Rick/Lea/Bernie/Jack

[Inico]

-- “Evenin’, partner,” Bernard said to me as he opened the door and I walked into his apartment. “You here ‘bout that chick again?”

-- “You read me like a goddamn book, Bernie” I find myself compelled to answer.

-- “Well, it’s the only reason you’ve been here lately. That and ‘St. Michael’s Revenge 2’,” he remarks ever-so-truthfully, pausing for a moment before he continues “but anyways, what’s the issue this time?” He asks me as he fetches a glass of water for the both of us.

-- “She’s dead.”

I can see the expression of shock on Bernie’s face. He never was much of an actor, and I don’t know why he would try to act now, so I assume it’s real. As if to cement that idea, he accidentally allows the water to go overboard on one of the glasses, effectively wetting his floor. However, he was not as shocked then as he was after I added an important detail:

-- “I killed her.”

It was during this moment of confession that he – in a very cliché manner – allows one of the glasses fall from his grasp, it falling on the floor and shattering in many small and dangerous shards.

My name is Rick. I am a slightly overweight, latino-descended, young adult. I wouldn’t know how to describe myself and I can’t seem to be able to look at a mirror for very long before punching it as hard as I can, so I’ll leave out the details. Bernard is also latino-descended and is about the same age as me. He is, however, much heavier, though he has been trying to improve that situation. He also has been my best friend since middle school.

His apartment is a small but tidy place. The living room houses a modestly-sized TV, a slim DVD player, the newest videogame console (he and I are both fanatic videogame players – though I’m the one doing most of the playing nowadays) and, of course, a massive disc collection of movies and games. There is also a small bedroom where he usually leaves his notebook computer and a bathroom but there’s not much to say about it. His kitchen is carefully projected so that the space is the most efficiently distributed as possible. He might be an apartment dweller, but Bernie is an accomplished cook – as accomplished as a social outcast with a lot of curiosity and a fast internet connection can be, at any rate.

At this point, about five minutes have passed without either of us saying anything at all. All I can do is sit on one of the kitchen chairs while he diligently gathers each glass shard with his hand – a danger I’d warn him on if only the terrible lump in my throat would allow me to say a word. After he’s finished, he throws them all in the trash can. Skillfully done, I would say, as he managed to do it without any cuts.

Wisely, he puts the water pitcher back in the fridge and brings out the whiskey. I’d say it’s a fine whiskey, but frankly I don’t know anything about them, and neither does Bernie. He just bought it because we saw it in the movies and we thought it was cool. Yet here we are, after finally getting to drink the damn thing, not feeling cool at all.


After drinking a shot of it, I already start to cry uncontrollably – so much, indeed, that I find myself momentarily unable to drink any more. Bernard doesn’t seem to be as emotional as me in this occasion. He would probably be on his third shot now, and if I know my alcohol, he should already be getting drunk as a skunk. Yet, nothing in his demeanor has changed in the slightest. This sentenced should, of course, be taken with a grain of salt, because at this moment my eyes are getting so teary I can barely keep them opened. Nevertheless, I can tell he isn’t saying a word.

He stopped drinking after that shot. Now he’s only observing me, not that there’s anything to see besides a pathetic adult man crying like a new born. This goes on for quite a bit of time. I couldn’t even tell when it was on the morning when I finally managed to steady my hands enough to take another shot (which, of course, my friend poured for me, since I wasn’t about to recover my dexterity any time soon).

After I drank it, I felt as joyous as a red apple on a green tree on some special kid’s drawing. It was as if nothing could ever – or would ever, or had ever – hit me. I couldn’t tell when was the last time I felt like this for a simple reason – I couldn’t actually remember anything at all, except that I was there, drinking with Bernie, and that we weren’t saying anything for some reason. My stupid drunken mind assumed we weren’t speaking because of some game. I just laughed foolishly.

My hands were still as shaky as buildings during an earthquake, so I didn’t try to pour more. I just kept looking at Bernie and thinking about the silly face he had on. He looked so concerned, he looked like my dad. Ha! Like my dad would ever drink with me. I laughed internally some more. Bernie poured some more whiskey for me, and, following suit, I shoved it right down my throat.

The lump was gone, and instead I found enlightenment. “Should this shit even be happening?” I thought, “these don’t seem to be the symptoms of being a dirty drunkard at all.” I daren’t to drink any more after such a realization. And then it all came back – the memories of the day that passed before I walked into this apartment. Terrible memories. Something I’d drink away if I was sure this was actual alcohol I was drinking – paranoia started slithering through my altered mind.

