Lane may have been dealing with his own family problems, according to reports by The Plain Dealer newspaper in Cleveland. Lane's father, Thomas Lane Jr. Between and , the first two years of Lane's life, his father and his mother were both arrested for domestic violence against each other, the paper reported. His father also served prison time for assaulting a police officer and he also was charged with holding a different woman under running water and bashing her head into a wall, the newspaper reported.
It was unclear how much contact Lane had with his father. He rarely opened up about his family, some said. He just said he had family trouble," Kovacik said.
Posts on Lane's Facebook page show him sharing links to music videos. Psychologist looks at shooter's poem Ohio school shooter gets life sentence Shooting suspect 'emotionless' in court Yet one long, poetic rant, from December 30, , appears to be darker.
The cunning cruelty. He scribbled the word killer on a t-shirt, but hid it under his button down shirt. He quietly unbuttoned it and flashed it to the families of his victims, giving them the finger and saying vile things.
Investigators tell us they were not surprised. One used the word narcissist to explain the behavior. Again, the need to be known, the need to be bad, and behind it all the need to hurt those he has already deeply wounded.
The sad thing is that in a town that wants nothing more than to forget the name TJ Lane, he does all he can to make sure it doesn't happen. Copyright WOIO. All rights reserved. Skip to content. Demetrius C. Hewlin was one of the three students killed by T. Demetrius, "D" to his friends and family, was a junior, had a passion for working out, and donated his time at the Habitat for Humanity Resale Shop in Newbury. Russell D. King Jr. He worked part time at the Amberwood Kennels in Hartsgrove and enjoyed the outdoors.
Daniel also enjoyed X-Box, skiing, and spending time with his family. The murder weapon discharged all ten bullets from the first ten-round magazine. Lane did attempt to reload and continue to fire, pulling out a knife but he never fired from the second magazine.
A camera video shows deputy Bilicic on camera making the arrest of T. Lane around am that morning. He told Bilicic that he had "shot people at the high school" and then was calmly arrested.
Once in police custody, Lane admitted he had been planning the shooting for nearly two weeks, and packed the gun and knife in his book bag before getting on his morning school bus.
Lane was wearing a special shirt that spelled 'KILLER' that he had purchased one week before the shooting, that he wanted to wear this day. Lane informs the detectives that he was not bullied, and that he chose a random table of kids to shoot. Lane's true motive has been widely speculated on in the media, however, many sources claiming that one of his victim was dating his ex-girlfriend.
Most people believe that Lane's true motive was shooting at people he knew and was not randomly selected. Like many killers, T. Lane was living in an abusive household. For the first year, he pretended things were normal. It was only later, after his life fell apart, that he realized the trauma belonged not only to the kids but to him, too. He hadn't meant to be in Chardon six years later, living in the same house, teaching at the same school. Some families left afterward. Brandon found he couldn't move.
Brandon was in the hall at Chardon High School when he heard it. It sounded like construction, like a nail gun. She would come to see that moment outside the cafeteria as the one that separated her life into a before and an after.
Afterward, Jen often wanted to quit her job. That protective instinct was why she ran out into the hall in the first place, after she heard shots and kids running. It was why she turned the corner when she did, and came face-to-face with the gun. Living in Chardon is like living in a snow globe, one resident told me.
It was early May the first time I visited, and it had just snowed again. There are antiques shops and a stylish coffeehouse with framed homilies on gratitude and prayer in the bathroom. One day I caught a middle school drama group in the square, performing skits designed to promote good values.
One centered on how Humpty Dumpty should have taken responsibility for his own fall. When the project stalled at one point because of bureaucratic complications, CoCo persuaded Dale to donate his time to finish it himself. On the branch stood three metal birds. For the three boys, he told me. Six years ago, on a Monday morning in late February, at about a. A seventeen-year-old boy named Nick Walczak was paralyzed.
The shooter is in prison for life. The first time I spoke with CoCo by phone, late on a weekday evening after my kids had gone to bed, she cried four times. That it could be a kind of earthquake that still reverberates, six years later.
That a whole town could be marked by this day and could send its young into the world marked, too—some of them drinking, depressed, cutting, suicidal. Casie is still suffering; she's had panic attacks and was diagnosed with PTSD. CoCo wanted me to understand that , as the date was rendered on memorial posters, videos, and tweets, had never ended for her family. Every time another school shooting happened, she said, she felt devastated for the people who died and their families.
Over the course of several months, I talked to many people in Chardon. I talked to a former assistant principal named Drew Trimble, who told me that whenever she hears a fire alarm or a siren, her whole body shakes involuntarily.
I talked to the high school athletic director, Doug Snyder, who said he always sits with his back to the wall in restaurants. People told me about panicking at the sight of helicopters or news crews, both of which they associated with that day. Mariah Moore, a therapist at a local mental-health facility who was a senior at Chardon during the shooting, told me that she recently had to ask a young patient to stop blowing up a balloon during a group counseling session.
Her whole body had grown taut while anticipating its pop—a sound so much like gunfire that, even though her mind could recognize it was just a balloon, she knew her body would react as if a gun had gone off. The people of Chardon have had six years to think about what a young man named T.
Lane did, and what it has done to them. They have different opinions about what could stop school shootings, opinions bound up in politics and ideologies and personal experiences.
They know what parts of themselves they've been able to reclaim, and what parts belong forever to that day. They know what life is like years after a shooting—and they know the anguish that will shape those years. Because there will be more school-shooting victims in America. The people of Chardon know this. We all know this. Danny had two questions about that day. He was sitting right there. Danny was friends with all of the boys at that cafeteria table, but he and Russell King were especially close, like brothers.
They hunted and fished together and picked up odd jobs like scooping poop and walking dogs at a facility where the animals were trained to hunt. Danny believed in work and in the importance of being useful. Russell was kind of an old soul, too, which was why they got along. He was a big guy, built like an ox. They spent nearly every day together. So, naturally, they were together that morning.
Danny and Russell—and Demetrius and Danny P. Lane was in the cafeteria, too, awaiting his ride to an alternative school for struggling students. Danny was sitting right between Danny P. Danny was looking at Russell when it happened. There was a popping sound, and Russell abruptly slumped over, his head smacking into the table. Danny turned around, and there was T.
They made eye contact. Danny turned back around, threw his head down, and played dead. Danny thought he felt another shot, the one that killed Demetrius, go right past his ear.
In the days and months and years that followed that moment in the cafeteria, Danny was filled with rage. He wanted "justice": T. The desire expanded like a balloon, filling his mind with a single impulse.
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