A quiet study group. Then screams, gunfire, bodies on the floor. Within minutes, Brown University became the center of a frantic manhunt, a campus locked in fear, and a nation asking how this keeps happening. Students hid in dark classrooms, parents refreshed their phones in panic, and a faceless figure slipped into the night, van… Continues…
They were solving equations and planning futures when the shooter stepped into Barus & Holley and shattered everything. Two lives were cut short, nine more forever altered, as students dove behind desks and texted desperate goodbyes. Outside, sirens converged on College Hill while an entire campus waited for a knock on the door, a name on a list, a call from the hospital that never came.
Now, Providence lives in the long, raw hours after the gunfire. A grainy surveillance clip shows a dark figure walking toward the water, face hidden, identity unknown. Police canvass streets, hospitals lock down, and families gather at reunification centers clinging to fragments of information. Leaders offer prayers; investigators collect shell casings and security footage. In dorm rooms and dining halls, one question hangs in the air like smoke: how do you ever feel safe again, when violence walks straight through an unlocked door?
