Enough is enough

As the dusk settled over the city, a lone figure lay on the grass, eyes fixed on the imposing mansion that loomed in the distance. Clad in dark clothing that blended with the gathering darkness, his fingers gingerly traced the cold metal of the rifle in his hands. Although he had been in this position for an hour, his trained mind remained focused. He looked through the scope to see if his target had arrived, but the street was still empty. In the stillness of the evening, the man's mind drifted back to the events of the past seven days, which had brought him to this moment. He wondered where it all started. It has been a hellish year for him with the passing of his mother, the breakup, and finally, his resignation.

The end-of-year meeting with the principal has been a formality for several years now. He was not prepared for the news she shared with him. They were ending the computer coding program that he built because they did not have enough students and, ultimately, funding for it. They had funding to build a new football stadium, a new fieldhouse, and even a dance room, but not an academic program? It couldn't be more critical at the moment.

David felt helpless. He created the program from scratch ten years ago, and sure, it wasn't a class of thirty bodies shoved in there to fulfill some requirement. But these kids want to be there. They are learning, applying what they learn daily, and will continue to use it later in their careers. Since the program started, his students have scored the highest in the entire district on the SAT. His principal knew this. Everyone knew this.

Before he could even say anything, she informed him that the decision had been made and would be approved by the board the following night during their meeting. The helplessness turned into anger. How could they make this decision without talking with him first? Was his program so de minimis to them? And now she was telling him he was going to be teaching Math and Life Skills?

You know what? I quit

The word just came out. He was even more surprised than his principal. Before she could even say anything, he stood up, opened her office door, and left. He didn't even go back to his classroom. He walked straight to his car and drove away. His phone kept buzzing with texts and calls, but he didn't bother to answer them.

David drove without really knowing where he was going. His thoughts were all over the place. He found himself parked by a lake almost an hour later without the slightest idea how he had gotten there. He turned off the engine and looked at the lake from his seat. He knew this chapter of his life was over. After nearly two decades of living in America, he felt a change was necessary. This environment was too toxic to live a healthy life. But first, he needed to set some things straight. As he gazed out at the horizon, his mind formulated a plan of action.

He went back to his apartment. Not a single photo hangs on the wall. No personal effects beyond what can be packed in minutes. He took out his duffle bag and cleared his closet, then he sat on his desk and used his computer for a couple of hours. When finished, he closed his laptop, looked at his snake plant sitting in the corner, got up, walked toward it, and moved it to the side. Underneath it, he moved a wooden plank and took out a black box that had been hidden beneath it for years. He emptied everything in his duffel bag and topped it with his laptop. He turned the lights off, carried his plant, and left his apartment. On his way down the stairs, he saw the fire alarm, which he pushed, and then left the building. Once outside, he took out his keychain, pressed a button, and walked away from his apartment for the last time. Thirty seconds later, it exploded.

David Benjamin Blum was born in an agricultural community, a moshav, near Galilee. His father was a second-generation Sabra, a war veteran who had turned to citrus farming. His mother taught Hebrew literature at a local high school. There was a structure in his childhood, and also an underlying tension. An unspoken reality known by every Israeli is that peace in Israel was fragile, temporary, and always bought with vigilance. His father never spoke much about his service, but the scars on his arms and the way he stared at the horizon in silence told David more than words ever could. At ten, he knew how to shoot, read maps, track through the forest, and handle a knife with precision. His father taught him not out of paranoia but out of preparation. At eighteen, he enlisted in the military, and within less than two years, he was in the Sayeret Matkal, the most elite and secretive special forces unit in the country.

Josh looked at his watch as he walked quickly to the parking lot. His wife was going to bite his head off. Ever since he became the assistant principal, he has been working extremely long hours. This morning, he promised to be home early. Still, with David's ordeal earlier, he had to cover for Julia, the principal, at the baseball game, especially since Tom, the superintendent, was there. It wasn't supposed to last this long, but for once, the school team put up somewhat of a fight against their rivals. Now, instead of being early, he was an hour late. He sat in his car and was about to get his flask out of the glove compartment before he felt a cold metal against his head.

"You won't need that." Josh jerked quickly and let out a scream. The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

"You couldn't even give me a heads up, Josh? . . . after all I did for you?"

David? Fuck

"D..David? What. . What are you doing, man? I ..I didn't even know, I swear." Josh stammered his words as he shook in fear.

"Last chance. . . the truth." He spoke coldly as he shoved the gun deeper into Josh's head.

"Okay. . okay. . .Tom wanted to move the money to build a new auditorium, a planetarium, a cafe, and an orchestra room. He is trying to expand the campus. The district conducted market research, and the kids voted for some of these things. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you. No one is supposed to know David. . . I am sorry, man. This is bigger than you and me. Can you please let me go now? "

But David did not.

Julia enjoyed it when no one was home. After a nice, cold shower, she went directly to the Sauna room they had installed last summer, which she loved. She put on her waterproof headphones and closed her eyes to relax. When she opened her eyes again, she saw a man in a black hoodie staring at her. Before she even had the time to scream, he yanked the door open, and without hesitation or remorse, he pulled the trigger.