-- “So, Rick… Are you ready to say what happened, yet?” Bernie asked, breaking the previously estabilished silence, and further explained: “It’ll be sunrise in a few hours and I’ll have to go to work.”

He was right and I knew it. I signaled him to wait as I both tried to clear the emotional obstacle in my larynx and chased away in my head for the memories that made me want so desperately that I was dead. Yes… Right. The girl. The worst mistake I’d ever done. Falling for her. Killing her, of course, comes as a close second.

Her name was Lea. She was about my age before her demise. She was different from me as in she was fairly well-off – in my middle-class standards, in any case. She had dark hair, but fairly white skin – certainly clearer than mine or Bernie’s, but no Snow White. She was below-average in any physical measurement you could do. Exactly how I like ‘em. She was a bit crazy, though. This might’ve been the final nail on her coffin.

You see, Lea was the kind of chick that really enjoyed attention. She desperately and constantly sought for it. I gave it to her for a while, so she agreed to be my “friend with benefits”. It’d be foolish of me to think that she would accept to be my actual girlfriend – and, as such, “exclusive” to me – I thought it was a good start to at least quench my bodily desires. What a grave mistake that would prove to be.

For a while, it was good fun. Just us drinking like complete fools and then sharing a bed when none of us could keep standing. The hangovers were terrible. Whenever she believed she couldn’t afford to have a hangover on the other day, though, was when the good stuff came about. I’ll leave out the details on this, if the reader won’t mind. Things changed, though, as soon as she placed sight upon the next “friend” she’d make. She started to hang up on me at no provocation, she ceased to answer my texts and delayed gravely even when we were speaking through the internet, usually with lame excuses such as having to water her plants or that her cat was asking for food (she didn’t even have a cat). I knew the truth, though.

From day one these things started to happen, I noticed a strange new threat. Some dude who would always comment on her photos in our social media of choice and who I repeatedly heard her speaking to whenever she spent the night in my place and thought for even a moment that I was asleep. His name’s Jack, but I know him better in my thoughts as “Jack-ass”.

She was right in saying that this wasn’t my business at all as we weren’t actually dating. We were just friends who happened to fuck once in a while. Needless to say, that pissed me off. Still, it wasn’t right there and then that I committed my most unforgivable sin to date. Indeed, by that time the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. I arranged a meeting with her to cut relations with her officially, so to speak. To be perfectly honest, all I wanted was a the smallest drop of satisfaction from seeing any kind of frustration on her face when the moment came I told her she was a complete slut and that I’d only used her so far.

She took it far more lightly than I expected.

-- “Is that all?” I’d almost hear her say in some kind of flashback, “alright, so we won’t fuck anymore, big deal. No need to drag me here. Can I go home, now?”

I paid for the grand total of two glasses of water we drank. Still managed to pay over ten bucks, because of some bullshit mandatory “service” tax they had. Plus a tip, because our waitress was hot. She went her way and I went mine, and this was the way it was supposed to end. This last even happened over a week ago and Bernie already knew all about it and all that preceded it.

Flash-forward to about 15 hours before this sorry situation of drinking myself into tears began. That would be morning. I get a call from Lea – I actually deleted her from my cell’s phonebook, but I could recognize the number from the amount of times I stared at it pondering whether I should call her or not. She tells me to go to her place so we could “talk” about “stuff.” “Important stuff”, she emphasized. I brushed it off as being another one of her attempts to meddle with my thoughts with the hopes I give her attention. I promise I’d be there at some point in the afternoon just so she won’t annoy me further for the day. If she calls back, I’d say I was already on my way or that something else came up. Underhanded? Yes. But I didn’t really give a fuck.

She said something about drugs and then said she had to hang up. I really wish I had paid attention to whatever she said, it seems to have been important in hindsight.

At any rate, I was off work, so I just killed time by playing videogames, jacking off and other similarly respected activities. She called me right after the sun went down, asking where the fuck I was all day. I made up some lame excuse, something along the lines that watering my plants and taking care of my cat took up my whole day unexpectedly. I could sense the rage on the other side of the phone. Though I wasn’t waiting for such a reaction, it was as received as a surprise gift nonetheless.

I hang up on her on the middle of her ranting and being satisfied with myself, just laid down on my bed, closed my eyes and contemplated life. I reached for my phone to turn off the alarm, since I was most certainly going to fall asleep as I pondered on the mysterious ways I got propelled by life’s rockets into the situation I am today. It was right then – right when I grabbed the phone – that I got a text from her number:

“going 2 ur place, we really need 2 talk. leave the door unlocked.”

