Eric began to shoot randomly. Dylan shot at a display case and then at the nearest table, where he hit and injured Mark Kintgen. He shot again, injuring Lisa Kreutz and Valeen Schnurr. Then he killed Lauren Townsend.
Eric bent to taunt two girls under a table, then fired at Nicole Nowlen and John Tomlin. When John tried to move away, Dylan killed him. Eric then shot Kelly Fleming, killing her instantly. He hit Lauren Townsend and Lisa Kreutz again, and wounded Jeanna Park.
The boys went to reload their weapons at a table. Eric noticed John Savage, a boy Dylan knew. John asked Dylan what they were doing, and he said, “Oh, just killing people.” John asked if they were going to kill him. Dylan told him to leave. John fled.
Eric shot and killed Daniel Mauser. Both Dylan and Eric then fired under another table, injuring Jennifer Doyle and Austin Eubanks, and fatally wounding Corey DePooter. The two of them found and taunted injured Evan Todd.
Eric had broken his nose with his own shotgun’s recoil and was bleeding heavily. The boys made their way to the library entrance. Dylan shot into the library break room, hitting a TV. He slammed a chair down on top of the library counter where Patti Nielson was hidden.
Then the two boys left the library. After they were gone, thirty uninjured survivors and ten injured survivors evacuated the area. Patrick Ireland and Lisa Kreutz remained in the building; Patrick was unconscious, and Lisa could not move. Patti Nielson, another teacher, and the two library staff members locked themselves into rooms adjoining the library.
For the next thirty-two minutes, Eric and Dylan wandered through the school, firing their guns at random and setting off pipe bombs. Kate Battan pointed out to us how many people, probably between two and three hundred, were still left in the building. Many teachers and other staff had stayed in the building to warn and protect the remaining children. During the presentation, Kate reiterated how remarkable it was no one else had been killed. The boys went back to the cafeteria and tried to detonate the propane bombs they’d left there earlier. They looked through classroom windows, making eye contact with kids hidden there, but did not go into the rooms or shoot. They did not cause any further injury at all. They went back to the cafeteria and into the school kitchen. Then they returned to the library, where they again shot through the windows at police officers outside before killing themselves. They left behind the biggest bombs of all in their cars, set to go off around noon. These did not detonate.
Patrick Ireland regained consciousness and crawled to the library windows, where he fell into the arms of two SWAT team members standing on the roof of an armored truck. Lisa Kreutz, who sustained multiple gunshot wounds, was evacuated later in the afternoon, along with the four people hidden in the break room.
One teacher, William “Dave” Sanders, was dead, along with twelve students: Cassie Bernall, Steven Curnow, Corey DePooter, Kelly Fleming, Matthew Kechter, Daniel Mauser, Daniel Rohrbough, Isaiah Shoels, Rachel Scott, John Tomlin, Lauren Townsend, and Kyle Velasquez. Twenty-four other students had been injured, three hurt as they tried to escape the school.
I went completely numb as detailed information about the massacre rained down on us. It was like a documentary so violent and depraved that I would never, ever, under ordinary circumstances, have watched it.
A single fact had emerged, without any ambiguity at all: Dylan had done this thing.
The event had been planned a long time in advance, and Dylan had participated in the planning. The attack had been carefully timed and strategically constructed. Dylan had deliberately killed and injured people. He had derided them as they begged for their lives. He had used racist, hateful language. He had not shown mercy, regret, or conscience. He had shot a teacher. He had killed children in cold blood.
I was, and will always be, haunted by how those lives ended.
For the first time in months, my eyes were dry. Not only could I not grasp what I had just heard, but I couldn’t feel anything at all. Every belief I had created in order to survive had been shredded. The notepad filled with our questions sat unopened on my lap.
As the details began to sink in, so did one of the most shocking and terrifying revelations of that morning: the destruction intended was of a far greater scope. The attack was really a failed attempt to blow up the entire school. The large propane bombs the boys had placed in the cafeteria had been timed to go off when the room was full of students. Because of a miscalculation, they did not explode. Kate said that if they had, a wall of fire would have enveloped the crowded cafeteria, trapping hundreds of students. The ceiling might have collapsed, bringing the whole second floor crashing down into the cafeteria.
The horror of what happened, then, paled in comparison with what the boys had planned. I could barely breathe, thinking about it. As catastrophic as the tragedy was, it could have been much, much worse. Indeed, that was what my son had intended.
Gathering himself, Tom pressed for more information. The greatest mystery still had not been explained: What was Dylan’s state of mind? Why was he there? What thoughts and feelings would cause him to take part in this atrocity?
We believed Dylan had left absolutely no trace behind to explain his actions. The investigators had already told us he’d erased the hard drive on his computer, and they had taken from his room everything that might have given us insight into Dylan’s frame of mind. We had searched and searched for a note. I’d asked his friends to look when they visited; they’d opened CD cases and rifled through books. None of us had found anything.
So Tom and I were still clinging to one last shred of hope. It was obvious that Dylan had fully participated in the massacre, but had he done so willingly? Was it not possible he might have been brainwashed, drugged, or otherwise coerced? Kate shook her head and told us the police were sure Dylan had participated willingly. When we asked how she could be sure, she told us the boys had left behind a videotape.
This was the video evidence we’d been warned about. Although the boys had taken video production classes together, it had never occurred to me that Dylan and Eric might have created a videotape of their own. The news that they had done so sent a jolt of terror and dread through my gut. Still, there was no way I could possibly have been ready for what I saw when Kate inserted the tape and hit Play.
? ? ?
Once again, my life broke apart. If I hadn’t seen it I wouldn’t have believed it. My worst fears have come to pass. I keep thinking about his crazy rage and his intent to die. He lied to us and to his friends. He was so far removed from feeling. I keep trying to understand how that sweet, beloved child got there. I’m so furious with God for doing this to my son.
—Journal entry, October 1999
The “Basement Tapes” were videos of Dylan and Eric talking to the camera in various places and times in the weeks before the shootings. Many of them were shot in Eric’s basement bedroom, which explains the name they were given by the media.
We’d had no idea these videos existed, but as soon as the tape started to play, I realized I was going to have to let go of every one of my assumptions about my son’s life, and about the actions leading up to his death and the atrocities he committed.
My heart nearly broke when I first saw Dylan and heard his voice. He looked and sounded just as I remembered him, the boy I had been missing so much. Within mere seconds, however, the words he was saying came into focus, and my brain reeled. I stood up from my chair, wondering if I’d have time to get to the restroom before being sick to my stomach.