Though he often appeared casual Dr. Thompson kept a close eye on what happened on campus, so it was almost incredible that he hadn’t heard about the shooting yet.

Dr. Thompson didn’t have to be in his office that morning, but he often was. His main interest for a dozen years had been the development of this place; his wife was rather independent with interests of her own, and wasn’t always present in Hawthorne. She was at a conference on the West Coast right now, and Thompson didn’t know what it was all about – nor did he care very much.

Saturday mornings were a peaceful time for him to work on some of the issues that would affect the University in coming years. One of those was Susan’s project to attract international students and another to send SMU students to colleges abroad, and he’d been keeping track of her work in that area.

Susan also happened to be in the building that morning, working on that project as well, mostly because she didn’t have anything better to do. She planned on checking out the Activities Day tables and asking how things are working out for everyone before the event was over, mostly to be seen in her ombudsman role, but that was just a case of being visible. She’d known Dr. Thompson was in the building, and when a couple of questions had come up, she decided it was a good time to go up and talk to him.

The questions had been easily answered, but the two fell to talking. Susan had always known that Dr. Thompson was an interesting man, and he had a huge fund of stories from his days as a student radical in the early seventies. It was nice to just sit back and talk to him, so while the shooting and the aftermath were happening, on the far side of Tottenhaven Hall, which was on the far side of the Community Services Center, they had no knowledge of it.

Dr. Thompson was deep in a story about the bad old days – which he mostly thought of as the good old days, having been in his youth – when Nick Stewart, the student government president, stuck his head in the door.

Like many other things around Southern Michigan University, student government was a little different than it was other places. The university didn’t officially endorse or support the student government activities, but it encouraged them. Dr. Thompson thought that students ought to be capable of governing themselves and their activities in places where it was the administration’s duty to butt out. So in many ways the student government was quite independent, and sometimes downright defiant – just like Dr. Thompson wanted. But the administration and the student government tried to coordinate things when they could.

“Dr. Thompson, have you got a moment?” Nick asked.

“Sure, we’re not doing anything important. What can I help you with?”

“Well, since Activities Day got all messed up, I was wondering if you had any objection to rescheduling it for next weekend.”

“Messed up?” Dr. Thompson frowned. “I didn’t think the weather was that bad, and besides it was moved to the Community Services Center.”

“You mean you haven’t heard about the shooting?”

“What shooting?”

“Some guy walked into one of the rooms, pulled a gun, and started shooting,” Steward reported. “There were several people hit, I don’t know how bad. The ambulance crews were still hauling people out of the building when I left there.”

Dr. Thompson’s jaw dropped. “Nick, you’re kidding me.”

“No sir, I’m not. We’ve got news crews over there and everything.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Dr. Thompson shook his head. “That’s all we damn need. Nick, I take it there are police on the scene?”

“Lots of cops,” Nick replied. “Apparently someone got the shooter, but no one has verified it yet.”

“Well, that’s something anyway,” Dr. Thompson said as he got up from his desk. “Susan, I think the three of us better get over there and find out what’s what.”

The three of them hurried down the stairs and across the campus the short distance to the Community Services Center – Dr. Thompson and most of the rest of the college considered the Tottenhaven Hall side to be the front of the building. There was a single police officer guarding the door. “You can’t go in there, police business,” he said.

Thompson had never had much use for impertinent cops and he didn’t have now. “Look son,” he said. “I’m the president of this university and I’ll go anywhere on it I goddamn well please.” He pushed the door aside and pressed on into the building, followed by Susan and Nick.

It didn’t take long to find the room where the shooting had occurred; there were a number of cops standing around, and a few students. Reed’s body was still on the floor; there were photos being taken, and measurements made. Dr. Thompson saw Chief Bascomb overseeing things, went up to him and asked, “Chief, what the hell has happened here?”

“There was a shooting,” Chief Bascomb said. “Officer Archer here was in the building and managed to stop him.”

“Dead? Wounded?”

“The only death was the shooter,” Bascomb replied, “though a girl was hauled out of here in critical condition a few minutes ago, and I don’t want to guess if she’ll make it or not. Five others wounded, ranging from serious to very minor, and one non-wounding hit. There may be others in kids who escaped the room, but we’ve only heard of one and I included him. If there are others, we haven’t heard about them.”

“Thank God for small favors,” Thompson shook his head. “This is bad enough as it is.” He turned to Cody, who was standing nearby. “You were armed, right?”

