Killing Kirshner (A Psychological Suspense Thriller)

  Killing Kirshner

  By Mason Black

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2011, 2013

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  The Socratic Method

  Invented by Socrates, the Socratic Method is widely used in contemporary legal education by many law schools in the United States. In a typical class setting, the professor does not give information directly but instead asks a series of questions. This questioning often results in the professor insulting and humiliating the students until the correct answer is given.

  Chapter 1

  His heart raced as he slumped down into his chair. He did not dare look up – not even to see if he was the next victim. Sweat poured down his chest as he moved his hand ever so slightly along his arm. His breath became more and more shallow.

  “How did I get myself into this mess?” Will James asked himself. “I should have gone to medical school. If only I didn’t pass out at the sight of blood.”

  He finally mustered up the courage to look up and finally get a glimpse of this evil monster that was about to destroy his life and everyone else in the room. But, as Will looked up, he could not get a good look at the man’s face. He could not tell what the man looked like.

  It was finally time for it to begin. The man stood in front of the room and looked down at a sheet of paper. Who would it be? Who would be his next victim?

  Will’s mouth went completely dry, and he could feel what was coming deep down in the pit of the stomach. It was going to be him. It was his turn to face the most evil law professor that had crawled from the depths of hell – Isaiah Kirshner.

  “Please, no. Not me,” Will whispered to himself.

  “Mr. James,” Kirshner said with a smirk.

  Will jumped, practically falling out of bed. It was that same dream again – the third time that week. He reached for his pill bottle and quickly popped a peach, oval-shape pill into his mouth. He threw the bottle on to the floor. “Xanax to the rescue,” he thought to himself.

  His first day of law school was still a few days away, but he was a nervous wreck. It was that recurrent dream that kept him up at night, and haunted his thoughts during the day. He was terrified of starting law school, terrified of failing, and most of all scared to death of his Criminal Law professor – Isaiah Kirshner.

  Chapter 2

  A few days later, the thunder crashed and the sky lit up an orangey yellow. It had been pouring for nearly an hour, and there was no end in sight, which was not an uncommon occurrence in Miami, Florida. It was hurricane season and afternoon showers were predicted for nearly every day in the “not so sunny” Sunshine State.

  Will sat on a small bench just outside the cafeteria waiting for the rain to let up – only one more day until his first day at law school. It was obvious to him that the rain would not stop any time soon, but may slow down long enough for him to run back to his dorm room. Will gazed at the school newspaper sitting in the stand, but it was too far away for him to make out any actual words. He was in dire need of some new glasses, but with the astronomical costs of law school, he would not be filling his prescription any time soon.

  The thunder crashed behind the cafeteria and the sky lit up again. Will heard the entrance to the cafeteria open and out walked a tall man with blondish, curly hair. The man walked to the edge of the covering and held his hand out, feeling the strength of the rain.

  “No way I’m running in this mess,” the man said.

  “Yeah, this is typical for Florida in the afternoon,” Will said.

  The man held out his hand. “I’m Jack Biel.”

  “Will James,” he said, shaking Jack’s hand.

  “You a first year too?” Jack asked.

  “Yeah, section five. How about you?” Will asked.

  “Section five. Cool. Looks like we are section mates or whatever they call it.”

  “Great, so where are you from?” Will asked.

  “Minnesota originally, but I moved around a lot.”

  “I’m from Miami, and been here my whole life, and I guess I will probably die here,” Will said.

  “Don’t sound too happy about it. Why not leave?”

  “Not sure, I just never do.”

  The rain let up a little but neither man noticed.

  “So, what have you heard about our professors?”

  “Not much, except for one – Kirshner. I heard he’s the anti-Christ,” Jack said.

  “I heard the same thing. Definitely the spawn of Satan,” Will said as they both laughed. Just for a moment Will’s anxiety about Kirshner left him.

  “So, you must live in the dorms too. What building and floor?”

  “Dawson Hall, third floor,” Will said.

  “Same here, how about we meet tomorrow before class and we can grab some breakfast?”

  “Sounds like a plan. What you say we make a run for it?” Will said.

  “Let’s go …” Jack said.

  The two new friends ran through the parking lot, leaping over puddles. They were starting the most challenging time of their lives; they were about to be in firing range of one of the meanest professors in the history of Miami University – Professor Isaiah Kirshner.

  Chapter 3

  Amanda Martin quickly combed her long, brown hair and put on her makeup. She had been up since before dawn preparing for the first day of class. She made sure that she had read every case that was assigned twice and briefed it in great detail. She was ready for anything that her law professors could throw at her. Her mother always told her, “It is better to overdo it, than be caught with your panties down.”

  Amanda had always been an anxious person, but the stories she heard about law school really terrified her. She had been at the top of her classes and had never seen anything but an “A” on any of her report cards. But law school was different because A’s were rarely handed out at Miami University Law and were only for those students who greatly exceeded everyone else. Amanda could not even fathom the idea that she would receive anything less than an “A.” So, she was going to study until she could not study any more. She bought every commercial outline and had read every book written by former students on how to do well in law school. She was ready – or so she thought.

