Random

Fictional account of a mass shooting. Have such events become our "new normal?"

Random

A Short Story

by

Douglas Stephens

Alec and Kristin sat at adjacent tables in an outdoor cafe on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.  

Alec Sykes, age 42,  had arrived in Manhattan from Chicago a few hours earlier.  Following a quick nap, he thought he would have a drink and possibly dinner at the outdoor cafe.  He was in town to present a lecture at a symposium on ancient history.

Dr. Kristin Barnes, age 41, had arrived from her home in Ithaca, New York.  She, too, thought she might have a cocktail at the outdoor cafe.  It was a beautiful late summer night.  The streets were filled with people out enjoying the end of summer.  

Out of the corner of his eye, Alec Sykes observed that the woman sitting at right angles to him was spectacularly beautiful.  At 5’ 9” tall, Kristin Barnes was stunning.  With dark, olive skin, large brown eyes, and a sensuous, full mouth, Kristin Barnes clearly stood out among the patrons at the restaurant, as she did in her medical practice, where her looks were often a distraction even among her female patients.

Spying her out of the corner of his eye, Alec Sykes felt a bit intimidated.  While he would have liked to have spoken with her, he lacked the courage to introduce himself.

Kristin Barnes observed Alec Sykes as well.  But, preoccupied with her pending interview the next morning, she was lost in thought.

She had come to Manhattan to do a taping with a major network.  With her striking good looks and her ability to be articulate on a wide range of health issues, Kristin Barnes was on the cusp of landing a regular segment on a popular morning show.  Paired with an equally capable male physician, the team would do regular guest appearances in which they would address the key health issues of the day.

For the moment, Alec Sykes drank a Heineken and watched the stream of passersby, while Kristin Barnes sipped chardonnay, and texted her husband.

Neither was aware that, at that moment, they and the other patrons were being observed by two figures blending into and moving with the crowd.  The brothers would later be identified as Adnan and Tariq Hasan.  On this day, they were not out for a stroll--they were there on a mission.

The waiter then appeared.  “Another chardonnay?” he asked Kristin.

“Oh, go ahead,” said Alec, in an attempt to engage the stranger in conversation.

“OK,” said Kristin to the waiter, as she smiled at Alec.

“Beautiful day!” said Alec.

“Yes, lovely,” replied Kristin.

In the back of his mind, Alec Sykes knew full well that he was the envy of the men sitting at nearby tables.  Strategically situated, he had seized an opportunity in a very natural way.  

“So, what brings you to Manhattan?” Alec asked.

“I’m here to do an interview.”

“Job interview?” 

“A t.v. network is looking for a physician to do regular health related segments on one of their morning shows.  Tomorrow, we do a taping to see how I do on camera.”

“Ah, so you’re a doctor.”

“Yes.  Gynecologist,” said Kristin.  “I have a practice and also do some teaching upstate. . . . .And you?”

“I'm a professor of the classics here to give a lecture at a conference on Biblical archaeology.  I just arrived here this afternoon from my home in Chicago.”

“Ah, Chicago!  I know it well.  I did my internship at a hospital in Park Ridge.  I met my husband there, as a matter of fact.  I fondly remember the deep dish pizza and the fun times we had at Wrigley Field.”

“So, you’re a classics professor.” Kristin said.  “Sounds very esoteric.  What kinds of classes do you teach?”

“I have always loved learning languages, “ Alec said.  “I teach Latin and Greek and the great authors like Cicero and Homer.”

“So, what’s the topic of your lecture tomorrow?”

“I’m doing a multimedia presentation on ancient graffiti found on ossuaries in the Holy Land.  I’m doing this for a group of Biblical archaeologists.”

“Interesting!” said Kristin.  “While I have never taken a course in Latin or Greek, I have always been aware of how many medical terms come from Latin and Greek.”

Impulsively, Alec now stood up and, with a smile, he asked Kristin if he could join her at her table.

