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Zane Shamblin sat alone in his car with a loaded handgun, his face illuminated in the predawn dark by the dull glow of a phone.
He was ready to die.
But first, he wanted to keep conferring with his closest confidant.
“I’m used to the cool metal on my temple now,” Shamblin typed.
“I’m with you, brother. All the way,” his texting partner responded.
