III Faces #5
“You need InfoXTL,” Macmillan said. “It can try to check that sort of thing, give us an idea of who’s watching you. But nothing like - this is the serial killer. Nothing that is definite. A bunch of people probably look you up and access cameras.”
“A lead is better than nothing,” Madelyne said. “Can you help it do that?”
“Yes,” Macmillan said. “I have Walter’s notes. I have Ghostkin’s notes. They were designing InfoXTL, and I know how they were doing it. I can program InfoXTL to help you find your stalker.”
“Good,” Madelyne said. “What should I do in the meantime?”
“Just let me work,” Macmillan said. “Just try to stay alive. And then we will figure out who is doing this. Okay?”
“Cool,” Madelyne said.
Lilian walked out of the auditorium and into the entry area with Madelyne. She wore a casual yellow dress and black leather boots. She smiled and hugged Madelyne.
“We can still be friends,” Lilian said.
“Sure,” Madelyne said.
“Let’s walk to my locker,” Lilian said.
They walked upstairs to an empty second floor of the high school - it was after school, and no one was up there but the janitor.
The school felt different, empty, abandoned. It was still bright outside, but there weren’t people in the hallways. Lockers adorned the walls.
Lilian walked over to her locker. She started to enter the combination.
Someone appeared in the corridor a short distance away from them. The slasher killer in the bear mask stood there, wearing blue jeans and a leather trench coat and a bear mask, and carrying a wakizashi.
Madelyne felt pissed. She didn’t want to die.
The killer looked at them. He had a voice disguiser.
Lilian looked at Madelyne.
“I’m sorry,” Lilian said. “You’re going to die. I’m faster.”
Then Lilian began to run in the other direction, far away from the killer. The killer ran towards them.
Madelyne stood right there.
“You’re supposed to run now,” the killer said. “Your friend is running.” “I don’t do what I’m told,” Madelyne said. “I’m not a good little girl.”
Madelyne pulled a knife and stabbed at the bear mask killer. Then she yelled that the killer was there and for someone to call 911.
A janitor walked outside of a classroom.
“I called 911,” the janitor said. “The police are on their way.”
The killer turned and ran.
He ran towards the direction in which Lilian ran.
“That’s bad,” Madelyne said to no one.
Madelyne stopped for one second - to think about her options.
The smart choice was to run in the other direction and coordinate with the police officers.
The stupid choice? Chasing after the strong and fast serial slasher killer.
Inevitably, she chased after the serial killer - the bear mask killer.
This was stupidly risky, but she didn’t do what was expected of her. She took chances in her life.
The killer charged downstairs to the entrance to the theater area. He caught up to Lilian as she faced the auditorium. She turned to see the bear-mask killer charging towards her at a dead sprint, and he was fast, very fast, and very strong.
She tried to run away, but he was much, much faster than her and even Madelyne. He grabbed her and yanked her away from the entrance to the auditorium and pulled her in close to him, holding her from behind.
“This is your end,” he said.
“No,” she said. “You don’t understand. Do you know who I am?”
He stabbed her with a wakizashi. The blade entered her heart almost instantly. She screamed.
“No,” she screamed. “No, no, no.” “Yes,” he said. “Yes.”
Lilian looked back at Madelyne with sheer terror and pleading in her eyes. Maybe she could survive. Maybe she wouldn’t die.
She died.
Madelyne turned and ran outside. She saw the killer leave in another direction. She waved over a police officer who arrived, and they started to search for the killer, but Madelyne doubted that they would find him.
Madelyne looked at Mitchell, who walked outside.
“Lilian’s dead,” Madelyne said. “People are dying. Teenagers are being butchered. People who don’t deserve it.”
“I’m sorry, hon,” Mitchell said. “I’m so very sorry.”
“Multiple girls are dead,” Madelyne said. “People are suffering.”
“This guy?” Mitchell asked.
“This guy,” Madelyne said. “He’s faster and stronger than us. Which is fucking bullshit. I work out as hard as that guy, and he’s faster and stronger than me.”
Westfield sat in Mitchell’s basement.
He had the couch to sleep on.
He looked around.
The basement had everything still: the nice bar stocked with liquor, the couch, the television with the attached video game systems, the pool table, the dart board, the comfortable chair, the paintings on the walls, and the poker table.
He lay there on the couch, looking at his laptop, trying to sleep for the night.
He looked at an old YouTube video.
The old video was a funny one with a guy commenting on an old movie and dissecting every aspect of its production. He drifted off slowly, wondering about his life.
Was this his life? Living in Mitchell’s basement? Was he going to die? Did it matter? He wasn’t good at fighting, and there was a crazed serial killer who was fast and strong and good at physical combat. Westfield didn’t think that it mattered.
Mitchell knocked on the wall as he walked into the basement.
“Just checking in,” Mitchell said. “Your first night away from your home. How do you feel?”
“Like my life is over,” Westfield said. “But I’m going to be murdered, so it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters,” Mitchell said. “Everything we say and do matters. I honestly believe that. Everything you do matters. Everything you say matters.”
“I don’t know,” Westfield said. “Nothing seems to matter. I failed as a writer and director. I didn’t even write something good enough to be the spring play. The rich girl did.”
“Yeah, about that,” Mitchell said. “She’s really, really smart. And talented.”
“Jesus, I should be really smart and talented,” Westfield said.
“It’s hard,” Mitchell said. “Succeeding in writing is hard.”
“And I should be able to do hard,” Westfield said. “I should have gotten an Oscar by now.”
“Westfield, no,” Mitchell said. “No. You needed to be a normal boy, growing up in suburban America. You didn’t need to make it at eighteen.
You didn’t need to be that guy. You have plenty of time to mature into a man and make your way in life.
You don’t need this. You don’t need to hate yourself for not making it at eighteen.
You might make it at forty-six, okay? Forty-six.
You might make it at fifty-six. Just focus on continuing to try to make it as a writer and director, and don’t give up.
That’s all you can do. Don’t give up. I believe in you.
I think that you can do it. I just think that it won’t be soon, and it won’t be before you mature into a full-fledged adult. Okay?”
Westfield nodded.
Westfield was okay with his life. He decided not to hate himself quite so much - and that meant everything for him.
He believed in himself - just a little bit.
He let himself think that he deserved to live and to get great things and to have great things happen to him.
He texted Madelyne that he loved her and cared for her and wasn’t flirting but just wanted to know how she was.
He drifted off to sleep an hour later. He didn’t think he could ever fall asleep and thought that he would sleep forever if he fell asleep, but he only slept for eight hours. Then he woke up for school.