“Of course!” Kristin smiled.  Alec now sat at her table facing her.  Kristin sat with her back to the street where the passersby walked.  Alec sat with his back to the kitchen as he gazed at Kristin while also noticing the people on the street.

Meanwhile, Tariq and Adnan Hasan sat across the street sipping coffee.  Surveillance tapes would later show them calmly chatting in the minutes before the attack.  Self radicalized in their Northern New Jersey community, they had come to this restaurant to wage their own personal jihad.  Armed with 9 mm pistols, with exploding bullets, their plan was to spray the bullets on the patrons seated outside the cafe, while trapping the customers who sat inside the restaurant.  They would move inside the restaurant and then attempt to escape out the kitchen.

Scanning the horizon, Alec saw the brothers in the coffee shop, as he enjoyed his people watching, while never taking his eyes off of Kristin Barnes.

As Alec and Kristin spoke, Kristin noticed Alec’s rugged good looks.  A runner, he was lean, with a rugged, pockmarked face.

“Hungry?” Alec asked.  “In the mood for an appetizer?”

“Maybe,”  Kristin said.  “What do you have in mind?”

They both looked at the menu and decided to split the Mussels Diablo, a specialty of the house.

“In truth, I’m starving,” Kristin admitted.  “I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

While they waited for the food to arrive, their conversation turned to family.

“So, what does your husband do?” Alec asked.

“Doug’s an advertising executive.”  she replied. “It was through his contacts that I came to the attention of the morning show producers.”

“Ah, lucky you!” said Alec.  “Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

“A little,”  Kristin admitted. “But, I’m also excited to be doing something new.  Tomorrow, I am embarking on a new chapter in my life.”

“And your wife?  Does she work outside of the home?”

“Yes.  She heads a small non-profit which raises funds for school equipment for children in countries like Haiti.”

“Ah, how interesting!  A truly noble venture!”

“For sure!  My Jennifer has a special calling to help kids in need.”

Then the appetizer arrived.

Alec and Kristin said very little as they ate their appetizer and sipped their drinks.  When they finished eating, there was a long silence.  As Alec looked into Kristin’s eyes, he noticed a tear.  

“You OK?” he asked.

“Mostly.”  Kristin answered.

“Mostly?”

“Actually, I am a little preoccupied.  My husband, Doug, and I had a silly argument just before I left to come here and our goodbye was a bit icy,” Kristin said, her eyes moistening.  And the argument was mostly my fault.”

“Maybe you can give him a call,” Alec said.

“I texted him but received no reply,” said Kristin.

“Maybe he just needs time to cool off,”  Alec said.

Alec then got up and excused himself to go to the bathroom.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he said, with an impish grin.  “I’ll be right back.”

Alec then headed into the interior portion of the restaurant, looking for the men’s room. Stepping inside, he turned on the lights and the switch which controlled the fan.  Despite the white noise the fan created, Alec was startled by sudden sharp sounds coming through the door, followed by screams.  Opening the door, he heard what sounded like gunshots in rapid succession, then more screaming.

Tariq and Adnan Hasan had casually walked from the coffee shop across the street and removing their pistols from a backpack, began shooting the patrons sitting at the outside tables.  Calmly, without speaking, they discharged their pistols, the exploding bullets wreaking havoc in the flesh of the terrified victims, some shot at point blank range.  People began running for their lives.

Hearing the shots and screams and seeing the panicked people running, Alec Sykes had a split second decision to make.  Would he lock himself inside the men’s room and hope for the best?  Run with the crowd toward the kitchen and possible freedom?  Or, would he try to get back to Kristin who was clearly in harm’s way?

Dialing 911, he tried to close the men’s room door, but, as he did, in burst two terrified customers--a man and a woman, one of whom was shot in the arm.  Once inside, Alec locked the door.

“Tell me what is happening?” Alec asked.

“There are two of them with guns, shooting everything in sight.  They started outside and worked their way inside.”

“Where are they now?” 