“Officer Archer was on duty in plainclothes by my orders,” Chief Bascomb said, seeing that one coming and knowing Thompson’s feelings about officers on campus. “Things would have been far worse if he hadn’t been here. They’re bad enough as it is.”

“I hate the thought of guns on campus,” Dr. Thompson said. “But in this case, Mr. Archer, I’m glad you brought your gun to school. Chief, do you have things under control here?”

“Pretty much, but there’ll be an ongoing investigation.”

“All right, keep me informed.”

“Uh, Dr. Thompson,” Nick piped up. “There are a bunch of news crews out on the other side of the building, and no one seems to know what happened. It might not be a bad idea to make a statement.”

“You’re probably right,” Dr. Thompson smiled. “Rumors can get out of hand very quickly around this place. Chief, would you like to accompany me so we can go put out a few fires?”

“I shouldn’t be gone from here for long, but I think you’re right,” Chief Bascomb replied. “We might as well get it done now before it gets worse. Archer, you stay here. You’re going to be up to your neck in this anyway.”

“Maybe it would be a good idea to have a couple of people who were here,” Nick suggested.

“Good idea,” Dr. Thompson agreed. He glanced around – there were three students left in the room, Jack, Vixen, and Laura, but the girls had blankets wrapped around them. “What’s with the blankets?” he asked.

“We used our shirts for bandages,” Laura said flatly.

“It probably would be better if you stayed here, then. But, uh, I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

“Jack Erikson.”

“Jack, you can come with us if you like. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“When you get done with this, I’ll need you back here,” Chief Bascomb said to Jack.

“All right,” Dr. Thompson said. “Let’s get this over with.”

*   *   *

At the first word of the shooting, the Emergency Room at Hawthorne County Hospital had called in extra staffing since it wasn’t clear how many injured there were. Alan, accompanied by Summer, was the first of the wounded to be brought into the ER. Alan’s wounds were as minor as the EMT had said, but the amount of paperwork that he had to go through before a doctor actually came in to see him took significantly more time than it did to treat him.

There was approximately half a dead tree’s worth of paperwork to be dealt with, and more went onto computers, all of which took time. Most of the delay came from the fact that the ER was gearing up for the expected flood of casualties to come.

So it was some time before they got Alan into one of the rooms, with Summer at his side, of course. A doctor took a quick look at him, confirmed the EMT’s diagnosis that the wound was minor, put some antiseptic on the wound, placed six stitches, and gave him a shot of antibiotics, all the treatment that he felt was needed.

That and then the release paperwork took time, and not long before Alan and Summer were heading out the door, Milo and Darrin had arrived in separate ambulances. They were nowhere to be seen, and presumably were being worked on in one of the rooms. Thus it was that they were just going out the door of the ER when the ambulance carrying Elise arrived. They’d known she’d been hit; they’d seen her go down before they fled the room.

The two of them stood and watched as she was rolled out of the ambulance on a gurney and into the place. She looked very pale and pallid; an ambulance worker was carrying an intravenous bag of some sort high, helping it to flow into her arm.

“She doesn’t look good,” Summer shook her head.

“I wonder if they’re going to ask for her health insurance information and all that other crap before they work on her,” Alan snorted.

“Goddess, I hope not,” Summer replied. “Alan, you know what we should be doing rather than standing here and being sarcastic?”

“Yes, I do,” he said, instantly sobered up. “For Darrin, too.”

“Yes, we may be the only ones who can pray to the Goddess for them,” Summer replied. “I know neither of us has an athame, but we’ll just have to do the best we can and hope the Goddess understands.”

The two of them faced each other and joined hands for a moment before raising them to the sky, as if holding the ceremonial knives that neither of them had with them. “Goddess, hear our prayers,” Summer intoned loudly, not caring very much who was watching or what they were thinking. “Please, we beg of you, watch over your servants Elise and Darrin. Help them survive this travesty to your name, that they may continue to serve you in the future.”

“Goddess,” Alan added. “Your servants Elise and Darrin were hurt giving honor to your name. Please spare them that they can continue to witness to your glory, that hate doesn’t have to overcome your love. We ask this in your honor.”

Even without the athames they knew they ought to be holding, they felt a power, an aura, that told them that the Goddess was with them and had heard their prayers. “Thank you, Goddess,” they intoned together, then slowly, hands still touching, put their arms down, secure in the knowledge that the Goddess had heard them. They stood looking at each other for a moment, knowing that they’d done what they could do.

It was Alan who spoke first. “We really should get over to see Bremusa,” he said. “She’ll probably be frantic, and she could help us pull the Circle together.”

