Murder In America - EP. 250 - FLORIDA: THE PULSE MASSACRE, PART THREE: THE ENDLESS DAY.

Episode Date: June 19, 2026

By 5 am on June 12th, 2016, news that there had been a shooting at Pulse Nightclub in Orlando was everywhere. Family members gathered outside the club, at hospitals, and at victims' centers, desperate to find out if their loved ones had survived. When the shooting came to an end, the horror of what people endured was really just beginning. For the entire day, victims' loved ones searched the city in agony for answers. In part 3 of our 4-part series, we will explore the endless day that followed the Pulse shooting, the funerals of the victims, and the reaction by the public. A reaction which was loving and supportive… but at times, violent and cruel.  - Sources:https://docs.google.com/document/d/1eTYeCoYyxm58DXXdoFbHQyWHlWbcH9iKGIefFcQToW4/edit?tab=t.y2yayotxnlcb Listen to our new show, "THE CONSPIRACY FILES"!: -Spotify - https://open.spotify.com/show/5IY9nWD2MYDzlSYP48nRPl -Apple Podcasts - https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-conspiracy-files/id1752719844 -Amazon/Audible - https://music.amazon.com/podcasts/ab1ade99-740c-46ae-8028-b2cf41eabf58/the-conspiracy-files -Pandora - https://www.pandora.com/podcast/the-conspiracy-files/PC:1001089101 -iHeart - https://iheart.com/podcast/186907423/ -PocketCast - https://pca.st/dpdyrcca -CastBox - https://castbox.fm/channel/id6193084?country=us - Stay Connected: Join the Murder in America fam in our free Facebook Community for a behind-the-scenes look, more insights and current events in the true crime world: https://www.facebook.com/groups/4365229996855701 If you want even more Murder in America bonus content, including ad-free episodes, come join us on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/murderinamerica Instagram: http://instagram.com/murderinamerica/ Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/people/Murder-in-America-Podcast/100086268848682/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/MurderInAmerica TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@theparanormalfiles and https://www.tiktok.com/@courtneybrowen Feeling spooky? Follow Colin as he travels state to state (and even country to country!) investigating claims of extreme paranormal activity and visiting famous haunted locations on The Paranormal Files Official Channel: https://www.youtube.com/c/TheParanormalFilesOfficialChannel - (c) BLOOD IN THE SINK PRODUCTIONS 2026 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

This week's episode is sponsored by The Psychological Horror Nightmare, Return to Silent Hill. When a mysterious letter draws James back to Silent Hill, he finds a town consumed by a terrifying fog. As he searches for the woman he once loved, the streets begin to warp around him, filled with monstrous creatures, impossible visions, and a horrifying revelation that he may not survive. Based on the legendary Silent Hill, too, and directed as a terrifying revelation. by Christoph Gans. Return to Silent Hill blends haunting

psychological horror with surreal nightmarish imagery that fans of the franchise know all too well. Some truths should stay buried in the fog. Watch now on Screenbox. Warning, the following podcast

is not suitable for all audiences. We go into great detail with every case that we cover and do our best to bring viewers even deeper into the stories by utilizing disturbing audio and sound effects. Rigger warnings from the stories we cover may include violence, rape, murder, and offenses against children.

This podcast is not for everyone. You have been warned. It was June 12, 2016, just after 5 in the morning. Orlando, Florida was still dark. As officers slowly made their way into the ruins of the Pulse Nightclub, a sound filled the air. Not the sound of music or laughter, like the club had been filled with just six hours before. Now it was the sound of crunching glass and blood beneath their feet. And over it, the ring of dozens and dozens of cell phones. As the world woke up to hear the news of the Pulse Nightclub shooting,

people all over began calling their loved ones in Orlando to make sure they were okay. For hours, as officers worked the scene, they could hear the victim's phones ringing over and over again, calls for moms and dads, siblings, partners, all desperately trying to reach their loved ones to see if they were okay. But no one answered, no one ever would. Because all across the floor, bodies laid, waiting to be identified. The amount of carnage inside this building was hard to believe.

All the people on the floor, they had dreams for their lives. Some were nurses, law students, parents, teenagers, but their whole lives ahead of them, all people with their own stories and aspirations, all wiped out in a single night. Off to the side, there was another body. He too was riddled with bullets, but investigators felt much differently about him. He was the monster who, hours earlier, had walked inside the club to kill as many people as he could, and that he did. He had taken the lives of 49 people and injured over 50 more. In part one, we talked about his background. In part two, we discussed the details of the massacre he committed. But in part three,

we will be talking about the people on the other end of those phone calls, ringing on the floor of pulse, what they went through, who they lost, and what the immediate aftermath of the tragic shooting was. So with that, I'm Courtney Browne. And I'm Colin Brown. and you're listening to Murder in America. It was a scene unlike any other. Soon after 5 a.m., people frantically ran through the parking lot of pulse, carrying the wounded and bleeding in their arms. By that point, due to the sheer number of victims,

Orlando had run out of ambulances for transporting the wounded. As EMTs with ambulances tried to rush the critically injured to get care, many panicked survivors hit the windows of the overflowing ambulances, begging to be taken too. Dozens more victims were piled into police cruisers, fire trucks, and even local citizens' vehicles to make the one-mile trek to the nearest hospital, Orlando Regional Medical Center. Cars flooded the streets, driving as fast as they could beyond the perimeter of the crime scene, praying that the people in their back seats wouldn't bleed out before they reached the hospital.

By 527 a.m., 90 survivors had been removed from Pulse. everyone else who remained inside was dead. The scene inside of Pulse was like a war zone. The power had been cut, and as crime scene investigators, officers, and EMTs entered the club, they faced darkness and sweltering heat. There was no AC. The smell of blood and the vastness of the bodies in front of them was overwhelming,

strengthening by the second. One EMT was so overwhelmed by the smell that he tried to breathe through his mouth, instead, only to gag at the taste of blood, booze, and gunpowder. Everywhere they looked, there were bullets. The pitch black walls of the club were pinpricked with white puncture marks, each where a bullet had landed. Crime scene investigators would later determine that, in total, over 400 rounds were shot inside of the club. Those who survived suffered over 60 shots collectively. The 49 victims who were killed had been struck by over 200 total.

One victim had 13 gunshot wounds. One other had 10, and over one-third of the victims had gunshot wounds to their heads. At 4 a.m., chief medical examiner Joshua Stephanie had received his first call regarding pulse. At first, he was told there were about 11, maybe 12 bodies, but as the minutes ticked closer to 5.30 a.m., the numbers climbed. 20 minutes later, a new text. 20 bodies. 30. 40.

Usually, medical examiners arrive on scene to assess after police have done their investigation. But that wasn't the case here. News of the shooting was starting to spread. People were calling police, the news, anyone they could reach, desperate for answers about their loved ones. Dr. Stephanie told CNN, quote, For every victim, there are five to six family members who will start calling immediately. They start calling anyone they can. and we want to set up one number and get all the information we can to give it to them.

And quote, Dr. Stephanie didn't want these people to wait. So he arrived at the club and immediately he began going person by person, documenting where they were, what their wounds were, and if he could figure it out on site, who they might be. Some were easy to identify. Others, based on the severity of their wounds, weren't so easy. But all around Orlando and the world, family members and friends were waking up to the most horrific news of their lives, and they didn't know if the people their world revolved around were dead or alive. Hundreds of loved ones flooded the crime scene looking for answers. They were quickly directed to the nearby Hampton Inn, just a few blocks away.

There they gathered, waiting in agony. Noel Santiago was one of these people. She waited for news about her. her nephew, 38-year-old Luis Wilson, who had gone to Pulse with a group of friends. She told time, quote, there's a lot of mothers, aunts, sisters, everybody is waiting. The room is so crowded and it's hot and we have no news, end quote. Sadly, Luis was still in the building. He had been shot alongside his boyfriend, Jean-Carlose-Mendez-Perez. Luis grew up in Puerto Rico. Throughout his life, he was often bullied for being gay. People called him homophobic slurs. But throughout everything, he knew who he was.

And he was proud. He was so loving and accepting that people always knew they could be themselves around him. His friend would later say, quote, he was the first person on this earth I came out to, and he always protected and loved his friends. His strength and character was always an inspiration to all of us. End quote.

But tragically, Luis's family would never hear from him again. Another person, desperate for answers that morning, was Christine Lainonen. Christine woke up at 3 a.m. and she wasn't sure why. She hadn't gotten a text or a call, but as she laid there in bed, she picked up her phone and began to scroll on Facebook. And as soon as she opened the app, her heart sank. The first post she saw was from a friend of her son.

