The dull sound of thick paper hitting a hard surface echoed across a steril gray office. Meaty fingers drummed the desk on which the files lay, the creaking of his wooden chair filling the small space.
"19 deaths. All "unknown" causes. 19, in the past -month-." Officer Dunst reached for his coffee cup. " 48 in the past 2 months. This is getting out of hand again..."
"Sir," a soft-spoken skinny Officer Fields shifted from one foot to the other before the other man's desk. "Maybe we should just let it die out again? We can't very well put everyone's kids on Hypnocil..."
"And why not! We can slip it into the school lunches, the vending matchines, the -water supply-...it's only too simple."
"Sir, that's...illegal."
"And that means what to me, Fields. This...thing has to be stopped, before we lose all our children. And I'm willing to do what's necessary. Are you, Fields? Or must I remind you what happened the LAST time we just 'let it die out'."
"...No, sir..."
"In the meantime, we have to deal with the growing panic. Alotta folks are saying HIS name out there...if we don't got something concrete to blame this on, all hell's gonna break loose. " Dunst slurrruped his coffee, pushing crimianl records aside.
"You...mean frame someone?" Fields asked, peering at the files.
"Half these poor bastards don't have anything going for them anyway..."
"But...how...are you going to tie them to it, sir? None of them have anything to do with the victims. And the other suspects in relation to the victims all have alibis."
"I'll think've somethin'...plant evidence...or..someth.." Dundst trailed off, lifting file and peering at it. "How'd he get a record?"
"Uhm, he supposedly murdered his wife some odd years ago, sir, but it was..you-know-who..and he and his daughter have been on the scene for a couple of the murders, including a girl that had been staying with them."
"Oh, right, right...I remember now..." He studied the photograph a moment. "...How much of a credit is he to the 'cause'?"
"Well, he signed off most of the kids at Westin for Hypnocil treatment, but since the hospital's gotten overly crowded...there isn't much he can do."
"...Well...isn't that a shitter." He threw the file down on the desk towards Fields. "Keep an eye on him. If he's...present at another incident...bring him in."
Fields
hesitantly picked up the file and glanced over the information, the
name, and the middle-aged man in the picture. He looked tired. And
innocent.
"..Yes, sir." He tucked it under an arm and
left.
----------------------------
"Nobody knows the trouble I've seen..."
Tracy's voice echoed through the nearly vacant house. Beside her sat Lori, watching the news, idly chewing green-tinted bubblegum. Patricia sat across from them, reading a newspaper clip. Maggie and Dr. Campbell were at Westin for the day, negotiating Hypnocil treatments outside the hospital. After weeks of running around, recording deaths to find a pattern in Freddy's slaughter, bombarding Jacob's mother with questions every other weekend, and attending funeral after funeral for once-friends and acquaintances, things had calmed a bit. A lull, if you will. A momentary feeling of peace...
For about 3 days.
"No body knows my sorrow..."
"Tracy if you don't shut up, I swear to God." Lori mumbled, turning up the television.
"Nobody knows but Jesus!" Tracy added, putting some soul into it.
"-Tracy-."
"Noobody KNOOOOOWS...the TROUBLE AH SEEEEEEN..." Tracy swooned, leaning into Lori's shoulder.
"And..nobody cares." Patricia ventured, soft as anything, laughing a little. Lori laughed despite herself, and Tracy grinned. It was the first silly happy moment they'd all had in a long, long, long time.
The three had gotten considerably closer after everything. Patricia found it easier to talk to the younger women than the stern, dark-eyed Maggie Burroughs. They were slightly more sympathetic about her relentless studying of the cause of all their grief. Maybe it was because Patricia wasn't exactly "grown-up" yet herself. Or maybe because the two of them reminded her so much of Sara. Either way...she was thankful to have them.
"See? Made ya smile."
"God, you're a goofball..." Lori turned off the television, not able to stomach it anymore.
" Hey. someone's gotta 'don't worry, be happy' around this place...Hey, isn't Jacob's thing tonight?"
"Yeah, dad got tickets for tonight..."
"...Whatcha guys gonna wear?" Lori looked over at Patricia and she looked back at her. They both eyed their current clothing, then looked back up at Tracy.
"...You're kidding."
"..I don't..." Patricia shrugged. What you see is what you get."It's just a school play, Tracy." Lori popped a small bubble.
" God. And I'm the freakin' tomboy 'round here." She stood. "All right, ladies, saddle up." They stared at her. "...C'mon, get up off your asses, lets go, lets go, lets GO!" Tracy grabbed Patricia by the wrist and pulled her gently to her feet.
"Wh-where are we going...?" Tracy flashed her a grin, pulling Lori up as well.
"Shoppin'."
"Trace, I...I can't, I don't want to--" Lori tried to sit back down.
"Oh, come on, Lori. I bet Jacob would love to see you all dressed up for him." Tracy pulled her back up again.
