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The morning of the funeral was cold, humid, and dreary, it was fitting for a funeral. Lawrence silently got dressed in his shop, using only candles to illuminate his room. He was overdressed, in all black, still flamboyant as usual, but more muted. He placed the pistols in his coat and admired himself in the window reflection. He looked ready for a funeral, finishing his outfit by dawning a top hat.

‘I’ll be damned if I don’t do it!’ he shouted to himself as he stormed out of his shop and into the streets. Others passing by heard Lawrence say this, but thought nothing of it. Richard Lawrence made his way through the cold, damp street towards the Capitol Building. He was calm and moved slowly, there was no rush to stalk his prey, he knew where Jackson would be and was sure of himself.

Lawrence saw the Capitol, there were small gatherings of people and loners strewn across the steps and building grounds, disconnected from one another all here for Warren Davis. He slithered into the group and became one of them, one of those well dressed, pompous autocrats that he would soon have to contend with. He loathed those around him, having to blend in was difficult for him now. As time went on, the crowds grew and expected guests began to arrive. Family and friends, then the politicians.

Crowds began to murmur and talk among themselves as people pushed into the funeral, it began to pull Lawrence in. He resisted and waited by a pillar to conceal his presence. He knew, given Jackson’s status and importance, that he would be one of the last people in and the first people to leave, so he waited. The crowd began coagulating again by the entrance, engulfing Lawrence’s hiding spot in a flurry of activity. People began to clamor as Jackson and his posse arrived.

Lawrence began to sweat, his time was coming. Jackson was slowly climbing the stairs with the help of his cane, it showed his age and fragility. Lawrence was unnerved by the large amount of people in Jackson’s party, so many that he couldn’t see Jackson clearly. Lawrence forced his way through the crowd closer to Jackson, he could see his target better now. He reached into his pocket for his pistol, gripping the cold handle.

‘You will be stopped or killed unless I’m paid what is owed.’ Lawrence could hear Peabody warning him. This caused Lawrence to pause, he looked around and noticed three men not focused on Jackson, but on him instead. All appeared to be looking directly at his hand plunged into his coat, they were still. Jackson crested the stairs and abruptly made his way into the funeral, whisking by the unnoticed Lawrence. Jackson was inside and the groups followed Jackson into the capitol, including the men who were watching him.

He had missed yet another opportunity to kill King Andrew. He leaned against the pillar outside the exit, looking in all directions. Lawrence could no longer see any signs of Mr. Peabody, his men, or any authority who could stop Lawrence the next time he saw Jackson. Lawrence stayed at the pillar, running mental models of how he was going to kill Andrew for what seemed like minutes to him, was actually an eternity. The doors unlatched and people began exiting, Lawrence had remained motionless for the entire funeral, the noise startled him. Several people exited in a hurry, followed by those who were meandering out.

Jackson slowly walked with Davy Crocket, they were discussing some political action that was unimportant to Lawrence. There was no more waiting, no more suspense, Lawrence stepped out in front of Jackson, who continued walking speaking to Crocket. Lawrence pointed the pistol squarely at Jackson’s chest, catching the attention of now wide-eyed Crocket. The first shot fired, a heavy plume of smoke lifted from the pistol, a loud boom rang out, but a round did not leave the pistol. The crowd screamed and people ducked and scattered. Lawrence stood firm, horrified and amazed that Jackson still remained standing after his first shot. He trembled, dropping the first pistol and clutching the second one, this one, he jammed even closer to Jackson, firing again. BOOM! Another plume of smoke, that when cleared revealed the rage on Jackson’s face and began the counter-assault against Lawrence with his cane.

Lawrence fell to the ground, the crowd screaming.

‘You will be stopped or killed unless I’m paid what is owed.’

For the first time, Lawrence was actually scared. Everything he had suspected to be true, was. Lawrence was clearly the target of a coordinated effort to keep him from ascending the crown. Between Peabody, the Democrats, and everyone else they had stopped him from getting what was rightfully his. Jackson could not be killed, how else could he have survived so many duels and two point blank shots to the chest? As he fell to the ground and covered himself from the barrage of kicks and cane jabs all Lawrence could hear was , ‘you will be stopped or killed unless I’m paid what is owed.’

The crowd was deafening, shouts, roars, chaos was ensuing. Richard Lawrence was pulled up from the ground, terrified by the crowd, he began laughing. He was being pushed by Davy Crocket and a few others that surrounded him. A boot appeared from above, the only opening for sight, it struck one of the escorts, shouting crescendoed.

‘Traitor!’

‘Hang him!’

The escorts shouted back at the crowd to calm themselves, but continued to move forward with Lawrence.

‘Get Jackson back tot he White House!’

‘Let me alone! Let me alone! I know where this came from’ Jackson screamed still swinging his walking stick as he was being pushed away.

The men quickly rushed Lawrence in the opposite direction of President Andrew Jackson. The crowd didn’t dissipate, following them as they moved toward the Supreme Court Chambers (what is modern day North Wing of the Capital Building, as the Supreme Court didn’t have a permanent building after moving from Philadelphia.)

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