Now she wanted to talk? Desperate bitch. Whatever. I decided to leave the alarm on since this would possibly take a little while. Lea sure could take her time talking when she really wanted to speak. This would be… Fun? I don’t know if it was rushed, but if it was a chance to further my revenge, I was going to take it. I opened the door and distracted myself for a few minutes until she opened the door.

-- “Rick, we gotta talk,” she said, the concern in her voice finding only dead ears.

-- “Yeah?” I said as I locked the door behind her in the most “I don’t give a shit” attitude I could muster.

-- “This is serious, you dickhead, what happened to you? You used to care when I said something.”

-- “Whatever. Is that all?”

-- “No!” She said out loud before reaching for her mouth and adjusting her tone to something more akin to whispers, “no. Listen, Rick, I met this guy when I was clubbing the other night. He gave me something, I-I don’t know what it is. But it was nice, so I thought it was alright and—“

-- “Wait,” I interrupted, “what do I have to do with you being a junkie now?”

-- “ That’s not it! Just shut up and listen, okay?” I nodded nonchalantly as she went on, “So ever since I think he’s been following me. I think he wants me to take it again and— and I don’t even know what it is or what it does. I’m scared. I think he has men out for me, they’ll kidnap me and make me take it again and again, and just… I’m afraid of what he’d do to me.”

At this point, she cries crocodile tears, and between them says (or tries to say) that he has been making her talk to him all the time, that whenever he tries to contact her, there is some uncontrollable urge that makes her accept it. She feared him so much, however, that she didn’t speak of him to anyone – a rule only broken at that moment, to my apathetic self.

-- “Please,” she said as she hugged me and her tears started to mount up to ridiculousness, “please let me stay with you tonight! I’m scared, I’m so scared… I think he’ll kill me now that I told you of him.”

It had been getting harder by the millisecond to pretend I didn’t care at all.

-- “Wow, Lea” I said, my voice trembling from the anxiety and the weight of the words I was about to say, “I didn’t know you could further your act so much just to have someone to stay with when you feel lonely. What’s the real problem? Don’t be afraid to tell me. Did that Jack guy dump you? Is it hard getting men not being the hottest slut in those STD-filled clubs you go to, huh? Fuck you. I’ve had it with your acting. I’ll get the door, so you can go to whatever hole you’ve been sleeping in these days.”

-- “What?!” she cried as she was shoved aside onto my bed. “No, Rick, please, you’ve got it all wrong! All I’m saying is true, please don’t open that door, you don’t know what may be on the other side! Please…” She kept on weeping those tap-water tears. I knew she was lying, and I knew that if I let her get away with this lie this one time, she’d find a way to abuse me a thousand more times on top of it. She had to go. So I opened the door.

Third worst mistake I’ve committed so far.

A man wearing a tailored suit was waiting on the other side of my crappy apartment. He looked at his expensive-looking watch as if I took long to get the door – even if he didn’t even knock or ring the doorbell. He then smiled at me. He had a peculiar smile, to say the least, as if he was holding himself just enough from bursting into laughter. He introduced himself as Jack. Jack had an earring on the top of his right ear, white skin, and a black, clean cut hair. In my head, he was the definition of a jackass. Politely, he asked to enter, and not as politely punched me right on the face when denied. I went down flying.

He entered and locked the door behind him, also giving himself the work of flushing the keys down my toilet. Lea was stunned, trembling in fear from the sight of Jack. As he gave her his velvety hand, however, he showed nothing but courtesy. He kissed the back of a hand that had probably given ten handjobs just that morning. He referred to someone who should be called nothing more respectful than “dirty bitch” as a lady. And he never took his smile off of his mouth while he was doing it.

Jack was a real gentleman, but that still didn’t get Lea to talk. She just held her head down crying and refusing to believe the situation she got herself in. Constantly, she shook her head, in the empty hope that she might wake up from a terrible nightmare if only she did it enough.

-- “Lea…” I said, having a change of heart due to suddenly being punched on the face by her “act”, “is this the guy who drugged you and want you to do what he says?”

She directed a glance at me and nodded violently before going back to her previous state.

-- “Why, my good fellow, it is far more complicated than that. If you would both want to accompany me out of this hellhole you call a home and into a calm garden of meticulously treated trees, we can all have some tea and I can explain everything to you with more details. What do you say, hmm?” And before I could answer, he also looked to his side and said, “And you, sweet Lea?”

