V Finale #2
“And? That doesn’t matter. I fight like you wouldn’t believe.” He walked towards Mitchell. “You’re not a fighter.”
“I am, though. My dad is a Marine, and he teaches me,” Mitchell said. “I’m not who you think I am. I’m a thief, a professional criminal, an expert at crime and hurting people. I’m here to steal Shinji Takeda’s money. I’m sorry you turned into this, Waylon. I’m sorry. To take a life is terrible.”
“I don’t mind,” Waylon said.
“No; I regret this,” Mitchell said.
He gave a dagger to Madelyne and winked. “Stay back,” he said.
Waylon swung at Mitchell’s neck. Mitchell dodged backward and swung at Waylon’s arm. Waylon dodged.
Waylon circled around Mitchell. Mitchell circled around Waylon.
Waylon smiled.
“Be scared,” Waylon said. “I am the god of destruction. I am the end of days made flesh. I am the real monster.”
“You are nothing,” Mitchell said. “A sick freak with parlor tricks.”
Waylon punched Mitchell with the butt of his knife. Mitchell backed away a bit. Mitchell looked at Waylon and swung at his stomach. Waylon blocked with his knife.
Madelyne attacked Waylon then, trying to stab him with her dagger. Waylon dodged and stabbed her in the stomach. She fell backward and collapsed to the ground. Westfield started to cover the wound and call 911 to get an ambulance there immediately.
“Let me take you to the hospital,” Westfield said.
“Go,” Mitchell said, turning to them. “Go.”
Westfield dragged and helped Madelyne to hobble away from the back of the auditorium. They left, hurrying to Westfield’s car. They got in. She was bleeding profusely.
“Damn it,” Westfield said. “Let’s go.”
He turned on the car. He saw the bear-mask killer in the rear window. Waylon had apparently put on his mask again. He tried to run him over, but the killer dodged into his own car, an SUV, one bigger than Westfield’s car. Westfield started to drive away.
“Is Mitchell dead?” Madelyne asked.
“I assume so,” Westfield said. “I can’t imagine that he survived.”
“He survived,” Madelyne said. “He survived.”
“We might not,” Westfield said. He turned left onto the road and started to go as fast as he could.
They drove for half a mile and then hit a red light.
They stopped for a second, and the killer got out of his trailing SUV and stabbed the passenger-side window.
It slammed open, the glass collapsing and shattering.
The killer - Waylon - stabbed at Madelyne, who dodged away barely. She was crying.
The light was red. Westfield pulled right - around the car in front of him and onto the curb and to the right of a garbage can and then turned right and then veered onto the road. They drove, and as they drove, they saw the Bear Mask Killer - Waylon - get back into his car and follow them.
Westfield blew the stop sign. He didn’t even slow down. The hospital was about a mile down through a suburban neighborhood. He just kept going, driving past the speed limit, past houses that had people living their lives on a dark evening in late May.
Westfield wondered if any of them would survive - if Waylon would kill all of them and then just move on to a new high school and new people.
He saw the Bear Mask Killer behind him, in a large SUV, driving intently, pursuing him. He could barely see above the headlights - but he knew that he was there. He knew that Waylon was following him. If he could only get to the hospital he might be safe…
They drove for another minute and a half.
Westfield glanced at Madelyne. She shivered.
“I’m not doing so hot, my friend,” Madelyne said.
“Is that what we are? Friends?”
“Yes,” Madelyne said.
“Yes,” Westfield said. “I’m sorry. I’m driving to the hospital. I’m trying to save you. I’m trying to do good deeds.”
“You’re good,” Madelyne said. “Whatever damage you have, you are good.” “I’m glad,” Westfield said. “I don’t drive drunk anymore. I do the right thing now.”
“It’s cool,” Madelyne said. “It’s cool. It’s all cool.
It’s fine. You no longer did anything wrong at all.
At all. Everything is perfect. We have had the greatest lives of all time, okay?
Greatest lives ever. We’ve lived amazing lives, and now they are probably going to end, and that’s fine.
” “Losing is okay now?” Westfield asked.
“It’s fine,” Madelyne said. “You tried your absolute hardest, Westfield, and you had an amazing life, and you did everything perfectly. You have no regrets, okay? We have a minute or two left. What do you want to talk about?”
“Are the Chicago Bears going to continue getting better? Are they going to continue their rebuild?” Westfield asked.
“Yeah, buddy, they will play great,” Madelyne said. “They will win countless amazing games and compete for the championship regularly. They might even make it deep into the playoffs.”
“Cool,” Westfield said. “Cool.”
Westfield pulled up to the emergency room entrance.
