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“Ugh!” I grumbled as I dragged myself out of bed and walked into the bathroom.
An hour later, Levi and I were seated in his car as he drove us to a town close to Crawford Town, where they ran a pretty vibrant shooting range.
It’d been over a month since I used a gun, so Levi had booked us Saturday appointments for the next month so I wouldn’t get rusty without practice.
The drive to the shooting range was an hour and a few minutes long, and we spent most of the time talking about what I found among Henry Baker’s belongings in Crawford University’s archive room.
Unfortunately, I didn’t find any diary like we’d hoped. The only personal things I found were an empty wallet with a picture of his daughter and a study note with several scribbles.
Most of the scribbles were incoherent, and the few we could decipher were scribbles of ‘I don’t want to’, ‘I hate this’, and ‘Somebody help me’ scratched out several times in different parts of the study note. I’d discovered them while flipping through his notes in search of diary log entries.
We sent the notes to the Supernatural Council yesterday evening because we both knew that if it could be proven that the scribbles belonged to Henry Baker, they could be taken as evidence of Henry’s suicide being induced by duress which would give us leverage for a surprise visit to his pack to see his living environment and space.
I couldn’t help looking around as we stepped through the glass doors of the shooting range into their reception hall.
The hall had a well-thought-out design and impeccable cleanliness, which, as far as I was concerned, reflected the high maintenance standards upheld by a shooting range facility. Of course, I couldn’t be sure that this was the best way to judge whether a shooting range facility was well-maintained or not because I had little experience with shooting ranges other than the ones in the Supernatural Council, Camdine Academy, and the Blime Organization.
As Levi and I approached the receptionist, I looked around the hall, which was buzzing with the low hum of conversation and the occasional phone ringing.
While we waited for the receptionist to finish dealing with the man who had come in before us, I skimmed through the bulletin board behind the receptionist, which displayed various safety guidelines and upcoming shooting events.
I was looking at the posters showcasing various shooting competitions and prizes when the man talking to the receptionist walked away.
“Hi, how can I help you?” The receptionist greeted us with a smile and unmistakable curiosity.
“Hello, I booked two shooting stalls right next to each other online?” Levi spoke to the receptionist while I eyed a large competition poster.
“Can you show me your tickets?” The receptionist asked with a polite smile.
After a few minutes of back and forth between her and Levi, where Levi showed her our digital ID cards, she gave us waivers to sign and a pamphlet explaining safety protocols and responsible firearm handling.
Once we were done with the non-digital paperwork, a staff member led us to another room to get our protective earmuffs, safety glasses, and the firearms Levi rented for both of us.
Once we had everything we needed, the staff member explained the various safety measures the range expected us to adhere to as he led us to our shooting hall.
In the shooting hall, there was a seemingly endless row of shooting stalls, stretched out into the distance. Some had people in them, but many didn’t.
I couldn’t help taking in a deep breath of the intoxicating atmosphere with the heavy scent of gunpowder and the rhythmic pop-pop-pop of firearms going off.
We walked to our assigned shooting stalls and started training. The first part of our training session was assembling and disassembling our firearms with a stopwatch while keeping the shooting range rules of keeping the muzzle pointed in the target area.
As usual, Levi won our gun assembling competition, and it was time to shoot.
Shooting was always fun and therapeutic for me. While shooting, I could focus on only one thing—the target—and forget that I existed, forget that I had problems, and forget that a murderer was running loose in Crawford Town or two murderers because the MOs were different.
I was soon lost in the world of reloading my firearm and shooting non-stop. The muffled gunshots were my music, and the pungent scent of gunpowder was the only thing I could smell.
Around 11:30 am, the need to pee made me leave my firearms and shooting stall in search of a toilet. Unfortunately, while returning to my shooting stall, I ran into Nathan, Ryan, Mateo, and a host of familiar faces from Crawford Town.
Before I could avoid them, Nathan saw me.
“Well, well, well, isn’t this Crawford Town’s gold digger running around in another town? What are you doing here, Aurora?” His voice was as loud as could be and many people turned our way to stare at us with scrutinizing gazes.
My hands formed tight fists by my hips as I tried to resist the urge to punch Nathan in the face as he continued speaking. “Are you searching for a new man now that everyone at Crawford Town knows what you are? Do they also know that you’re a murderer? I—”
Before he could say more, Mateo covered his mouth with his palm. “Shut up! What the hell are you doing?”
Nathan grabbed Mateo’s hand over his mouth and threw it away while glaring at him. “Why? Because you had sex with her, you’re trying to defend her? Caden, Aiden, and now Mateo . . . Aurora, you must have a magical cunt.”
