III Faces #3
Shinji Takeda wore a nice suit to work from home.
His suit cost ten thousand dollars. He sat in a nice, open office with expensive artwork on the walls and a nice laptop on the desk.
He was slight and slender and hardworking, and he did regular cardio to stay in great aerobic shape.
He was well into middle age. His hair was a combination of gray and black. He had no facial hair.
“My lover, Caitlyn, was murdered,” Ai said. “My love is dead.”
“The funeral was yesterday,” Shinji said.
“I was there with you. My daughter, I have always wanted to secure the greatest life for you. I will make certain that you go to the best college and then get into either premed or prelaw and then become a doctor or a lawyer, then have a life of significance. Occasionally, something happens to hurt or destroy that plan, things that I have trouble dealing with. This serial killer is one of those problems.”
“You can’t just hire someone who will fucking kill this guy?” Ai asked.
“I can try,” Shinji said. “I will try to hire a bodyguard for you, someone who will kill this person if he tries to kill you.”
“Good,” Ai said.
“I will have someone stop by within an hour,” Shinji said. “I think that will be sufficient to stop this animal. He barely qualifies as human; he is so far beneath us.”
“I agree,” Ai said. “We should be able to squash this guy.”
“This place is about to be a fortress, impenetrable in every way,” Shinji said. “And we are about to have the best bodyguards money can buy.”
Ai smiled. They were going to do something about this.
She looked at her phone for instructions.
They wanted her to find Westfield and kill him. He had disappeared, and he was not someone that they wanted to survive this madness.
Ai texted back that she was on it.
Ai had no intention of getting on that. She had no knowledge of where Westfield was and did not care to look it up. She wondered how long it would be until her guilty handlers would notice that she wasn’t helping them.
There was a knocking at the door.
Ai answered the door, wondering if she was going to be murdered by the person at the door.
It was Madelyne.
She hugged Ai.
“I’m so sorry,” Madelyne said. “It’s not fair. Life isn’t fair. Life is brutal and terrible and evil.”
“Let’s sit down and drink tea,” Ai said. She went into the kitchen and started to make tea.
Madelyne joined her.
“Let’s,” Madelyne said. “Anything green for me.”
“Same,” Ai said. “Sounds good.”
They made tea. Ai sat there, in the kitchen, waiting for the tea to get hot and ready to drink. She couldn’t believe reality had progressed to this point, that Caitlyn was gone. She didn’t want it to be real. It didn’t seem real.
“Staph infection,” Madelyne said. “A bad thing that happens in hospitals.” “Yeah,” Ai said. “I guess. I don’t know. It happens.”
“You not knowing something?” Madelyne asked.
“I will learn it later,” Ai said. “I don’t care to know the specifics. I’ll look it up and everything related to it.”
The tea was ready.
“Tea,” Ai said.
They drank tea.
“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” Madelyne asked.
“You probably will,” Ai said.
“And you won’t?” Madelyne asked.
“No,” Ai said.
“Why not?” Madelyne asked.
“I have bodyguards, a rich dad, plans. I ran the numbers; I know how to stay safe, not do anything risky until he shows up and gets caught and killed like the last one did. And I can fight.”
“Your house was attacked last time,” Madelyne said.
“And I’ve upgraded the security system,” Ai said. “We won’t get attacked again, or we will win very quickly if we do.”
“You will remember Caitlyn forever,” Madelyne said.
“I’m already writing out the transcripts of some of our conversations,” Ai said.
“That you have recorded,” Madelyne said.
“No,” Ai said.
“You just have conversations with her memorized?” Madelyne asked.
“Yes,” Ai said.
“Wow,” Madelyne said. “I love you, and I loved Caitlyn, Ai. I’m sorry that your lover died. I would do anything to help remember her, if you can think of it.”
“I need nothing,” Ai said. “Other than my new bodyguard and security system, and not to do any risky behavior that might get me killed.”
“Agreed,” Madelyne said. “And what should I not do?”
“I will try to come up with a list. Don’t be alone at night, don’t go to parties, don’t fuck anyone at all until this blows over.”
“Great,” Madelyne said. “So no fun. Got it.”
“Don’t have fun until this is over. Don’t get drunk either. He won’t like that.”
“So it is a guy,” Madelyne said.
“Caitlyn knew who he was,” Ai said. “So it’s a guy at our high school or in our social circles.”
“Noted,” Madelyne said.
Ai sat there, drinking tea, and pretending that the world hadn’t just ended. She pretended that everything was ever going to be alright.
Mitchell knocked on the door.
Ai opened the front door and hugged Mitchell.