It warned people that there had been a shooting at Pulse and expressed that he hoped the friends he got separated from were okay. Christine immediately shot up in bed. Her son, Christopher Drew Linoen, loved going to Pulse. Born on June 1, 1984 in Detroit, Michigan, Drew had been on the move from a young age. One of his favorite pastimes as a kid had been going to local malls to play dance-dance Revolution while his mom looked on, and she loved to do it. Drew was her only son, raised by her in a single-parent household.

The two did everything together, and even referred to themselves as, the Chris Linoonan team. When Drew was young, he and Christine moved to Orlando, Florida, where she went to law school and became an attorney after working for a decade as an officer for the Michigan State Police. Despite balancing school, a career, and being a single mom, their little family of two flourished. Drew was intelligent, and after graduating from Seminole High School,

he enrolled at UCF and earned a degree in psychology in 2007. By 2009, he had also earned a master's, and started working as a clinical psychologist. He loved vintage movies and was described as handsome, personable, and brilliant. All these flashes of his life and their life together spun through his mother's mind as she messaged Drew's friend who had made the post on Facebook asking if Drew had been with him. When the friend responded, the world fell out from under Christine. Drew had been there that night with his boyfriend, Juan.

His friend got separated from them and managed to escape. Later, he saw Juan getting dragged out of the club, covered in bullet wounds. He didn't see Drew. Christine rushed out of bed and threw some clothes on. Her whole body rattled with adrenaline as she tried to wrap her head around the unknown. Did her son make it out? Was he in the hospital? Was he inside the club waiting for her to come rescue him?

Was he outside the club, wounded and wandering? In all the questions, there was one certainty that Christine had. Drew wouldn't have left behind Juan. They must have been together. The love that the two had for each other was unlike anything she had ever seen. Their bond was unbreakable. And despite having only been together for a year,

it seemed like they had known each other their whole lives. Initially, when Drew came out to his family, his father, who he saw about once a year, wasn't thrilled. But after seeing Juan and Drew together, the sanctity of their love was undeniable. 22-year-old Juan was a pre-finance major at UCF. He worked as a telemarketer and wanted to become a financial advisor. Things were going well for him.

He had recently come out to his family and they embraced him with love and acceptance. Now, Juan was quiet. He rarely went out to clubs, opting to stay home and take care of his niece and nephew instead. But that night, he decided to join his boyfriend Drew and their other friends at Pulse. His former math teacher at Freedom High School would later say, quote, Each time I think of him, I still see his beautiful smiling face in my mind. He was always so very happy, sweet, friendly, funny, respectful, courteous, caring, honest, and studious. I was truly blessed to know him, and the world is a better place because of him.

The world was a better place with Drew and Juan in it. But there, in her bedroom, Christine had to grapple with the fact that she had to be able to She might not have just lost her son, but her future son-in-law. She got in her car and immediately raced to a 7-Eleven near Pulse, where she was going to meet up with Drew's friend and try to get an understanding of the situation. When she arrived, it was still dark out, aside from the rapid flashing of lights of emergency personnel. She asked a nearby officer if anyone was hurt during the shooting. He responded, matter-of-factly,

Oh, yeah, they're all over the floor. For Christine, it was like the twist of a knife. Was her son one of those people on the floor? Desperate for answers, she tried to talk to anyone and everyone nearby to see if they had seen her son. Around that time, a news crew arrived on the scene, and Christine spoke with them, begging for answers regarding Drew's whereabouts. But I don't know where my son is. No one can tell me where my son is. If he's been shot, if he's dead, no one knows.

Christine then went to the nearby hospital to wait for news. Families were given a hotline number to call. to receive the latest updates, and at first, they were told news would be released at 4.30, then 5, then 5.30, then 6. To pass the time, dozens continued to call and text their loved ones. By this point, many of the victim's phones started going to voicemail because the influx of calls had drained their batteries. The longer they waited, the further back the time was pushed, and the more people

gathered in the hospital with Christine, also looking for their loved ones. They spoke to one another, exchanging information, trying with everything they had to get to the bottom of where their children, partners, and friends were. As sunlight crept over Orlando, the endless day for these families had just begun. Soon after sunrise, Christine spoke with a reporter. Christine is joining us from Orlando right now, and Christine, I understand your son was in the club last night? Yes, he was. Have you heard anything? I haven't heard anything.

I've been here since 4 o'clock in the morning. I've been waiting. I've waiting by the emergency room, see if anybody gets called in. What is your son's full name? My son is Christopher Linenin. Christopher Linen in. And what have the police been able to tell you?

Well, they said there's a lot of dead ones. bodies in the club. That's a crime scene. They can't identify anybody. So it could be hours and hours before we find out. The hospital said that there are some bodies at the hospital that came in and they died. And they're not identifiable yet either. and then there are a few that are in critical condition

that aren't identified yet. But Drew was not in critical condition. He had died on the floor of Pulse, likely seconds after the shooter entered the building. But from the time Christine learned the shooting had taken place to the time she learned her son was dead, 33 hours had passed, 33 hours of agony, of not sleeping, of not sleeping,

of not eating, of not knowing. When she finally learned the news, her whole world caved in around her. And then, when she learned the true nature of his death, it was like losing him for a second time. When Drew's autopsy was released months after the shooting, she discovered that he had been shot from behind four times. Then, as he laid on the floor unable to walk,

but likely not dead, He was shot another five times. She was given the clothes he died in, which she still has to this day. And though she lost her son, his spirit lives on, and it's tied to Juan's spirit for all of eternity. Rather than have separate funerals, the families of Juan and Drew decided to hold a joint ceremony for them. Loved ones refused to see it as a funeral, but rather a celebration of their lives and the wedding they never got to have. On the morning of June 12th, Christine wasn't alone in her grief. The hospitals and businesses around Pulse became a hub for desperate loved ones looking for answers.

As we mentioned, many people gathered at the Hampton Inn, and there were so many people there that volunteers came by to pass out food and water. Pastors and grief counselors spoke with people in the crowd who were beside themselves with worry. Some of those people found out about the shooting on Facebook or after receiving texts from people inside the club, and some awakened to a call that their life had. changed forever. Around 9 a.m. on June 12th, Brian Alvair was startled awake by a call from a family member.

Brian worked nights, so he was half asleep when he pressed the phone to his ear. But what he heard on the other end woke him up immediately. She was crying, so I started freaking out. I thought something happened to one of her parents or one of my parents. And she was like, have you been on Facebook? And I was like, no, I'm asleep. There was a shooting at Pulse in Orlando and your sister was at the club. She hasn't come home.

Brian was horrified. He dug for more information and quickly learned that his sister, 25-year-old Amanda Alvayar, had been at Pulse with her best friend, 26-year-old Mercedes-Maris Marisal Flores. Amanda was described as someone who deeply loved her friends and family.

She was always willing to go out of her way to help those she cared about. She wanted everyone to feel special, and to make that happen, She often planned holidays and birthdays months in advance, but Amanda's best friend was Mercedes. Amanda's brother Brian told News 6, quote, They would always make each other laugh. Everyone would see them laughing.

End quote. The girls would laugh so much and so loud that people started referring to them as the hyenas. And while some people might have taken that as an insult, Amanda and Mercedes saw it as a badge of honor. They didn't carry any shame for their joy. They felt blessed to experience it so freely and openly. And that's exactly why so many people loved them. Their energy was truly infectious. And that's what drew the two together in the first place.

The pair met at Valencia College where they immediately hit it off. Mercedes's father, Caesar Flores, said, quote, They grew up together. They were best friends. End quote. And by 2016, they had grown into incredible young women. Amanda graduated and earned a job as a pharmacy technician, but she dreamt of becoming a midwife and doula. She planned to go to school in the fall to make that a reality.

Mercedes had been right there alongside her, cheering her on the whole way. Born in Queens, New York, Mercedes studied literature at Valencia College. She enjoyed planning parties, and she absolutely loved music. Her niece Jennifer told the Orlando Sentinel, quote, Whenever I was in the car with her, she always had music blasting. And I guess she got the love of music from my father, an uncle who are DJs. She was just a really fun, nice person who cared a lot about her friends. She really did live her life the way she wanted to, end quote. Brian knew one thing as soon as he heard the news about Mercedes and Amanda.

