It was 8 p.m. in the evening when they finished the drills. Isaac stuffed the dozen or so used targets into the recycle bin while Grace swept up the spent brass.
She looked over at Isaac.
“Was it too much to hope for an example from the teacher?” she asked. Isaac glanced again at his bandaged left hand, but Grace gave him an encouraging thumbs up. He shrugged.
“Well, we’ll see.” He attached a new target and sent it out to 25 yards. He loaded just five bullets into the pistol and grasped it with his good hand.
“Let’s see.” With one hand, Isaac fired all five rounds in rapid succession. The slide of the pistol locked back and Isaac placed it down on the rack. He flipped the switch and the target came back. Grace’s jaw dropped at the results. Isaac rolled up the target and tossed it into the recycle bin without a word.
“I come down here almost every night,” he stated.
Grace nodded, then took a deep breath.
“Do you mind if I ask you a personal question? It’s not about your family.”
“What’s it like to kill someone?” she asked.
Isaac didn’t answer at first. He stared down the length of the firing range and rubbed his eyes.
“It doesn’t hit you at first. It’s not until you’re alone that you really feel it. How you react depends on what kind of person you are. The scariest thing is if you feel nothing.”
Grace got back to sweeping brass. Isaac grabbed his empty Glock 21 from the stall shelf and holstered it. He turned to Grace. “You’re a good kid, Grace. I wish you’d never come to Callahan.”
Grace finished sweeping and the two moved to leave the firing range.
“I just hope I don’t have to kill someone,” she whispered.
Isaac sighed. “If you stay here long enough, you will.”
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