters in the street. Camera crews from CNN, ABC, NBC, CBS and Fox were also ready to pounce on anyone who emerged from the building.
"What are they doing out there?"
"Like everyone else, they want to know why a good kid like Seth Lampman would bring a gun to school and kill eleven of his classmates. They think we have an answer."
"I'd better go out the back door then," Luke decided.
"You might want to spend the night with family or friends, too. The press has been camped outside your apartment all afternoon, waiting for you to go home."
"You're kidding, right?"
"I wish I were. Those goddamned vultures are everywhere in town: the hospital, the Callison home, the school, even Officer Penfield's house."
"My partner?"
"He was on the scene, an eyewitness to the shooting."
After putting on dark glasses and a baseball cap with the rim pulled down low over his eyes, Luke exited the station through the rear door, got into an unmarked police car and took a back street out of town. He headed for the home of Nancy Schearer, an old friend who lived in a small town ten miles east of Willow Grove. He and Nancy had grown up together, and despite their choosing different paths after high school graduation, she was the one person he could count on to help him.
* * *
In addition to his private practice, Theo Redmayne served as a psychiatrist for members of the Willow Grove police force. Normally, he saw officers with substance abuse problems or those who suffered from depression. Previously, the only patient who had experienced a traumatic situation in the line of duty was a traffic cop who was called to the scene of a fatal car accident in which two children were killed. Despite his lack of experience with PTSD, Theo felt his education and training qualified him to treat Luke Goodell.
With members of the press still swarming around Willow Grove, the doctor agreed to meet with his patient in a hotel room not far from Nancy Schearer's home. The police officer, again wearing his dark glasses and baseball cap, arrived on time.
"Skulking around like this, I feel like a criminal on the lam," he said sheepishly.
"Innocent people often feel guilty for no reason."
"Innocent? I shot and killed a seventeen-year-old boy."
"Why don't we sit down and talk about it?" Theo suggested, taking one of the two chairs in the room.
For the next sixty minutes, the psychiatrist tried to help Luke come to terms with his feelings of remorse. Sadly, he made little, if any, progress. The optimistic psychiatrist was consoled by the fact that it was only their first session. One could hardly expect miracles.
When the hour was up, Luke rose to leave.
"There's something I want to ask you," the doctor announced.
"What is it?"
"Michelle Callison, the girl whose life you saved. She wants to meet you."
Dr. Redmayne could not see his patient's eyes behind the dark glasses, but he did detect a definite tightening of the lips.
"Why?" Luke asked.
"I assume she wants to thank you for saving her life."
"It's not necessary. I was just doing my job."
The bitterness in his voice conveyed his belief that nowhere in his job description did it say he would be required to shoot high school football players.
"She's having a difficult time of it, as you can well imagine. Talking to you might help her."
It won't do you any harm either, Theo thought.
"I'll see," the police officer replied, putting off the decision for the time being.
Later that evening, Nancy came home from work with a bag of Chinese takeout.
"How did it go today?" she asked.
"It was just like I'd expected. I'm supposed to chalk it up to being part of the job and forget about the young life I took."
"Is that what your psychiatrist said?"
"No," Luke admitted, "but it was what he implied."
"Or maybe you're reading something into his words that wasn't really there."
The police officer thought it best to change the subject at that point.
"He said Michelle Callison wants to see me."
"What does the doctor say about that?"
"He thinks it might do her good."
Luke watched in silence as his friend opened a packet of duck sauce and squeezed it on her egg roll.
"Well? What do you think?" he asked after she ate her appetizer. "Should I see her?"
"I don't believe I'm qualified to give an opinion on the subject. I'm a computer programmer, not a psychiatrist."
"I'm asking you as my closest friend. Would you agree to see her?"
"Yes. I think it's natural for her to want to reach out to you. After all, she would probably be dead right now if you hadn't acted."
"Too bad the same can't be said for Seth Lampman."
"Did you ever think he might have wanted to die? How many of these mass shooters after taking innocent lives turn their guns on themselves? Even those that don't must realize their chances for survival are slim. I think when he brought that gun to school with him, Seth knew he wasn't going to make it out alive."
