Chapter 12

Hey guys, here's another one, i hope you like.

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"Where justice is denied, where poverty is enforced, where ignorance prevails, and where any one class is made to feel that society is an organized conspiracy to oppress, rob and degrade them, neither persons nor property will be safe."

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Steve and Danny sat on the pew in the courtroom, listening to Laura tell her story. All they knew was she had murdered fifteen people, but Steve couldn't wait to hear how it had happened. He knew that somewhere in that story, he would find a reason, a justification for what Laura had done. Maybe they had all turned out to be bad guys. Maybe they had threatened to take the credit for her work and she snapped or something. Maybe she really had a psychotic break, just snapped and emptied a 9mm on all her colleagues, woke up and saw the horrifying mess. Maybe the CIA put her up to it and now she as going to witness against them and bring everything to light, that's why they had wanted to kill her. Somehow, that last one didn't sit well with him, because it would indicate that Laura had done the shooting in cold blood, for whatever the CIA had promised her and then reneged on. It wasn't what he saw in Laura. He was willing to accept any reason. Anything but that Laura had done it in her clear mind, coldblooded. There had to be a reason. There was a reason in there and he was surprised, and a bit disturbed to find that he really needed there to be a valid reason, a justification of some sort. Because whatever the reason, he had already forgiven her, and that's not how it worked. Not how it was supposed to work.

Steve leaned towards Danny next to him, who had a serious, constipated face as he listened to the story.

"Do you think I might have that syndrome thing?"

Danny ignored him for about a second, showing irritation at the disturbance, but because he couldn't resist to snap at Steve, he cleared his throat low and whispered back.

"What syndrome, Steven? The, 'disregard the court and make stupid, childish comments at a very inappropriate time?' One that can have you held in contempt and even charged? Yeah, I think you have that syndrome Steven!" Danny hissed back.

"I'd say you've said more of a mouthful to be held in contempt of the court than I right now, Danno." Steve said, to needle him. "Besides, the Judge is the one talking now, it's just a quick question before Laura starts talking."

"Alright, what's the question? Just to shut you up and save myself from jail time, because you do know that Laura is not the one who's gonna hold you in contempt, right? It's the Judge, you knucklehead. The one you're not paying attention to."

"Fine, it's just a quick one…"

"Then get on with it then."

Steve smirked at that, "That 'attachment to your savior' syndrome thing…"

"What, Stockholm Syndrome?" Danny asked, looking at Steve, assessing now, "Yeah, I think you got it." He said and turned his attention back to the Judge.

"Well, I mean, I just feel like Laura is not this person she was labeled to be. There must have been a reason for what she did. I mean…I don't know. You're right, I think I got it."

"Well, if you have it, then I must have it too. She saved your life, that more than absolves her of any guilt to me." Danny said. "Now pay attention, Laura is speaking."

Laura continued at the Judge's probing to tell her story, recalling everything that had happened that day. It came to her now like it had happened yesterday not ten years ago.

She had walked into that lab as usual that day, but she was so excited that day. She was finally going to get recognition for her work, that virus and the cure. It was her algorithm that had cracked that code and today, their work was done. They had found the answer and they were all free to do other things. She hoped one of the other things would include a permanent job with the main chemical plant, working for the government, solving would problems like she had done.

She had always been a klutz; it was one flaw she really could do without. That day, working vigorously as usual on her desk, typing away on her computer, perfecting her algorithm. She dropped a pencil. Dang it! She quickly finished the line she was tying an got down under her desk to pick up the pencil.

That's when it all happened. Still on her knees under that table, she heard a loud bang. Being unfamiliar with guns it took her a while to recognize it as a gunshot, until she saw one of her colleagues drop down on the floor, blood oozing from a hole on his forehead. She may have gasped loudly but by now bullets were flying and her colleagues were screaming, her loud gasp could not have been heard in all that chaos. She remained under, her hand clasping her mouth to keep herself from screaming. She was sweating with fear under that table, she didn't move, maybe to save her life or maybe she had just frozen under there.

She saw them all drop dead from under her desk. All eleven of them. Charles with two kids and a wife, Melanie's and Steph, her two female friends on this group, one was married, had three kids, the other one divorced, David had a newborn, just over a month old. So many of them and she knew each and every one of them. All dead.

Oh God Oh God Oh God don't let them find me. Please don't let them find me. She prayed silently under that desk. A few tense minutes passed, no more gun shots, all her colleagues had been shot. She was the only one left. Somehow, she had had the presence of mind to sneak a pick from under that desk and she saw the guy exiting, one guy. Just one guy had taken all her friends out. She saw his face and she would never forget it. It was etched in her mind forever.

