Chapter Eight

This night is an eerie one, a cold damp freshness lingers in the air -- I feel it deep, in my antique bones.


"A call to Claude is needed, to set up another meeting. I want to know if he has found out anything yet on his end."


Oh, yes, I remember – I left the communique in the other room. I rush down the hall to the last room I was in most previously. The report was left in here, but I don't remember turning the lights off, though? I knew I'd be back -- odd indeed. Pulling open the heavy door, I turn them on again.


It's to my dismay, I find Professor Flannigan, hanging upside down from a rope that is tied off at her feet. Her throat is deeply slit, and both of her hands are severed and missing! Blood is pooling beneath her dangling head, which is held on only by some neck flesh and her twisted spine. She's been slaughtered, and the report is gone.


I fumbled for my cellphone to call the police but lose my grip and it drops to the floor. Some glass shatters down the hallway, but I don't see anything. I quickly pick it up and quietly clicked the classroom door closed and lock it. I run into the supply closet and seal that up as well.


"Police? I'm Dr. Hans Simpson at Riverside University. One of the teachers was murdered -- I think the murderer may still be here. Please hurry up, I could be next!" whispering with urgency, my hands and knees start to quake.


Within range of another smash, I squash further into the floor like it will somehow hide more of me. Oh, no, I should've shut the light back off, whoever is here is going to know someone has been here. The door handle wiggles, thankfully I remembered to lock it.


A loud ruckus is heard -- pounding and booting, then silence. What did I get myself into with this case? I hope the police get here soon, who could've done this to her? Is this because of me looking into new evidence? My goodness, what have I done? Mary, sweet Mary, you never deserved this – any of this! Come on man, where’s the cavalry!?




The famous quote by Edward Norton Lorenz, which reads: “Something as small as the flutter of a butterfly's wings can cause a typhoon halfway around the world. In chaos theory, the butterfly effect is the sensitive dependence on initial conditions. One tiny change in one state of a deterministic nonlinear system can result in considerable differences later.”


Every time I come to my parents' house, I read this plaque my mom hung on the wall -- my mom is obsessed with the ripple. Off go my shoes, and I sit down in the kitchen at the table -- my dad is here, sipping his tea.

My poor father. Lost in space, looking out the window at the busy street. Misses my mother and is having a lot of troubles with my little sister. My sibling -- she's got many ongoing areas of concern, which consist of smoking crack and stealing money and objects for the shit. All is worse since my mother passed away, she's out of control.


Goes missing for days at a time, too -- and this worries my father ill. The girl will steal from him, me, from anyone -- one day I gave her a warning. Told her she is going to rob an off-way person -- and they're going to chew her right in the behind when they catch her.


My younger kin don't want to listen to me though and accuses me of 'not being her mom.' In her own words, 'she wants to make her own snafus.' All I'm trying to do is prevent her from making the horrible ones, some you never want to make -- some cannot be undone. Saved her ass a couple of times since she started with this bullshit -- even paying off her debts for her, so people don't shake her shit.




I'm a sitting fucking duck, unless I come up with something, and fast. Perhaps, I can record him the next time he comes and attacks me? How can I obtain proof in here is the question? I'll need something of substance I can show Nylah. Then people will be informed he is alive, and I'm not nuts. He will be gone away forever, and Nylah will be out of harm's way. I can tell her everything about my father and my brother, Rockleigh -- and everything, afterwards.


I see the nurses talking on phones all the time, my plan is to steal one whenever I get a chance. The next time I have my TV room privileges I'll take a little walk around the floor during break time and maybe I'll get lucky. They would watch me a lot when I first arrived here but now that they think I'm a 'lifer,' not so much. They have far more entertaining patients to keep an eye on around these parts -- some lick the grapes on the wallpaper and others eat glue during craft time.




I know what I'm doing is wrong, but I feel I owe this to her. If it's done proper, she will get her revenge. Although this won't bring her back, and it won't change my wrongs to right either – they will get what they deserve, because I believe ‘Karma’ missed them. They're evil, pure evil, and they shouldn't have a right to live any longer since she doesn't. It's blood for blood -- and even all their blood spilled together, isn't worth hers.


They should've brought her to a hospital, instead of taking money to watch her and not care for her. They could've called me or one of her real friends, but no. All of them just let her suffer for three days and didn't do anything to help her until it was too late -- a whole three days.


All sat there doing drugs, bought with money from "babysitting" her -- and they just let her weaken away and die in that bathtub.


Not knowing what they were doing, they forced a tremendous amount of vomit down her throat, while trying to give her CPR while she was vomiting. They lay her there on her back, naked, in front of everyone, while she went into cardiac arrest and died -- multiple times on the way to the ER.


My dad and I awaited the outcome, stayed up all night in the ICU. We watched them revive her three times, until we heard the words, 'she is not going to recover.' You know what they will recover, though? Your bodies.


