Free Newtown: An American Tragedy by Matthew Lysiak Page B

acquiring the most kills in the shortest amount of time. Through repetitive play of Call of Duty, Adam learned how to load the second cartridge in a single fluid motion before the first was emptied by ejecting the magazine with the hand holding the weapon while drawing a new magazine from its place using his fourth and fifth fingers, and inserting a fresh magazine with the thumb and index finger. That skill, called the “tactical reload,” had previously been available only to law enforcement or for military training.
    Call of Duty allowed him to try different techniques with a wide variety of weapons. He could choose pistols, automatic weapons, and even flamethrowers to execute his mission. After much trial and error, he settled on the AN-94 as his favorite, a fully automatic Russian assault rifle that could cause maximum damage, especially in short bursts.
    By 2012, Adam had slipped into further solitude. “It was nearly complete isolation and it was self-imposed,” one relative recalled. “Adam was by himself all the time and there was nothing Nancy or anyone else could do to get him out. She tried, but he just wouldn’t have it. The more she tried, the more she believed she pushed him further and further away.”
    Another friend referred to Adam as a “shut-in.” His mental health issues, combined with his military ambitions, his gaming habit, and a dramatic decline in any form of social interaction had caused the young man to withdraw further and further from reality. Even the shooting range was barely appealing.

CHAPTER 6

WARNING SIGNS
    N ancy, too, began to change. She had always been an attractive, upbeat blonde known for her unique brand of humor and sarcasm. But friends noticed that she was spending more and more time away from home and started talking about “getting away.” In the fall, in anticipation of the move, she parted with one of her most prized possessions—her beloved Red Sox season tickets.
    Neighbors began to notice a shift toward seclusion in the Lanza family. Their sprawling yellow Colonial family home, hidden away in a wooded area at the end of Yogananda Street, had been so full of life during its first few years but had since became a “black spot” in the neighborhood. The family had earned a reputation as very quiet, private, and largely unknown.
    “I knew every single one of my neighbors but them,” recalled one neighbor who lived three houses down. “Hardly anyone spoketo them. It’s as if they stopped being part of the community altogether and just fell off the face of the earth.”
    Although Nancy had dedicated so much of her life and energy to helping her son, she sensed that her ability to keep a handle on the situation was slipping from her grasp. Her child was well past a point of crisis and, whatever was going on inside his head at this point, was beyond her ability to comprehend.
    “Parental bonds are formed so early in life . . . they are either there or they aren’t,” she had emailed a friend more than a decade earlier, during an easier time when she still felt optimistic about her ability to shape Adam’s future. “It is a direct product of how much the parent put into that relationship.”
    Now, her attitude had shifted. With Adam, perhaps it was already too late, she confided in a friend. Nancy was becoming accustomed to leaving her son alone for days, sometimes weeks at a time. Beginning in January 2012, she traveled to London, New Orleans, and New York City, in addition to frequent trips to Boston.
    On October 6, 2012, Nancy emailed a relative about her extensive travels and plans to eventually downsize her home. She was waiting for the market to improve before listing the Yogananda Street residence with a Realtor.
    “I hear you there . . . no sense selling at a loss!” she wrote. “Best to keep stability in the kids’ lives. Moves are so tough at that age. I am still in the same place but getting to the point where I may want a smaller house. I