If they had really been at Pulse, both of the girls would have posted it on social media. He quickly grabbed his phone and opened Snapchat. His sister had a story posted. He clicked it and instantly felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. Just eight hours ago, Amanda had posted countless videos of herself and Mercedes dancing at Pulse, toasting drinks under the flashing lights, singing along to the music, and being unconditionally themselves. Then there came one final story she had posted. The video begins with Amanda dancing to the music. Then you hear the gunshots. She scrunches her face in confusion,

trying to figure out where the sound is coming from. Then, the video abruptly cuts off. A W is typed in the center of the screen. Like Amanda accidentally hit her keyboard, as she tried to put her phone away in a rush. Her brother describes his reaction to the video best. As a brother, like, the first thing you notice is the fear in her eyes. Like, wait, it's like, you can tell she's like,

Like, is this the song? And then just immediate fee and her start to run, and you want to be there and you can't. Not knowing what else to do, Brian went to his aunt and uncle's house, along with his mother to await the news. All day they were bombarded with news of the number of victims climbing. But Brian tried to stay positive telling NBC. She was strong, independent, stubborn. I firmly believe that if anyone could get shot and be too stubborn to die, it was my sister. Unfortunately, Amanda and Mercedes both died inside of Pulse that night.

It wasn't until late that afternoon that Brian and his family received the news on the porch of his aunt and uncle's home. For the entire family, it was utterly devastating. But for Amanda's mother, the pain was unbearable. She had three children, Nelson, Amanda, and Brian. And after the Pulse shooting, she was down to one. She just wanted to help people. And a lot of that stems from her experience growing up being in hospitals because my brother, the middle child, I'm the oldest. Nelson, he died of cancer when he was 11.

So this is the second child my parents have lost. For the family, the grief was only compounded by the hate and racism that began to brew online regarding the shooter. In an interview just hours after finding out Amanda died, he had a pointed message for the community regarding the shooter. I know that there's a lot of hate building regarding the shooter and his family, which I feel like is unwarranted. And my mother was very specific about me talking about this. They lost a son, just like she lost a daughter, just like I lost a sister. It's not their fault. And for people on the Internet and in the media, you know, blaming them or, you know, they're getting threats and things of that nature, it's completely and utterly ridiculous.

and I know my sister and I know my parents and I know me and we don't want to spit a message of hate. We shouldn't be unifying in hate. We should be unifying in love for the victims, the survivors, the community. Amanda was buried at the Garden of Memory Cemetery in Tampa, Florida, where Mercedes was buried has never been publicly released. But Amanda's family holds a toy drive called Amanda's Angels every year in her honor on her birthday, December 12th. Amanda's mother still has a can of hairspray that belonged to her, a can that she used leading up to the shooting. It's almost empty, but she keeps it in a box with her daughter's childhood journal. When asked why she kept it, she responded, I don't know why, but it belonged to her.

And that's reason enough. The loss still affects Amanda and Mercedes's families daily. But both of them find comfort in the fact that at the very least, they died with their best, friend at their side. It was reported that both were killed while hiding in the stall inside one of the bathrooms. But sadly, other victims didn't have someone to lean on in their final moments. When Emily Addison woke up on June 12th and turned her phone off of Do Not Disturb, she was met with a barrage of messages. Many were from her partner, 32-year-old Deionka D.D. Drayton. With each message Emily read, she felt more panicked. The texts have never been released in full, but Emily told the

Orlando Sentinel, she said she was scared, people were shot. For Emily, seeing the text was devastating. She and Deanka had been in a relationship for seven years. And though, at the time of the shooting, they weren't technically girlfriends, they still supported one another, and Deanka was considered the stepmother of Emily's teenage daughters and the mother of her two-year-old son, Diari. Throughout raising their toddler, they had made an agreement together. As soon as he went to bed, they'd both put their phones on Do Not Disturb. That night, Emily had missed the texts and calls. She had slept through De Anka's final moments, and it's something she had trouble for giving herself for. She told the Orlando Sentinel, it felt like I wasn't there for her when she needed me most. Immediately after

seeing the texts, Emily called Deanka over and over, desperate for answers, but it went straight to voicemail each time. For hours, all Emily could do was call hospitals, friends, and the Pulse hotline begging for answers. She told the Orlando Sentinel, I prayed so hard my knuckles were white. By late afternoon on June 12th, families and loved ones who were missing someone who had been at Pulse were invited to a senior center a few blocks from the club where they could wait for answers. Emily waited there, along with Dianca's parents and sister, who had made the long drive down from South Carolina to Orlando when they heard the news of their worst nightmare. Sadly, that nightmare came true.

At 10 p.m., the names of some of the victims were released. Deianka's name was among them. She was shot while she hid in the bathroom stall, along with several others. Following the loss, Deanka's parents found comfort in their daughter's Bible. Inside, she had scribbled notes about her faith and questions about life and its meaning. For Emily, the loss of Deanka wasn't just the loss of a partner,

it was the loss of a mother for her child. Diari was just three years old and couldn't wrap his mind around the sudden disdain. disappearance of one of the women he called mom. He doesn't understand why she hasn't come back. He has no idea why. Emily told StoryCorps. My son, he's three now, and every night when we're going to bed, we walk up the stairs,

he'll turn to her picture and say, Night night, mommy. I don't know how to get him to understand that she's never coming back, and I miss her so much. That feeling is constant. Like I need her to call me. I need to see her. So many people were left reeling with the loss of Dianca. She had an infectious spirit and many nicknames.

Little Bit, Locke, Dedi, and Dion. She was particular about her style and loved to wear her hair in long dreadlocks. She also loved fashion, particularly Michael Coors and Air Jordans. She loved music, poetry, and basketball, and was also deeply spiritual and prided herself on her genuine relationship with God. In her own poetry, she often referred to her. on her faith, saying, many are called, but few are chosen. Deanka and Emily had moved to Orlando from South Carolina in 2012.

Emily said that Deanka didn't like the heat, but it never stopped her from going outside to play with her son. For those who knew her, Deanka loved hard and was extremely devoted. And for no reason at all, she was taken from the people who not only loved her, but needed her. As we mentioned, many people waited for news about their loved one. at the senior center near Pulse, where they were told to gather. Throughout the day, some were given snippets of information,

while others waited in agony. Around 6 p.m., news crews captured heartbreaking live footage outside the center as they watched some families exit the building, where they had just received the worst news of their lives. Tom, I can only imagine just how agonizing this weight has been for them. I can't imagine. In the last half hour or so, it would appear that more information is trickling out to some of these families. I'm going to step out of the way. We're going to let photographer Kim Olivier zoom in. And over in this area along this curb, you can see little groups of people.

And periodically over the last half hour, you can tell the people who have gotten bad news because they have been surrounded by friends, family, and in some cases, strangers who are trying to console. them from the overwhelming grief that they've been feeling. Now we've been here for three or four hours now. When we first got here earlier today, we talked to a man named Peron Serrano. Peron has a brother who's 37 years old. His name is Juan. Juan was at the nightclub last night, but Peron has not heard from him since.

Here's what he had to tell us about what he's been going through today looking for his brother. I'm desperate. I'm completely desperate. We've been here since 8 o'clock in the morning trying to find out where he had. If he's here, if he's alive or wounded or what. Honestly, it makes no sense to me, but right now I'm not even thinking about that, you know. And we also talked to a man named Demetrius Nulling. Now, Demetrius has, he was in the club last night, pardon me, with several friends. He says when the shooting started, it was a very chaotic scene, said the music was still

going. And at first, people weren't quite sure what was going on, but they figured it out very quickly he said and they all began to run at some point he lost track of his friend Bryson and that's why he came here today looking for his friend Bryson and here's what he said to us love your loved ones they're not always promised to be here another day with you I was holding my best friend's hand and he told me don't let it go and I said we're gonna get out of here these assemblies are going through something that you would never imagine and to be there and to be luckily to get out and to have blood on you and see people

die and see somebody come in and just visually just murder people like they're not even an animal. And coming out here live, you can see as we pan, there is another person who has being consoled by friends and family after apparently getting the news, as I've been saying out here all day, the news that no one ever wants to get. We'll continue giving you updates out here, but for now, we'll send it back to you guys. While many families remained at that center for hours, others rushed to nearby hospitals. In the emergency rooms, the crowds grew to the hundreds.

Little by little, these people learn the fate of their loved ones. For the people who learned that their loved one died, their screams could be heard echoing throughout. Other people embraced each other, relieved to know that their loved one was alive. One man shouted at the sky, Porque, pleading with God, wanting to know why this happened. As the crowd grew larger, law enforcement moved the group to a hospital conference room. Standing before the crowd of people,

they asked them to pull up pictures of their missing loved one. The pictures were emailed the hospital administrator Amy D. Young, who had to print them out to help identify victims and survivors. Amy also had the difficult task of informing police officers of the deceased. She later said, quote, It felt like any second that I stop, and I don't print these and take them to the cops, is another minute that this person is in total anguish. I could hear the screaming, the blood curdling screams.