Jack spoke with a pint of some kind of English, maybe Australian accent. He also moved his arms around as he did it. But his Old World charm did little to stop my rage against him. As soon as I could gather enough strength to stand up, I ran on his direction and tried to tackle him. All that earned me was a bump, as he gracefully dodged with reflexes I didn’t think were possible.

-- “Please understand I’m not a man of violence… At least, not on this day of the week.” He let out a sick laughter and went on, “my offer still stands for you, mister Gonzales.”

How the fuck did he know my surname?!

-- “… But I’m afraid not so much for you, lovely Lea. As great as our partnership was while it lasted, unfortunately it seems you have become as useless for me as me to you. Please, Gonzales, do the honors,” he said, as he took out a knife from an inner pocket of his suit. A very sharp one.
He handed it to me, but I didn’t understand at first what I was supposed to do with it.

-- “W-What do you mean?”

-- “What else? When a partnership is ended, I have to be sure no-one in the competition is going to have a chance at profiting the same as me!” He laughed maniacally for a good ten seconds before gradually stopping and giving me an order in the most cold way I’ve ever heard someone speak:

-- “Kill her.”

The most prominent thought in my head in that moment was “what the fuck happened for me to be on this situation now.” Was all of this happening because of my utter inability to share a girlfriend? I would’ve let her do it to the dirtiest hobo in the neighborhood if that would avoid this situation.

-- “You didn’t understand, mister Gonzales. Let me explain to you in terms you’ll easily understand.” He put a hand in his suit pockets again, and by then I feared he would bring out another knife to kill us both, or something along those lines. As I discovered, this was far worse. A pill. Small one, the kind you can take without even drinking water. He forcedly made me swallow it.

-- “There, there. It wasn’t so bad, was it? Just wait and see the results! They will be very… interesting, if I do say so myself.”

Jack said that and waited a few moments as I was paralyzed in place. This is the moment I most regret in that night. His guard was down, I could have attacked him, maybe even killed him. I wouldn’t feel much remorse to kill a complete asshole like he is if I did. But I didn’t. I allowed the minutes to go by, until came the command I couldn’t help but follow.

-- “Alright, hope you are ready. Kill her. Kill her slowly so she feels the pain.”

And do that I did. The details are too gory for me too want to remember. I do remember that, when it was all done, Lea was very visibly dead. And I remember the words between the tears she tried to say before passing out from the pain.

-- “I’m so sorry, Rick! I love you.”

So that was that. I killed her. Even if Jack had killed her, I killed her. I killed at the very moment I opened that door. After witnessing this, Jack jumped out the window while laughing maniacally.
So I had a change of clothes, jumped out as well (though not landing as perfectly) and ran as far as an 80s song could describe. And from running so much, I arrived to Bernard’s apartment, which I usually take a bus to get to.

-- “And this is what happened up to now,” I added.

-- “That’s deep shit, man,” Bernie could only say.

We both shared a few drinks before he went to work. He allowed me to sleep in his place while he was gone and so I did. About noon that day, however, someone knocked the door. I tried ignoring it, but the banging kept on continuously – as if whoever was there knew the apartment wasn’t empty. I feared that Jack would be there. He could be anywhere, as far as I knew. Then I heard flushing from the toilet I previously thought there could be nobody using.

-- “Rick, my good lad, are you really not going to answer the door?” Jack said, as he left the bathroom wearing clothes a bit more casual than the last time we met.

Before I could question his appearance, a sense of urgency came over me as I went running to answer whoever was banging at the door.

-- “Yo, let me in already, partner!,” I could hear Bernie barely-not-shouting from outside. “How the hell’d you find the key? And where the hell have I put mine?!”

I looked back with eyes full of hate back to Jack, who simply handed them to me while wearing that smile of his, and in quick succession, the door was opened, Bernie went in, the door was closed and then locked. I threw him his keys.

-- “What the hell, man? Why did you steal my keys for?”

-- “I didn’t! Remember Jack, who I told you of yesterday?”

-- “Oh, man, don’t you tell me he just pickpocketed my keys outta me, and then just strolled happily into my apartment, all while no one saw it, including you!”

-- “But it’s true!”