* * *
As Luke waited in Dr. Redmayne's office for Michelle Callison to arrive, he wondered if he was making a mistake.
I can't imagine what that poor kid must be going through. What if I say something to upset her? I could make things worse.
He momentarily thought about running out the door and returning to Nancy's house but then reconsidered. That would be the coward's way out, and he was no coward. When he saw the Callisons' Lexus pull into the parking lot, he turned away and mentally prepared himself for the worst.
Luke watched her enter the building on crutches. She looked even younger and more vulnerable than she had when she was on the floor in front of the killer, begging for her life.
"How's your leg?" he asked when she entered the office.
"It still hurts, but I'll live," Michelle replied. "Thanks for seeing me."
"Sure. You want a cup of coffee or something?"
"I'll take a Coke."
Dr. Redmayne volunteered to get her one from the vending machine.
"I don't know how to ever thank you," Michelle blurted out once the psychiatrist was out of the room.
"You don't have to, I was ...."
"Don't give me that bullshit that you were only doing your job. It wasn't as though you changed a flat tire for me. You saved my life—literally!"
The girl's feisty attitude and salty language surprised Luke. It made her seem more human and less fragile.
"How well did you know him?" he asked.
"Seth? Not well. I met him a couple of times at his older brother's house. I occasionally babysat for his nephew. But he was a junior and I was a sophomore, so we didn't have any classes together. Besides, we didn't exactly belong to the same cliques. He was the school's all-star jock, captain of the football team and a steady squeeze of the head cheerleader."
Her words brought a smile to Luke's lips.
"Football players and cheerleaders. It reminds me of my high school days. Although I never had to worry that one of my classmates would bring a gun to school and shoot up the library. Times sure have changed."
"Have you been assigned to work on the case?" Michelle asked.
"No. I've been told to take a few weeks off. The force is concerned about my emotional well-being."
"I hear you! The school is sending a teacher to my house to tutor me until the end of the year. I've also had to meet with a grief counselor and the school shrink. I suppose if Seth had gotten psychiatric help, maybe he wouldn't have gone off the deep end, stolen his brother's gun and shot up the school."
"Do you think that's what happened? He snapped?"
Her only reply was a shrug of her shoulders.
"There was no Coke, but I got you a Pepsi," Theo announced when he returned to his office.
"Thanks," Michelle said, accepting the soda. "Look, Doc, do you think Officer Goodell and I can talk in private?"
"Sure," the psychiatrist said after Luke nodded his head in agreement. "I'll wait in the lobby."
"I don't see why the police are investigating the matter or why the press is still hanging around Willow Gove," Michelle cried. "Why can't everyone just let the families bury their dead and let the rest of us try to pick up the pieces and get on with our lives?"
"There has to be an official investigation," Luke explained. "Twelve students are dead, including the shooter himself, and you were wounded."
"But they know who did it. Seth was caught red-handed. What do they hope to learn from all their questions?"
"His motive, for one thing. Also, could this tragedy have been prevented? Were there any signs that his friends, family or school personnel missed? Did he target any one person or group of people or was it simply a case of random selection?"
"It's a shame you're sitting this one out. You should be on the case."
"I'm a patrolman, not a detective."
"Is that why you haven't asked me what happened that day?" Michelle inquired.
"To be honest, I didn't think you'd want to talk about it."
"It doesn't matter. It seems like every other cop on the force has questioned me. Why not you, too?"
"Okay. What happened?"
"I have study hall that period, so I decided to go to the library and do research for my history paper. I was only there for a few minutes when I heard the first shot. I saw Seth in the doorway with his brother's rifle in his hand. I ducked down, crawled toward the librarian's desk and hid beneath it. There was a second shot. People screamed and tried to get out of the library."
"Then what happened?"
