THE DAY OF A KILL

It had been a very mild October. Most days, I didn’t even need a jacket.

The day seemed ominous from the start. I awoke at five thirty that Friday morning, as I did every work day.

Maybe it was just the heavy rain that made the day feel like something bad was going to happen. Maybe it was the idea that there had already been nine murders in three weeks so far, but there hadn’t been a kill in two days, so why would anyone think today would be the next one?

Being alert had become a way of life for everyone from Montgomery County, Maryland to at least Spotsylvania, Virginia. Anytime you were out in the open, you were a target. You were constantly aware; always looking. What would you see? No one had seen the shooter yet. What would make you think you would be the one to see him; to be able to avoid that piercing, hot bullet that could end your life?

For three weeks, every time you exited your car to fill your gas tank, to drop off dry cleaning, to go to the grocery store, to do anything out in the open, your thoughts were of survival. Anyone could be the shooter.

It was October 11th. It was pouring rain and would be all day. I got on I-95 and drove the twenty one miles south to my job in Fredericksburg. I worked as a corporate assistant for a property management/land development firm.

Our office was celebrating National Bosses Day, as many offices were. Although in past years, the staff had either made and brought in something, or given money to buy the extras for the Bosses Day Brunch, this year we had all decided to do a lunch instead, and we all donated money for the lunch. A few of us had met earlier and ordered a cold cut tray, a fruit tray and salads. Whoever was least busy would go to the store and pick them up.

The morning was quiet. Our company was in the process of building a shopping village, but you can’t build in torrential rain and when there’s no outside activity, office activity also slows down.

I was the one who pulled the short straw, so to speak, so I had to go out and pick up the grocery items for our lunch.

It was about nine thirty as I headed out the door to the Food Lion grocery store about a mile and a half away. After I got on the road, I called my husband at his job and asked him if he could meet me at the store and help me load everything into my car. He said he would.

The traffic was heavy and slow, but I made it to Food Lion in about ten minutes. I zipped through the store and picked up paper plates, plastic forks, knives and spoons, plastic cups, potato chips, the food trays we had ordered and some various odds and ends. Just as I was going through the check out, my husband came in. I was really glad to see him. I was not looking forward to loading all those items in my car by myself and wearing wet clothes at work the rest of the day so I was glad for the help.

Once everything was loaded in the car, we said our good-byes and each of us headed back to our job. I drove the short distance back to Mine Road and headed toward Route 1. Mine was the fifth car in line at the traffic light. On my right was Holiday Inn. On my left was the Exxon station. Ahead, at the intersection were police cars as far as I could see. I had no idea what was going on. Since it was raining in torrents, I assumed there had been a traffic accident, but there were an unusually large number of police cars for a traffic accident. No traffic was moving in any direction.

I turned and looked toward the Exxon station to see if I could turn around and go back and find another way back to work. I had a back seat full of food and needed to get back in a reasonable amount of time.

As I began to make the turn, I noticed what I thought was a pile of laundry laying on the pavement of the gas station. There were two men standing next to the ‘pile’ and someone kneeling down next to ‘it’.

I continued on my way and went to the next street over to try to get back to Route 1, but there were just as may police cars at that intersection. What was going on? Instead of turning left toward Route 1, I turned right. As I traveled down Route 2, there was hardly any traffic. What a relief. Even though it was the long way around, I might get back to work faster that way.

My cell phone rang; it was my daughter. “Mom, where are you?” I replied, “I’m on Route 2, trying to get back to work.” I briefly explained to her what was going on. “Mom”, she said in an excited tone. “Haven’t you had your radio on? There’s been a shooting right near your office. They think it’s the sniper again.” She said, “I was worried about you. I called your office and they said you were out on an errand.”

“I saw it”, I said. I could feel the blood draining from my face. “I saw the shooting victim on the ground at the Exxon station, but I didn’t realize it was a person. I thought it was a pile of laundry.”

“Mom, why would laundry be laying on the ground at the gas station”, she asked. “I don’t know”, I said. “It’s just the way my mind interpreted it. I’ve never seen a dead person on the ground before.”

We talked for another minute or so and then we ended our conversation with my daughter admonishing me to be careful and me promising to call her when I got back to work.

I continued on Route 2 to Route 17 and headed back to Route 1, but my nerves were totally shot. I felt like crying. I felt like vomiting, but I had to hold myself together and keep driving. The cold food items on my back seat must be getting warm by now.

I decided to call work. They must be wondering what’s taking me so long. It was nearly noon already.

Tara answered the phone. “Where are you? Are you ok?” She sounded worried. I briefly explained what had happened and assured her I was fine. She already knew about the shooting. She had her radio on and had seen the traffic back-up on Route 1. I told her I was about ten minutes away from the office, but I didn’t know how long it would take me due to the situation.

It actually took me another forty-five minutes to get back. I pulled my car up in front of the door and went inside. It must have been obvious how shaken I was. Everyone gathered around me and wanted to make sure I was ok.

One of the guys went out and started bringing the groceries in. Someone told me to sit down. The relief of being back in a familiar place and being with familiar people allowed me to let my guard down. My body started shaking and I was unable to hold back the tears of relief.

Everyone was so kind, so concerned. Someone handed me a box of tissues. Someone got me a glass of water. Everyone got busy and set up our luncheon. They thanked me for going out to get the groceries and apologized for the trauma I had endured while I was out. I thanked them for their concern.

I was unable to eat lunch, but I sat with the group while they ate. They tried to keep the mood light, told some silly jokes and bantered back and forth; anything at all to relieve the seriousness of the day.

Once lunch was over and we had all helped with the clean up, the company owner gave me the rest of the day off. He told me to go home and relax and get a good night’s sleep. He said, “Try to put this out of your mind.” I thanked him and left for home.

It wasn’t until I got home that I had the presence of mind to call my daughter back and let her know I was fine.

My husband and I exchanged our stories of our difficulties getting back to our respective jobs, although my attempt at getting back was much more difficult than his. Once he got north of the Massaponnax area, it was smooth sailing for him.

Although that traumatic day finally came to a thankful end, the shootings continued another eleven days. The last person killed by the ‘D. C. Snipers’ was a bus driver in Aspen Hill, Maryland.

As you probably know, the snipers were captured October 24th while sleeping in their car at a rest stop near Myersville, Maryland, but the emotional effects on the area lasted long after that.

As a final twist of fate for me, my daughter was in school at the time all of this occurred, getting her master’s degree in forensic psychology. As part of her course of study, she did her internship in the office of attorney, Michael Arif, who was assigned to defend Lee Boyd Malvo, the younger of the two snipers and she assisted in the research for the case.

It’s mind boggling how things tie into things. I guess it’s that six degrees of separation theory.