-- “Man, fuck you… This Jack dude is just someone in your head, man. I didn’t want to tell you this at first, but you really seem to think he exists. You probably had some insane surge when you attacked Lea, you were pretty unstable, and man… It’s still sad as fuck, but it’s more possible than a rich asshole who just comes down to middle class clubs to randomly murder motherfuckers, you know what I’m sayin’?!”

Bernie’s rant made sense, and he did always read me like a book. I had to lay down and think of this. He let me sleep on his bed since he had other things to do.

When I woke up, later on that same afternoon, the whole apartment smelled of blood. Upon further inspection, I found Bernie’s dead body on the living room, with “St. Michael’s Revenge 2” still playing on his videogame console. Sprayed on the walls using some sickening technique I prefer not to learn what were the writings:

“JACK WAS HERE”

Attachments:

RLBJ - Rick 1.rtf (79.29 KB)

[Inico]

I walked around the apartment that used to be Bernie’s. The bathroom seemed to be perfectly clean and the bedroom was untouched except for the messy bed I was sleeping on. Of course, the living room and the kitchen were big messes. Jack had apparently opened Pandora’s Box in them. Not only did the living room have that grotesque scene, it seemed the perpetrator had gone out of his way to make things as shitty as possible. Quite literally speaking, as the dining table was set, with what seemed to be feces upon the plates and urine filling the glasses. I didn’t have the stomach to check if they were really what they seemed to be, but I don’t think it was necessary, as it still had the shock value Jack loved so much. He also exploded Bernie’s microwave, not that he’d get much of it now, anyway.

The key was nowhere to be found, and I’m guessing he did the same to it as he did to Lea’s. The problem in this case is that Bernie’s apartment is found on the fourth floor, and since I don’t have the power to bend gravity to my will, I can’t really jump out the window. I could probably get out through the fire stairs, but I think that it would be pretty suspicious. Especially because, not only would this be the second time I get out of an apartment leaving behind a dead, bloody body of a person previously close to me, this all is happening during late afternoon. Even if Jack was silent enough that nobody heard him killing a man and spraying his innards on the walls, and was able to get away without leaving a trace of his existence, I don’t have his stealth superpowers. People would see some sweaty, overweight latino guy leaving a perfectly good apartment through the fire exit.

So I figured my best choice would be to wait. That was, of course, before Bernie’s phone started to ring. I tried my best to ignore it, and, eventually, it stopped. The answering machine then beeped to life, and the caller left a message that was subsequently stored. A terrifying one.

-- “This is Bernard Rodriguez’s residential phone. I can’t come to the phone right now. Please, leave a message after the beep.”

-- “Hello, Rick, my good fellow,” taunting me, knowing perfectly well I was listening, was Jack, “I was in such a rush to leave you to your surprise party that I forgot to tell you one important detail! I armed a bomb in there that will explode in, hm… About twenty minutes from now.”

He speaks in such a casual tone, it’s disgusting. I didn’t even have time to mourn for Lea and Bernie and he is already putting me on a highly-stressful, life-threatening situation. Every word he speaks is a punch I wish I could give him. He continues.

-- “Oh, don’t worry too much, lad. Its blast is only powerful enough to just barely kill you… Hm… Or did I mix them up and arm the one that can explode the entire building instead? I don’t think it’ll matter for you if you stay there, though. Ha! Anyway, do be well, Ricardo, I hope to be seeing you soon.”

He hangs up after this last sentence. There’s no question of what should be done. Hell, there’s no time to. I look to my watch: 6:19 PM. He probably meant the bomb was to explode at 6:40. I walk slowly and fearfully through what was once a regular living room, trying to avoid looking in the same direction as Bernard’s corpse. When I finally manage to get close to and opening the window, the first thing I do is vomit. I seemingly send back whatever was in my stomach at that moment down to the street. The street?!


There were no fire stairs! Jack trapped me with a bomb I have no idea where could be (it could even not be on this floor, for all I know, let alone on Bernie’s apartment), threw away the keys, and even done away with the fire stairs somehow! Defeated, I slide on the wall and sit down. Even though I cannot see my own face, I know that there’s panic written all over it. I try to relax, but the only thoughts that come to my head are doom sayings. I try to breathe, but I feel as if I had just ran a Marathon. There’s nothing that could possibly calm me down at this moment. 6:21 PM. My life is due to end in a few minutes.