“I love you, Ai,” Mitchell said. “I loved Caitlyn. She will be remembered by all of us as a wonderful and treasured friend and fellow artist. You have nothing to fear. She will be remembered by our loved ones forever. Her memory will live on for a thousand generations.”
“Thank you,” Ai said. “I won’t forget her - ever.”
“No,” Mitchell said. “You won’t. You won’t ever forget her. And when you survive this, you will make certain that all of the dead people are remembered for the wonderful people that they were - and that they were killed too young.”
“Absolutely,” Ai said. “I have to work on my website, for Caitlyn.”
“In a bit,” Madelyne said. “Just relax for a minute.”
“Okay,” Ai said.
“We are going to catch him and then move on with our lives, aren’t we?” Madelyne asked.
“Maybe,” Mitchell said.
“Maybe?” Madelyne asked.
Mitchell said, “Some of us may get good at hunting serial killers, may want to do it again.”
Westfield sat in a hotel room, safe and sound.
He speculated that he could make money buying and selling geek materials on the internet - Pokémon cards, Magic: The Gathering cards, and so on.
He could buy them for cheap at conventions and at meet-ups with geeks around the world and then sell them for a profit on the web to pay for his life.
After an hour, he realized that this would be very difficult to start up and develop as a life goal, but he wanted to try.
He felt excited. He had a plan. He was going to live a life for a while, waiting until the slasher killer was stopped. He was doing something proactive to try to survive.
He got out his Chromebook and looked up all his favorite websites about geek culture and drama and creating art. He was having a good time.
Real life intervened then.
Peck walked through the door to his cheap hotel room - his brother Peck wore a tank top and blue jeans.
Behind him stood Dr. Westfield, wearing a suit and tie, clean, dark blue.
Peck was ripped beyond belief, with muscles for days.
Dr. Westfield didn’t smell of booze or anything.
He presented like a well-adjusted father.
Westfield, however, knew the difference between a well-adjusted father and his nasty father.
Mitchell walked into the room next.
“They grabbed me and told me that they were worried for you,” Mitchell said. “I found you for them. They said that they wanted to help you.”
“Really? You’re with my brother and my dad?” Westfield asked Mitchell.
“Yeah,” Mitchell said. “I’m sorry. Should I not be with your dad and brother?”
“They aren’t on my side,” Westfield said. “Mitchell, I hate my brother and father.”
“Let’s tell them to leave, then,” Mitchell said.
“So that you guys can have a romantic evening?” Dr. Westfield asked.
“I’m happy for you, Stewart..You are a model son.
You get good grades, you are quietly gay, and you let us bully you into anything we want you to do.
You have absolutely no spine. It’s amusing how perfect everyone considers you, and how perfect your brother Peck really is. He’s a god.”
“A god of destruction,” Westfield said.
“Ah, yes, pretending to be the hero,” Dr. Westfield said. “You are a gnat, a boy who doesn’t even fight back, who romanticizes himself and runs away and writes bad plays and fails to get his acting gigs.”
“Fuck yourself, Dad,” Westfield said. “What do you want? I’m hiding from a slasher killer.”
“No, you are running away,” Dr. Westfield said. “Not allowed. We are taking you home and giving you an education in respect and integrity.”
“Mitchell, this is wrong,” Westfield said. “I should not have to live with these people.” “They’re your family,” Mitchell said. “You should give them a chance, no? Love them, give them everything.”
“They are ceaselessly cruel to me,” Westfield said.
“Do they beat you up or neglect to give you food or water?”
“No,” Westfield said.
“I think you two boys should get an education,” Dr. Westfield said. “You should understand the truth about life. How bad it can get. How lucky you fucking brats are.” “Our friends are being murdered by a serial killer!” Mitchell said. “I was attacked!”
“And you somehow survived,” Peck said. “Did you survive by running away, Mitchell? I bet you did. I bet you fucking ran away like a wimpy bitch.” “I will have you know that I have more courage than the two of you, and that yes, I ran away from a psychopath with a weapon because I am a nonviolent person who does not fight anyone, ever.” It was a very nice lie.
They did not need the truth about Mitchell, not ever.
They couldn’t know why he was in New Liberty.
“Liar,” Peck said. “You know how to fight. I’ve seen bruises. You fight.”
“You are all idiots,” Dr. Westfield said. “All of you should win more of your fights.”
“Aren’t you a doctor?” Mitchell asked. “Shouldn’t you hate violence?” “Yes,” Westfield said. “Dad, you are a professional moron.”
“There is a place for violence,” Dr. Westfield said. “Defending oneself matters in life. Mitchell could not take down a serial killer, and his beloved Caitlyn died. It happened. No one can deny that it happened. And he should have won. He is a skilled combatant.”