7. CHAOS IN CLOVER
Jeremy and his parents stayed awake all night watching the local news channels in the living room. A sheriff’s cruiser, haloed with red and blue flashing lights, had parked perpendicular to the dirt road, blocking the media from driving to the Coopers. On each channel reporters stood near the car, confirming that several people had been shot and rushed to the hospital, conditions unknown. The shooter, apparently, was holed up in the house. Cameras zoomed in on whirling police lights further down the road.
Cable networks picked up the story around three in the morning as “A Shooting in Clover, Kansas.” Then it changed to “The Standoff in Clover” when the sheriff confirmed Crazy Eddie and his family had barricaded themselves in the house. By the middle of the morning, after the Coopers surrendered and were arrested, the total carnage was revealed: seven dead, one critically wounded. A new name was slapped on that finally stuck: “The Clover Massacre.”
The shooting was the top story in America that morning. Reporters from Kansas City, Wichita, and St. Louis as well as network and cable news flocked to the town. The Clover and Shelby local police, the Kansas Bureau of Investigations, and the ATF were all there trying to figure out what had happened.
As bits and pieces of the story emerged, it seemed that the boys began their taunts when Crazy Eddie walked out with a MAC-10 and an extra clip. Though a couple of the harassers kept firearms in their trucks, they didn’t use them. Reporters said that Crazy Eddie had opened fire on all of them and then walked up to each body and shot them point blank, making sure they were dead. Jeremy felt sick. He could see the boys crawling, bleeding to death, trying to hold their guts inside, when Crazy Eddie finished them off. Somehow, against all odds, Randy survived. Barely. He was on life support, having been airlifted from Emporia hospital to Kansas City General. Reporters bearing grave faces reported that he was not expected to live. Jeremy wondered “Why him? Why couldn’t Kevin be the one hanging on?”
Jeremy hadn’t slept all night, and in the shower his tears mixed with the soap and shampoo. He scrubbed hard under the hot water, trying to wash away his stench of what had happened. Why didn’t he go home after work?
He had emails, texts, and phone calls from friends asking what he knew about the massacre. Jeremy didn’t want to answer anybody.
After an untouched breakfast and a few hours of watching the news, Gary drove Jeremy to the sheriff’s office in the late morning. As they crawled towards Clover’s town square, traffic clogged up worse than anything Jeremy had ever seen. Not even as bad as the annual Thanksgiving night celebration, when the town spruce is lit, all of the local stores open for business, and, most importantly, Santa sits in the square’s gazebo for pictures with children.
Gary parked several streets away. Clover felt surreal as they walked the five blocks to the police station. News media staked out sections of sidewalk. Countless reporters with video cameras or audio recorders covered the massacre from their designated territory. Hundreds of curious people loitered in groups watching the spectacle, and a few took pictures like Clover had the Eiffel Tower. Jeremy knew some, but more looked like strangers.
Jeremy and Gary took wide berths around the media, ignoring them when they tried to get their attention. Passing by the “citizens of Clover” who were interviewed, they heard the same mantra repeated: “Nothing like this has ever happened here.”
They walked towards the Sheriff’s office, a two-story gray box and probably the ugliest building in the square. A crowd surrounded the two steps in front of a podium, blocking the entrance.
“What’s going on here?” Gary asked two gray haired women with matching Clover Cavalier visors and windbreakers. They looked like they could be sisters or cousins. Jeremy had seen them around, always together since he was a boy.
“Suppose to be a statement any minute now,” one said.
“They’ve been saying that for last two hours, though,” the other said in a huff.
“Doesn’t look like we’re going to be able to get in there,” Gary muttered to Jeremy. “At least until this thing is over. Let’s get something to eat.”
Jeremy nodded, staying calm, but feeling fifty pounds lifting from his shoulders. He didn’t have to talk to the police or anybody for now.
Jeremy and Gary crossed the square to the Main Street Café. Although it was crowded, they managed to get a booth with a view of the square. After ordering slices of pie, they watched the chaos outside silently. I caused all of this, Jeremy kept thinking.
“Crazy, ain’t it?” the waitress said as she pushed a slice of Mississippi mud pie to Jeremy, breaking him out of his trance. “All these reporters and people from who knows where.”
