IV Redemption
Lilian had been murdered. Everyone was devastated.
Ai sat there, in her mansion, with a bodyguard in the room with her and a cop across the street. She wore a black dress and black makeup and black fingernails.
“I am going to have this much security regularly?” she asked her father.
“Yes,” Shinji said. “This killer butchered another girl. Lilian. We cannot have you murdered. This is the most important aspect of my life right now. I cannot let anyone hurt you.”
“I won’t die,” Ai said. “Why does no one believe in me? I have run the numbers. I know how to survive this.”
“I don’t disagree that you are brilliant and talented,” Shinji said. “You are a wonderful daughter. I’m not sure that your genius will translate into winning a fight against a serial killer who is quite fast and way too strong.”
“I know how to stop this guy,” Ai said. “A girl can be smart and strong and fast and talented. I can beat up a guy who thinks he is better than me in every way. I can do this.”
“I believe you,” Shinji said. “But you need to understand. Caitlyn is dead. You have to reconsider. You cannot have wanted that to happen.”
“No,” Ai said. “I didn’t want that to happen.”
“You are not perfect,” Shinji said. “You cannot fix everything. You cannot save everyone. You cannot, apparently, even save your loved ones.”
“Damn it, Dad, why do you always have to say that I haven’t been good enough?” Ai asked.
“Because we need to be better than everyone else,” Shinji said. “We need the best life ever. Life is so fragile and beautiful. I want you to do everything.”
“I honestly wanted to do all of this with Caitlyn.” “You two wouldn’t have lasted two more years,” Shinji said.
“I wanted a chance to see that,” Ai said.
“You would have loved her,” Shinji said.
“I did,” Ai said.
“I know,” Shinji said. “She was a wonderful and beautiful person, and she is dead. Now we need to move on to the living.”
“Fuck that,” Ai said. “There is no moving on. There is nothing else. There is only remembering the fallen. That is all there is.”
“I need you to remember the fallen but move on, intelligently,” Shinji said.
“No,” Ai said. “I plan to wear all black indefinitely,” Ai said.
“Unbelievable,” Shinji said.
“I loved her,” Ai said.
“She was cheating on you,” Shinji said.
“I don’t care,” Ai said.
“She was a pretty girl, nothing more.”
“Fuck you!”
“You are a spoiled girl who does not understand reality.”
“You are a monster of a father.”
“I am sorry,” Shinji said. “I have failed you. You need to get good grades, you need to go to college, you need to study pre-law.”
“I need to do none of those things,” Ai said. “They don’t interest me anymore.”
“Oh,” Shinji said. “What does interest you?” “I don’t know yet,” Ai said. “I might become a writer.”
“Right,” Shinji said. “You won’t succeed. You won’t sell a million copies. You will live off of me. You will grow old with my money, my unlimited supply of money.”
“I will try with everything I have to make it as a writer,” Ai said. “I won’t want to live off of you. I will want to support myself. I will do everything possible to make this happen.”
“Darling, I love you, and I hope that you can do something wonderful with your life,” Shinji said.
“I have never wanted anything else. Of course. If you succeed, then great. I would be so proud of you if you make it in life. I will cheer you on as you make it as a writer. I will be an old man, proud of my daughter’s brilliant words.
I plan on enjoying your hard work and your research for your books. ”
“Dad, I love you. I’m sorry that we fight. Remember that.”
A couple of weeks passed.
People practiced for the play - Lilian’s part was initially taken by a pretty girl named Eve.
Madelyne continued to struggle with her schizophrenia while trying to be the lead for the play.
Westfield stayed with Mitchell for a couple of weeks.
He didn’t pay rent. He looked for a job to pay the bills.
After applying for half a dozen jobs, he got a gig at a warehouse moving parts. He didn’t mind the work after school and on the weekends. He had a reasonable chance to make money to pay for his life’s expenses.
Westfield sat at work.
He grabbed a part from one part of a warehouse and walked over to another part of the warehouse and put the part in a delivery area. Then he grabbed another part and put it in another delivery area. It was work. It paid the bills, he told himself.
Why couldn’t he get a job writing or directing something?
He tried. He applied for nineteen writing positions and tried out for seven movies. He got none of the jobs and none of the parts.
He had to work in a warehouse to make money.
He brought a lunch.
He had to bring a lunch to save money.
He was that guy.
He daydreamed while at work.
This was what actors and writers were reduced to: being cogs in the American machine, working at normal jobs instead of writing and acting for a living.
He daydreamed of saving galaxies.