“Not sure,” they said, as the shots continued.

Turning out the lights and shutting off the fan, Alec and the two survivors stood quietly and listened to what was happening.  A minute or so passed, when suddenly there was loud shouting and then rapid bursts of gunfire and then. . . .silence.

Moments later, Alec slowly opened the door.  In the hallway, he saw streaks of blood on the floor and the sounds of people moaning and crying.  His two fellow survivors then ran taking a right turn out of the men’s room in the direction of the kitchen.  Alec, not knowing where the shooters were, turned left, walking cautiously in the direction from which he came.

Glancing around the corner he saw two uniformed police officers standing over a male--dead in a pool of blood--the 9 mm pistol still in his hands.  He then made his way back into the interior of the restaurant, and as he did, he saw 20 to 30 people lying on the floor, some dead, others wounded.  It was an image that would haunt him for years to come.

Barely able to maintain his footing due to the blood, Alec made his way to where he and Kristin had been sitting.  Not finding Kristin, he looked among the upended tables, as police and ambulances began to arrive.  Moving a few feet further, Alec spotted what looked like Kristin’s purse.  And there in the corner under more tables was Kristin lying motionless.  Bending down and lifting her head, he gently turned her over.  As he cupped her head in his right hand, he could feel blood, warm and seeping from her.  She looked ashen.  Her breathing was shallow.

“Kristin?” he whispered in her ear.  “Can you hear me?  It’s Alec.”  Kristin said nothing.

 As he tended to her, he was dimly aware of the arrival of more police and paramedics, who immediately began to triage the more seriously wounded. Next to arrive were the inevitable satellite trucks from the local networks and cable news.  Kristin Barnes would appear on the news the next day, but not in the way she had planned.

“Help us!” shouted Alec to an arriving paramedic.

As he sat helpless on the floor, Kristin’s head in his arms, he could smell the odd, metallic odor of blood, commingled with the faint scent of urine.  Everywhere he looked, there were broken bodies and blood, the bodies of the two brothers contorted and lying among the innocent.

“Are you her husband?” the paramedic asked as he reached Kristin. 

“No,”  Alec said.

“Family member?”

“No,” Alec said quietly.  “Just a friend.”

“OK, sir.  Please let us take care of her now.”

The paramedics went to work, assessing Kristin’s blood loss, searching for entrance and exit wounds, making sure there was an airway.  As they prepared to place her in the ambulance, Alec gave them her purse so that they could easily identify her.

“She mentioned to me that her husband’s name is Doug,” Alec said.  And with that, they placed her in an ambulance and drove in the direction of the local trauma center.

The police then asked Alec if he was wounded and he answered, no.

They told him that they would need him to make a statement, since he was one of the few patrons who was not wounded.

Still in a state of shock, an F.B.I. agent took his statement.  Following this, Alec Sykes returned to his hotel room to call Jennifer and to remove his torn and bloody clothing. Standing in the shower, Kristin’s blood cascading off of him, he now took a cleansing breath and exhaled a deep sob.

Alec then called the historical society to say that he would be unable to present his lecture the next day.  Instead, he quickly packed his belongings and took a late flight back to Chicago where Jennifer awaited his arrival in the early hours of the morning.  Alec Sykes was not a person to cancel an appearance.  But, he simply could not remain in the place where this event had occurred.

During the flight, all the t.v. screens were tuned to the coverage of the shooting.  The cable news reporter said that at least 10 people had been killed and that 20 - 30 people were still hospitalized with various injuries. But, only a handful of passengers actually watched the coverage.  Most chose to sleep or to listen to music, because the wall to wall coverage of this mass shooting, horrible as it was, had now become commonplace.  There was a predictable flow to it.  In the hours following a shooting, there is non-stop coverage, with now familiar, almost predictable commentary.  After a day or two, as you enter the next news cycle, the coverage gives way to the next bit of breaking news, often a new mass shooting in another town or in another country.  In truth, events such as this have now become commonplace--the new normal.