"There were more shots. I lost count of how many. People must have been running out of the school because I could hear the commotion in the hallway and out in the parking lot. Finally, the shooting stopped. I thought I was safe, that Seth didn't know I was hiding under the desk. I held my breath and waited. When I heard police sirens, I stuck my head out. Not only was Seth still in the room, but he was looking right at me with the gun pointed at the floor. I didn't want to die, so I tried to reason with him. I told him the police were coming, that they would be in the building any minute and that he had to run away. I also told him that if he fired at me, the police would know exactly where he was, and he would have no chance of getting out of the school."
Maybe Nancy was right, Luke thought. Maybe Seth had no intention of walking out of the building alive.
"He started to raise his gun," Michelle continued, "and I rushed forward and tried to take it away from him. The gun went off, and I was hit in the leg. We continued to struggle for a few moments, but I was no match for him. I fell to the floor, certain I was going to die. And then there you were."
"And I killed him before he could kill you."
"Like I said before, you saved my life."
The look of profound gratitude in the young girl's eyes touched Luke's heart, and the guilt he felt for his hand in Seth Lampman's death began to lessen.
* * *
By the end of his three-week leave from the force, Luke was deemed fit to return to duty. By that time, many of the reporters had left Willow Grove. Once the police provided them with enough facts to write several articles on the shooting, there was no reason for them to linger. Besides, there were other stories to cover.
"I'm going to miss you," Nancy announced as she watched him pack his bag. "It was nice having someone to come home to at night."
"I know what you mean. I enjoyed having someone to talk to over breakfast every morning."
Silence fell upon the room as the two friends wondered if their feelings may have grown into something stronger during their recent time together.
"You know," Luke said, after zipping his suitcase shut, "Willow Grove isn't that far away. Maybe we can go out to dinner sometime."
"I'd like that."
"How does Saturday night sound?"
"Sounds good."
"I can pick you up at seven. and we can go out to dinner and maybe to a movie afterward."
"I'll be ready."
"Wish me luck," he said, putting his arm around Nancy as she walked him to the door.
"For what?"
"Now that I'm going to be out of hiding, I'm bound to run into a reporter sooner or later."
Luke was surprised that there was no one outside his apartment. For the past three weeks, he had visions of the paparazzi shoving cameras into his face as though he were Kanye West.
All that needless worrying, he thought with relief as he unlocked his front door.
He was not surprised to see that there were several messages on his phone answering machine. Most were from well-meaning friends and family members, some were from reporters and others were from members of the Willow Grove Police Department. The final message took him by surprise.
"Hi. This is Michelle. I was hoping you'd be home by now, but I guess you're not. I hear you're ready to report back to duty. That's great. I'd really like to get together with you again. I felt so much better after our last meeting. I think it helped me a lot. I hope it did you some good, too. Anyway, when you get this, can you give me a call?"
The girl left her cell phone number so he could get in touch with her. He wrote it down on a pad near the phone and then erased the messages.
After living in Nancy's house for three weeks, he felt out of place in his one-bedroom apartment. It was not the size that bothered him but the lack of warmth. He put away his clothes, vacuumed his carpet and dusted the furniture. In an attempt to fill the emptiness of the afternoon, he turned on the television. As usual, there was nothing worth watching.
Without giving much thought to the matter, he picked up the phone and dialed Michelle's number.
"Look, I have to stop at the supermarket and buy a few things. How would you like to go out and get a couple of burgers afterward?" he asked.
"I'd love to. Why don't you pick me up first, and I'll go grocery shopping with you?"
"Are you sure you want to?"
"I've barely left the house for the past three weeks. I'm ready to climb the walls!"
As they walked down the frozen food aisle, Michelle teased him about his choice of food.
"Gorton's fish sticks? Really?" she laughed. "Don't you know how to cook?"
"When I get off duty, the last thing I want to do is spend time in the kitchen. All I want to do is pop something in the microwave and have it be ready to eat in less than ten minutes."
"Maybe I can cook for you once in a while. I've got plenty of time on my hands."
"Thanks. That's very generous of you, but you worry about keeping up with your schoolwork. I'm a big boy; I can take care of myself."
"We'll just see about that," she laughed.