Every time they would pull someone into another room next to my office and tell them they were dead. You just never forget that sound. It's horrible, end quote. For some, hours passed with no updates, and the concerned family members and friends were ordered, ordered to leave and call a hotline for additional updates. At 11 a.m., one of the hospital employees, Dr. Joseph Ibrahim, was sent out to the crowd to give

them an update. There were easily 100 people in front of him desperate for answers. Slowly, he went name by name on who they were caring for. With each name, people began to sob or scream or gasp with relief. When the list was finished, Dr. Ibrahim told the woman. waiting families, this. If you have a loved one in critical condition, go to this corner. If they're stable, go to this corner.

Everyone did as they were told. But in the middle of the room, dozens of people remained with no answers. Dr. Ibrahim told Central Florida public media, quote, and I think that's when it hit everyone, how many people we were dealing with that were going to be getting really, really bad news. We let them know that we still had several to identify. In the back of my mind, I knew we only had four, but we still had probably 100 people in the room. You could see them kind of start processing the reality of it.

Okay, it's been six or seven hours. They've read the list of people who they know they have, and I haven't heard from my person. I can remember them staring back at us, like, what about mine? Dr. Ibrahim was faced with the pleading eyes of terrified family members, but he had to turn around, and he had to go back through the double doors at the end of the end of the time. to the hall because he was needed there. For hours, the OR had been overwhelmed. Out of the 300 or so people that had been in pulse at the time of the shooting, one-third of them were shot. Many others had injuries from the stampede of people trying to get away. From 2 a.m. on,

the hospital was a revolving door of madness and anguish. Dr. Catherine Bondani told the Orlando Sentinel they were dropped off in truckloads and ambulance loads. Without prior warning, dozens of bleeding people lined up in the emergency room, and staff had to scramble to figure out how to tend to the overwhelming amount of victims. It was all hands on deck. Staff members, nurses, and technicians arrived without even being told to come. The only trauma surgeon on call that night, Dr. Chadwick Smith, desperately called other doctors telling them to come as fast as possible. The trauma center at Orlando Regional Medical Center was only equipped to handle five patients a shift, With only two operating rooms, doctors had to think fast and were able to expand to six.

The most severely injured were treated first, and doctors performed emergency surgery after emergency surgery to save as many lives as they could. Like Gary said, we got essentially a call saying that we had some gunshot wounds coming in. We didn't know exactly how many we were going to get. Dr. Stone and I, the senior resident on went to the trauma bay to get to Gary. ready for the patients to start coming in. And our first patient was relatively stable, awake, and talking to us. And we thought maybe they're all going to be like this, and that would be great. And then we quickly got two or three more that were very critical in nature.

Several of our other senior residents came into the trauma bay as well as Dr. Parrish to start helping us triage the patients. The trauma team, Dr. Smith and his awesome residents came in and started helping us kind of figure out who was sick, who was the sickest, and what we needed to do. We quickly got about five patients, and that was a lot for us, and we thought maybe that was going to be it. And then they started lining up in the hallway. They weren't being brought in by ambulances. There was no paramedics coming in and giving us report and dropping them off. They were being dropped off in truckloads and in ambulance loads where our amazing nurses and

texts were putting them on stretchers and rolling them into us and telling us that another patients here, another patients here, another patients here. And quickly our trauma baby came full to capacity and we had to move people out. So Dr. Smith and Dr. Parrish and I started using the residents and quickly figuring out who was the sickest and who could move out of the trauma bay to make room for somebody else so that we could triage and treat everybody. And in a matter of 30 minutes, I think we had multiple surgeons coming in the door to help us out. I saw dozens of nurses who I knew were not on that night who showed up. I saw texts coming from everywhere. We had x-ray in there. We had blood in there. We had everybody in there

trying to figure out who was sick and who wasn't. And we just started one by one moving through and trying to figure out who needed to go where and just going one by one and figuring them out. And I think that Dr. Smith was really the kind of team leader who helped us kind of triage and move from patient to patient. Dr. William Haverin said the entire ordeal was surreal and another, Dr. Joseph Ibrahim, compared it to a war scene.

In every corner of the emergency room, people were bleeding from wounds from both large and small ammunition, since the shooter had used an assault rifle and a pistol. Some people had large cuts and scrapes from being dragged across broken glass, and others had shattered and broken bones from being trampled at the club. Doctors and nurses worked as hard as they could, but there was one problem that they couldn't fix right then and there. They needed blood. All the available blood in the area had to be rushed over to replace the enormous amount of blood,

lost the victims had suffered. They were bleeding to death. And so our first priority is to stop the bleeding so that they're not losing blood anymore. And then we have to replace the blood that they have lost. I just remember hearing relentlessly throughout the night is hearing my fellow nurses and everybody saying, we need blood, get me some blood, get me some blood, get me some blood, because then you might go to the core, get more blood. That's all we had to do to help these people.

because that's what they needed so very desperately. In the documentary Pulse Nightclub Survivors, how their lives were saved, it was reported that among the five Pulse survivors who needed blood transfusions, it took more than 60 different blood donors to provide enough blood to keep them alive. One survivor in particular needed a mass transfusion that required 42 blood donors to save his life. the blood had to be rushed over in bag-filled buckets. But thankfully, as soon as day broke, people from all around Orlando rushed to nearby centers to donate.

That was one hurdle covered. Blood was flowing. Unfortunately, another hurdle awaited nurses immediately. Supplies were not flowing. Pressure bags are used to accelerate transfusions. They're the bags you see connected to IV stands. But the hospital only had so. many of these bags, not enough to pair with the gallons and gallons of blood they needed patients

to receive. Nurses were forced to give victims blood by other means, squeezing it into victims with their hands as fast as they were able to. Libby Brown, who was working in the ER that night, told Central Florida public media, quote, were just out of resources. Just seeing nurses standing at the top of the bed, squeezing blood products into people, we have level one pressure machines. that will push blood in faster. We have pressure bags that will help push blood in faster, but obviously those were all being used up.

So you just see nurses at the head of beds squeezing blood into people, end quote. It was a horrible scene, growing worse and worse by the minute. But for Libby, one moment in particular stuck out. That morning, out of the 36 victims that were transported to the hospital

in the first 39 minutes of the shooting, Nine of them died. Their bodies had to be put on a gurney and pushed into a decontamination bay outside the trauma operating room. At one point, they had even ran out of sheets to cover the bodies. Libby said, quote,

we didn't even have a sheet to cover a patient that was deceased, going to be lined up with the other bodies. So that was one of the times when I was like, this is very, very bad. And now for a brief ad break. Anyways, y'all, let's get back to the show. Many victims were saved due to the relentless work and dedication of the nurses and doctors that day. Many were also saved by One Blood, a blood donation center that worked tirelessly with the hospital.

But One Blood had a connection to the pulse shooting in more than one way, because one of their employees, Rodolfo Ayala, died in the shooting. Rodolfo, or Roddy, as everyone knew him, worked at the center as a biologics assistant. He was not only passionate about saving lives through his work, but he was extremely knowledgeable and was often called upon to provide insight. He loved to dance, and one of his favorite nights at Pulse was Latin Night, where he could let loose listening to his favorite singer, Ricky Martin. Even at work, Rodolfo would break out into dance and encourage his co-workers to join him. Originally from Puerto Rico, he eventually moved to Orlando,

where he built a really beautiful life for himself. A member of his team, Adam Cologne, told people, Rodi would not hurt a fly. He was gentle and sweet and charismatic. He could rock a bow tie. He was famous for the bow tie. He wore very vibrant colors, suspenders, a full hawk one day and the following day blonde hair.

You could spot him a mile away. Like many others that night at Pulse, Rodolfo was not ashamed of his sexuality. He embraced it, and the community embraced him back. That night, Rodolfo had gone to Pulse with a big group of his friends. By the end of the shooting, four of them had died. Behind the scenes, Chief Medical Examiner Dr. Joshua Stephanie

was tasked with identifying and performing autopsies on the bodies that came to him in the morgue. He spent hours washing blood from the faces of the victims to try and identify them from the driver's licenses he found in their pockets, or the photos of the missing that the families had provided. He took fingerprints, x-rays. He looked at tattoos and tattoos. piercings. But there was one body in the morgue that was unlike the others. Dr. Stephanie told CNN,

quote, the shooter was transported by himself. I autopsied him personally, away from the victims. We fell to his best ethically, morally, for the families to separate the bodies, so they won't have a picture in their minds of the shooter next to their loved one. It just didn't seem like the right thing to do. End quote. But by the end of Sunday, June 12th, The majority of the bodies had been identified. However, as Sunday turned to Monday, one body remained in the morgue unidentified. The body was labeled as a John Doe for several hours, until finally, crime scene investigators discovered a wallet in the mess of debris and blood at the scene.