But not for the victims, the survivors, their families, their communities.  For Alec Sykes, who could not look away, the images triggered a wave of anxiety and panic he had not experienced before in his life.  The images on the screen only served to increase his sense of unreality--a prelude to the post traumatic stress about to descend on his life.

As dawn broke in Chicago, Alec tried to sleep.  As he drifted off into an uneasy rest, he did not yet know the fate of Kristin Barnes.

Alec slept for several hours under Jennifer’s watchful eye.  As he awoke, he had that strange experience many people have the morning after a tragedy.  You have that brief moment of bliss upon awaking when the still sleepy mind tricks you into thinking that all is well.  But then your conscious mind catches up and leads you back to reality.  So it was for Alec Sykes as he began to awaken just before noon, as Jennifer greeted him with juice and coffee.

“Any news?” asked groggy Alec.

“Overnight, the police and F.B.I. were seen taking computers and other evidence out of the brothers’ apartment.  Neighbors expressed shock that they could have been involved.  Typical stuff,”  said Jennifer.

“Did they release the names of the dead and wounded?” 

“Not yet.  They are still notifying next of kin.”

Alex’s mind now replayed his chance encounter with Kristin Barnes--the piece of the tragedy which he had not yet shared with Jennifer.  Not knowing if she was dead or alive was simply too much for Alec to bear, so he went into his study and Googled, “Ithaca, New York, newspapers.”

As he clicked, the headline gave him his answer:

Prominent Local Physician Among the Dead in Cafe Shooting.

The headline came as a blow.  Staring at the words, Alec wept quietly as he read the first few lines of the article:

“Dr. Kristen Barnes, age 41, has been confirmed among the dead in last night’s cafe shooting in Manhattan.  A popular gynecologist and professor of medicine, Barnes leaves behind a husband, advertising executive, Douglass Barnes, and two small children. . . .”

Closing his laptop, Alec Sykes strode zombie-like into the kitchen.

“What is it?” Jennifer asked.

“There was this woman,” Alec said.

“A woman?” said Jennifer, her voice getting higher.

“It’s not what you think,”  said Alec.  “But I can’t get her out of my mind. . . .I’m probably the last person she ever spoke to.”

As Jennifer listened, Alec now recounted the details of his chance encounter with Kristin Barnes.  He described their conversation, especially her excitement over her new venture as a health contributor on t.v.  He was honest about her beauty and even mentioned offering to share an appetizer with her.

Then Alec described the aftermath of the shooting and his attempts to get the paramedics to help her.

He also spoke in detail about her sadness and how she and her husband parted in anger and how much Kristin Barnes wished she could have said she was sorry to her husband.

“The way they parted must be an additional burden for her husband in addition to his grief,”  Alec said.  I feel like I want to do something.  I need to do something to inject some hope into this terrible situation.”

“What are you thinking?” Jennifer asked.

“Maybe I could visit him.  I could tell him about our conversation and especially about how much Kristin wished that they hadn’t parted in anger.”

“I imagine that there might be some comfort in knowing what she said and in putting a face to the person who tried to help her at the end,” said Jennifer.  “All we see on t.v. right now are the faces of the two shooters.”

Alec Sykes waited until the funerals were over.  Googeling Douglass Barnes name he was able find their home phone number easily in the online white pages.

A week after the funeral, Alec Sykes called Douglass Barnes, late on a Sunday afternoon.  Barnes answered.

“Mr. Barnes,” said Alec.

“Yes, this is he.”

“You don’t know me,” Alec said.  “My name is Alec Sykes.  I am calling you from my home in Chicago.  I wanted to express my deepest sympathy at the loss of your wife, Kristin, and to tell you that I am probably the very last person to ever speak with her.  The details of my conversation with your wife might be helpful for you to hear at this time.”

“Go on,” said Douglass Barnes.

“I wonder if I might visit you and share the details in person.  As I was in the cafe that night, I was also the person who directed the paramedics to her,” said Alec.