"I don't care what he thinks...I know -you- do." Lori retorted, blushing.
"Do NOT. And you're a terrible liar. C'mon, lets go, move it." Tracy snatched her wallet from the couch and headed towards the front of the house. Lori went to follow her but Patricia hesitated.
"...I can't."
The two women turned to her.
"...I don't...exactly have money right now...I'm sure I can find something of my own. You go ahead." Patricia sat back down, gingerly folding the newspaper article in her lap. Lori and Tracy exchanged glances.
"...We can get you something, Trish." Lori said, walking back to her. Patricia shook her head.
"No...no, Lori."
"Why not? You're like family to us now."
"I don't need it, Lori..."
"Oh, come on, Trish." Tracy walked to them. "Every girl needs a pretty something. We'll help you pick out a beautiful dress."
"Yeah, it'll be fun!"
Patricia gazed at the floor. It was a lovely gesture. It really was. But they had already put up with her, her mother, taken her into their home, fed her, kept her, everything. She didn't need this...
"...Patricia?" Lori's voice pulled her back to them. She turned her eyes upward.
"You don't give yourself pretty things...let us get something for you." Lori and Tracy pulled her to her feet. Patricia gave them the slightest smile.
"C'mon. The mall awaits!" Tracy draped her arms around their shoulders, and the three of them started their quest for evening wear.
--------------------------------
"Hello, how are you? Lets see...you're in row B, seats 13, 14, 15, 16, and 17. Here's your programs." Dr. Campbell smiled to the cheery usher, and took the programs.
"Thank you." He passed them back to his party and proceeded to row B of Springwood County Community College's large theatre.
Following behind him was Maggie, in a simple stylish suit, black with pinstripes, and a red collared shirt. Behind her was Tracy, in a suit as well, gray, with a deep blue shirt. Lori was next, in a nice green ensemble with sequins, setting off her pretty red hair. Last came Patrica. It was difficult finding something for her spidery figure, long hair, and sickly skin. Red stood out too much, green made her look yellow, too short in the waist made her seem stumpy, too long in the torso made her look 6 feet taller than she was...finally, the settled on the default. Black. Luckily, just as Patricia was ready to throw in the towel, they found her this dress. It was ankle-length with slits up the sides to just above her knees, and sleeves made of a sheer fabric that billowed about her arms. It had beautiful indigo embroidery on it, fashioned to look like spindles of ivy crawling up her form. With her nicer pair of plain black shoes and a new pair of hose, she looked elegant. But she felt awkward. Looking at herself in the mirror wearing this dress, her hair up and out of her face (not without hiding the scar on her temple), her arms with the illusion of being bare, the hint of her leg showing from the slits...it was alien. Walking in, she caught married fathers glancing at the form-fitting outfit. Younger men leering out of the corner of their eyes at her exposed legs. Even Dr. Campbell had done a double-take as she descended the stairs in his home. It was downright uncomfortable. Not once in her life had anyone ever looked at her that way. She wasn't attractive. She wasn't beautiful. Patricia Tate and the word "sex" didn't fit. 27, virginal, and a -very- private person, she just...never saw it in her life. Not once. And yet, here she was, receiving glances she thought would never be for her, feeling things she's never felt...
Maybe it's true. She thought to herself. Life can begin at 30...
"So, what's Jacob in this thing again?" Tracy leaned into the aisle at Dr. Campbell.
"Says here he's...Lee Harvy Oswald, the man that supposedly assasinated JFK, and the balladeer."
"God, this play is so twisted..." Lori muttered, reading the information in the back of her program. This was -not- a show to put on after everything's that'a happened. "And it's a musical, for crying out loud."
" 'Assasins'. " Tracy hissed dramatically. "By Stephen Sondheim. How long is this thing?"
Just then the light started to dim. The party of 5 settled into their seats to watch.
-----------------------
The collective voices of the cast floated up to the catwalks, where a stage hand sat, ready to fly in an American flag for the beginning of "How I saved Roosevelt". Jamie yawned and leaned against the metal bars, still shaking off the joint he'd had not 5 minutes before the curtain went up. He closed his eyes and opened them again...and closed and opened them...he had to stay awake, the cue was going to sneak up on him, and if his stage manager Leslie found out he'd been getting high before the show again, she'd pwn his ass like no other. Hah. He thought 'pwn'. His eyes felt sooo heavy...there was movement on the catwalk. His eyes shot open again, to see...
A cat.
"Well, hey, little buddy..." he reached out as the cat came closer and stroked it's back. "Hehe, cat, catwalk..." It was the funniest thing in the world to him right then. Even funnier than it's bright blue eyes, or red and green fur.
"Y'shouldn't be up here, y'know. But it -is- a catwalk..." he laughed, as the cat backed away from him and sat up straight. "You guys should be working the rigs..." he laughed harder, and the fact the feline's claws and teeth were getting longer and longer by the second was making it even funnier.