Dr. Stephanie requested that the wallet be brought to him, and when he looked at the ID inside, he was looking at his John Doe. 25-year-old Geraldo Ortiz. And it made sense that it was such a struggle to identify him at first. Geraldo, who went by Drake, actually lived in Puerto Rico and was visiting Orlando on vacation. Originally from the Dominican Republic, he grew up in Pennsylvania before he decided to study law at the Universidad del Este in Carolina, Puerto Rico. The trip to Orlando was a chance to see his idol, Selena Gomez, perform.

On June 11th, he posted a picture. of himself with her wax statue at Madame Tussau's and posted it on his Facebook page. The caption read, With the Love of My Life in Spanish. He had been excited for the concert for months, uploading videos of himself singing along to her music and dubbing himself, a selenator. One of his favorite songs was Kill Him with Kindness, something his friends and family members said he took to heart. His niece, Tiffany Ortiz, said, he always made everyone laugh and was very kind to everyone.

Heraldo was also invested in his physical fitness, dedicating time to working out and taking pride in maintaining a healthy lifestyle. Even though he was on vacation, he still made time to hit the gym, hours before he went dancing at Pulse. That night, he continuously texted his niece photos and videos of the fun he was having at the nightclub. When news of the shooting broke, Tiffany immediately tried to find out where her uncle had been that night. The moment she saw the name Pulse, her heart sank. Tragically, Geraldo was among the victims, and in an instant, her family's world was forever changed. When Geraldo's body was identified, the medical examiner had the relief of knowing that finally, everyone had their name back. That didn't mean everyone was going to go home with their loved ones to receive a proper burial.

Tragically, one body sat in the morgue, unclaimed. Although the name of the victim was never released, the advocate reported, that the young man's father wasn't upset at the news that his son was dead, but rather angry about his sexual orientation that he simply refused to accept. The father even refused to pick up the body from the morgue. Why? Because his son was gay. And something as horrific as a mass shooting, grief often brings communities together. And in Orlando, the LGBTQ plus community,

as well as the entire nation mourned the last. lives of 49 victims. But for the father of one Puerto Rican man, his grief was overshadowed by rejection. Meanwhile, other mourning families in the morgue would have given anything to have their child back. Now, eventually the body was claimed by some relatives in Orlando, but for the medical examiner, Dr. Stephanie, that would remain one of the many heartbreaking memories he couldn't bring himself to shake. A man, miles from his home, cold and dead on a table, unable to be loved and accepted by his father in life or in death. Meanwhile, other families would have given anything, would have traded places with their child, sibling, or spouse, just to give them a chance

at living again. One of those people was victim Gerald Wright's mother, Maria. When she came into the morgue late on the 12th, she had been in the trenches for hours. That morning, she would woke to news of the shooting. As she sat down to have her breakfast, live aerial coverage of the club played on the screen. And there, in the parking lot, she saw her son Jerry's car. She stated that it was at that moment that she knew. Her and her husband leapt in their car to make the drive to Orlando, and the whole way they called hospital hotlines, praying that Jerry had survived and wasn't one of the victims. She told Kaplan News, it was one of the most heartbreaking moments of my life. I remember saying on the drive up, whatever happens, I will not let hate enter my heart.

I packed a sweater, thinking in my mind that he would need it, since hospitals are usually cold. When they arrived at one of the family reunification centers, they walked into a sea of people who looked how they felt. She described the crowd in front of her as lifeless, just walking zombies. Later, she and her husband waited at the hospital. They waited and waited and waited. When the hospital read another list of all the victims they were treating, Jerry's name didn't come up. Maria told Kaplan News, we were told we'd have to wait, not to call, not to head over to the medical examiner, just to wait. During that time, I just remember sitting there thinking his last name starts with W, so he'll be one of the last ones, and ironically praying that my child might be so badly injured he couldn't reach out to me.

That's what I was praying for, because the alternative was worse. and the alternative was indeed so much worse, because losing Jerry would be a loss for so, so many. Gerald Arthur Wright was the type of person that everyone could count on. He wasn't outgoing or The Life of the Party, as his mother stated. However, he was the person who went out of his way to make sure everyone was having a good time. He remembered birthdays and was the first person to offer you a ride to the airport if you needed it. He studied hospitality at Florida International University and worked at

Universal Orlando and Walt Disney World. Just two days before the shooting, Gerald had been promoted at Disney World where he worked as a merchandiser for Magic Kingdom and Tomorrowland. He was excited for the future. He was incredibly close to his parents, often calling them twice a day just to chat. Sometimes when he called,

his mother would answer the phone, Yankee Stadium, center field, may I help you? And Gerald would ask, what's the score? Jerry always knew what it felt like to be different. growing up in Miami, he had a speech impediment, severe dyslexia, and had to wear a full body brace to keep his spine straight. But he never let it interfere with what he wanted to do. And that night, June 11th into the 12th, he wanted to go to pulse. His parents were one of the last to get the news.

When Maria was escorted to a room to identify the body of her son, it was the worst moment of her life. She said, quote, At this point, I'm looking over my dead child, and I realized there was styrofoam over where his chest should be, and I am just screaming, feeling as if my insides were gone, end quote. 49 families were plagued by that same horrible pain, but there was another pain that many experienced in the weeks, months, and years following the shooting. Survivor's guilt. Because for many people who were recovering in the hospital, after making it out alive, the relief of surviving was tamped down by the realization

that their loved one had passed away. Brett Regas went to Pulse that night with his boyfriend of three years, Frank Hernandez Escalante, who went by Frankie. Frankie had moved to Orlando after growing up in South Texas. There, he charmed everyone he met. His little sister would later say that he was the one who taught her how to walk in high heels. She remembered fondly that when she tried to leave the house, looking disheveled, her brother, who was always dressed to the nines, would affectionately tell her,

no-uh, go put on some makeup. When Frankie moved to Orlando, it was a massive loss to her. But at the same time, she saw how happy he was, living in a place that was more accepting of his sexuality. His mother, Esmeralda, admitted to the Tampa Bay Times, that while she loved her son regardless of his sexual orientation, she wished she could have done better. She said, quote, I'm not going to say I was the best,

but I would have loved to be more open with him. I always accepted him, but I could have done more. I wish my son was here, so I could tell him things I never got to say, like ask him to bring his significant other, end quote. In Orlando, Frankie was able to not just,

accept his sexuality, but be proud of it. He became a regular at Pulse, where he proudly wore shirts that read, Gay, okay. He flaunted his tattoo, which read, Love Has No Gender. For Frankie, Pulse meant freedom. It meant being loved for who he was, and never having to worry about judgment for who he loved. And there was no man he loved the way he loved Brett. At the club that night, The two sat at the bar in their regular spots. Brett was more reserved, but Frankie more than made up for it, dancing the night away alongside him and chatting with their friends at the club. When the shots broke out, Brett was sitting at the edge of the bar.

He reached for Frankie, but the crowd rushing for the door quickly separated them. Brett dove beneath the bar, where he remained until the shooter was barricaded in the bathroom. When police rescued him, he immediately began to be able to be. to search for Frankie. He searched at the police station, at the hospitals, at the survivor center, and even at their home. But Frankie was nowhere to be found. The reality that he was one of the injured was terrifying. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait alone. Frankie's family immediately made the drive from Louisiana to Florida to find out any information they could. But it wasn't until Monday that they learned the horrible news. It's very, very difficult.

right now. I didn't know what happened to him. I don't know. I didn't know anything until 1.30 today. I've been to every place I could go. To try to find information. It was basically an answering service. Nobody would give you any, anything, nothing. They told you to leave your phone number and your name and his pictures and they will contact you soon as something happened. I didn't hear anything until his family got here from Louisiana. For Brett, the guilt was overwhelming. That night, Frankie didn't want to go out. The two even got into a little tiff over it until finally Frankie changed his mind. It's something we've all done with our partners, a tiny disagreement over different needs or desires. It wasn't Brett's fault. And yet, since the shooting,

he's been riddled with guilt. I blame myself for a lot of it because we could have easily just stayed home. Frankie's funeral was held in Texas where he grew up. Hundreds of people. people attended. Some from Orlando, some from his life back in Texas, where he was once on a tumbling team and had made lifelong friends. At his funeral, many members of his family wore shirts that carried his message. Love has no gender. Here is his stepfather sharing his wish for Frankie. I hope he's in a better place and I hope he's watching us and knowing that look at all people came to see him, say farewell. Sadly, Frankie's boyfriend Brett wasn't alone in carrying the heavy burden that is

Survivor's guilt. The night of the shooting, Leo Melendez went to the club with his close friend, 40-year-old Javier Javi Jorge Reyes. Javi was a makeup artist who also worked at Gucci at the mall at Melania. He was fun, outgoing, and the type of person who had always give an honest opinion. Javi loved performing in drag, and the year before the mass shooting, in 2015, he had dressed up as Alice from Alice in Wonderland at the Orlando come out with Pride Celebration parade. The next night, he had entered a costume contest wearing the same outfit at Parliament House.

