V Finale #3
“Wheelchair me to Mitchell’s basement,” Madelyne said. “No, have Westfield do it. I want to go see Mitchell’s basement. Look for something. I need to do this, Anne. Please.”
“No,” Anne said. “Certainly not. Especially not without a cop.”
“I need this,” she said. She texted Anne something.
Anne looked at her phone.
“Of course,” Anne said. “The cop will be just outside Mitchell’s family’s home.” Madelyne smiled and nodded.
“Of course,” she said.
“You can’t do this!” Melody screamed. “You can’t go there! Not now! You can’t!”
I can, Madelyne thought. I am, she thought. She knew that she had to ignore and not worry about Melody and any voice inside her head - she didn’t matter to her, not anymore. She no longer influenced Madelyne’s behavior.
Melody screamed and screamed as Madelyne was wheelchaired out by Westfield and into the passenger side of his car. It was the following day.
He put her in and then put the wheelchair in the back seat.
Then he got into his car and started to drive.
“Why are we going to Mitchell’s basement?” Westfield asked.
“I want to space out, think about fallen loved ones, and drink liquor,” Madelyne said. “I can think of no better place than that.”
“I’m just surprised to get to die in the final fight,” Westfield said.
Madelyne tapped him on the shoulder. She typed something on her phone.
Madelyne: too much truth
Westfield said, “Whenever that happens.”
Madelyne nodded. “Whenever he decides to kill us. I can’t fight back for eight to twelve weeks.”
“Ten to twelve weeks is what I heard,” Westfield said.
“It depends on the rehab,” Madelyne said.
They drove to Mitchell’s family’s nice suburban home - a normal house for a normal, upper-middle-class family - not a rich family or a poor family.
Madelyne got out and walked - barely - to the house. She needed some help from Westfield getting out of the car and getting to the house. She walked in to find Mitchell’s family not there.
They went to the basement entrance and walked down to the basement. It took constant help from Westfield for Madelyne to make it down the stairs and to the basement. Her stomach ached. They saw Waylon sitting there, at the poker table, with a deck of cards in front of him.
“You made it,” Waylon said. “I was hoping you’d make it. I couldn’t believe you would leave the hospital with all of those people who could be witnesses, but you even managed that.”
“I might surprise you,” Madelyne said.
“Oh, I doubt it,” Waylon said. “Let’s play cards. If you win, you get to live for another day. You keep playing until the day you lose - on which day you will die.”
“No,” Madelyne said. “No more stupid games.”
“But you could survive,” Waylon said. “I can always outplay you later.”
“No,” Madelyne said. “And if I win?”
“I was cheating,” Waylon said. “You can’t win. I was showing you what it’s like to have a bad hand at something important. That’s how I feel about life. You are pretty and popular and an actress, and you get laid with hot guys, and I get none of that.”
“I’m sorry,” Madelyne said. “I’m sorry that you are this.”
“You’re not running away,” Waylon said. “You’re supposed to be running away.”
“No, not running,” Madelyne said.
“We’re what?” Westfield said.
“We’re not running,” Madelyne said.
“Yeah,” Westfield said. “Apparently we are done running.”
Waylon smiled. He had the last two people in the same basement with him, and they didn’t have the speed necessary to run away.
“I like this,” Waylon said. “I’m going to enjoy this so much. I’m going to butcher you two, just cut you into pieces. I’m cutting people up now.” He stood up and started to walk towards Madelyne and Westfield.
“Kind of like this is past the end,” Madelyne said suddenly.
Mitchell came from behind a hidden safe room with a dagger and walked up to Waylon silently, without letting Waylon know he was there.
Mitchell stabbed Waylon in the back. The long dagger penetrated his heart.
Waylon looked back in shock and terror.
“The fucker!” he said. He stumbled to one knee. “What the fuck?”
“A perfect backstab,” Mitchell said. “I win. I beat you.”
“We realized eventually that you were listening to us and set up a trap for you,” Madelyne said.
“And I pretended to cower and run away last night,” Mitchell said. “I just needed a chance to restart the battle and start it with a backstab. I’m a rogue, after all.”
“Fuckers,” Waylon said. He dropped his wakizashi. “Fuckers. Attacking me from behind. Fuckers.”
“Yup,” Mitchell said. “You murdered Catilyn, one of my best friends. Other people. You, asshole, can fucking die.”
He collapsed to the ground, looking up at Mitchell, in disbelief. “This can’t happen,” Waylon said. “I studied. I trained for years.”
“Do you regret it?” Mitchell asked.
“No,” Waylon said. “Standing up for myself? Killing all those people? Fucking awesome.”
“You are sick,” Mitchell said. “You could have had so much. You could have been a great young man. Instead you chose to kill all of our friends.”
“Yes,” Waylon said. “Fuckers. I shouldn’t die. This shouldn’t happen. This is bullshit. This is cheating. Fucking cheaters.”
He collapsed, dead.