* * *
Luke had assumed that once he went back to work, his life would slowly return to normal. However, normality was an unattainable dream for both him and the formerly peaceful community. Unfortunately, the name Willow Grove would always be associated with a school shooting along with Columbine, Virginia Tech and Sandy Hook. Even though the press finally packed up and left, the morbidly curious sightseers descended upon the town like locusts.
"When are people going to get over it?" Luke asked his partner as the two police officers were heading for the Main Street Diner for their lunch break. "There's nothing for them to see. It's just a school building."
"Forget about them. Most just take a few pictures and leave, and some put flowers or trinkets along the side of the road, sort of a makeshift memorial."
Although Tucker Penfield had never had to draw his weapon in the line of duty, he sympathized with his partner.
"So what's up with Nancy Schearer?" he asked, hoping to take Luke's mind off the shootings, at least temporarily. "Are you two an item?"
"Not yet, but it looks like we're headed in that direction."
"That's great! You need someone like her in your life. The last girl you dated ...."
Tucker stopped speaking when his partner's cell phone rang.
"Hello," Luke said.
"Hi. It's me, Michelle. I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"No, I was just going to lunch."
"I'd like to talk to you," the teenager said, "but not over the phone. Can I stop by your place when you get off duty?"
"I'm not sure that's such a good idea. What would people think?"
"Who cares?"
"I don't think so."
"What if we meet someplace public? Starbucks, maybe?"
"Okay. I'll give you a call later."
"Was that Nancy?" Tucker asked.
"No. It was Michelle Callison."
"What's she want?"
"We've met a few times to talk about the shootings."
"She's what? Fifteen?"
"So? I'm not dating her," Luke replied defensively. "The police shrink was the one who arranged the first meeting. He thought it might do us both good to share our feelings."
"Well, hey, if that's what the doctor ordered, who am I to advise you otherwise?"
Luke was glad when his partner dropped the subject. Truth be told, he did not feel right meeting with a girl as young as Michelle. Even though he was not attracted to the teenager, he couldn't help feeling that he was doing something wrong. Maybe it was the cop in him.
At twenty minutes after six that evening, he pulled into the parking lot behind Starbucks. Michelle was already there waiting outside the entrance for him.
"What's up?" he asked, holding the door for her as she walked inside the coffee shop.
"Nothing. I just wanted to see you."
Luke ordered two iced teas, and then he and Michelle sat at a table near the window.
"How does it feel being back at work?" the teenager inquired.
"Different," the police officer replied, offering no details. "How are things with you?"
"Terrible! I used to think it would be cool to be homeschooled, but it sucks! I never see anyone except my parents and the tutor. I haven't left the house in two days."
"You must have friends."
"I thought I did. Since the shooting, though, I've been a social outcast, a pariah. No one texts me or returns my phone calls."
"What about your babysitting job?"
"Did you forget that I babysat for Seth's nephew? Now, no one in his family can look me in the face, knowing what he did."
"Maybe you should talk to the psychiatrist," Luke suggested. "Dr. Redmayne might be able to find a support group ...."
"Oh, right! I can sit in a circle with a bunch of losers and swap stories about how we were victims of gun violence. No, thank you!"
"At least you'd have someone to talk to."
"I have you."
"You need to socialize with people your own age."
"People like Seth Lampman maybe?"
"Not all teenagers are killers."
"Are you trying to brush me off?" Michelle asked, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"No. I just want what's best for you," he lied, desiring nothing more than to extricate himself from the awkward relationship.
"Right now, you're the only person I feel completely safe with."
Luke forced a smile, inwardly vowing to avoid further contact with the girl.
* * *
Saturday evening Luke took special care dressing and grooming for his date with Nancy. He had made reservations at a French restaurant in Pine Brook, hoping it wouldn't put too much of a dent in his bank account balance. No sooner did he shut his second-floor apartment door behind him than he saw Michelle walking up the stairs toward him.
"Are you going somewhere?" she asked.
"Yeah. I was just about to meet up with a friend."
"Can I come along?"
"I'm sorry, but it's a date."
"With that girl you were living with?"
