I Original Play #3
“They will love me someday. Things will change. I will get a part or something. I will write a play. People will accept me and know me and see me. I will cease to be invisible to them. I will matter soon. I just have to hang on a little longer, and then things will get better. They have to get better.”
Waylon looked around his living room. His parents were out of town - they had given him instructions to be good while they were gone.
They were working in Europe for the week.
He had a full-length mirror in said living room along with a wastebasket, a big-screen television, a video-game console, a couple of chairs, a couch, and some lamps to light up the room.
He was in shape, with strong muscles from many hours in the gym.
He had run countless miles and done countless push-ups and crunches and lifted weights four days a week to become strong and fast, and had learned to fight from a local karate dojo, which advised him to only fight if absolutely necessary.
He had shaved his head.
He wore a collared shirt and a sweater on top of the collared shirt, something that no one would wear but him. He didn’t want to look like anyone else. He worked for two hours on a two-act play that he knew Westfield would hate.
Caitlyn was lying in bed, wearing underwear, next to two sweaty young men who wore boxer briefs.
Guilt tinged her thoughts. Ai was in her heart.
They both agreed that the relationship was open, but Caitlyn felt bad about sleeping with people other than her beloved.
No more, she decided. She had made a mistake.
It would be only Ai for her going forward.
They heard a noise.
Caitlyn turned.
No one was invited to enter the room. She didn’t want anyone to enter - not anyone in existence. She frowned.
Someone started to open the door.
A man in a mask stood there - a mask of a bear.
The man in the bear mask held a wakizashi, a Japanese short sword. He had black leather pants and a black shirt. He had a black leather jacket and a hood as well. His cowboy boots had mud on them.
Shotgun put his shorts on and walked up to the man in the bear mask.
“Really?” Mitchell asked. “Rethink this. You don’t want this, young man.”
The bear mask killer said nothing.
The bear mask killer stabbed Shotgun in the arm as Shotgun reached for the wakizashi. Shotgun screamed. He fell to one knee in front of the bear-mask killer.
“Please!” Shotgun said. “Please.”
The bear-mask killer looked down on Shotgun.
The killer stabbed him in the heart.
Mitchell and Caitlyn - both wearing underwear - tried to run past the killer and out of the bedroom as he stabbed Shotgun. He turned to stab Mitchell, but Mitchell dived out of the way deftly and ran towards the stairs that led down to the ground floor.
Mitchell ran down to the front foyer and looked around.
He grabbed keys and a FOB and ran outside with Caitlyn.
The bear mask killer followed them and ran at about the same speed as they did.
Outside were green lawns and houses and cars parked in driveways or on the suburban street.
Trees lined the street, trees flush with leaves.
They rushed to get into their car - a Toyota Prius.
They ran to the car and opened it. Mitchell got into the driver’s seat, but Caitlyn didn’t make it.
He stabbed her as she started to open the door.
She turned and tried to punch him, but he punched her in the head, knocking her down to her knees in front of him. She immediately tried to get up but failed.
Mitchell yanked her from behind, grabbed her away from the killer’s presence, and dragged her into the car, the hybrid.
He pulled her into the car and then turned it on.
Queen started to play on the radio: “We Are The Champions.” Caitlyn slammed the car door shut.
Mitchell started to drive away from the bear mask killer.
“I’m hurt,” Caitlyn said.
“I know,” Mitchell said. “Who the hell was that guy?”
“Death,” Caitlyn said.
“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Mitchell said. “He’s just a man.”
“A man, yes,” Caitlyn said. “Some sick fucking lunatic. This guy’s dangerous.”
“He was terrifying.”
“What the fuck? Drive me to the hospital.” “I am,” Mitchell said. “I am.”
Mitchell drove to the hospital, cruising through New Liberty and passing through every light as quickly as he could justify. He felt intense guilt that he had a couple of drinks and therefore couldn’t save Shotgun. He could barely drive correctly.
“He mattered,” Mitchell said. “Shotgun mattered.”
“Yes,” Caitlyn said. “All that. I’m in pain. He made me bleed.”
“Yes,” Mitchell said. “He stabbed you. I get it.”
She looked down. She was wet with blood. She moaned with pain.
“I need to kill him,” Mitchell said.
“Good,” Caitlyn said. “You get on that, stud. After dropping me at the hospital.”
“I could,” Mitchell said. “I could very well kill him.” “I believe you, darling,” Caitlyn said.
“I believe that you could do anything you try to do, okay? You can accomplish anything that you really try your hardest at. Remember that.” “No more crazy talk,” Mitchell said.
“You will be fine. You will grow old. We will be friends for thirty years.” “Thirty?” Caitlyn asked.
“Thirty,” Mitchell said.
“I’m disappointed,” Caitlyn said. “One of us won’t live past fifty.”
“No, that’s my limit,” Mitchell said. “I’m out after fifty.”
“Understood, my love,” Caitlyn said.
They drove through the suburb of New Liberty.
Mitchell drove past the diner that was open all night long - they saw some of the geeks there - and continued past the movie theater and the mall.
They continued to an area with grocery stores and gas stations and small stores and restaurants and drug stores and the like.
They passed the gaming store on the right - it was closed because it was late on a Saturday night and no one was there anymore.
The hospital loomed next on the left. Mitchell pulled into the road that led around the hospital and looked for the turn to the emergency room.
“Great,” Caitlyn said. “Solstice.”
“Solstice is a perfectly good hospital,” Mitchell said.
“Fine,” Caitlyn said. “As long as they have painkillers.”
The emergency room sign was there, on the right. It said to turn right immediately. Mitchell did so. He stopped at the hospital.