He was a proud Puerto Rican and sometimes playfully called himself Harvey George Kings, an Americanized version of his name. His style and charisma made him a popular regular at Pulse. One of his friends, Jose Diaz, explained to the Orlando Sentinel why so many people gravitated towards him. He was proud to be Latino, super proud. He was always positive. He was very humble. He was a lovely friend. That night, Leo was having the time of his life with Javi.

Here he is, speaking with the Today Show about that night. So it was basically a really fun night. We were about to leave when his friend said, I need to use the restroom. So me and Javi stayed by the bar waiting for him. when shooter came in and he just started shooting like Rambo. I remember my friend Habes

and you know it's a shooting just throw yourself on the floor and be quiet and I was like what? And he's like just throw yourself on the floor and that's when I guess

the first shot hit me on my leg and I said my leg, my leg and it's like be quiet just be quiet and just stay on the floor and I was like my leg my leg

I remember saying that part and after that I guess that's when I must got shot in the head, and I don't recall anything else after that. When Leo arrived at the hospital, doctors weren't sure he was going to make it. His heart stopped more than once, and he lost three liters of blood. His leg was shattered. The shot to his head meant that likely he'd lose his hearing and have significant vision loss. For three weeks, he hovered in and out of consciousness until finally he stabilized.

Buying his hospital bed, one of the first questions he asked was what happened to Javi. His mom then got quiet. She shook her head and told him, He's gone. You have to be strong. For Leo, the physical damage she had received was something he was able to overcome. Despite doctors having a grim prognosis, Leo's vision wasn't affected by the shot to the head,

and he still has partial hearing. And after years of physical therapy, he can comfortably walk, but the psychological pain still lingers. He often asks himself why he survived and Javi did not. He was still unconscious. when Javi's funeral was held on June 16th, just four days after the shooting. In attendance was John Clark, a seven-year-old boy with autism who was the son of a family

friend. Before the shooting, when Javi learned John couldn't get his hair cut in public settings, he offered to cut his hair at home where he'd be comfortable. He was one of few people that John felt comfortable with. For John and his mother, this meant everything. That's the kind of person Javi was. He went out of his way to make others feel comfortable. At the funeral, John held a rainbow teddy bear in honor of the mentor who cut his hair, taught him Spanish, and urged him to remember that it's okay to be different. In the days following the shooting, many found themselves grappling with life's big questions. Why the person they loved? What could they have done differently? Was it somehow their fault that this happened.

Leticia Pedro suffered with so much guilt over the death of her nephew, 28-year-old Angel Louise Padreau, that she had to see a psychologist. She began having unrelenting nightmares. Angel had recently moved from Chicago to Orlando after his Anne urged him to move down there to continue his education.

Following his death, she found herself overwhelmed by thoughts that if she had never talked to men to moving there, Angel never would have died. She told the Orlando Sentinel, quote, I have been going to the psychologist and even been put under medication. This is a living nightmare.

I can't get over it. There are days that I can get up, smile, and keep going on. There are other days in which it is unbearable, end quote. And that pain was shared by Angel's partner, Oscar. The two had been at Pulse that night to celebrate their five-month anniversary. After just a few weeks of dating, Oscar knew that Angel was the one. They moved in together, and their relationship was moving towards marriage. Oscar told the Orlando Sentinel, quote,

I used to iron his uniforms, cook dinner for him, and take care of all of his needs. I miss everything of him, especially his laugh. I just wish I could tell him I love you one more time. End quote. There was a lot to love about Angel. He was described as a good. good kid who was humble. He worked hard his entire life serving in the National Guard. At the time of his death, he had just been hired as an orthomic technician at Florida Restina Institute to support

himself as he went through nursing school. But he would never get that degree he wanted so dearly. He was buried in Puerto Rico where he was born. One of the last post he ever made on social media read, quote, I hate goodbyes. Life keeps going, chasing dreams, keeping good friends in my heart. One of the most tragic things about the pulse shooting is just how many good friends were killed that day. Just hours after the first round of names were released, one survivor noted that they were close friends with six of the victims.

The gay community in Orlando was tight-knit, loving, and supportive. And many of the victims that night weren't just regular fixtures in the scene. They were performers in it. people that encouraged others to get out there, to be themselves, and to have a good time. There was one couple in particular who emanated that perfectly. 25-year-old Leroy Valentin Fernandez and 35-year-old Xavier Emmanuel Serrano Rosado had just begun dating a few months before the shooting, but the two radiated love for each other. Leroy confessed to one of his relatives that he was the happiest he had ever been because of his relationship.

And really, it seems like that's because Leroy could be fully himself, with Xavier. The two performed as drag queens, something they adored. Leroy starred as Indara Valkyrie, wearing big wigs, tall boots, and tight, flashy body suits. On the stage, she'd impersonate Beyonce splits and all. Every night, he'd walk away with $100 and tips and a whole horde of new friends. He and Xavier bonded over their love of performing. On stage, Xavier went by Iman Valentino and sported a big top hat, a cape, and sparkles. His natural dancing ability had landed him jobs at bars across Florida, on cruises as a performer, and at Disney World. But there was one role that was important to Xavier above everything else, something that

Leroy encouraged, his love for his son. According to Xavier's mother, he had wanted more out of life and decided to have a baby with his best friend and raise their child as co-parents. His son, Kevin, was his world. His mother told the Orlando Sentinel, he used to do everything for that kid. That was his life. tragically, that night, both Xavier and Leroy were killed. Some family struggled immensely to keep smiling, or even to keep functioning in the wake of such

tragedy. 29-year-old Daryl Burt's family in particular were faced with a horrible juxtaposition as they stood at his viewing. Daryl had just graduated with a master's degree in human resources. His family had flown to Orlando to celebrate the incredible milestone. own. Instead, they found themselves planning his funeral. Daryl Roman Bert II, or DJ, as he preferred, had been a hard worker all his life. At the time of the shooting, he was serving as a financial aid advisor at Kaiser University in Jacksonville. He loved to learn, something he accredited to watching PBS

as a child, and he did all he could do to pass that knowledge onto others. He was a member of the Jacksonville Jasey's, a nonprofit organization to help young professionals with community engagement. He was extremely proud of his community and he wanted to do anything and everything he could to make it better. When he had the opportunity to co-chair a Jacey's event, he held a clothing drive to help the homeless in the community. As a go-getter, Daryl always believed in giving his best and everything he did. He knew that nothing was handed to him. He started working at McClure. then he got a management position and then ultimately became an advisor at a university. It was said that he always wanted the best for his friends and family as well.

He's shown a light on everyone he interacted with. And yet, at the prime of his life, when he was meant to be moving onto greater things, his life was snuffed out. Here is some coverage of his viewing held in his hometown in central Virginia. Darrell Bert's grandmother tells me he was in the nightclub that early morning celebrating his recent graduation. The 29-year-old had just received his master's and had the world ahead of him. These pictures captured DJ Bert in happier times. Just seven weeks before he was gunned down at the Pulse nightclub, he was walking across the stage,

accepting his master's degree in human resources. His family was in Florida by his side to commemorate that. special milestone. While Bert wasn't from Central Virginia, his parents are. Grandmother Marion Jackson still lives in Amelia County. She's the associate pastor at the church where her grandson will be laid to rest. He was a great kid. I mean, he was a wonderful kid. I remember his school days when he'd go to school and how everything he tried to do, he put his best into everything he did. According to Burt's LinkedIn page, he worked as a financial officer at Kaiser University in Florida. He also volunteered with the Jacksonville JCs in an effort to better the community.

The group says it's, quote, deeply saddened by his death. The Burt family is receiving friends and family here at the Scott funeral home until 7 o'clock tonight. Of the 49 victims in the Pulse shooting, 23 were Puerto Rican. Many others were born in Central and South America, in Mexico, the Dominican Republic, Venezuela, Guatemala, Cuba, and Colombia, just to name a few. These victims' families wanted them buried back home where they had been born, where their ancestors were resting, and where their families would be able to have a part of their child nearby. Gene Carlos Nievus Rodriguez was one of those people. Born in Puerto Rico, he moved to Orlando with his mother when he was 14 and quickly established a life for himself in Florida.