"We weren't actually living together. I was just staying at her place to avoid the reporters here in Willow Grove."
Luke did not like feeling that he had to explain his relationship with Nancy to a fifteen-year-old girl.
"All right. I can take a hint. I'll come back some other time when you're not busy."
"Hey, uh, wait, Michelle. Maybe you shouldn't show up unannounced at my place like this again."
"Okay. I'll phone you next time. Have a good time tonight."
Although she smiled as she turned away, Luke had the distinct impression that the girl was not in the least bit happy about being asked to observe limits in their friendship.
The following day, Michelle tried to reach him by phone several times. Seeing her name and number on the caller ID, Luke refused to answer, letting the call go to voicemail instead. When he failed to reply, she began sending him text messages, all of which he ignored.
This is getting out of hand, he thought when she was still trying to contact him at midnight.
Hoping no one else would need to get in touch with him, he turned off his phone and went to bed. The following morning when he turned his phone back on, he finally texted her back.
Sorry. Been too busy to talk.
The phone rang only a few seconds later. It was Michelle. His first instinct was to not answer, but he knew she would keep calling and texting until he finally spoke to her.
"Hello."
"Glad to know you're still alive," she said. "I was beginning to worry about you. I thought maybe your date was a psycho killer who ...."
"I'm trying to get ready for work," Luke interrupted her. "What did you want to talk to me about?"
"Nothing in particular. How did your date go? Are you going to see her again?"
"Look, I don't think this is an appropriate conversation for us to be having."
"Stop talking like that! You're beginning to sound like the school psychiatrist."
"Don't take this personally, but I don't think it's a good idea ...."
Before he could finish his sentence, Luke heard the line go dead.
* * *
During the following weeks, Michelle apologized several times for her behavior. Although Luke accepted her apology and assured her that he had no hard feelings, he thwarted all her efforts to arrange another meeting.
"Maybe you shouldn't have saved my life," she cried during one mawkish telephone conversation. "It might have been better off for both of us if you had just let Seth Lampman shoot me."
"You don't want to feel that way," the police officer said soothingly.
"Why shouldn't I? What have I got to live for?"
"Plenty. You've got your whole life ahead of you. College. Marriage. A family."
There was a temporary silence on the other end of the line. Finally, the teenager spoke.
"See. You've got me feeling better now. That's why I want to see you. As I told you before, you're the only one I can talk to."
Luke felt as though he had just been played by a master of manipulation.
"So, do you want to get together soon?" the teenager asked. "We could go to Starbucks again. Or better yet, why don't I make you a delicious home-cooked meal and bring it over to your apartment?"
"Why don't we restrict our relationship to telephone calls for now?" Luke suggested. "Okay?"
Michelle reluctantly agreed, but she was more determined than ever to wear down his resistance.
It wasn't long before Nancy commented on the number of phone calls her boyfriend was receiving.
"That girl is coming dangerously close to the textbook definition of a stalker," she teased, only half in jest.
"I don't know what to do about her," Luke confessed. "I try to discourage her, but nothing I say seems to make an impression on her."
"Why not talk to her parents?"
"What should I say to them?"
"You can start by letting them know that their daughter apparently has what I consider an unhealthy crush on you."
"I'd feel so uncomfortable telling them that. They've just been through a traumatic experience, and I'd be putting salt in their wounds."
"I'm not trying to tell you what to do, but if you let something like this go, it could wind up being serious somewhere down the road. Someone might think you encouraged her."
"If that happened, I could lose my job," Luke theorized.
Given the rate at which his romance with Nancy was progressing, it was the last thing he wanted. The way it looked now, they might very well be headed down the aisle within the next two years.
"I'll give the Callisons a call," he agreed.
Despite his reluctance to contact Michelle's parents, the meeting went surprisingly well.
"We had no idea our daughter has been calling you so much!" Mrs. Callison exclaimed when Luke showed her the list of recent calls on his cell phone.
"We're sorry she's been such a bother to you," her husband apologized.
"It's not that," Luke said. "I understand what she's been through. I'm just not sure if I'm the one she should be speaking to about this."