He wanted to be a hero, not himself.
He didn’t want to be Stewart Westfield, a weird actor and weak young man who did cardio but didn’t fight particularly well.
He didn’t want to be the guy who was pretty and weak and not good at standing up for himself.
He dreamed of flying - flying around with superpowers, saving the day, and solving rapes and murders.
Westfield began to text Madelyne.
Westfield: I hate myself so badly right now
Madelyne: you are the best person I know
Westfield: god i hope not that’s terrible
Madelyne: I am so lonely surrounded by people who claim to love me
Westfield: I need to do something for you
Madelyne: really?
Westfield stopped by her place after work. He knocked on her door. He wore khakis and a dress shirt and was exhausted from work.
Then someone knocked on the door.
Madelyne walked to the door and opened it.
Her boyfriend stood there.
De’Andre, Madelyne’s boyfriend, stood there, wearing khakis and a fraternity T-shirt. He was carrying flowers and a bottle of nice wine.
Madelyne swore.
“Fuck,” Madelyne said.
“I summoned your boyfriend,” Westfield said. “I figured you needed someone who actually cares for you.”
Her boyfriend De’Andre was one of the only young black men in New Liberty. He smiled and hugged Madelyne and kissed her.
“Looks like my boyfriend is taking me out,” Madelyne said.
“I’m sorry,” De’Andre said. “Did I interrupt something?”
“No,” Madelyne said. “You saved me from getting murdered and also from making a bad mistake.”
“Glad to help, my beloved,” De’Andre said. “I’m back from Oberlin for the summer. I’m here to make sure that you are happy and healthy. I heard you were upset.”
“I am here,” Madelyne said. “The killer is tough. He’s a talented fighter, strong and fast. Clever. Not a moron with a mask.”
“Okay,” De’Andre said. “Maybe we can dress up in costumes and save people from him? Save the day and do good deeds?” “No. I’m not wearing a costume.”
“What do I do?” De’Andre asked.
“You hang out with me when I’m not at school,” Madelyne said.
“I’m going to go,” Westfield said. “Clearly you two should be spending some time together. You shouldn’t be spending time with me when he’s back here for the first time in months.”
“You mind?” Madelyne asked.
“No,” Westfield said. “I don’t mind. You two have fun. I will go home to Mitchell’s basement.”
Westfield went home to Mitchell’s basement. He faded away into sleep, daydreaming of saving the galaxy from a human trafficker.
Madelyne sat at the burger joint. She drifted into an argument with Melody instead of paying attention to the real world because she was scared of talking to De’Andre.
She looked at her phone, playing with it. She didn’t always play with her phone but did just then.
They sat at a dark-looking restaurant, with lots of little tables for people to eat and an area for ordering food. An area held napkins and silverware and the like. Restrooms were tucked in the corner.
“We can eat someplace nice if you want,” De’Andre said.
“No, this is fine,” Madelyne said. “We can’t go to a fancy meal every night.”
“Agreed,” De’Andre said. “We have to be careful. I have my scholarship money, and I have to be careful with it. Mom is helping me to budget everything. I obsess over looking for deals and spending my money carefully.”
“Macmillan survived the murders of most of his friends,” Madelyne said.
“Good,” De’Andre said. “I’ll shoot him a text, congratulating him on surviving his slasher killer. We’ll see how we do against ours.”
“Agreed,” Madelyne said. “I think that Ai’s plan to crunch the numbers is smart-people bullshit. She’s full of herself, thinking she can think her way to survival.”
“Agreed,” De’Andre said. “There’s no math equation for escaping a serial killer. It’s just intuition and guts and fighting skill.”
“I love you,” Madelyne said. “I almost cheated repeatedly. I stopped myself because I love you.”
“I know,” De’Andre said.
“You do?” Madelyne said.
“I know,” De’Andre said. “Someone told me. I figured you would find your way or dump me. I didn’t think you would knowingly do something behind my back to hurt me.” “No,” Madelyne said. “That was never my intention.”
“You should understand that I can date a lot of girls, and I don’t,” he said. “I date you because I think you are a wonderful person.”
“I sometimes wonder if I am,” Madelyne whispered.
“You are,” he said. “You are. You deserve this. I want to go home with you tonight.”
“Good,” she whispered.
They ate food - De’Andre ate a chicken wrap, and Madelyne ate a burger but no fries.
Then they went to De’Andre’s family’s house, a nice four-bedroom home in the suburb of New Liberty. They walked into his bedroom and smiled at each other.