On the wall, she’d separated the shooters into four main groups—the psychopaths, the psychotic, the suicidal, and the traumatized. Then she’d pinned different elements around the board to connect strings to data points such as whether the shooter worked alone or with someone, whether they told someone their plan, if there were signs that were missed, if they were bullied, if they’d committed previous crimes. She’d gone through all the published research, the family histories, and the police reports, examining hundreds of characteristics and conducting a meta-analysis that had taken most of her adult life to assemble. But she’d done what she’d set out to do. She’d isolated common factors and identified the areas that could potentially be impacted most for prevention.
She was finally ready to use what she’d found to help. To change things. She simultaneously wanted to cheer and rip all the ugliness off the wall because she was so damn tired of looking at those faces and statistics.
But she kept her hands at her sides. She wasn’t done with this wall yet. She wouldn’t be until her program was rolled out in schools and making some kind of difference. Research was just information. It was useless without action.
In a time capsule letter she’d written after graduation with her friends, she’d promised to dedicate her life to action. Action for those who hadn’t survived, action for her sister, and action for her family. Back then, Taryn had been obsessed with answering the question why? Now, she was standing before a wall filled with years of work, and the reality of it settled over her. There were a thousand answers to the question. She hadn’t known that at seventeen when she’d made the promise, but she’d realized it pretty quickly once she’d gotten into her studies. So much influenced a person that there could be no x + y = school shooter. That didn’t mean there was nothing to be done. She had a plan and felt confident it would make an impact.
If she could get people to believe in it.
She needed to get a group of local schools on board to allocate some funds and pilot the program to prove the method first. Taryn turned her back to the corkboard wall and sat in front of her computer again. Her eyes were burning from being up late last night, and she had to get up early in the morning, but she needed to put together a few more PowerPoint slides. She stretched her neck from side to side, giving herself an internal pep talk like she used to do when she ran track and her lungs started burning and her muscles wanted to cramp. Just one more lap. Almost to the finish line.
There would be time for sleep later. Once she had the pilot program in place, she could finally take a breath for the first time since everything had happened. Give her mom something tangible to hold on to, get some rest, and maybe take Kincaid up on working a little more fun into her life.
Maybe.
But for now…she put her fingers on the keyboard.
Just one more lap.
Chapter
Five
“Oh, no, no, no. This is all wrong.” Kincaid shook her head, purple-streaked blond ponytail swinging and glittery unicorn horn sparkling in the morning sunlight as she looked Taryn up and down. She stepped around the sign-in table to get closer. “You said you were coming as Belle from Beauty and the Beast.”
Taryn groaned, her head pounding despite the double-shot espresso she’d downed on the way there. “The costume shop only had the yellow ball gown, and I wanted the peasant-girl outfit from when she’s reading the book. I can’t run in a ball gown. I figured I’d try another shop yesterday, but then I was working on my school-board presentation and I lost track of time.”
Kincaid gave a put-upon sigh and placed her hands on Taryn’s shoulders. “Overworked professor is not an approved costume. I love you, but you look like hell.”
“Aww, don’t you say the sweetest things,” Taryn said, trying for lighthearted sarcasm but sounding grumpy instead. “I didn’t think I needed full-face makeup for a charity run.”
Kincaid frowned, her hazel eyes narrowing as she examined Taryn’s face. “This has nothing to do with makeup, and you know it. Did you pull another all-nighter?”
“No. I got about four hours, I think.” She’d woken up with her cheek against her keyboard. She hoped the imprint of it had finally faded, but the crick in her neck sure hadn’t.
Kincaid let out a heavy sigh and released Taryn’s shoulders. “Girl, we need to have a talk after this race. Your fun diet needs to start ASAP.”
“Yeah, about that,” Taryn started. “I don’t think I can spare—”
But Kincaid was already two conversations ahead of her. “Hey, you want me to see what
they have in the costume tent? A lot of people brought extras so people could borrow them.”
“No, it’s fine.” The thought of getting into some elaborate costume seemed overwhelming at the moment. “I’ll just get a set of flags to tie around my waist and be one of the chased. Have you seen Rebecca yet?” She craned her neck to see over the milling crowd of costumed runners and search for her friend and the organizer of this charity race. “Do you know where she needs my help?”
“I saw her first thing this morning when she and Wes were setting everything up, but they left a while ago to get their costumes on,” Kincaid said. “She left me in charge. I’ve been doing costume approvals and handing out racing tags. I’m not sure what she wanted you to do, but she should be back any minute.”
Taryn lifted her brows. “Costume approvals?”
“Yep. Rebecca wants to ensure this is not a triggering event since it’s benefiting victims of violent crime. No blood. No fake weapons. No scary monsters or Jasons or Michael Myerses. I thought it’d be an easy job, but you’d be surprised what people consider an acceptable costume. Like some dude thought a zombie would be okay.” Kincaid’s eyes rolled upward as if looking at the unicorn horn atop her head. “I mean, seriously, you’re literally the walking dead. There is fake blood dripping out of your eyes and mouth. What mental checklist did you go through to make that okay, buddy?”
Taryn smiled, her bad mood no match for Kincaid’s endless chatter. “I’m sure you’ve hated being in charge.”
“Right? I was made for this. Costumes and being the head honcho? Best combination ever.” Kincaid clapped her hands together. “Oh my God, here come Rebecca and Wes. And ugh. They did a couple’s costumes and look freaking adorable.”
Taryn grinned as Rebecca headed their way with her man in tow. “Which means we need to hate them on the spot.”
“Obviously,” Kincaid said. “Them’s the rules.”