"She's seeing the school psychiatrist," the girl's mother said somewhat defensively.
"That's great. I'm sure Michelle is getting the best of care. I want to assure both of you that I came here not to complain about your daughter's behavior but simply to make you aware of it. She is a nice kid, and I like her. But these days even the most innocent, well-meaning contact between a youngster and an adult can be misinterpreted."
"We'll talk to her," Mr. Callison assured the police officer. "We'll make sure she keeps her distance."
As Luke unlocked his car door after leaving the Callisons' home, he sighed with relief, believing he had satisfactorily handled the situation. Optimistic that the terrible ordeal was now behind him, he could look forward to his future with Nancy.
* * *
Officer Goodell was all smiles when he went off duty on Friday night.
"Look at you, grinning like the Cheshire Cat," Tucker joked as the two men exited the patrol car and walked toward the station house. "I take it that means you're seeing Nancy tonight."
"That I am."
"The two of you are still coming over for a barbecue on Sunday, right?"
"We sure are. I'll bring a couple of six-packs of beer, and Nancy is making her homemade potato salad."
"Homemade? Brains, beauty and she can cook on top of it. Hold on to her, pal. She's a keeper."
"Don't I know it!"
The smile remained on Luke's face as he drove back to his apartment. After parking his car, he took out his cell phone, called Nancy's number and left a message on her voicemail.
"It's six eighteen," he said. "I just got home. I'm going to take a quick shower and head over to your place. I ought to be there by seven. See you then. Love you."
When he reached the top of the stairs, he was surprised to see Michelle standing outside his door holding a covered cake dish.
"You know you're not supposed to be here," he said.
"I know. I won't be coming back, and I won't be calling you anymore. I just wanted to say goodbye and thank you for everything you've done for me."
"That's not necessary."
When she made no move to leave, Luke reached for the cake dish.
"I hope you like carrot cake with cream cheese frosting."
"I do. Thanks a lot. I'll drop the dish off at your house when I'm done with it."
Michelle remained standing in the hallway.
"Is there anything else?" Luke asked.
"No," she replied, taking two steps toward the staircase.
Eager to see Nancy, Luke unlocked his door and opened it. At that moment, the teenager turned and raced inside his apartment.
"Come on, Michelle," he groaned. "You shouldn't be in here."
"Too bad. I'm already here, and I don't feel like going yet."
Luke realized he could no longer play the role of the supportive older brother. He had to break all contact with the teenager.
"You've got to leave—now."
"What are you going to do about it? Tell my parents?"
"I'll call the police if I have to."
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Michelle threatened defiantly. "I might have to tell them how you tried to take advantage of a traumatized fifteen-year-old girl."
"Get out of here."
"No."
When Luke reached into his pocket for his cell phone, Michelle became hysterical.
"Don't make me go," she cried, as she ran forward and threw her arms around his waist. "Why can't we be friends anymore? I just want to talk to you."
"Please don't do this," he said soothingly, unintentionally letting down his guard and allowing himself to feel sorry for the girl.
Before Luke knew it, Michelle had gotten hold of his service revolver. His initial fear was that she would try to kill herself, but then he saw that she was pointing the gun at him.
"Put the gun down," the policeman warned.
"You don't get to tell me what to do. I'm calling the shots. Now take out your phone, call that girlfriend of yours and tell her you never want to see her again."
"Why would I do that?"
"Because I'm holding a gun on you, and I'm not afraid to use it."
"And if I do what you say? Then what?"
"You and I will go away somewhere, maybe to Canada."
"No."
"You can pretend there's nothing between us, but I know better. You must care for me. You saved my life, didn't you?"
"I'm a cop. It was my duty to protect you. I have no other feelings for you."
"Methinks thou doth protest too much," she said.
The maniacal laughter that followed the girl's words coupled with the crazed look in her eyes opened a door in Luke's mind to a horrifying thought. He prayed to God he was wrong.
"Seth Lampman wasn't the only one who had access to his brother's gun, was he? You did, too."
"Good deductive reasoning, patrolman. You may make detective someday."
