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received a $2,400 severance package, he was infuriated. One witness remembers him threatening to go on a killing rampage that would culminate with his own death. In a chilling coincidence, the last victim of the Polytechnique massacre would turn out to be Dominique’s cousin Maryse. He had repaid her kindness with a lifetime of agony.
    “Ah, Shit”
    The cafeteria at École Polytechnique was adorned with red and white balloons to mark the holiday season. At 5:18 p.m., approximately one hundred people were gathered around the tables, chatting, eating, and sipping complimentary wine to celebrate the end of term. Stepping off the escalator, Marc Lépine entered the cafeteria and opened fire, striking a female student by the kitchen. Terrified onlookers began to flee the cafeteria in droves. When his victim fell dead, Lépine stalked across the large room, firing and wounding another. He reached a storage area known as the Polyparty, where he encountered two more female students and unloaded the Ruger, killing them. He spotted a male and female student attempting to conceal themselves beneath a table, and ordered them to “get out from there.” For unknown reasons, he allowed them to escape unharmed.
    Exiting the cafeteria, Lépine roamed around aimlessly for a number of minutes before stomping up a non-functional escalator to the third floor. There he encountered a group of students in the hallway and opened fire, wounding three: two men and one woman. Continuing down a short corridor, he turned left and entered room B-311, where three students stood on a raised platform. Clad in a brand-new red sweater, Maryse Leclair had her back to him and was scribbling on the blackboard.
    “Get out, get out,” he snarled, firing and hitting Maryse. Pivoting, he began spraying bullets at the students seated in the front row. Two women made a dash for the front doorway, but the Ruger roared, fatally wounding them. Those who chose to escape through the back exit were more successful. Lépine stalked down the aisle, firing at students hidden among the desks. One of the four he hit would eventually succumb to her injuries. Pacing up and down the aisle as if engaged in a tedious argument with himself, Lépine then clambered on top of a desk and exchanged his empty magazine for a full one. His mind clearly disintegrating, he fired wildly: nowhere; everywhere. In the silence that followed, he heard Maryse Leclair murmuring for help from the platform. Climbing onto the dais, he drew his six-inch hunting knife and plunged it three times into her chest. Then, placing the dripping blade, two boxes of ammo, and his cap onto the instructor’s desk; he sat on the platform and wrapped his windbreaker around the barrel of the Ruger.
    “Ah, shit,” he muttered. Seconds later, he blasted the remaining bullet in the magazine through his own skull, bringing the Polytechnique massacre to its conclusion.
    Control Data
    A month and a half after losing his job at the hospital, Marc Lépine turned twenty-three. Living off unemployment insurance, he managed to obtain good grades during his fifteen weeks at CEGEP Montmorency, including an 84 in Mass Communications, 81 in Advanced Algebra, and 75 in Ethics of Politics. After purchasing a computer with his savings from the hospital, he spent most of the winter cooped up in his apartment playing on it. On February 29, 1988, he applied to study Computer Programming at Control Data, a private post-secondary school in downtown Montreal. Earning a 90 grade on his admissions exam, he began attending classes on March 11. The fifteen-month program cost $9,000, two-thirds of which he took care of with a student loan, covering the rest with monthly payments of $200. While his work at other institutions had ranged from “good but unremarkable” to “terrible,” at Control Data he truly shone. The school’s director, Jean Cloutier, recalls “an isolated hard worker. Very much above average.… His marks throughout