They both nodded.
“Looks like Clover’s finally on the map.”
“Too bad it ain’t for something good,” Gary said.
“But it’s better than nothing, which is what we’ve been for a long, long time.”
She sauntered to another table, refreshing their coffee. Jeremy, finally feeling an appetite, shoveled his slice away, while Gary pecked at his cherry à la mode. They ate quietly, looking out the window. Instead of the crowds lessening they grew with cameramen bearing tripods and reporters with microphones until the entire street was blocked. The waitress returned.
“I hear they still haven’t started the press conference yet. I guess they’re trying to figure out what to say, huh?” They nodded back to her. “Would you guys like to order anything else? If not, we’ve got a buncha people waiting for a table.”
Jeremy looked at his father, pleading with his eyes to leave.
“No thank you, we’re heading home.”
Jeremy sighed with relief.
8. AFTERMATH
Jeremy never talked to the police. It seemed that they and the public knew the events before the shooting, at least the barbeque and the angry mob.
“Jeremy needs to go to the station and tell them what happened,” Gail said.
“And do what? Tell the police what they already know. We’d end up with reporters up on our lawn for days, trampling on your azaleas, and labeling Jeremy something like “the lone massacre survivor” or “the lucky Clover kid” or something as stupid. Nothing good will come of it. Aren’t I right, Jeremy?”
“Yes,” Jeremy said quickly. He never wanted to be the center of any attention, and definitely not this. Finally Gary convinced Gail to at least sit on it until things calmed down.
Besides, the Clover Massacre took on a life of its own. The Kansas ATF found a few acres of pot growing in the back of the Cooper property, along with extreme right-wing militia propaganda and a cache of unregistered automatic and semi-automatic weapons. Mr. Pete Cooper, who claimed to be passed out drunk during the entire bloodbath, turned out be Mr. Edward Nickles from the Missouri Ozarks, wanted for a string of armed robberies and a murder twenty years earlier. The two youngest Cooper girls were shipped out to foster families far away. The eldest, Naomi, who had just turned eighteen, was arrested along with her mother for distribution of marijuana.
In town, the older people were saying that this was the biggest thing in Kansas since
In Cold Blood
. Several reporters from the coasts rolled into town, including the
Los Angeles Times
,
The New Yorker
, and
Newsweek
. Rumors circulated that Hollywood wanted to give Crazy Eddie a million dollars for the rights to his life story. Of course that sent the Clover residents into a tizzy. How could those godless liberal moviemakers give money to a mass murderer?
Jeremy kept his involvement in the massacre to himself. Although others had seen him at the barbeque, nobody was sure who left with whom. Randy was the only survivor, but he was in a deep coma. People were saying that if he survived he would be paralyzed and probably wouldn’t remember much since half of his head was missing. Jeremy hoped Randy would recover to full health, but perhaps with a little forgetfulness. He didn’t want to be tied to the party at all.
Whenever the
phone rang, Jeremy’s heart raced. Was the sheriff on the line wondering why he gave those boys directions to Crazy Eddie’s? Why he ran away? Why he was keeping quiet?
9. FUNERAL
The funeral for Kevin was held at the Prairie View Methodist Church. Parishioners, relatives, and friends crammed into pews with dozens more crowding the aisles. Even though he didn’t want to go, Jeremy felt that he must. Sitting with his parents and sister, Jessica, who drove out from Wichita State, he could barely hold his head up. Instead he stared at his feet, waiting for the services to be over.
L.T. Diamond, with sagging shoulders and unkempt hair, looked as if he had aged by ten years since Jeremy saw him a week earlier. Jeremy had grown up watching L.T. in awe. He had been so outwardly confident—Kevin, his only son, emulated him perfectly—but when Pastor Edwards eulogized the brief but colorful life of Kevin, L.T. let out a low moan that chilled the audience. Later, when Jeremy shook his fragile hand, desperately wanting to apologize, he saw hollow eyes in a man no longer there.
Jeremy avoided the other funerals. Though several of his friends and Jessica attended them, he couldn’t swallow the idea of watching more families suffer. He felt ill and spent hours in the basement playing video games. The noises, the predictable movements, it was like medication. When insomnia struck, which was almost a nightly occurrence, he’d sneak downstairs and play until morning light.
