Perverted Revenge

The piercing wail from the electronic siren and deafening blasts from the air-horn could be heard for blocks; the blinding flash of light from the emergency light-bar was reminiscent of a laser light show. The weight of the huge fire truck vibrated the pavement as it raced down the street, rattling the windows and doors of the modest bungalows on either side of the street as if a small earthquake had struck.

The sky was brilliant blue and cloudless, the sun had already warmed the lazy summer breeze to a very comfortable eighty degrees. Not knowing what kind of gruesome sight might await them when they reached their destination, the five-member fire truck crew was tense.

"I don't know about you, Max, but I hate getting emergency calls right before shift change." Clayton sounded bitchy, but Max, the fire captain, understood. They were responding to a medical emergency for a teenage girl who had reportedly committed suicide using a large caliber handgun.

"I hear ya, Clay, it does create more confusion. Okay, heads up, we're getting close now... the address we're looking for will be the second house on the right just past this intersection."

Clayton focused intently on the blind intersection directly ahead as his eyes rapidly scanned the traffic light and the cross streets and then on past the intersection to their destination. "Got it in my sights now, Max." But Clayton's brief eye scans had missed something.

"Clay! Watch out on your right, that car doesn't see us," Max yelled out in alarm.

"No shit! Hold on, I'm hittin' the brakes hard."

Clayton rose up in the driver's seat and stood on the brake pedal. The air brakes squealed loudly as the big rig slowed sufficiently to just miss the oncoming car.

"What an asshole!" Clayton was visibly shaken as Truck-4 rolled safely through the intersection.

The driver of the car sped on, unfazed and oblivious to the anxiety he had just created.

"Yeah, idiots like that are a real menace out here... got their heads stuck way up their ass," Max responded. "This is the house right here, Clay."

Some of the neighbors peered from windows, while others assembled along the sidewalk, curious about the fire truck's arrival and the commotion. Before Truck-4 had completely stopped rolling, both right-hand side doors flew wide open and Max leaped from the cab as though mechanically ejected. As he rushed toward the front door, the slender form of Sara, the only female crewmember closely shadowed him. Following in her footsteps were Jesse and Billy carrying the ventilator, first aid and trauma kits. Clayton remained with the truck as a small crowd began to form.

Max stared into the face of the grief-stricken woman standing by the door and knew immediately she was probably the mother of the girl.

"Where's your daughter?" Max asked in a compassionate, but firm tone.

Choking back sobs and gasping for air, she tried to answer, but before she could compose herself, the rattled voice of Sara broadcast from inside the house.

"Max... Max, in here, the girl is in here."

Clutching Max's arm, the woman's pleading eyes looked up at him as she asked in a broken voice, "Will she be okay?"

Max had witnessed many scenes of tragedy during his captain's career. He could appear calm and in control, but he had not become callous to the emotional effects.

"I really don't know yet, but we will do whatever we can to help her," Max assured her compassionately.

Fearing the woman was about to become a part of the emergency, Max knew he had to keep her out of the living room. He gently took her cold and trembling hand in his, led her into the kitchen and sat her down at the table. In a cupboard he found a blue plastic tumbler, added some ice from the freezer, filled it with water and handed it to her. Taking her word she'd remain in the kitchen, Max headed through the doorway to the living room.

As a seasoned firefighter who'd assessed many situations, Max still wasn't fully prepared for what he saw. Surrounding the body, Sara, Jesse and Billy were doing their best to appear unaffected by the grisly scene.

"Be careful where you step, Max. There's chunks of stuff... blood and brains all over the place, it looks like confetti," Billy blurted, without thinking.

Max was quick to cut him off with a stern look. Under his breath he muttered, "Thanks for the tip, Bill, but the situation here is very obvious. You'd better cool it with the glib remarks. That's her mom in the kitchen. Did you forget the part about not making tasteless comments in front of the family?"

"Sorry, Captain, I guess I'm just a little rattled," Billy replied apologetically.

Billy wasn't insensitive to the situation, but depersonalizing or objectifying it somehow made it less painful.

Lying in the middle of the living room floor was the once-vital body of a sixteen-year-old girl. Her sparkling blue eyes were now dulled and fixed wide open, staring hauntingly into the unknown. Formed around her head was a large irregularly shaped pool of blood that had coagulated on the plush pile of the beige carpeting beneath her. Her small delicate hand with fingernails neatly painted bright red was still clutching the cold unsympathetic steel of a forty- four Magnum revolver, and her right index finger still rested on the trigger. It was an eerie and depressing sight.

As Max bent over the body, he noted the dime-sized entry wound on her right temple and the large open wound on the back of her head where the bullet had exited. The high-powered hollow-point slug had literally exploded her skull, rather like a melon, and had sprayed blood and bits of brain and flesh all over the room. It looked like a damn war zone. Sickened by the image, Max wondered how a teenager could do such a brutal act. Perhaps she wouldn't have done it if somehow she could have foreseen how terrible it would look.

The mother had made the horrifying discovery after returning home from the grocery store, and the appalling sight kept her from going near the body. Instead, she had repeatedly called out to her daughter, hoping to get a response; when none came, she managed to pull herself together to call 911.