The Chamberlain Files

SNIPER

He looked her over carefully, so as not to be obvious. He had spotted her last week browsing the fiction section of Barnes & Noble. She would do nicely.

He had followed her home and watched her place. She was single without any boyfriends that he could tell.

She lived on the third floor of a brick building on State Street where her windows faced the street. The problem here was going to be the perch.

The apartment buildings in the area were teeming with people. Most had decided that Uncle Sam pays better than working nine to five.

Nights were even worse, with people hanging out on the sidewalk and calling down from windows above.

He walked two blocks down, crossed Franklin St, and entered Deering Oaks Park. This might work, he decided and removed the riflescope from his pocket.

He could see her bedroom window from where he sat but the elevation wasn’t right. Since it was broad daylight, climbing a tree now would not be the smartest way to go.

He was able to find a very tall oak that should offer the best view.

The trouble with shooting through the trees was the line of sight. Any branches or twigs would have to be avoided or he risked the bullet trajectory being thrown off.

At close to three hundred yards, it wouldn’t take much to miss the shot. Well, he would risk it; he had run out of time.

The other issues were security and escape. He knew that the police regularly patrolled the park at night.

He wasn’t worried about them seeing him once he was up in the tree, but spotting him on the way in or out.

He looked around for anything that would cover his approach to the area. Most of the park was flat, with sparse foliage.

The ground gradually dipped down in the center to a duck pond with a fountain in the middle. The tree he had chosen was situated at a low point next to the bank of the duck pond.

As he looked around he couldn’t see beyond the rim of the park as it was shaped like a giant bowl.

It would give him some concealment, at least at the base of the tree before he began his climb.

A small stream emptied into the pond by a narrow footpath seemingly guarded with the heaviest growth of bushes and small trees that followed the stream to a wading pool.

The pool was located in a gully with high banks on either side and was very near the western entrance of the park. This was his route out.

The banks on either side would provide adequate cover. He followed the route he would take, finding an ideal place to park his car next to an old two-story schoolhouse.

For the next two nights, he casually walked around the perimeter of the park observing.

Officially the park closed at ten and because of an hourly drive through by the police, the curfew was obeyed. The patrol occurred at roughly half past the hour on both nights.

The park abutted the interstate on two sides so after-hours foot traffic along the park’s perimeter sidewalk was minimal.

The only real activity came from the very building that his intended victim lived.

He took comfort in the fact that the lights from the apartments and outside the park would make the interior trees nearly pitch black.

At 11:00 in the evening, he arrived once again at the school and parked his car in the shadows.

He took a guitar case containing his dismantled rifle from the trunk and then using the strap, swung it over his shoulder. He stood for a moment and took in his surroundings.

The air was clear and carried the crispness of early spring as he noticed his breath mist when he exhaled.

The stars were barely discernable in the wash from the street lights that surrounded the park perimeter.

A lone car passed by heading away from the city towards one of the many suburbs, taillights slowly disappearing in the distance.

He crossed the virtually empty street and made his way quickly to the wading pool through the slick wet grass.

He would have to be careful on his way out and not slip when making what he hoped to be a quick exit out of the park.

A patrol car could be seen cruising in the opposite direction through the park, shining a spotlight like a search beam. The spotlight swept the ground but never once pointed into the trees.

He checked his watch and it was 11:15, they were early. He would have to keep an eye open for the next sweep.

He had dressed in black tonight from head to toe, donning a ski mask to complete the outfit. A new pair of black jeans had been purchased just for the occasion. The only white left was his eyes.

He approached the tree and laid the case on the ground. The rifle was easy to assemble taking him only three minutes.

The tree had low limbs which made it easy for him to hoist himself up and begin to climb, the rifle strapped over his back.

He was getting excited now as he climbed and saw the window to the woman’s bedroom begin to level out.

The branch that made an ideal perch, which he had noticed three days earlier, had a U-shaped seat with a second branch that could be used to steady the rifle.

He took out the sniper scope and searched for the window to her bedroom. There it was, third floor, second window, facing the street.

He turned on the night vision feature on his scope and the inside of the apartment came alive in eerie green.

But there was something he had not anticipated. She was not alone. She had a bed guest for the night.

He sat back against the branch and thought a moment. There was no time for another target unless he could find one in another window from here.

He could shoot them both, but that wouldn’t be consistent with his plan, one victim per night.

The activity in the surrounding apartments made it unlikely that he could find another victim. He looked again and noticed that both were sleeping.

He needed to provide the cops with something to bite into. His plan all resided on establishing a pattern, which was what cops looked for.

Psychopaths mostly worked in patterns because patterns were familiar. They allowed for the animal instinct to take over and for the perpetrator not to have to rely on thought or preparation.

It was like operating in their personal comfort zone. The psychopath’s special place where he is superhuman, unstoppable, and smarter than every man, woman, or child on the planet.

He was going to establish that pattern, that comfort zone. But it was not for him, but for them. For them to find, chase, and chase some more.

Most psychopaths are caught because of these patterns that they establish. The truth is that most ultimately wanted to be caught and saved from their personal hell.

Suffering from delusions, depression, loneliness, and anti-social behaviors, they longed to be caught and delivered from their nightmares. Well, he had no such desire.

This was a calculated killing, cold-blooded, merciless, and certainly without remorse.

The pattern was a necessity, unlike the psychopaths that created their comfort zone; he created a pattern to ensure his freedom.

A pattern intended to direct those who would seek for him in directions of his choosing. They would not be able to catch what wasn’t there.

He brought the scope back to his eye and again peered into the woman’s window.

Something didn’t look quite right so he zoomed in as much as the scope would allow undistorted, which basically put her face inches from his. Now he understood.

The woman he was seeing was not his intended victim but her female lover. His victim was lying on her back and he had a clear shot at her forehead.

Because her lover was lying on the victim’s chest, maybe she wouldn’t even notice the shot. Now that would be rich.

He placed three bullets in the magazine. The first bullet was for his intended victim; the second for her lover, if she woke up. The third bullet was just in case he needed it.

He checked his watch, 11:55 and in came the patrol car, early again.

He trained his rifle at the car so he would be ready if he needed to take them out, but just as before, it was a lazy drive-through with not much excitement.

He waited for the patrol to leave the park grounds before training the rifle once again at his target. No movement. He took a deep breath, exhaled, then fired.

The gun jumped slightly and he reacquired his target through the scope. The woman now had a clean hole through her forehead.

He moved the scope to her lover and noted she had changed her position, but not awakened.

He reached in his pocket, withdrew a note, hooked it on a sharp leafless stem then made his way to the ground.

He slipped away into the night along his planned escape route feeling exhilarated, almost god-like, for he had both taken and spared lives tonight.

He would have to watch this one closely. It would be interesting.