End of Chapter Nine:

"What's that, Sheriff?" Carol Rhodes asked.

"He's living dangerously and that makes me believe he may be on the fast track for a self-destructive kamikaze mission. And, if that be true, he could care less who he takes out with him," Sheriff Daniels answered her.

"The question is who's he?" Beth articulated. She looked at the four Rangers sitting there with questioned countenances and vowed, "I'm in this for the long haul."


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Punchinello swiveled his head from side to side like a submarine periscope and scanned the boundaries of the energetic school grounds. Reminding him of the National Gallery of Art, the weathered red brick walls were full of graffiti that had been etched onto them over the years. Some of the simple drawings featured names left as permanent reminders those artistes once attended the matriculation center.

Overlain by a thin green slime coating on top, a stagnant puddle filled a deep and wide chuckhole coned off in the far corner of the sand-covered asphalt parking lot. On the ground in front of the doors that led into the school, Punchinello spotted an empty Coke cup and a crumpled Taco Bell wrapper. Like foot soldiers marching in a column, a parade of ants had discovered the remnants of the delicacies contained therein and busily scurried about enjoying their feast.

Disarray abounded from the rusty chain-link perimeter guard with a gaping chunk missing in its middle, to the half-fallen nylon netting that dangled precariously on the baseball backdrop. Even the school's name on the marquee in front lacked some letters. Others were well worn or chipped away.

Punchinello diverted his eyes to the playground. He noticed mischievous and presumptuous jackanapes full of impertinent banter chased each other over the jungle gym in what appeared to be a choreographed ballet.

"You can't catch me!" Levis laughed heartily as he grabbed the top rung of the apparatus and swung across to the opposite side from which he'd appeared.

Scampering on Levis' heels, Reeboks chattered back, "I'm right behind you!"

"You knuckle-walkers look like chimpanzees," Punchinello said to himself.

Not one of the impervious kiddiewinks realized their mortal danger in that instance, or something treacherous dwelt nearby. To Punchinello they were all treasures he yearned to bury in far away places like Long John Silver and the pirates of long ago; preferably alive.

For a brief moment, time stood still as Punchinello's attention was captivated by a little charmer who brushed up against his arm. A sinister scowl crossed his face and Punchinello's eyes glared at the feathery distraction with a burning fire. The delightful redhead was not frightened but seemed fascinated as she handed him a paper rose she'd made in class that morning. Beguiled, Punchinello waved his arm to shoo her on. The calico skirt she wore billowed as the little poppet skipped merrily along her way.

Jocular people seriously irritated Punchinello, especially spawn who thought they held the world in their hands. He wanted to yank out his semi-automatic Roscoe, with its integrated barrel chamber and box magazine, and shoot up the school in a bigger way than Columbine and Marjory Stoneman experienced combined.

Forcing himself to abstain from such an act, Punchinello anchored his gaze on a knackered educationalist in her mid-thirties. Her exhausted expression, inadequate lips, and precarious comportment made Punchinello want to start a donnybrook. Punchinello sidestepped his desire at the last possible moment, chastised himself for his duress, and extricated his entangled compulsion from the bovine attired in purple sweats. There was no attraction for the target, no subtle message to be delivered in her slaughter.

Instead, Punchinello envisioned inflicting bitter hostility on Brock Daniels and all he enthusiastically exalted. Spread with intensity, Punchinello's violent anger and destructive fury verged on insanity. The aspiration raged deep inside him and devoured his being. The assault on Beth in the basement of the Daniels' house was just the genesis.

As Punchinello reverenced Cody's interactions with the old bat librarian and the principal, he decided the boy was a rhapsodic prize worth coveting. Punchinello felt a deep sense of awe and hugged himself with a gesture indicative of a bow. Fancying himself a phoenix, with a nimbus plumage on his head and mesmerizing with the colors of the rainbow, Punchinello felt primed for whatever came his way, there was nowhere else Punchinello pined to be.

The dilemma festered into how to coerce the impressionistic boy into submitting. Should he trick the lad? Maybe intimidate him or resort to violence as he was prone to do? Punchinello knew he could render Cody unconscious by a variety of unscrupulous means. Any way he accomplished the feat, a shanghai in a crowded public educational institution would make Punchinello famous like Bruno Richard Hauptman and Joseph Corbett. Punchinello knew he was the one who kidnapped and murdered the heir of the Coors Brewing Company empire. Their outrageous crimes galvanized him.

As the fantasy overtook Punchinello, and the moment drew near, the flavor tantalized. Surprisingly cultured, Punchinello cycled from the vicious low that previously enveloped him to a soaring high. Battle-scarred, Punchinello bore that dubious distinction frequently and felt like a transistor radio with a bad connection. The static frazzled his mind.

Punchinello had chased Cody down the hallway. Just out of reach, the devious scoundrel slithered from his grasp. A bloodletting would follow.