It had taken her a few minutes to gather her thoughts and realize that she had dodged the bullet. She, when all of her colleagues had been killed, she had been left unscathed. She was grateful, of course, but she did feel like a nut that had fell out of a basket. She had no idea what to do now, how to move, how to continue from here, all alone.

She reached first for her desk phone; it had no dial tone. Of course, they would have dealt with that, whoever they were. The guy was obviously not working alone. In her workplace, cell phones were switched off and left in lockers in another room. She had to jump over some of the dead bodies of her colleagues to get to that room. She took time to check each and every one of them for a pulse, even though some of the bullet wounds were quite obvious there would be no pulse, still she had to make sure. None of them were alive. Head shots and chest shots, the guy had made sure that none would survive. She didn't cry, she couldn't. She didn't try to analyze why she couldn't cry; she was too numb to think beyond the fact that she had to get out of there, she had to survive, she had to call for help.

She reached her locker and took out her phone from her bag, switching it on she dialed 911, no signal. That's when she noticed it, she had no signal. They must have done something to the cell reception. She didn't wait to ponder that a while longer, she had to go get help somehow. She moved quickly but cautiously toward the parking lot, not sure if the shooter was still out there waiting for her to show up. There was no one. She got to her small car which she had been given by her parents when she started College. The Lab was located in a remote area, miles out of the City. It took an hour for her to drive from home to work every day. It was either that or live at the small premises for the duration of their project, which could be months, depending on how fast they cracked the code. She had opted for the long drives. Now, it would have to take her at least forty-five minutes to an hour to get to the nearest payphone or better, a Police Station. She started her car and drove off, surprised to see no other vehicle behind her or in front of her. The shooter must have rushed out of the place at full speed or he was still there, at the Lab. She was shacking a she drove, driving above speed limit but at this moment, she was hoping she'd be stopped by a patrol car, the sooner the better. But no such luck today on the remote road, no patrol car in sight, and it would be hoping for too much to find one on this road.

It took her forty minutes to get to the City and get to the Police Station, her phone forgotten in her bag. Why call 911 now when she can just walk into a Police Station? The City was alive with people, so different from the remote place she had just drove from. As she hurried on the pavement, bumping shoulders with people who seemed to be standing in the way, looking at something mesmerizing on the billboard. She really didn't care to look at the latest trendy anything right now, she had a dire matter to settle. She got to the police station, went in and the first thing that greeted her on the big screen TV facing the entrance was a face on the screen. Her face. What? Just what…? Her breath whooshed out with shock at seeing her face pasted all over breaking news. How did they already know about the shooting incident? She hadn't reported it yet and she was the only survivor from that massacre. She brought her eyes down to read the headlines. 'Dr Laura Mallory, Mass murderer of 11 of her colleagues and a Security Guard at a Chemical Lab. Bringing the total to 12 people shod dead.'

Oh God, Bob too? Bob was dead? She had not seen him or even thought about the kindly Security Guard who had always buzzed her into the lab. She had not thought of that. And now she was surprised that that was what she was thinking about instead of the fact that she had been labeled a murderer. She read the headlines again to make sure they were saying that she had done the shooting. And they were.

She could not read anymore, could not look anymore at the faces of her colleagues now all over the news, friends she had supposedly shot to death due to some freaky mental breakdown, they said. Probably just somehow trying to make sense of such an act.

She quickly averted her face, thankfully the police station wasn't as alive with activity and the one police officer receptionist was busy with her nose down in paperwork. The other few were gathered around watching the news, watching her.

A cold air rushed up her spine, fear gripped her so strongly she failed to walk, she staggered out of the police station and for the first time looked at the billboard that the crowd was so engrossed in. It was her face on the billboard and not as Dr Laura Mallory the scientist who had found a cure for a rare disease, but Dr Laura Mallory, mass murderer. What the hell was happening? It didn't take a genius to know that she was being framed, and she was a genius. Her number plate was all over the news, the make of her car, the color. Good citizens were asked to report to the police if they ever sported her or the car. She was one of those good citizens, up till now she had been a good citizen. She kept her head down now and went to the parking lot, took out her bag and a light hoody she always kept in there for emergency weather. She put it on, covered her hair with the hood and slung her backpack on her shoulders then made her way out of the parking lot on foot, her face down. She had no idea where she was going from here, but she was smart enough not to make any phone calls using her cell phone or go home for that matter. She will find a pay phone somewhere out of town and call her parents and Joe as soon as she could. But right now, all she had to do was buy a bus ticket and get out of town. She was probably just having a nightmare. She going to wake up from this horrible nightmare and all will be well again. But it seemed to her like it had just started and had a long way to go. She didn't cry, as she took a seat near the window and looked out unseeingly as the bus drove off. She didn't shed a tear. She couldn't.

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