"'Cause it's a catwalk!" the claws shined, almost looked like knives.
"Catwalk!" The cat leaned back, ready to pounce.
"GET IT?" The last thing he saw was a set of razor-sharp jaws engulfing his face.
----------------------
On stage, John Hinckley, the kid that tried to assassinate Ronald Reagan, plucked his guitar strings, making a gentle melody, staring at the object of his desire, Jodie Foster. Lynette Squeaky Fromme, who tried to assassinate Gerald Ford, wandered behind him, obsessing over the picture of her one true love, Charles Manson.
"I
am...nothing. You are..wind and water and sky.
Jodie.
Tell me, Jodie, how I can earn your love.
I
would swim oceans, I would climb mountains,
I would do
anything for you! What do you want me to do?" Hinckley
sang.
In the audience, the group of five were unduly creeped out by the twists and turns of the show. The point of it was to expose the "truth" of the American dream, and just how sick our country is with delusions of grandeur. Well, no one likes to know the truth about themselves. Patricia shifted a little, the words of Squeaky's obsessive monologue echoing in her mind, the part about newspaper and magazine articles especially. She was starting to question the healthiness her little "hobby", and if she should continue. Would she really end up SO obsessed with him, that she'd do something crazy like try to assassinate a president to get the world to understand him?
--Well, you killed your mother.--
That was self-defence.
--Was it? REALLY?--
It had nothing to -do- with him.
"I
am unworthy of your love.
Jodie, Jodie.
Let me be
worthy of your love.
I'll find a way to earn your love, set
me free!
How can I turn your love to
me?"
------------
A girl stagehand sat in the downstage right wing, ready to hit the fog matchine when the cue was up. This wasn't her reglar cue, and she almost had no idea how to work the damn thing. Going over her next cues in her head, she failed to notice the body comming up behind her. A creak in the floor made her jump and turn around.
"Wha--!" she sighed. "Jamie! Where the hell have you been, and where the hell were you for cue 28? The flag never came down, and Leslie's having a shitfit. Were you smoking crap again?"
Jamie just stared at her listlessly.
"Hello? Are you even in there? God." She got up, pushed the fog solution into his hands, and shoved past him. "Do your fucking job, Jamie."
Jamie watched her walk off into the darkness, a wicked smirk dancing on his lips. He sat at the matchine, opened the small compartment and poured in the fog solution. Then he took a second bottle from his pocket, and poured it in as well. Then sat back, drumming the fingers of his right hand on his leg, waiting for the cue to be called.
------------
On stage, a woman danced out from the wings, dressed as Jodie Foster and did a small ballet. Fog billowed from off stage, and flowed mostly into the audience, simulating a dream sequence."
"I am...nothing. You are
wind, and devil and God.
Charlie.
Take my blood
and my body for your love!
Let me feel fire, let me drink
poison,
tell me to tear my heart in two!
If
that's what you want me to do."
A man dressed as Charles Manson walked on stage, and over to Jodie. Patricia stifled a yawn. How could she be feeling tired? She felt so bad, Jacob's assassin role hadn't even shown up yet. This is what she gets for staying up in the wee hours of the morning. The figures of Charlie and Jodie dancing were getting blurry. She blinked a few times to get herself to wake back up.
"I am unworthy
of your love.
Charlie, darlin'."
-Patricia...-
"I
have done nothing for your love."
-Mr. Krueger?-
Patricia was almost gone. Everything was so smokey, and it was almost hard to breathe.
"Let me prove worthy of your love, set me free!" The voices echoed so far away. Hinckley joined in, but it was so so distant...
"--I
would come take you from your life!
--I would come take you
from your cell!
--I would make you queen to me, not
wife!
--I would...crawl..belly deep
through..."
--HELL...--
It was dark. Patricia wasn't sure where she was, but cold, very, very cold. It was old, decrepid, decayed. Leaves shattered under her shoes. Hard concrete and broken windows met her gaze. A tall tall ceiling hung above her head, covered in silent metal pipes. There were walls all around. She kept turning corners, meeting rusted metal or dingy brick walls. She was stuck in a very grim maze, the walls tall, the halls wide, and every so often...she'd come across a steaming metal door...
A pair of cold eyes watched the small woman wander; lost in the place he came to call home.
Where was he going to let her end up?
-------------
I LIVE! Thanks for the reviews, you WONDERFUL LOVELY BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE, GOD YOU ROCK, YEAH WHOOHOOO!
I've been going through crap, y'know, yadda yadda, excuse excuse. I WILL HAVE THE NEXT CHAPTER OUT VERY SOON. I'll keep my promise this time. This is going to be a long fic, atleast 20 chapters, maybe 25.
PLEASE REVIEW STILL! ;--; I love you all. I eat flames for breaky. Aaaalsooo, I'd like to know what you guys think should happen in the end. LOVE!