I look again and try to see if there’s really no choice to survive. It’s too high up, so if I were to jump, I could as well stay here, since it’d still be suicide. Even if I did survive, my legs and back would probably be broken, and I wouldn’t get to live too much with all the raptures to my organs. There are also no smaller buildings nearby I could jump to from the fourth floor. Upon inspection, I notice that, at least as far as I could reach, the outside wall is too slippery for me to climb down. Not that I’m of the athletic type, anyway. 6:23. Damn it, I’m wasting too much time thinking and no results are coming from it. I feel like screaming, but if I get discovered, it would get even worse. People would call the police.

I pity the police. There’s no way they could ever grab a hold of this maniac. He’s too stealthy, he only leaves the clues he wants to leave. It doesn’t help that he’s sick, incredibly wealthy and intelligent. 6:25. Now I’m thinking about things that don’t even matter. I suppose it helps to accept my fate.
The phone rings again. I know who it is. I quickly get up to grab the phone before it’s too late. If I am to die, I want to at least vent my frustrations upon the one who is the most deserving of it, even if it isn’t effective on doing anything. I answer it.

-- “Listen here you son-of-a-bitch!” I start shouting before there’s anything he could say, “You came from nowhere just weeks ago, you killed my best friend and my girlfriend, and now you’re trying to kill me?! You’re wrong! You’re dead wrong if you think you’ll get away with this! I’ll get away! And I’ll make you pay somehow!”

-- “… I’m sorry,” says a teary-eyed woman with some kind of Spanish accent, “I… is that you, Ricky?”

-- “Mrs. Rodriguez…?”

I put the phone down in disgust. The person I just vented to was my deceased friend’s mother, who didn’t even know until now that her son was dead. 6:27. I’m practically dead already so I don’t bother answering when the phone rings again. The answering machine comes in, and once again that recorded message of Bernie speaks out like a ghost.

-- “Rick, if you are indeed listening to this message, then I’m very unpleased with your results,” Jack scolds me after the beep came, “I’d think someone as resourceful as you would’ve figured it out by now. Well, just search the heart carefully, and I’m sure you’ll eventually find the key to this. I’ll see you soon, chap!”


Search the heart to find the key. That bastard wasn’t even trying to hide a secret. In disgust, I go to Bernie’s side. I kneel beside him, struggling to even be able to look at what used to be my best friend, let alone touching him. But I know my life is at stake, here. If Jack went through the trouble of storing the key in his heart, then the work is mostly done, already. He couldn’t have sutured it very strongly even if he wanted to, after opening him up so wide. All I really have to do is reach for it. That is, I have to desecrate my friend’s dead body even further. If there is an afterlife and Bernie can see me do this, I hope he’ll forgive me.

Not without some effort, I literally rip his heart out. It was already loose, but still not an experience I’d like to repeat. I don’t think I’ll be able to eat chicken hearts after it. The heart is sutured, so, after I vomit a second time, this time on his rug, I get a big knife from the kitchen, put it on a counter and try to cut it. My hands aren’t very steady naturally, add in the fact that I’m scared as all hell and that some psychopath is making me slice the literal heart of my best friend, you can see why I’m making some mistakes.

-- “C’mon… Any cut big enough to open it is good…” I tell myself to try to focus before finally doing it. A lot of blood gets splattered around, a lot more than I would expect from a heart that’s been opened before, and as expected, I find the key to the apartment, soaked in blood.

Generally I would bathe or at least change my clothes when I’m looking like a butcher like this, but this time I’ll have to pass. It’s 6:35 PM, I have about five minutes before everything going to hell. I run about the apartment building screaming that there’s a bomb that’s going to explode. Everyone gets scared about some freak with bloody clothes running and yelling about, and soon chaos ensues. Gladly, I’m spearheading this, so I get to use the stairs before it becomes total madness. 6:37, I manage to reach the ground floor. I run some more, out of the apartments and into the streets, and still am not feeling very safe. I keep on running on the street, mainly on alleys so I can avoid as much attention as possible (“attention” here meaning “police”, since everyone already saw me, anyway). 6:39, I’m on the back alley of some neighborhood I don’t even know. It’s moments away until the explosion. 6:40. Nothing. 6:41. Nothing. 6:45, nothing!

7:00 PM, there was no explosion. Not even a small bang. I can’t really go back to check the building, but if the blast was to be powerful enough to level even an entire floor, I probably would be able to hear it. What happened?

7:30 PM, the sun is down and I still don’t have anywhere to sleep on, no clothes to change to, no water to drink or food to eat. I’m a goddamn mess. Even if I find Jack, I’ll be too weak to punch his stupid face in. That’s when I feel a hand reaching for my shoulder behind me. By instinct, I fight back, but I change my demeanor as soon as I look to see who it is.

