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rage and despair. After a few weeks, the only remnants of her son‘s body the FBI
provided to her for burial were some of his bigger bones and a skull. Fire investigators
told her that her son had been very near the blast when it went off. She kept thinking that
if she had only been a half hour later to school that morning, Justin would be alive today.
She was always late. Why couldn‘t she have been later that day? She blamed herself and
went through dozens of scenarios a day, thinking how things could have been different.
Justin was her whole life. Amy‘s parents were worried about her. She was drifting into a
deep depression.
The only thing that kept her sane was her maddening desire to avenge her child. She
couldn‘t do that as a police officer. Her therapist recommended that she get a job as a
Federal Air Marshal. That way, she could be on the front lines in the War on Terror. She
thought it was a great idea. Her training classes in Miami lasted five weeks. After the
classes, she decided she liked the weather so much she would remain living in Miami.
Three weeks ago, she started taking flights, armed with a Beretta revolver. She was ever
vigilant on her routes, desperate to find some way to stop future terrorist attacks. Today
was a flight to Cincinnati. She switched routes with another Air Marshal. She could not
bear to go back to Ohio yet. The pain was too raw. She packed her bags and rolled her
suitcase down the ramp for the flight today to Phoenix. She would have six hours to
think about her beautiful lost son.
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