There was instead the sound of the .9-millimeter firing into the mouth of Justin

But there was no yelp on January 19th. There was instead the sound of the .9-millimeter firing into the mouth of Justin. Mary entered the kitchen after he fell. She pivoted and ran screaming outside into her father’s arms, pounding on his chest, “Make them stop it, Daddy. They’re playing a joke, Daddy. Make them stop it.” Paul Connors pried Mary from his arms and walked past her and into his house calling Cheyenne’s name, in a voice loud with dread, to the eerie silence in the kitchen, the smell of gunpowder, the vibration of the gunshot still resonating throughout his home.
He entered the kitchen with his wife and Mary following several steps behind. On the floor lay the teenagers in converging pools of dark, oxygenated blood. Paul Connors, a man of considerable presence for his size begins to shrink back into his chair, away from the microphone, as he described what he saw and did next.

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