But his hometown, Cagwas, was always in his heart. When the family moved, Gene immediately got to work supporting his mom, landed a job at McDonald's, and eventually worked his way up to managing a cash-checking business. According to his friend Yvonne, if he had to put in long hours to get it right, he'd do it. If he had to stay to work a double shift, he did it. That's why whatever job he went to, he became a manager. Just two months before the shooting, he purchased a spacious ranch home for him and his mother so they could all live in a nice neighborhood. He and his mom weren't just family. They were best friends, too. In fact, the night of the shooting, he invited his mother out with him, but she declined, wanting to get some rest.

His mother, DeMarie, said, he always wanted to make sure I was taken care of. He was a really good son. And it wasn't just his mom he went out of his way for. When his sister needed help, he was the first to offer support. She remembered he once told her that he loved her more than he loved himself. Now, Jean was actually at Pulse that night celebrating the fact that he had just become the district manager for cash financial. And he went to the club with his friends, Rodolfo Ayala Ayala, who we covered earlier, as well as Simon Carrillo and his boyfriend, Oscar Arasina Montero. 26-year-old Oscar Montero and his boyfriend 31-year-old Simon Carrillo Fernandez were happy to go to Pulse that night. night with their friend Gene. While Gene was celebrating a promotion, Oscar and Simon were celebrating the purchase of their first home. Finally, they had a place to call their own, and a yard for their

three dogs to run around in. The two were about to begin a brand new phase in their lives. At the time of the shooting, both Oscar and Simon managed a local McDonald's, working long hours to put away money for vacations back to their hometowns. Simon had been born in Venezuela. while Oscar was from the Dominican Republic. Oscar loved his family and friends deeply, especially his younger siblings. Everyone said that he had an infectious personality that drew people to him.

He loved dancing, and he had a fondness for dogs, which is something that, thankfully, Simon shared. Simon was full of energy, and all of his coworkers loved him. He was known for always remembering birthdays and bringing cakes to work for celebrations. Like his boyfriend Oscar, Simon also wanted to be the best version of himself. One of his co-workers said, quote,

He had to be the best, that was his thing. I cook the best, I clean the best, I work the best. That night, the couple had just returned from a trip from Niagara Falls. They had spent hours at Pulse laughing with their friends, connecting with their community, and salsa dancing with one another. That is until 2 a.m. when they were both shot and killed on the dance floor. Oscar was buried back at home in the Dominican Republic,

while Simon, the love of his life, was buried in Orlando. 33-year-old Martin Benitez Torres was one of the 23 victims who was born in Puerto Rico, and it's something he was very proud of. While living in Puerto Rico, Martin got work designing costumes for Miss Universe Puerto Rico, which was one of his absolute favorite hobbies. Every Halloween, he'd go all out, creating elaborate costumes not just for himself, but for his friends and family as well. At the time of the shooting, Martin actually lived in Tampa, where he attended university to become a pharmacy tech. The night of

the shooting, he had driven to Orlando to meet up with family members for a party. Afterwards, he decided to check out Pulse. Tragically, he was shot and killed there. On social media, one of his relatives posted a tribute that sums up who Martin was and the situation beautifully. What happened in Orlando affects all of us because it is an act of hate against the freedom to be who you are. I'm trying not to fall prey to hate at the person who killed you, at the gringoes, at Trump, at the terrorists, because then I would be a part of the vicious circle of judge and jury. They killed you out of hate for the freedom to be who you are, and it makes me hurt inside because if there was anyone who always had a smile who helped me, who was caring with me, my music, and my madnesses, it was you.

toll of losing a loved one in an event like pulse is almost impossible to imagine. But there's another aspect of these sudden unexpected deaths that people often don't think about, that there were people who were emotionally, physically, or financially, depending on these victims, parents who were suddenly left as the single parent of a several-child household, elderly parents or grandparents who are left without a caretaker. family members who are relying on the income of a person who was killed. For some, it can be hard to talk about. But that's one of the things about the aftermath of losing someone that is so challenging.

There often isn't time to properly process the grief because many are stuck with the logistics, the funeral, their belongings, insurance, getting bills paid, ushering kids to and from school. For the wife of victim Miguel Hernado, there was no time to slow, down. The couple had three children. Here is his wife, Minerva, speaking with WKMG, about the loss of her husband. It's been so difficult. I mean, you know, we were, when he was here, we were a team. He would do something, I would do another thing, you know, and he would help out with the kids while I would cook. And now it's like, I have to be, you know, into places and I want. When asked how she could remain so strong and keep going, Minerva had a simple, but devastating.

answer. I have to do it for them. They don't, they're so tiny, they don't know yet. They don't know what's going on and which hurts because they won't know, you know, like, how their dad was, how he cared for them. Miguel was just 30 years old. His entire life was devoted to his wife, who was his high school sweetheart, and his three children, the youngest of whom was just one years old and the oldest, who was 15. Miguel was the sole financial provider for his family, managing a number of restaurants around Orlando and running a Mexican catering business. It's a job that he started early on. Born in Mexico, Miguel moved to Florida when he was a toddler, and he grew up close with his extended family. His parents and seven siblings were in search of the American dream.

When they first arrived, no one knew how to speak English. To make money, they opened a taco stand in front of theme parks. where Miguel would run the cash register and make tortillas. The love of sharing his culture and food with the world had never stopped, and it allowed him to raise his boys without them having a want in the world. That night, Miguel was invited last minute to stop at Pulse for Latin night with some friends. Tragically, he lost his life inside, and his family hasn't been the same sense. In honor of Miguel, his family planned multiple vigils over nine days,

on their front lawn. Every day, people from all over would show up, sharing stories about Miguel and leaving flowers for him. At his funeral, white balloons were released to symbolize peace. While some victims didn't have children depending on them, they had others that did. 25-year-old Enrique L. Rios Jr. lived in Brooklyn, New York, where he dedicated himself to taking care of his grandmother,

who suffered from late-stage Alzheimer's. It was something that showed not only his love of his family, but his love of caring for others as well. Day to day, he worked as a home health care provider and was studying social work at St. Francis College. Every day, he worked, went to school, and bathed, fed, and cared for his grandma. For anyone, that's challenging, but remember,

Enrique was just 25 years old. His family explained to the Orlando Sentinel that nothing was more important to Enrique than family. He loved bringing his loved ones together, especially over the holidays. His sister said, My brother was very, very big on holidays and family. On Christmas and Thanksgiving,

he would actually have us color coordinate our clothes. On Thanksgiving, we would all have on burgundy. Christmas, we would have on green. But his family never got to have those matching outfits again. And every holiday after June 12th was stained with the realization that someone was missing. The night of the shooting, Enrique had actually been on a rare, much-needed vacation. He was due to fly back that morning. and wanted to have one last night of fun before he returned to Brooklyn.

As soon as the shooting began, Enrique and his friends were separated, and while his friends managed to escape, he didn't. Enrique's life was taken, and with it, his family lost their foundation. His funeral was held at the Bedford-Stuyvesant Church where a colorful display of rainbow colors greeted everyone as they arrived. His family was proud of who Enrique was, and he knew it. But some families were left to reconcile with the fact that their loved ones may have died

without knowing how much they loved them. When Juan Chavez Martinez's niece, Brenda, learned that Juan may have been at Pulse the night of the shooting, she called him repeatedly again and again and again. She told the Orlando Sentinel, quote, We continued to call. We didn't want to believe he was there, end quote. But for 24 hours, they never received a call back.

When their phone did light up, it was a call from. the medical examiner, and that's when they learned that Juan was dead. At the time, there was one regret hovering above all else in his niece's mind. She said, quote, it hurts because since he's passed away now, we can't tell him that we accepted it. We want him to know that we've always accepted him, end quote. But being accepted where Juan grew up at the time he grew up wasn't common. 25-year-old Juan grew up in Mexico, but he left as a teen. to pursue a better life in the United States. He wanted to live somewhere where he felt he could be

free in his sexuality. And once he arrived, he had never felt more free. He often sported bleach blonde highlights and vibrant, fashionable clothing. He went to clubs to dance to EDM and his favorite, Lady Gaga. All the while, he worked hard as a housekeeping supervisor at a resort to send money back to his family in Mexico. He worked over time nearly every week. wanting to help his family escape poverty. At the time of his death, he hadn't seen his mother or been back to Mexico in eight long years.

His niece went on to say, quote, for him to go the way he went, it was something that he did not deserve. It was something that none of the victims deserved. They had dreams, and they wanted to accomplish it, and they deserved to accomplish it. What happened is unbearable. It hurts.

It's hard to even think about. It's hard to wake up in the morning and eat. It's hard to do anything. It's just stuck in your head, and you don't think about anything else but them. What happened to them in that moment? That night, Juan had been with one of his best friends, a 31-year-old who had a similar childhood and background.