“That probably would be best for everyone,” Summer agreed. “Especially Darrin and Elise.”

“Good idea,” he said. “But how do we get back to campus. It’s clear across town?”

“We could call her,” Summer suggested. “But I don’t have her number. It’s written on a note pad in the apartment.”

Alan let out a sigh. “They are sure good about hauling people to the hospital, but they’re not very good about taking you back, that’s for sure.”

“Maybe we could thumb a ride.”

“That could take all day,” Alan pointed out. “You’d think there would be taxis in this town.”

“I don’t know why there aren’t,” she agreed.

“Excuse me,” an older man said. “Were you just praying for that girl who was just taken into the ER?”

“Yes,” Summer said. “She’s Wiccan, and so are we. She was shot at the Wiccan table at the Activities Day on campus.”

“Come with me,” he said. “I’ll drive you back to campus.”

“Thank you, sir,” Summer replied. “We need to call the Circle together to pray for them some more.”

“No problem,” the man said. “In times like these, believers have to stick together.”

“You’re Wiccan?” Alan asked in surprise. Other than the Circle at the college, he knew of no other Wiccans in town, and Darrin had told him that he didn’t know of any others, either.

“Afraid not,” the man said. “I’m Reverend Herbert Fowler of the Hawthorne First Methodist Church.”

“Pastor? Church?” Summer replied in pure shock. In her mind, Christians were the enemy, and that was especially true after what the man who had shot her friends had yelled before opening fire.

“You’re fellow believers,” Reverend Fowler said. “We may not believe the same thing, but we all believe. You were praying to Someone you believe in, and that’s what counts.”

*   *   *

The small group walked down the hall to the far end of the building and went outside. Sure enough, as Nick had said, there was a crowd of students and other onlookers standing around, and now three television crews – two more had shown up from other towns since Kristy Baumgartner’s broadcasts had begun.

Dr. Thompson shook his head. “You know, Susan,” he said quietly, “Back in the old days we used to say, ‘If it’s not on TV, it hasn’t happened.’”

“I don’t think things have changed much,” she smiled.

“You may be right,” he replied, then raised his voice. “May I have your attention please?” he called. “We will have a brief statement about what happened here today. Following that, we’ll take a few questions but may not be able to answer them.”

The crowd fell into a general quiet, and the television reporters and cameramen worked their way over to places with a good view. There were other news people there, including some Dr. Thompson recognized from the Reporter.

“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Dr. Mark Thompson, President and Chancellor of Southern Michigan University. We are all aware that there has been a tragic event here today. With me is Chief Charles Bascomb of the Hawthorne Police Department, and I will ask him to give a brief overview of what happened here today. Chief?”

“A little over an hour ago the department began to get numerous reports of a mass shooting in progress here,” Chief Bascomb said. “I don’t know the exact time, I’d have to check the 911 tapes to give you that. Shortly after the reports began, we received a call from Officer Cody Archer, who was on duty in plainclothes in the building. Archer reported that the shooter was down and there were several people injured, but that the scene was secure.

“When police entered the building,” Bascomb continued, not saying that thanks to Claxton they’d taken their damn sweet time, but that was an internal issue, “we discovered the body of the shooter, along with several wounded, all of them students. Wounds ranged from one girl in critical condition down to very minor. All of the wounded except for the student with a minor wound have been moved to Hawthorne County Hospital. One other student was hit but the bullet glanced off an article of her clothing and she was not wounded.

“Several students in the room, in addition to Officer Archer, rendered first aid with what they had available to the more seriously wounded, including the students I have with me. All of the students involved, including Officer Archer, as he is also a student here, performed stellar service to their fellows at a time of great need.”

One of the TV news crew reporters was not as polite as her fellows. “What about the shooter?” she yelled. “Who was he? Is he dead?”

“We have an identification on the shooter from his wallet,” Bascomb replied. “I’m not going to give you his name pending notification of next of kin, if we can find any. According to information in his wallet, he was fifty-one years old, and his last known address was in Kingston. The shooter was dirty, disheveled, and dressed in clothing that was little better than rags. He shouted something about Southern Michigan University dishonoring the religious tradition of Hawthorne College and began shooting. As far as we can determine, he fired seventeen shots before Officer Archer put an end to his rampage. We will be investigating that more thoroughly.

“To the best of our knowledge, the scene is secure, and there is no further danger. Officers will be on the scene for some time carrying out preliminary investigations. That’s really all I have for you at this time.”

“Chief,” another reporter asked, a little more politely. “Do you have any idea of what this business of dishonoring the religious tradition is all about?”

