Page 100 of Weight of Guilt

Fifty-One

I’ve been monitoring the school for a while now.

Not every day. A man who comes every day gets noticed. I park where the road bends and the pines throw shade over the shoulder.

While there, I watch. I count. I learn.

I know things now that I didn’t know when I started.

I know the buses start arriving at 2:45 and line up on the opposite side of the building. I know the second graders all come out the middle doors at dismissal. Some line up for the bus and others line up for pickup. I know which teacher counts her line twice and which one doesn’t count it at all.

And I know the boy.

He talks the entire walk down the sidewalk. He talks to whoever is beside him. When there’s no one beside him, he talks anyway. He’s never once walked out of that building quietly.

I find his chatter charming.

In the distance, I hear a sheriff’s cruiser go past, headed north. I turn to watch it.

Then I see a second one, same direction. Then an ambulance.

I count each one as it passes.

By one o’clock, there have been six. By two o’clock, nine.

Nine.

This county doesn’t have nine sheriff’s cruisers on a good day.

I’m not sure what is drawing the cops north, and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that every deputy who could respond to a call is now on their way out of town.

The timing isn’t luck. I’ve learned not to call things luck. But things are working in my favor, and I’m not complaining.

At 2:50, I walk toward the north door with a cardboard box under my arm. I’m wearing navy pants and a matching navy shirt, the kind of clothes that make a man look like he’s delivering something. In all the craziness, nobody looks closely enough to know for certain.

The door is unlocked, and I slip inside.

I explain I have a delivery. I sign the visitor’s log with a fake name, and security nods me through.

I’m on a mission, and I have a plan. I find the fire alarm on the wall inside the stairwell.

I’ve stood near this alarm in my mind more times than I can count. I’ve run this scenario forward and backward.

My plan is solid.

I glance around before setting the box against the wall.

For a moment, I stand there. The building hums around me.

Then I draw in a breath, reach up, and pull the alarm.

A wail immediately fills the stairwell.

I smile.

Then I leave the box and turn toward the door.

I leave the building the same way I came in. Hordes of children flood outside. Teachers move through the crowd with clipboards in their hands, calling names, counting.