the shady file II

the Mass shooter & the suicide bomber

CHAPTER 4

The bomber looked at himself one last time as he put on his favorite harem pants. He smiled sadly when he realized that it would be the last time he ever wore them. They would cease to exist, just like him, within the span of a few hours. He grabbed the first t-shirt he found and put it on, only to realize once he was done that he had worn it backwards. The bomber laughed as he fixed his mistake. He grabbed his favorite hoodie and put it on, after which he began working on his sneakers. Once he was done, he made sure that the note he had written was left in a place where it would be seen, after which he grabbed his duffel bag, checking to make sure that the item that was stored within was in working condition, before walking over to the closet that contained his jackets.

 

“Oh, who am I kidding?” the bomber muttered, as he grabbed a long black leather jacket from the closet. “I always wear this one, no matter how much I try resisting.”

The bomber walked through his house one last time, examining everything in it closely. He stopped at the wall with the family photos as he made his way to the front door.

“Goodbye, Ma. Goodbye, Pa,” he whispered, as he kissed his favorite photo. “I’ll see you in the next life.”

The bomber walked out of the house and began making his way towards the target he’d picked. He stopped and looked at whatever caught his fancy. He had enough time to get to his destination. It would be an hour or two before it was crowded enough to suit his mission parameters. He stopped at a tiny shop on his way and grabbed a coffee and a doughnut.

“Ah! I hope there will be a never ending supply of these in the next life,” he smiled and said, as he took a bite. The doughnut was heavenly. Soft, succulent and fresh, there was nothing else like it. The dough had just the right amount of sugar mixed in it, enough to make its presence felt, but not enough to overwhelm the melted chocolate the doughnut had been dipped in.

“Oh… my God! Fucking awesome!” the bomber exclaimed, as he took a sip of his coffee. The coffee balanced out the sweetness of the doughnut perfectly. It was strong, with a sweet, yet spicy, aftertaste. The spice sneaked up on the person drinking it. It didn’t make itself apparent right away. The bomber continued towards his destination, making sure that he took his time with the coffee and doughnut. He wanted to savor every second of the delicacies he held in his hands.

The bomber watched the people who passed him as he walked. Most looked at him suspiciously, like they had done ever since he could remember. Some of the women grabbed their handbags as they passed him, others made it a point to cross the street when they saw him coming. The men glared at him at usual, and continued to do so until the distance between them went back to a few feet. One of them said something condescending in a mock accent as he passed him. The bomber clenched his teeth and let it go.

 

“Let it go, buddy. Let it go. The mission is the only way to silence them,” he muttered to himself.

The bomber stopped a few blocks later, when he saw a stray dog shivering in the corner. He bought a loaf of bread from a nearby stand and began tearing it into pieces, which he threw in the dog’s direction. The dog refused to move for some reason. The bomber wondered if it was because the creature thought that the bread was a trap of some kind. Perhaps it had seen the animal control employees using food as bait one too many times.

The bomber snapped out of his thoughts when he heard loud footsteps, and a great deal of suppressed snickering, approaching him from behind at lightning speed. He turned around just in time, and bolted in the direction of his target when he realized what was happening.

“Stop, you fucking terrorist piece of shit! You can’t outrun us. We will catch you!” the voices chasing the bomber screamed.

Why? Why are they here? the bomber wondered. How? How did they find me? It’s bad enough that they don’t give me a fucking second to breathe in school… they’re here too… I can’t get caught. I cannot get caught today!

The bomber ran as fast as he could. The snow was piled on high, and he did whatever he could to wade through it as gracefully as possible. He picked up the pace, despite how badly his chest burnt, when he finally laid eyes on his destination. He ran into the mall a few seconds later, with his pursuers close behind. Once inside the mall, the bomber made his way to the food court. His reasoning was simple. The food court would be the most crowded area of the mall at that point of time, and therefore, it would, hopefully, be easier to get lost in it.

To the bomber’s dismay, the food court was not as crowded as he had anticipated. He looked around frantically, trying to figure out his next move. His pursuers had lost sight of him temporarily, and he had no more than a minute or so to take advantage of the situation. The bomber panicked when he realized that he had no ideas when it came to what he needed to do next. His brain had stopped working. It refused to process any of the information his eyes sent its way. He felt tears forming in his eyes, but then, just as the first tear was about to fall, his brain finally processed something his eyes wandered over. A table, in the corner of the food court, behind a large tree. The perfect hiding spot. Isolated, almost camouflaged, and yet right there in the open, for everybody to see.

The bomber pulled up his hoodie and bolted towards the table. He sat in the chair that was right behind the tree as soon as he reached the table, with his back facing the rest of the mall. He put his duffel bag under the chair, and heaved a sigh of relief after he had adjusted the chair and moved it even further behind the tree.

“What the fucking fuck, dude?” a voice whispered angrily, startling the bomber. The bomber almost let out a scream, but managed to suppress it at the last second.

“How the fuck is this table talking? What’s happening? Am I going mad? I’m going mad. I’m going…” he muttered.

“It’s not the table, you goddamned nincompoop,” the voice said, as a figure rose from under the table, right opposite the bomber.

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