“Not really,” Bascomb replied. “Dr. Thompson may be able to help you with that.”

“I may be able to,” Dr. Thompson said. “For those of you who don’t know it, this campus was, up until about twenty years ago, the home of Hawthorne College, a private institution with a strong religious affiliation. The college eventually went into receivership and closed. The buildings sat empty for several years until the state Board of Regents acquired the property twelve years ago and created the current institution. We matriculated our first class ten years ago and have maintained a steady growth ever since. We believe in offering a quality education to serious students who are interested in the best preparation possible for serious careers, and we have had a high degree of success at that. As such, we have no affiliation with the former Hawthorne College other than occupying some of their buildings. Some of those have been replaced and most of the rest are slated for replacement in the next few years.”

“You’re saying the shooter may not have been aware of that?” the reporter asked.

“Honestly, your guess on that one is as good as mine and we may never know the truth.”

“Dr. Thompson,” Kristy Baumgartner asked. “Do you know the names of the wounded, and their conditions?”

“I’m not prepared to give out names at this point given privacy concerns,” he replied, “but I brought one of the students who was in the room with us. He is the one Chief Bascomb mentioned who was the most lightly wounded, and he can fill you in on what it was like to be in the room with the shooting. Jack, you can take some questions if you like.”

“How bad were you hurt?” a reporter asked.

“Just a scratch that barely broke the skin,” Jack replied. “Inside they guessed it was a splinter from a ricochet bullet. I didn’t realize I’d been wounded until my girlfriend noticed me bleeding after things settled down.” Jack went on to answer several more questions about the wild seconds inside the classroom, and was able to do it in good detail despite the fact that he’d been trying to cover Vixen with his body at the time. Possibly his being a fanatic birder had helped, as he had a practiced eye at picking up detail.

“I’ll tell you that I was real relieved when Cody came into the room and shot that guy,” he said at one point – the first actual mention that Cody had actually shot the guy.

“Cody? You mean Officer Archer?” Kristy asked.

“Yes, he’s a part-time student and a part-time police officer.”

“Dr. Thompson,” Kristy asked. “A few minutes ago the Dean of Students, a Mr. deRidder, if I recall correctly …”

“Yes, he’s the Dean of Students,” Dr. Thompson replied.

“Dr. Thompson, Mr. deRidder told us that he’d just expelled Cody Archer as a student here for carrying a gun on campus.”

“He what?”

“He said that a student carrying a gun was against campus policy and that this Archer was a danger to the students and administration. Is that the same Archer?”

“I know of no other Cody Archers among the students,” Dr. Thompson said. “We do have a policy against students carrying firearms on campus, but as a police officer, Archer has an exemption to that rule. Chief Bascomb and I have had extensive discussions on the issue, and I have come to agree with his viewpoint that police officers have a right to be armed when on campus.”

“That agreement didn’t come easily,” Chief Bascomb added. “But Officer Archer was on duty in plain clothes by my order when he was on campus this morning, so his right to be carrying a weapon is clear to me.”

“It is to me, too,” Dr. Thompson agreed. “And right at the moment I’m glad he was. Things could have come out considerably more tragically otherwise.”

“Then you’re saying that this Mr. deRidder acted in error?” Kristy persisted.

“He may not have been aware of the full ramifications of the issue,” Dr. Thompson replied obliquely. “I have been aware for sometime that Archer is a police officer. Mr. deRidder is new here and he may not have been aware of that fact, nor of the exception to the rule that Officer Archer represents.”

“Then you’re saying that Archer hasn’t been expelled?”

“If he has been, then he will be reinstated as soon as I can find out what actually went on. Thank you for your patience in this, and I’ll find out just as soon as I can. One final thing: I know our public relations director is out of town dealing with a family emergency. Until he returns, any further statements will be made by our Student Relations Coordinator and University Ombudsman, Susan McMahon, whose office is on the ground floor of Tottenhaven Hall. Miss McMahon, do you have anything else to say?”

“Not really,” Susan said. “I have no idea of what else may develop, but why don’t we plan on a special news conference at four o’clock on the steps of Tottenhaven Hall? By then we may be able to get you some more details, especially on the students who have been taken to the hospital.”

“I have nothing further for you at this time,” Chief Bascomb added. “But if I do have something, I’ll make sure it’s made available at the press conference Ms. McMahon just mentioned. There shouldn’t be much more activity here, so you might as well move back to allow investigators free access to the building. Thank you for your patience and cooperation. This is a trying time for all of us, but we’ll deal with it the best we can.”

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