It was a man, just a bit taller than me. He had bleached blonde hair, wore whatever brand of clothes was most famous that month and had some ridiculously tanned skin.

-- “Are you Rick?” He asked.

-- “Yeah. Who might you be?” I answered, against my better knowledge.

-- “Jack,” I shivered at even listening this name, “I received a phone call from some guy saying you might be wandering around here. He said he has some business with you and told me to give you this,” he said as he gave me a piece of paper.

-- “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, “there’s a new club on town I’ve just gotta hit! I’d invite you, but… Yeah, you wouldn’t get much with that bloody hobo look you got going on” He said as he looked away from me, “anyway, I gotta go. Hasta la vista, chico!”

I don’t understand a thing of his personality. I’d generally expect his kind of club gorilla to want to beat me down just because of how I look, but all he did was give me a piece of paper. Did Jack pay him to give this to me and pay extra not to beat me down? Everything is confusing at this moment. I check the paper. It has a phone number and an address. I recognize the street and would know how to get to it… from either mine or Bernie’s apartment. Right now, I’ve got no idea where I am, and am in no position to ask a civilized member of society. I tried and all I got in response was some weird looks, apologies and people running away.

I had nothing to base or guide myself with, and with pretty much no rush, I was lost. While I was walking around, I heard something. It sounded like an acoustic guitar. Following it, I found a hobo. I’ve never been so happy to see a homeless man in my life. Indeed, I’m actually surprised it took me so long to find one, as I’ve been wandering around since about 6:40 PM and only now, about an hour later, I got to see one. Have I been simply unconsciously ignoring them?

He is singing some song I don’t know about presidents and cowboys. I try to reach to him and ask him questions.

-- “Hey friend,” I say to him, while he keeps playing. I ask him if he knows whether how to get to a landmark next to Bernie’s house. He pauses for a second on his guitar.

-- “You must…” he says, before resume his playing, and singing: “Follow your heart, from where you’re at. Take a right, and then take a left. Just keep going, as the bird will be waiting to spread his wings.”

I didn’t understand a thing at first. However, upon asking for further details, all he did was repeat this chorus again and again until it wouldn’t leave my head. And then I got it. They were directions. “Following my heart”, as much as I don’t want to hear this, means I have to go on straight. The rest is self-explanatory. I thank him deeply, and would have left him a coin had I anything to my name. Soon I reach a square from which I can see Bernie’s apartment. The place is intact, but still has a few cop cars on the outside. I guess that’s to be expected. At any rate, I’d be able to get the bus to back to near my apartment if I had some way to pay for it, so I just walk there, it’s quite a workout. I can’t really go back there, but the street I need to get to is nearby.

As soon as I get there, I notice there’s no house or building with the number written. There are, however, payphones nearby. Examining it carefully, I notice a strategically placed coin on the top of it. I take it, wondering if it is Jack’s doing or just some absent-minded fellow’s. Without thinking about it too much, I insert the coin and call the number on the paper. The receiver doesn’t surprise me.

-- “Ricky! I knew you’d call soon enough, mate. You still remember where your girlfriend’s house is? I hope so. Go there. See you soon!”

He said all that and hung up on me in just a few moments. My guess is that he merely didn’t want to give me a choice to speak. At any rate, I do as I’m instructed. My throat is starting to get dry and my stomach is growling like a lion’s, but I still do as I am asked. Why am I putting myself through so much trouble to get to a guy who, in a question of two days, turns my whole life around for the worst for apparently no reason at all? I wonder as I walk.

I finally get to Lea’s apartment, though I don’t know how I’ll get in. I don’t have the key, for one. Another thing is that she lives in one of the fancy apartments with intercoms, security people and all that stuff. I usually came here accompanied by her, so it wasn’t much trouble. Whenever I came alone, all I had to do was buzz in saying who I was and they would let me in. How could I possibly do that now, when they most probably know that I am her killer, or at least one of the top suspects? Realizing that I’ve got nothing to lose, and that if I get arrested, at least I’ll be able to eat at a prison, I press the button.

-- “Please identify yourself,” a man’s voice blurts out from the device.

-- “I am Rick Gonzales,” I say, right before I say I’m related to Lea and say her apartment number.

-- “Identity confirmed. You’re being expected at Miss Shelley’s apartment. Please direct yourself there if you know the way.”

-- “Understood,” I didn’t understand anything, “I do know the way.”