"No," he said, more to himself than to her. "It had to be him. His prints were on the gun, and he had gunpowder residue on his hands. You were hiding under the desk ...."
"Actually, he was the one under the desk," Michelle finally admitted.
The events of that day came crashing in on Luke, forcing him to relive the moment he drew his gun and killed Seth Lampman.
"You were the shooter, not him. You killed the eleven students in the library."
"They were collateral damage. I only wanted to kill one: Seth. Like you, he tried to push me away."
"All those other students died because a boy rejected you?"
"You know what they say. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."
"But he was the one with the gun in his hands."
"When I found Seth hiding under the desk, I hesitated. He lunged forward, and we fought for the gun. I was shot in the leg during the scuffle, and he managed to get it away from me. He wanted to hold me at gunpoint until the police arrived, but lucky for me, you walked in and finished the job."
"Oh, God," Luke moaned, closing his eyes in anguish.
The torment of grief and self-loathing he had felt after shooting Seth Lampman was just beginning to diminish, and now he was faced with the realization that he had killed an innocent young man.
"What have I done?" he sobbed.
"Don't cry over Seth," Michelle told him. "He was an arrogant jock who thought he was God's gift to women. I only wish his ditzy cheerleader girlfriend had been in the library that day, too. Now, get your phone out and make that call."
Never taking his eyes off the girl, Luke put his hand in his pocket and removed the iPhone. He quickly pressed 911.
"What's your emergency?" the operator asked.
"This is Officer Luke Goodell, badge number 195421. Michelle Callison is holding ...."
As the sound of the gunshot echoed through the room, the policeman doubled over and fell to the ground. His assailant ripped the phone from his hand and threw it against the wall.
"That was a dumb thing to do!" she shouted. "Now, I have no alternative but to kill you."
"Go ahead," Luke said through teeth clenched in pain. "I deserve it for killing Seth Lampman."
"No, you don't."
The sound of the second male voice startled Michelle more than it did her intended victim. Her face paled and her eyes widened in fear when she saw Willow Grove High School's former football captain standing in front of her.
"Y-you're d-dead!" she stammered.
"You ought to know. It was your fault that I died."
"He shot you, not me," Michelle declared, pointing at Luke.
"Officer Goodell was only doing his job. You're the real killer."
Michelle turned and pointed the policeman's gun at the ghost. There was a battle for the weapon, and once again Seth was the victor. This time, however, he didn't remove the gun from her hands. Instead, he turned the muzzle toward her open mouth and squeezed the trigger.
* * *
For the second time in his brief career as a law enforcement officer, Luke Goodell was put on paid leave and required to speak to a psychiatrist.
"I'm done being a cop," he told Theo Redmayne during one of their sessions.
"It's only natural you feel that way now, but it will pass."
"No. I'm going to hand in my resignation."
"Please take some time and reconsider your decision. I realize Miss Callison's death was quite a shock. After all, you were the one who saved her life, and then she killed herself in front of you."
After the police had arrived at his apartment and found Luke unconscious on the floor and Michelle lying dead nearby, they naturally assumed it was a matter of suicide. They further believed their fellow officer had tried to prevent her death and was shot in the process. No one in the Willow Grove Police Department guessed that the spirit of Seth Lampman had saved Luke's life while, at the same time, taking revenge on the girl responsible for his death.
And I'm not about to tell them, he thought.
True to his word, once his physical wound had healed and his sessions with Dr. Redmayne came to an end, Luke resigned from the police force. Six months later he and Nancy were married. Shortly thereafter, they moved to Pennsylvania, where he took a job as a heating and air conditioning technician. Not only were the hours and the pay better, but he was never again placed in a life-and-death situation.
Despite the new life he made for himself, it was nearly a decade before he could sleep through the night without being troubled by memories of the Willow Grove shooting. It was even longer before he could hear the ring of a cell phone without experiencing the irrational fear of hearing Michelle Callison's voice when he answered it.
I've lost count of the number of times local police officers have shown up at my saltbox with public enemy number one, Salem, in tow.