  Amanda had played soccer throughout middle school, high school and college, but she had not played it in months. She lived and breathed law. Even before her professors listed the assignments for the first week, Amanda began reading the first few chapters in every one of her textbooks. Unfortunately, only one of her professors followed the chronological order of the textbook; her other three professors jumped around the textbook selecting the cases they wanted to cover in the first week.

  Amanda was amazed at the amount of material that was assigned for the first week. She could not imagine that any of her fellow classmates would be as prepared as she was. She was sure she would impress her professors with her strong understanding of the assigned case and her analysis of the law.

  From what she read, first-year law students were divided into sections with six sections this year at Miami University – Amanda was in section five. Each section was made up of around thirty students and these thirty students would be together for the whole year taking the same classes with the same professors.

  Amanda looked over her schedule for the hundredth time, and she had already m
apped out her route to the classroom from her dormitory the night before. She flipped a pencil in her hand and looked at her schedule. Her first class was Torts I with Professor Thomas Wilson. Her second and final class for the day was Professor Marie Dunlap-Elliott’s Legal Writing class. These classes met two times a week for almost two hours each.

  “Only two classes – no big deal,” she mumbled to herself in her southern accent.

  “I can do this,” she said.

  She slid on her blue Adidas sandals, carefully placed her books in her backpack, and looked at her hair in the mirror one last time. She walked down the hallway to the stairs and quickly jogged down. She smiled as she began her journey to the classroom. The sun blasted down onto the black top of the parking lot. While Amanda was no stranger to the sun, it seemed extremely hot that day. She pulled her sunglasses out of her small Coach purse and checked the time – early. She was always early. Being late was not an option in her family, and she learned from a young age to get there early.

  She easily found her classroom and yanked the door open. It was a huge lecture hall set up with stadium-type seating that was nearly full of students. She looked at her watch again thinking it must have stopped but the clock over the podium had the same time.

  “Why is everyone here so early?” she thought to herself. Not only was she not the first person to arrive, she was almost the last. She scanned the classroom looking for an open seat, but the only seats left were the front row.

  “You got to be kidding me,” she mumbled.

  She ran down the steps and planted herself in the middle of the first row, also known by law students as the “Hot Seat.” Statistically speaking, the student who sat in this seat was the most called-on person in the class. Unfortunately for Amanda, none of her books discussed the “Hot Seat.”

  She pulled out her Torts textbook, notebook, and several pens and highlighters, and lined them up on the desk. She took a deep breath and a quick look around the room, and suddenly felt a strong sense of pride. She had been waiting for this moment her whole life; she was finally going to be a lawyer.

  Chapter 4

  Fifteen minutes earlier, the radio alarm blasted Bone Thugs-n-Harmony’s “I Tried.” A hand reached from under the covers and slammed the snooze button for the third time. A screeching yawn, which sounded like some kind of a whale mating call, emanated from under the pillow. Sean Jackson threw the pillow to the floor and decided he better get out of bed. He glanced at the clock – 8:13.

  “Shit!” Sean yelled as he leaped out of the bed and ran around the room trying to get ready for his 8:30 class.

  “Crap! The first day, Sean!” he cursed to himself.

  He slapped some deodorant under his arms and grabbed the top shirt in his drawer. He threw on some shorts and socks and shoved his feet into his Nikes. He ran out to his couch and stuck his Torts and Legal Writing textbooks into his backpack.

  Sean’s watch flashed 8:18. “Not bad,” he thought to himself.

  He jogged down the sidewalk with his schedule in his hand. He was not sure where his first class was, so he asked a group of students who were sitting on a bench where the Guffman building was. They pointed him in the right direction and Sean took off.

  Sean ripped the door open and walked inside, the entire classroom turning around as the door slammed shut. Professor Thomas Wilson was already at the podium just about to start class. Wilson was in his late thirties and always dressed very casually in a blue polo shirt and tan Dockers pants. He had the slightest touch of grey in his reddish hair and thick beard with freckles infesting every inch of his skin, nearly covering his entire face and arms. Stylish rounded glasses covered his soft, pale blue eyes and lay upon his small freckled nose.

  He leaned forward on the podium and looked up at the clock. “It’s 8:31; class starts precisely at 8:30. Not 8:30 and 20 seconds, and certainly not 8:31. If you are late again, I suggest you withdraw from my class because I will most likely not pass you. Understood?” Professor Wilson said.

  “Yes, sir,” Sean mumbled as he clenched his fists.

  “And what is your name, tardy student?”

  “Jackson; Sean Jackson, sir.”

  “Mr. Jackson, there are some seats right up front for you to park your late ass in. And let’s make it quick, Mr. Jackson.”

  Sean marched down the steps and sat in the first seat in the front row that was empty.

  “One more thing, Mr. Jackson,” Professor Wilson yelled.

  “Yes, sir?” Sean uttered with a sigh.

  “I’m just messing with you,” Professor Wilson said laughing.