“Wow,” said Barnes.  “I’m trying to take this in,” he said.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Sykes.  Of course you can come.”

The two men then set a date and time for the visit.  A week later, on a Sunday, Alec Sykes knocked on the door of the Barnes home, a lovely and spacious house in suburban Ithaca. Douglass Barnes, tan and fit from the summer, answered the door and ushered Alec into the living room.  Alec quickly glanced the face of Kristin Barnes alive and beautiful in the various photos in the room.

“May I?” Alec asked, as he picked up a recent photo of Kristin, taken on vacation in Italy with Douglass and the two girls.  Alec looked at the photo and sighed:  “What a lovely photo.  She was so beautiful.  I’m so sorry for all of you.”

“And I am sorry for you, too, Alec,” Douglass Barnes said.  “You have been through the unspeakable. How are you coping?”

“I have good days and bad days,” said Alec.  “Nightmares, anxiety.  Fear of being out in public places--things like that.  And guilt over being alive while others are gone or are struggling with terrible injuries.  Thank you for allowing me to speak with you in person.”

Alec then gently placed the photo back on the table as Douglass Barnes led him through the kitchen and outside to a spacious deck.

“Would you like coffee? Water?” Barnes asked.

“Coffee, black, would be fine” said Alec.

The two men sat, looking at the tall trees which lined the spacious yard.  It was peaceful--not a breath of wind.  Taking a sip of his coffee, Alec said, “After it all happened, I left New York right away.  I fled!  I just couldn’t stay there.  I felt unsafe.  But it was difficult leaving and not knowing how Kristin was.  I found out that she had died the next day online.”

“According to the police, she passed in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.  She died from a massive wound to the head,”  said Douglass.

“I appreciate you telling me,”  Alec said.  “When I finally found her after the shooting, she was still alive but unable to speak,” Alec said.  “As soon as the paramedics arrived, I asked them to assist her.”

“I appreciate that,”  said Barnes.  “And in returning to find her, you were taking a risk.”

“Perhaps.  But I just couldn’t flee with the others,”  said Alec.

“There are two things I wanted you to know about my brief conversation with your wife--and that is why I came.  That afternoon, we were sitting at adjacent tables at the cafe.  I introduced myself and we started chatting.  As we talked she told me how excited she was to have the opportunity to interview for the morning show.  She admitted that she was a bit nervous but absolutely thrilled about embarking on a new venture and how grateful she was to you for getting her this opportunity.”

“Well, I do have some contacts through my business.  But, in the end, it was all Kristin:  her beauty, her intelligence and the natural way she engaged people.  In the end, it was her,”  Douglass Barnes said.

“The other thing I wanted you to know was her sadness at the way you parted.  As we chatted, she became tearful and shared that the two of you had had an argument and that she felt it was mostly her fault.”

“We rarely fight,”  Barnes said.  “In retrospect, it was a stupid and petty fight over money and investments. . . .things that, in the scheme of things, are of little consequence.”

“I suggested she call you,”  Alec offered.

“She texted me.  But I didn’t reply.  How I wish now that I had called her.”

The two men then spoke about the Barnes children and how their routine would change when they returned to school.  Alec shared about how Jennifer and their children were adjusting to the changes in him and the strain the situation placed on the family.  Having shared what he had hoped to share, Alec Sykes and Douglass Barnes parted with a handshake.  Alec made his way to the airport.

Alec Sykes left the home of Kristin Barnes with the hope that his conversation with her husband would provide him with a small measure of consolation.

Alec Sykes would never again sit at an outdoor cafe.  At restaurants and in movie theaters, he would find the seat which provided the best opportunity for escape.  In public, he would position himself so he could see the hands of people as they entered.  And he would never again sit with his back to the door.

Fireworks and loud sounds would startle him and flood him with anxiety.

In his dreams, Kristin Barnes lived--beautiful, alive--perfect.

Steven D. Olson

© 2017