He stopped the car and waved for help. A couple of orderlies ran forward to get Madelyne out of the car.
She barely looked conscious, just drifting off to sleep with pain filling her body.
She had stopped paying much attention to the world around her.
He grabbed her and tried to pull her into the entryway to the hospital’s emergency room. The orderlies started to bring out a stretcher.
They stumbled into the emergency room to see half a dozen people there.
“There’s a killer out there. He just stabbed my friend,” Westfield said. “Fucking help! Help!”
A doctor walked up to Westfield.
“You will be safe here,” the doctor said. She was maybe forty and had dark hair and was perfectly well-presented, smart and clever and dressed immaculately. “Come in. Your friend needs to be stitched up and needs some blood.” “Great,” Madelyne whispered.
The Bear Mask Killer did not follow them.
Westfield waited for the cops to arrive.
He called Mitchell’s phone. No answer.
He tried to text. No answer.
He wondered what should happen.
Westfield was sick of detective work. He was sick of hero work - of pretending that they could catch this guy. He was sick of all of this.
Someone tapped Westfield on the shoulder. She was a nice white woman, in her fifties.
“Hi,” she said. “Can I help you? I heard you are having some trouble with a serial killer.”
“He just killed my friend Ai Takeda at the high school, and De’Andre Lapzos, and no one cares,” Westfield said.
“We’ll check,” she said.
“They’ll have covered it up,” Westfield said.
“Maybe they haven’t scrubbed everything,” she said. “I’m Anne Drawley.”
“Thanks,” Westfield said.
They got up and walked outside.
The night had gotten a little chilly.
“My associates are at the high school and confirmed four actual bodies so far,” she said. “Are you alone in trying to stop this?”
“No, my friend is in surgery or getting some treatment. Her name’s Madelyne,” Westfield said.
“And Mitchell was last seen fighting against the killer. Waylon is the killer. Waylon killed these two, Ai, a rich genius girl, Shotgun, a young football player, and my abusive father and brother. Oh, and De’Andre. And Lilian.”
“Jesus,” Anne said.
“He and his friend killed a lot of people,” Westfield said.
“Who are you?” “I’m the sheriff,” Anne said.
“I introduced myself a while ago to Beatrice as Officer Drawley, and I’m actually the sheriff.
I’ve been looking into this for several weeks now.
I just stationed a cop next to the room with Madelyne, and I am having cops look throughout the city for this guy.
I will do everything that I can to keep as many teenagers alive as possible. ”
Madelyne woke up.
She felt awake immediately. She felt pain in her stomach but felt okay enough to move. They had given her blood and sealed the wound.
Then she got a text. She responded quickly and decisively. She didn’t let anyone notice her text. She texted the person several times.
She looked at a nurse.
“How long before I can fight?” Madelyne asked. “An hour?”
“No,” the nurse said. “Longer.”
“A day?” Madelyne asked.
“Before you can get back to fighting shape? Minimum? Six to ten weeks of rehab later.”
“What?” Madelyne asked. “I’ll be dead in a day.”
“Your body just can’t fight right now. You were stabbed and survived. We have a guard outside your room, a police officer.”
“What?” Madelyne asked. “The police hate us.”
“Not anymore, it would seem,” the nurse said. “They showed up.”
Someone knocked on the door. “I’m Anne Drawley,” she said. “I’m the sheriff. I’m new. I’m sorry that you were stabbed.”
“Caitlyn died because of a similar wound,” Madelyne said.
“Caitlyn did,” Anne said. “Caitlyn died of complications that won’t happen to you, I don’t think. Different hospital, different case.”
“What happens now?” Madelyne asked. “I can’t fight for eight to twelve or ten weeks or some such time. I’m going to die in a couple of days.”
“No,” Anne said. “We will hide you, protect you.”
“And our families?” Madelyne asked.
“Your parents are outside,” Anne said. “I talked to them. They are devastated that this has happened.”
“Yeah,” Madelyne said. “Thanks.”
“I’m glad,” Anne said. “You will see them in a bit.”
“I will die soon,” Madelyne said.
“No,” Anne said. “We will find him and catch him.”
“I rather doubt that,” Madelyne said. “You haven’t met this guy, talked to him. This guy is beyond unstoppable.”
“At combat?” Anne asked.
“At everything,” Madelyne said. “You know, had we known we would have gotten a cop who wanted to help, we would have contacted you earlier.”
“I am doing everything possible to keep all of you alive. At some point you have to live your lives and call us when the fights happen. That’s just reality.”
“Good,” Madelyne said. “I can’t fight back anymore. He took away my ability to fight back. Stabbing a girl does that to you.”
“Yes,” Anne said.