Wednesday December 21st. Noon.

Three hundred yards down cracked pavement filled with potholes, Wilma parked near the entrance to the Police Athletic Association. Scarlett and Wilma got out to the unfamiliar pop-pop sound of discharging guns and the barking of large K-9 dogs. Scarlett had no idea what she got herself into. All she knew is this is the first time in protecting herself. "Scarlett? Are you coming?" Wilma asked.

Scarlett nodded. Wilma led Scarlett into the concrete building, the office of the Athletic Association. Like some of the shooting ranges, it has narrow drive in an industrial area thirty-five minutes south of downtown Toronto.

The man behind the counter greeted Wilma by her first name, and Wilma made the introduction for Scarlett. "Scarlett, this is Trigger Diaz. She'll need eye and ear protection, and would need a target, a few boxes of ammo, and a roll of tape. This is her first time at a shooting range."

Trigger smiled. "Training to become apart of the police athletic or qualification test?" he said, turning his attention to Scarlett. While waiting on the response he asked, he handed them the eye and ear protection, a few boxes of ammo, and a roll of tape.

Scarlett shook her head, looking down at the wooden beaten up floor with bullet holes. "Learning how to protect myself. If I ever come across danger or be in a situation that I would need to protect myself from."

"Ah, I see. Man, I was wrong. I'll be teaching you how to shoot. You're in good hands, Scarlett," Trigger smiled at Scarlett.

He pulled a box of ammunition and protective glasses off the shelves and hooks behind the counter for himself. "Wilma, are you going to watch or shoot today?" he asked, holding the box of ammunition in one hand and the protective glasses in the other hand. "If you ever need to talk with the captain of the Violent Crime Section, let me or Wilma know and we'll point you to him."

"The captain?"

"Detective Captain Bournet," Trigger said. "Do you need the captain?"

Scarlett shook her head. "No. I was just wondering."

Trigger turned his brown eyes towards Wilma. "You going to shoot or watch today?" He said to Wilma.

"Going to watch," Wilma said, looking out the window and staring at the people discharging their guns against the targets, that was ten feet away from where they stood behind a yellow line, and a wide open field in the back of the torn up and duct taped targets, along with a layer of marine fog that colored the stanchion lights a sickly green.

"Trigger, what's your best qualifying score?" Wilma asked.

"Two ninety."

"Where'd you learn to shoot? That's a perfect score compare to mine, sir."

"At the age of thirteen, I did a lot of shooting competitions. It was a family thing. My brothers and I were judged on speed and accuracy. It's just like anything you do; if you want to do it perfect, have to work at it nonstop. There is a reason for everything people do or wants to do."

"At thirteen? that is impressing to know," Wilma said.

"You ready to learn how to shoot a gun?" Trigger asked to Scarlett.

Scarlett slid the ears protection down to her ears and then slid the eyes protection over eyes, covering her green eyes. "I'm ready."

"Learning how to shoot a gun is like learning how to walk or talk. There are steps to know how to shoot," he said, sliding the ear protections over his ears and the glasses over his eyes for protection.

"The steps are, take a strong stance and firm grasp, and hold the gun on target. Let your index finger barely touch the trigger, and let that finger go limp. With these two to four hours, I'm going to teach you the difference between a revolver and a semi-automatic pistol."

"He is saying, you got to be and think like the gun. His steps to know how to use a gun is a way of telling you to be and think like the gun," Wilma said, pressing her upper back against a pole, staring at Trigger and Scarlett along with the lined up targets.

Scarlett gulped and firming grasped the gun and had her index finger barely touching the trigger, she held the gun on the target and let go of the trigger. Pop, hitting the bull's eye shot for her first shot.

"Good! now again," Trigger said under the sounds of the guns discharging within them. By now the K-9 large dogs stopped barking and were taken back to the kennel, the sounds of the same pop-pop sounds hasn't stopped. It gotten louder with smoke filling in the air. "Be the gun, think like the gun."

Scarlett noticed the range was accessed through a gate in a seven-foot cyclone fence with a double strand of razor wire strung against the top and in the front was the parking lot and concrete building. She handed Trigger the gun and blew warm air into her cold fists while waiting to shoot again. She was frighten, scared that she wouldn't hit the target this time and shoot a bullet into someone's head or chest.

"I've to be the gun and think like the gun. I can't miss the target. Just can't," she said, grabbing the gun from Trigger and gripped it in her right hand and resting the index finger against the trigger, she held it up to the target and let go of the trigger.