The news media covered all of the funerals and the comings and goings of Clover residents—the IGA grocery store, the post office, and even church services. People walked briskly away from the cameras keeping their heads down. Everybody complained about the intrusive media. Then, shockingly, they were gone. Clover, it seemed, was no longer significant.
10. SCHOOL
When school started two weeks later, students were saying that Crazy Eddie—the “Crazy” prefix permanently affixed—was a part of a nihilistic separatist group like Timothy McVeigh. It seemed he had his sights set on shooting up the school to rail against institutionalized education. Good thing that those boys, God rest their souls, intervened. The boys were becoming martyrs. Jeremy kept his mouth shut and watched, with something like amused detachment, as the drunken ass has-beens turned into saints.
During third period on the first day, all classes were sent to an assembly in the gymnasium. Jeremy nodded to several friends, but he wanted to be alone. He found an end bench next to a cluster of freshmen. He sat and stared at the sandstone wall. Principal Morgan stood behind a podium under a basketball hoop, looking at notes. After everybody was seated he made his speech.
“Students, faculty, and staff, thank you for coming today.”
As if we had a choice, Jeremy thought.
“Our town of Clover suffered a horrible tragedy a few weeks ago. The fallen men were Cavalier alumni. All of us probably knew one or all of the victims. Several of you are related to the deceased. It is going to be tough for some of you…some more than others, but I want you to know that we have hired extra counselors for the next two months.”
Principal Morgan had three counselors stand next him. Two men and a woman. All three had sad sensitive faces and pale clammy skin. Jeremy knew he couldn’t talk to any of them. They wouldn’t understand. They looked like they lived in basement libraries, reading Freud or whatever psychology books were popular. They hadn’t lived outside, mowing lawns, fixing roofs, playing football.
“If you need to talk about how this tragedy has affected you,” the principal continued, “I truly encourage you to take advantage of their services. They are trained professionals.” He then looked out at the students in the bleachers and sighed. “Please bow your heads. This might not be considered proper by some folks, but you all know it is the right thing to do.” He closed his eyes. “Dear Lord God Almighty, please look down on us and give us strength to persevere through this time of tragedy. We have lost our sons, our brothers, our teammates, our classmates. We know you have a greater plan, but please look kindly on those poor boys’ souls. Also, please help Randy Cochran to pull through and return to the health and happiness he once knew as a Clover Caviler. In your name we trust, amen.”
The students repeated a resounding “amen.” Jeremy inhaled and opened his eyes. He looked around. Some students were crying and hugging. Others held their heads down, occupying their own personal space. A few had their chins up with forced smiles, doing the Kansas stiff upper lip.
“You may return to your classes,” the principal said.
A murmur grew as the students made their way down the bleacher steps. Jeremy felt relieved. He had been dreading classes and the inevitable assembly, but he had held it together. Perhaps the worst was over. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Carrie. Whenever he’d bump into her throughout the years, a spasm of happiness coursed through his veins. But today he felt a twinge of uneasiness.
“Hey Jeremy, how was your summer?” Her eyes were red, but she smiled beautifully.
“Brutal. I mowed lawns and did some roofs.”
Carrie’s expression changed. “Did you work with Kevin?”
Jeremy nodded. “I did. I was with him the day he got shot.”
“Holy crap.” She grabbed his hand. “You should see one of the therapists they brought here.”
“I don’t need that,” Jeremy said, jerking his hand away. “I mean, I wasn’t shot at, you know. I didn’t see anything. Nothing at all.” Jeremy took a breath. This was ridiculous. He felt like he was being accused even though he knew better. It was Carrie after all. He had never known a purer heart.
Carrie’s empathetic brown eyes mixed with hurt and curiosity studied Jeremy. Her empty hand remained open where she had held his.
She said, “I can’t help thinking about how Crazy Eddie never liked us since—”
“That birthday party.” Jeremy completed her sentence. Carrie smiled at him. Good God, she was gorgeous, Jeremy thought. He then felt a surge of panic as they stood staring at each other for a moment too long. “Yeah, I uh… I see why he’s a nut case and all with that screwed up family, but he needs to take it out on his dad, not us.”