  “I’m not here to break your balls, Mr. Jackson, or any of you. I am here to teach you. I am here to pass to you what I know about torts. And we will get to what a tort is in a few minutes. But for now, I want to introduce myself to you and the type of professor I am. First things first, my name is Tom. Not Professor Wilson, not Dr. Wilson, not Professor, or sir, as Sean enjoys calling me.”

  Sean smiled and the entire class sighed, at ease; this was not the horror show that they had been warned about – Wilson seemed just like them.

  “I have no interest in embarrassing you, insulting you and your ancestors’ intelligence. I do not believe in the Socratic Method, and I will have no part of it. I appreciate volunteers, but luckily I’m a big mouth and often need no help with the lecture. As far as I am concerned, I work for you. After all, you pay my salary with your tuition, and if you’re not learning then I want to know. This class is too important for you to just sit there with a blank stare and not understand any of the words coming out of my mouth. When I dismiss class for the last time this semester, I want you to know everything I know about torts. If you don’t, then I have failed. Now, let’s begin your first class ever in law school. Can anyone tell me in a few words what a tort is?”

  Before Tom finished his question, a hand in the center seat of the front row was raised high in the air. Sean looked down his row and saw a tall, brown-haired girl stretching her arm nearly to the ceiling.

  “Yes, your name, please,” Tom said.

  “Amanda Martin. A tort is a civil wrong that …” Amanda said.

  “Hold on there, Amanda. And thanks for volunteering. You just answered your first question in law school correctly. Congrats!” Tom said.

  Amanda smiled and felt an overwhelming sense of relief and pride. Sean smiled down at her and got a kick out of how pleased she seemed to be with herself.

  “So, as my new friend, Amanda, just said, a tort is a civil wrong, which is very different than a crime. I believe that’s Professor Kirshner’s department. And for those of you who do not know Professor Kirshner’s reputation, I suggest you start praying now. I was in his class fifteen years ago, and the man still gives me diarrhea when I see him in the hall.”

  The class laughed, as Sean sat back in his seat and wondered about this Professor Kirshner. “How bad could he be, after all I have been through?” he thought to himself.

  Chapter 5

  Abrams Freeman took a long sip on his coffee and plopped his military-issued boots on the chair that was sitting in front of him. He had survived his first law class and was waiting for his next one to begin – Legal Writing.

  He pulled out his thick legal writing manual and skimmed through the class’s first assignment. He quickly reviewed what he had highlighted the night before, as a few other students walked into the classroom. Abrams closed his book and looked at the front of the room. He did not want anyone to see that he had spent the night before class reading the assignment.

  Abrams had only been in Florida for a few years, and had spent most of his life in New York until he joined the military and was able to travel abroad. He was amazed at how slow everyone was in Miami; there did not seem to be any rush to do anything. Luckily, Abrams had met plenty other New Yorkers in Miami and this made him feel a little more at home.

  Abrams watched as the other students went by – especially the women. He was surprised at the c
aliber that attended Miami Law. He gawked at the women as they walked by his seat – tight shirts and very short shorts were commonplace in Miami. Despite the fact that he was on his second marriage, Abrams was always looking for the next Mrs. Freeman.

  “Wow,” he mumbled under his breath as a tall, thin woman walked into the room. She was not dressed like the rest of the Miami women he had seen; she had on a plain, white shirt with a small Adidas emblem and red soccer shorts. Her brown hair was perfectly combed and styled with blonde highlights along the tips. She walked up to his chair. “Excuse me, can I get in here?” the woman said in a southern accent.

  “Of course,” Abrams said quickly.

  “Charleston, right?” he asked.

  “Yeah, how in the world did you know that?” she said, smiling ear to ear.

  “One of my best friends grew up in Charleston,” Abrams said, pulling his feet off the chair and standing up.

  “I’m Abrams,” he said.

  “I’m Amanda, nice to meet you, Abrams,” she said. “So, I guess we are in the same section.”

  “Yeah, I saw you in Torts. Professor Wilson seems cool,” he said.

  “You mean Tom,” she said laughing.

  She sat down next to him and took out all her books, pens, and highlighters. Abrams turned his head and smiled. “Yes,” he thought to himself. He was in, and it was all too easy. He slid his wedding ring off his finger and into his pocket.

  Abrams and Amanda chatted as the classroom began to fill up. “What happened to your hands?” she asked, touching the bruises and cuts on his knuckles.

  “I work on cars as a hobby; I’m always cutting my hands up sliding them in and out of engines – real manly stuff,” he said smiling.

  Professor Dunlap-Elliott entered the room; she was a small woman with short hair and very high heels. Abrams immediately thought the heels were her way of compensating for her height. She wore stylish, red glasses and was impeccably dressed, wearing Burberry from head to toe.

  The clock read 11:30 and Professor Dunlap-Elliott began class right on time. A large, black man shuffled into the classroom and quickly sat down in the back. Amanda leaned over to Abrams. “I think that is the same guy that was late for Torts.”