"You ain't lying, right? You're a naturally at this. Better than Wilma's first lesson. Wait until everyone is finish shooting before duct taping the fresh holes in the target," Trigger said, patting his firm strong hand onto Scarlett's back.

"Why do we need the tape anyway?" Scarlett asked, waiting until Trigger was gone.

"To cover the holes in your target," Wilma said, the weather forecast was typical for a December evening, cold and a light snow shower. Not the greatest for learning how to shoot a gun purposes. "Okay. You may now head to tape the holes," She continued to speak, Scarlett walked through the gate and head towards her target, taping the two holes up.

In the thirty years that Trigger been teaching females and males know how to shoot with a gun, no one had achieved a higher qualifying score other than the Violent Crimes Section, who scored three seventy on his second qualifying test. He had a feeling Scarlett would had been perfect in the Police Athletic Association and replace Jason Bournet, the captain of the Violent Crimes Section target in the trophy case at the entrance.

"You want to try again?" Trigger said, returning from the concrete building. Scarlett nodded. "Go," Trigger said.

Scarlett raised the gun and fired three shots. As Trigger expected, Scarlett didn't flinch with each discharge, which doesn't happen all the time with newbies wanting to learn how to shoot a gun or training to be apart of the police athletic. Scarlett slipped her ear protection off her right ear. "Ready,"

"Go," Trigger said. Scarlett readjusted the ear protection and retook her stance. He took notice of the way her aim and her back is drawback and legs spread apart from each other and that Bournet was walking towards them. "Good afternoon Captain Bournet."

Bournet pulled out his cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans. "Hold on. Let me answer this call," as Bournet stepped away and answered the call, Scarlett started to reload the gun.

One of the women who'd been shooting at the opposite end of the range approached. "Are you new at shooting guns?" the lady asked. She took the grey string of her hair and over her ear.

"Yes ma'am. This is my first time shooting a gun."

"You are a natural at it. You should try to join the team," the lady said, handing Scarlett a piece of paper. "If you ever think about it. Call me," she said, walking off with Bournet.

Scarlett shot again, this time missing an inch from the target. "Ready," Trigger said. "Go."

Scarlett shot a third time, the bullet hit the left side corner, just barely missing the third shot. Trigger had Scarlett repeat the process until she'd had to reload the gun with more ammo. "Your arms and shoulders getting tired?" Trigger asked as Scarlett lower her gun and was winded out.

"A little bit, sir."

"And yet you're shooting better than anyone I've ever taught before. You may take off the yellow-tinted glasses and ear protections in the building."

"I am? I never thought I would had this in me," Scarlett said, looking at Trigger and then at Wilma through the yellow-tinted glasses. "I could train you to shoot better, Wilma," Scarlett said, joking around.

"Now that you know how to shoot. I'll teach you how to shoot a dummy, if you ever come face to face with someone who is violence you would need to know how to aim and protect yourself," Trigger said. "This time I can't train you to shoot. You have to be violence but gentle while shooting the dummy target. You'll be using the good old revolver," he continued to speak.

"Am I the first one to be taken to the next level?" Scarlett asked, following Trigger down the parking lot and to a cyclone fence that was an inch taller than the other one. There were poles with dummies hanging onto them and four yards from the fence, that separated her from it.

Trigger nodded. "For this lesson, we'll start with the failure drill, four yards from the target, four seconds to fire five shots. Three rounds to the body, two rounds to the head. Got it?" Trigger explained. The first target were a "bad guy" with a ski mask, black and white stripe shirt, and blue jeans. Trigger said, "Low ready."

Scarlett stood on a mark on the ground, assumed a blade stance, legs shoulder width apart, right foot slightly forward of the left. Wilma nudged the inside of Scarlett's right foot an inch or two to give her a wider stance.

"You may go anytime you like," Trigger said. With that, Scarlett raised the revolver and fired two shots. As Wilma unexpected, Scarlett flinched with each discharges, which caused it shift off slightly off the target and against a spruce tree. "How frequently are you be able to coming to the range?"

"I head back to my hometown in the US tonight," Scarlett said, "I'll try to get back down here when I can."

"Where is your hometown?" Wilma asked, turning her attention to Scarlett.

"In Michigan." Scarlett said, holding up a picture of her two story brick house with a treehouse in the back of the house.

"Who's the lady next to you?" Trigger asked, pointing his finger at the picture.

"She is my mother."

Wilma patted on Scarlett's back. "You don't want to be late for Professor Hilton class," she said, while Scarlett handed Trigger all the materials she used.