I eavesdrop on D'metri's conversation with Mallory about Nicolai while I wait for my bus. I can hear them talking about a delivery he has to make tomorrow in the beaches at Kennedy Road -- I'll be there.




"You think the area is secure yet?" Ducas asked me.


This fool -- if he knew what was coming, he wouldn't be rushing me. Fucking imbecile!


I touch my back pocket to ensure the vice-grips I swiped from the maintenance room are still there, they are. I can't let Ducas see this bulge, he'll think the tool is money and that I'm holding out on him. Don't need the extra drama from this dullard, got to stay focused. Almost time for part two of my plan, where we part ways and come together.


"Check the back of the car, is there anything else back there that we should bring?"


Ducas walks over to the car and leans in -- I crack him in the back of the head with the pliers, hard. He turns around to run but I clip him in the jaw and his whole face shifts -- I do it repeatedly until his face resembles spaghetti.


His fat body falls limp and makes a thud as he drops next to the back door of the car. I flip him over on his back and open his mouth. One by one I start to extract his molars -- easy-peasy. The hard part is doing this to myself next, but I'll do what it takes -- whatever it takes.


Doesn't take me long to rip them from his gums and it's not too bad because he's dead -- so he isn't flowing blood anymore. I ascended to the second area of the barn and pulled open a door that doesn't even look like it's there -- it welcomed me. There, sit four jugs of my Pa's hooch -- it's still here like I knew it was. I've run away from the home a few times before now and had some of this goodness on nights things were rough and I needed to make it through.


I blow the dust off one and pick it up, this will do -- I take a dose and rinse out my mouth. Advantageous for me, had a few ivories knocked out in fights over the years. Plus, had some others rotted out from my candy hang-up -- so I don't have a mouthful. Doesn't make this any easier, nonetheless.


The sensation of the cold metal touching the side of my lip makes me quiver. The yankers go in my mouth, searching for the first one to go. I find it and hold it tight, and yank -- right away, my mouth fills up with blood. I spit out, gag, then swirled the firewater and repeated this process, it fucking burned but I can get through this -- I must.

I do it over and over until I'm as gummy as your grandma -- the taste of metal and blood engorge my palate.


I climbed back down the ladder and run over to his body. I cart his fat-ass into the rear end, and I lay him on his back and open his mouth. I take my pile of teeth and place them inside. His busted jaw makes a click when it closes. Going back up to the second level, I grabbed the other bottles of home brew and go back down to the car. With my hands trembling, I look at the pile of his choppers on the ground next to me -- his were so much whiter because he brushed his.


After I empty the white lightning all over him and the car, I run behind the structure to get containers of gasoline. They're still there for Pa's tractor -- five of them waiting for me.


I propel them inside one at a time, placing them all around Ducas and the car. Employing the screwdriver I brought, I flip the lids off and take off his shirt -- ripping and soaking it in the liquid fun. The neck of the moonshine jug is jammed with the soaked, ripped shirt. I need to make sure I'm far enough away, so I can run to safety in time.


I face the giant red building and take a deep breath; feet don't fail me now. The ripped shirt that's sticking out of the end of the bottle ignites and I toss it. Aiming for the open back door of the car, it makes it in. Ducas, the vehicle and the barrels all go up in one big whoosh.


I run for my life, my new life -- faster than ever. The wood is crackling and snapping behind me. Please let me make it to the river, I need to make it to that river.


Barely do I rupture the surface before detecting the behemoth explosion behind me. I can see the red-orange glare in front of me. My arms try to sink me further into the deep, so that I can get lower and hold my breath. I can feel the heat from the fire through the water and the light from the flame is intense. It's getting extremely vivid as it reflects on the surface above me.


I swim as far as I can. People will come soon, and they'll find Bobby dead, at his family's old home -- he was suicidal. Ducas will be MIA -- I'm Ducas now, my old life is over.


They will never find his teeth; I'll be sure of that. His methed-out brother Lucas is the only family he has left, and if he comes looking? I’ll take care of him, too. While Ducas slept last night? I smothered the money in plastic bags and put it back in the backpack, so it should be safe from the water.


Swimming out and up as far as I can to the other side. I scramble out soaked, into a soggy cattail filled area. I keep sinking in, but I push on. The good thing is money won't be an issue, I have enough to pay someone to help me get my new ID. I need to find someone who values money over morals, and that shouldn't be hard.


I walked deeper into the woods. I looked for a place to make a shelter and hideout until morning, I get colder -- it's freezing out now, but still, I pushed on. The night ahead is going to be a long one, but in the morning, I will wake as Ducas Pope. He can keep his last name, I wanted to make my own when it came to that. Bobby Blake is dead to me, and to everyone who knew him. Where Ducas went? Nobody knows.