"You brought this on yourself," he muttered, his voice low, almost detached, as if the act had been a necessary formality rather than a choice. He placed the gun in her hand and adjusted her body, then took out a piece of paper and put it neatly next to her. With that, he turned and walked out, leaving his formal principal behind, the steam rising around her like a haunting farewell.

Over twelve hours, David murdered the principal, the assistant principal, and the five board members who voted for these insane new buildings that his superintendent wanted to build. He knew he didn't have much time before a manhunt began. But with every person he talked to, it got worse.

But fear is a powerful motivator. It doesn't just unlock secrets; it amplifies them. It makes them explode out of a person, especially when they realize there's nowhere to hide. One after the other, they all told him how Tom had recruited them one by one to serve as district board members as he was a principal. Once that happened, they voted to elect him as the superintendent. From there, it was one contract after another, with inflated costs that appeared squeaky clean on paper while they all got rich.

At 6 a.m., Superintendent Tom Cowell received a phone call from the local police. He couldn't utter a word. They were on their way but wanted to alert him. He was alerted alright. He quickly got up from his bed and ran down the stairs to his office to get to his gun safe. With horror, he saw in the light of dawn that it was already open. Behind him, the door closed quietly.

"Looking for this?" David asked.

Tom looked at him with desperation but couldn't respond."

"I don't have a lot of time, so you are coming with me."

Tom charged at him, recalling his high school days as an outside linebacker. Unfortunately, Tom was no longer a teenager, and he was facing an elite-trained assassin. Without hesitation, David shot Tom's right knee, who let out a shrill before collapsing on the ground like a hunted bear. Before he could even think, Tom felt a needle in the back of his neck, and suddenly, the world turned black.

The pungent scent of gasoline woke him up almost an hour later. He was in the backseat of a van with his arms tied behind him. The van was parked in the middle of a forest. Tom realized his entire body was wet. He sniffed himself and figured that it was gasoline. He swallowed hard, dread pooling in his stomach. Tom jerked as David yanked the van door open.

"You are a heavy man, Tom. I always knew you were a fat ass, but lifting you off that floor was a workout. Now I understand why it's hard when all these people are trying to push the whale back into the water. But enough pleasantries. Who is behind all of this? I need the truth. "

"Fuck you, you are going to kill me anyways, so just do it."

"You are right; I will kill you. But I'm trying to help you here, on your final stop, before you meet the big guy. Oh yeah, and also, I don't think your family will appreciate the things on your phone."

"You are a sick fuck. You know that?

"I am a sick fuck? What is it with you people? I am sorry I asked you for the truth. How would you know it anyway? You only ever see your version of it. You are always the hero or, at worst, the innocent bystander. You never admit when you're wrong. To admit it would mean acknowledging that the whole system is tilted. You want to believe you earned everything, that you climbed the same mountain as everyone else. You glide through the world as if it were built with you in mind, not giving the slightest care about all these students and their education. But I am not here to lecture you, as that would be a colossal waste of time. Last time, Tom, who is behind all of this?"

Tom felt the grip of fear clenching at his throat, inching closer, ready to drag him down into the depths of his soul. His heart raced, a relentless drum pounding in his chest, and he could feel it hammering against his ribs, echoing the whirlwind of thoughts wrecking his mind. Slowly, he confessed names, faces, and events as the memories danced vividly before him.

Tom met David during their sophomore year in college. David's lofty goals and ambition enamored Tom. He followed him everywhere like a lost puppy. He even joined David's Catholic church. After college, they both went their separate ways as David's career took off as planned while Tom returned to his high school to become a social studies teacher. One day, Tom received a phone call from David. He was running for state senator and needed his help. He needed someone he could trust, and Tom was always loyal. After winning the election, David convinced Tom to become a principal because he recognized Tom's natural leadership abilities. A decade later, David became a U.S. senator and used education as one of his key campaign promises. In his new role, David pressured the Department of Education to approve pilot programs and federal grants for Tom's district, which Tom skimmed and passed back to the Senator in the form of campaign donations through shell construction or consulting companies. It was a perfect way to benefit everyone involved in the scheme while bankrolling the Senator.

And now, as David sat in the park, mere yards away from Senator David Lowger, he couldn't help but feel disgusted about the carelessness of these men toward the children. With each murder, the man had felt a fleeting sense of vindication. Years ago, he killed because he followed orders. They told him it was protecting his people. But deep down, something inside of him didn't feel right. Each op began to weigh differently, and in the end, he couldn't carry the weight anymore. So he walked. He burned his aliases, buried his gear, and disappeared. Now, with each murder, he saw himself as a messenger of retribution, a dark avenger who prowled the streets under the cloak of night, delivering swift and merciless justice to those who stole and cheated thousands of students.

David checked his watch—9:14 p.m.

Then, the glint of black SUV paint under terrace lights. Doors opened. The bodyguards first. Then, the Senator had an arrogant tilt to his shoulders. He strolled with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a cigar without a care in the world, like he owned the stars.

David checked his scope one final time.

Wind: seven knots, steady from the west.

Distance: 540 meters.

He drew a final breath, let it half out, and squeezed.