"Before you go, I'm here twice a week, rain or shine and even snow, night and day. You'll not need to fill out any paperwork to order a gun through me. You're in good hands, Scarlett. I believe every woman should carry around a weapon. You don't need any other reason for them to think you're incompetent, all you need to be is the gun and think like one," Trigger smiled. Scarlett needed to hear that.

Scarlett pulled out her cell phone from the back pocket of her jeans. "Wilma, professor Hilton is missing. It's all over the news and Facebook."

Wilma gasped. "That is impossible. You saw her yesterday when you wanted to get a ride to your dorm and you were denied. Are you sure that is our professor?" Wilma said, hovering her hand over her mouth while being shown the picture of Chandra Hilton.

"It says, her minivan was founded on a country road with all four tires sliced and bullet holes in the window. The call was made by Chandra's daughter, Miranda Clark at three in the morning."

"The bullet holes seemed to be from a rifle or a revolver or that the person shot the same hole two or times more," Trigger said. "That road isn't that quite far from here. I'll go check if anyone who had checked in used a rifle or a revolver yesterday. Just to make sure if we had the suspect right before Chandra Hilton went missing."

"Yeah, that would be great." Scarlett's gaze shifted to Trigger. Turning her attention towards Wilma, as Trigger walked away. "Are you fine?" she asked.

"I'm fine," she assured her, but the sudden crease between her eyes proved otherwise that she wasn't fine. "You still thinking about going back to your hometown in this situation?"

"I have to go. I haven't seen my family for over eight months and in those eight months, anything could had changed," Scarlett said. She knew she didn't need to answer back, she watched Wilma laid her head onto her shoulder and she knew. She took off her blue bandanna and handed it to Scarlett.

"Keep it," she said, then sat on the edge of the tailgate and held up a leg for Scarlett to pull off her boot. The sky had turned completely black. "I don't like the idea of you driving alone in weather like this."

Scarlett tossed the boot into the truck bed and Wilma raised her other leg. Scarlett grabbed the heel. "I'm nineteen and a half. I think I can drive myself home; I've done it all the time."

"Maybe I should just come with you. My truck is great for these kind of weather."

"You don't want to do that, Wilma. I jam out to the radio and have it blasting," Scarlett slipped on flats.

"There's supposed to be snowstorms," Wilma said, getting off the tailgate and held out her keys. "Take them. I can try to find a ride back to the university. I'll be fine and safe, don't worry about me."

"Are you sure?" Scarlett asked, checking her watch and reaching for the keys. Wilma nodded with a slight smile. "Thank you and Happy Holiday."

"Happy Holiday and don't take the county road," she said. "Stay on the highway until you reached your exits. It'll be dark and the snow will make it harder to see if you take the county road."

"The county road is faster."

"Don't argue with me. Stay on the highway and off the second exit that will take you Michigan. If you get on the county road, you could end up like our professor or wreck into anything that be in the way," Wilma said. Scarlett held her hand out, waiting for the truck keys to be in her hands. "Promise me that you won't," Wilma said, not relinquishing them with Scarlett's commitment.

Scarlett rolled her eyes. "Fine, I promise." Scarlett crossed her heart.

Wilma pressed the keys into Scarlett's hand and curled her fingers over them. "Before you go, Captain Bournet wants to talk to you," She said, while Scarlett turned to leave.

"Show me the way to his office?" Scarlett pressed her lips together and put Wilma's keys into her back pocket.

"Gladly. Just follow me, it isn't that far from the gun range," Wilma said.

"Do we have to drive there?" Scarlett asked.

"No. It's just a few buildings across from the gun range."

"He saw your skills at shooting," Trigger said to Scarlett. "He is impressed."

Scarlett entered the conference room and shut the door. Jason Bournet, Detective Captain of the Police Athletic Association and Violent Crimes Section, stood at the head of the rough metal table wearing his khaki uniform. Bournet looked pale beneath his police cap and the fluorescent lights, he gave Scarlett a subtle nod.

"Sorry you had to come back for this, Scarlett. I just need to know what happen," Bournet stood in front of a wall containing a photo gallery of lovely corpses, each one had a story of who they were and their death. At sixty five, he couldn't help but notice the gray streaks in his black hair each morning in the mirror and the weathered lines on his face, hard edges of chiseled features, and had soft creases.

"I already told you what happen. Those six months were insane for me, crazier for my siblings. I can't believe he's gone,"

"Who's him?"

Scarlett pointed to the top right picture. She rolled out the chair, and sat. "You tell me. What did happen? What making me go insane to go back to the place I call hell?"

"A bold bravery, Scarlett. A bold bravery."