The words “what the fuck” were spinning all around my head at this point. How could I be expected at a dead woman’s apartment? Jack’s doing? Again? Was this a trap by the police? Nevertheless, I couldn’t go back now – I no longer had anywhere to go back to, anyway. So, upon taking the elevator to her floor and directing myself to her room number, I could only knock the door. Soon it was open, and my surprise couldn’t have been bigger.

-- “Evenin’, partner,” Bernie said with a smile as he opened the door for me. Soon after walking in, dumbfounded, I couldn’t even notice the a body that would collide with mine in a strong hug.

-- “We were worried sick,” Lea said, “how could you just run away like that? Why didn’t you even take your phone or go back to your apartment?”

My amazement is so grand; I can’t even believe what is happening. I sit them down and tell them all I that happened (or that I thought had happened) to me on those last 48 hours. It takes some time and, while I do it, Lea brings me water and Bernie dishes out some quick (but good-tasting) food.

-- “How come you’re here, though?” I ask them, “I could swear I saw you both dead.”

-- “Well…” Bernie starts.

-- “… These are long stories of their own,” Lea finishes.

-- “And why does he need us three here?”

-- “Ugh… Don’t start me on Jack, please,” Lea answers without answering.

-- “Yeah, dude’s always so cryptic. I myself never seen him in person, to me he only speaks through letters and clubbing retards-turned-messengers. I don’t think it’s fair, man.”

-- “Well, actually, I’ve also never seen the guy you’re talking about. Just the guys from the clubs, though one of them is also called Jack… I don’t think he’s the same one. The day in your apartment… I was pretty shaken, I don’t remember any of that happen, though, I remember the knife in your hand. At one point you’re crying loud in place, then you let the knife go and started changing. I’d try talking to you, but you wouldn’t listen. Then you jumped out of the window.”

Shocked by her words, I ask to hear more.

-- “What else did I do?”

-- “Besides jumping out of the window when the apartment door was perfectly fine without even taking your phone with you? By the way, why the hell did you leave the key beside the toilet? That was sort of weird, too.”

-- “It was Jack!” I cry out in anger, “what the hell is that maniac doing to us? What is that pill he made me take?”

-- “Maybe it’s a new street drug,” Bernie hypothesizes, “think about it. This stuff is so strong, it made you really think you had killed Lea, that he really had trashed my apartment and even made you not notice that my ‘corpse’ was probably a mannequin and that the ‘blood’ was all ketchup.”

-- “How do you know it’s ketchup?”

-- “Dude? It’s sprayed all over your clothes?”

I’ve been wearing this for so long I had gotten used to it. Now that the drug’s effects have, supposedly, subsided, I analyze it, even taste checking it, and… yes, this stuff is all ketchup. I scared those people at the building all for nothing, too, since they must’ve thought it was real. Something tells me I won’t be very well seen the next time I go there.

We all decide to go to sleep and to trade stories the other day, since it would be a holiday and they were both off work (judging by the time I’ve been missing, I’m probably out of a job by now, anyway). Lea sleeps on her bed, and told me I could sleep with her, but I declined. Both Bernie and I sleep on her living room, me on her couch, and he on her rug (a very comfortable rug!). I get scared of sleeping and finding blood smeared all over the walls again, but this time it all works out alright.

Lea and Bernie go out to grab stuff to eat, and tell me to stay resting, since I was physically and mentally exhausted the day before. The phone rings. I answer. Though the number is hidden, I know who it is.

-- “Jack.”

-- “Hello, mate. I’m sorry I couldn’t have been there. The reunion of the gang and everything! Just calling to say hey. Visit me whenever, you know my address—“

-- “No, I don’t!” I interrupt.

-- “Oh, but you do. Ah, it will come to you, eventually. I really hope we get to do that tea. And also, I’m sorry about drugging you and making you think the people most dear to you were dead and that you could do nothing about it. And for that punch to the face I gave you, and the public humiliation thing I made you go through. And also for making you go hungry, thirsty and completely out of the loop of everything that was happening.” He says all that so matter-of-factly, I can’t even bring myself to interrupt again. He says then, with extra joy in his voice: “It was for science, my boy! One day you’ll be glad you served me as a guinea pig.”

-- “Tell me, Jack,” I say, the first time I tried to take him seriously as a person, “are you a genius or a madman?

He answered with a hearty, nearly maniacal laugh: “Why not both?!” and hung up.

Attachments:

RLBJ - Rick 2.rtf (63.76 KB)