The foundation that they were building their lives on helped them both feel less alone as they navigated life in a new country. Joel Rayon Paniagua grew up in Veracruz and left to pursue the American dream in late 2015. He worked in construction and gardening and sent money back to his family in Mexico. He was extremely close to his friends and family members, including four siblings that all still lived in Mexico. He had been living with his cousin in central Florida for nine months, but he planned to move

back to his home country. Although he loved to dance and party, Corona being his favorite beer, he didn't want to go to Pulse that night. However, Juan talked him into it, coaxing him with the promise that it was Latin night. Both Juan and Joel were killed in the bathroom. The medical examiner told their families that their deaths had been instant. Neither of them had suffered, which was a small comfort in a time where it was greatly, greatly needed. As 25-year-old, Anthony Luriano Disla's mother, Olga, got on a plane to fly from San Juan Puerto Rico to Orlando.

There was nothing that could bring her any comfort. She knew with certainty that her son had been at Pulse. Anthony had been performing as a dancer since he was 10 years old. He had moved to Orlando to pursue his dreams of becoming a choreographer. Fortunately, nearly every week, he got to perform his own choreography as drag queen Alanis Laurel at Pulse and Parliament House, another gay nightclub in Orlando. When he performed, he often wore sparkling gowns in a blonde Farrah faucet wig. His mother Olga told the Orlando Sentinel, quote, his makeup was flawless, end quote. Olga supported her son's love of drag, and she accepted his sexuality, but she rarely went to his shows,

something she regrets now. She told the Orlando Sentinel, quote, drag shows were very late, and I worked early, so I never went. Now I wish I had less time to sleep and more time to enjoy his dancing. The night of the shooting, she knew her son was at Pulse, because he called her on his way there, excitedly telling her about his plans to go. His work schedule kept him out late, which was something that always worried her.

She said, quote, his late nights dancing, being out in places that are not always safe, scared me. And that nightmare became a reality. End quote. When Olga landed in Orlando, she saw her sister's face.

The instant she made eye contact with her, she knew that her son was gone. In a Facebook post she wrote, quote, heart stop, like everything around me crumbled apart, not imagining it was going to get more terrible and heartbreaking the day I stood in front of his coffin, end quote. Olga reported that her son's last words were, quote, keep going normal. Whether that was on the phone or in person as he laid in the hospital, we don't know. But regardless of when it was said,

it was a clear message from Anthony on what he wanted for his mom, to keep going. It's not an easy feat in the wake of horrific grief. The death of Taven Crosby, who died in Pulse at just 25 years old, has left holes in not just his family's lives, but their psyche. Even years after his death, his sister wakes up in tears and has nightmares of gunfire and being trapped. She said, Some days you don't want to move on, but I know I have kids, so I have to go on. I wake up in the middle of the night to crying and screaming from my kids

because they're missing him and want to go to heaven to see him. Tevin was the center of his nieces and nephews' lives. Just days before he was shot and killed, he flew from his home in Saginaw, Michigan, to his hometown of Statesville, North Carolina, to attend their graduation ceremonies. The last words he spoke to his family members as he boarded a plane to leave from there

for an extended vacation in Orlando were, I love you. For a few weeks in June, Tevin wanted to stay in Orlando to celebrate pride. And if anyone deserved a break, it was Tevin. His brother, Chavez Crosby, said, He was very ambitious.

Whatever goal he had in mind, he worked hard. Whether alone or on a team, he worked on that goal. He had attended Strayer University South in Charlotte and earned a degree in business administration. Soon after graduation, he became the director of operations for total entrepreneur's concepts. He was a sharp dresser who often posted motivational quotes on the Facebook page. In May 2016, he wrote, The little things add up when you are on the road to success. and by all accounts, Tevin was on the road to success.

Everything in his life was lining up. His family loved him. He had great friends, a great job. But instead of getting the life he deserved, he was buried at Belmont Cemetery in Statesville, North Carolina, just two months after his 25th birthday. So far, we've covered 48 victims of the Pulse Massacre. We've seen their stories, heard the pain of their loved ones,

and seen the impression that they left on the world. This brings us to the 49th, a victim who hasn't received much coverage, but whose loved one left a message with the world that honestly stuck with us. Maybe it's because we all need someone who believes in us, or maybe it's the simplicity of the message. Or maybe it's a reminder that, in the darkest times, someone who knows our strength, even when we don't, can change everything. For months, 40-year-old Paul Terrell Henry encouraged his boyfriend Francisco Hernandez to go back to school. Francisco had dropped out just a year shy of his four-year degree and didn't have the confidence to go back and finish it.

But the thing about Paul was, when he gave you advice, it was hard not to take it. Paul had actually been a pastor for several years and had earned a theological degree, as well as a master's in business. He gave phenomenal advice and always did so with a smile. His brother, Anthony, loved speaking with his brother and hearing his thoughts on things. He said, 10 years ago, we decided that we wouldn't go a full week without calling. We wouldn't go a month without seeing each other.

Everything that we wanted each other to know, we told each other. His two kids, a teenage son and a daughter, looked up to him and his world centered around them. The night of the shooting, Paul Henry was indulging in one of his favorite things, dancing. All things music moved Paul, so much so that he learned to play piano with no lessons and sang every single chance that he got to. When his boyfriend learned he had been killed in Pulse that night, he told the Orlando Sentinel that he had made a decision. He knew I had the potential for greater things. He wanted the best for me to succeed and to help me make something of myself. I'm going to make something of myself. In total, 53 people were injured and 49 people were killed during the Pulse nightclub shooting,

which took place in the early morning hours of June 12, 2016. All of the victims were real people with dreams, families, friends, and lives. They were celebrating that night with the community that loved them, embraced them, and encouraged them to be themselves. It isn't fair to reduce their stories and their lives to a single paragraph. It will never capture the fullness of who they were as a person. But in light of this tragedy, we must remember their names, honor their lives, and never forget who they were. For today's episode, we will be making a donation

to the LGBT Plus Center, Orlando, an organization that continues to provide support and resources for the families of the 49 victims. Their names are, Stanley Al-Movidar the 3rd, Amanda Alvir, Oscar A. Aracina Montero,

Rodolfo Ayala Ayala, Martin Benitez Torres, Antonio D. Brown, Darry R. Burt II, Jonathan A. Camui Vega, Angel L. Candelario Padro, Simon A. Carrillo Fernandez, Juan Chavez Martinez, Luis D. Condi, Corey J. Connell, T. Cavanee Crosby, Frankie J. DeHesuzze, De Anca D. Drayton, Mercedes M. Flores, Petero Gonzalez Cruz, Juan R. Guerrero, Paul T. Henry, Frank Hernandez, Miguel A. Honorado, J. Jorge Reyes, Jason B. Josephat, Eddie J. Justice, Anthony L. Disla, Christopher A. L. Linoon, Brenda Marquez McHoole, Jean-Mendez-Marie, Akirae. Monay Murray, Kimberly Morris, Gene C. Nieves Rodriguez, Luis Ocasio C. A. Ortiz Jimenez, Eric Ivan Ortiz Rivera, Joel Rayon Panagua, Enrique L. Reilly. Jr., Juan P. Rivera Velasquez, Y'Lore Rodriguez-Solivan, Christopher J. San Feliz, Xavier Emmanuel

Serrano Rosado, Gilberto Ramon Silva Menendez, Edward Sotomayor Jr., Shane E. Tomlinson, Leroy Valentin Fernandez, Luis S. Vioma, Luis Daniel Wilson Leone, Gerald A. Wright, and Alejandro Barrios Martinez. And to play this episode out, 49 seconds of silence. Hey, everybody, thank you so much for listening to this week's tough to get through episode of Murder in America. These episodes are so heartbreaking, but these stories need to be told.

These victims need to be remembered, and we need to keep these discussions open. And Courtney and I am to do that in hopes that someday something will change here in America. If you appreciate the work that we do here on the show and you want to support what we do, please consider joining us on Patreon. On Patreon, you can get access to early ad-free versions of the show. So if you don't like the ads, please consider joining us on Patreon.

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consider following us on Instagram at Murder in America to see photos from every episode, every week. Anyways, y'all, we'll be back next week with the final part in this four-part series. I hope you all have a great weekend if you're listening on Friday in a great week or whatever. Whenever you're listening to this, if you're not listening on Friday, Thank you all for tuning in. And, yeah, catch you all on the next one. Descend into the unexplained and unimaginable. Mom said to them, what are you here for?

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and documented atrocities. And at that moment, a feeling to survive kicked in almost like an animal instinct. I told her to run. I knew that minute something terrible had happened. Why would somebody do this to him?

Why would they try to hurt my baby? Search the Antiquarium of documented atrocities on Apple, Spotify, and wherever you get your podcasts. A presentation of Bloody FM.