• Roxanne

    The screams shattered the quiet night like something out of a horror film. I couldn’t stand it, I walked to the door and as I walked out side, another wave of wails hit me like a blow to the stomach. I began to meander down Carver Lane. The rode was quiet. I hitched my thumbs in my pockets and walked. I found myself starting to day dream, about a world where my friends and I could live like normal teenagers. That world seemed so far away. I was brought back to reality by another burst of horrible screams. I ducked behind a tree as a car rolled by, being a 15 year old girl alone at night, I didn’t want any trouble. I was nearly there, the screams had abruptly stopped, and that worried me. I turned the corner and saw him instantly, his thin body curled up tight, shaking, in his front yard. I ran to him and knelt down. “Bryon?”

    Bryon

    I saw Roxanne coming before she saw me, I’m not sure how, but I could see her clearly in my mind, walking to me, when she was six blocks away. She was almost pixie like, thin to the extreme. She had deep black hair gently waving to the middle of her back. She had small features and her eyes were almost purple. She was devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. She found her self recently orphaned due to a tragic car accident. But the thing is, she was supposed to be with her parents that night, and since only body parts were recovered, the police assumed that she was and never sent any one to take care of her at her home.
    I sat up when I heard her kneel next to me and I pushed my light brown hair out of my eyes. I looked up at her, my face all battered and cut up, and I gave her a weak smile. My father was a drunk. He had a belt and that’s how he got his kicks. But, I can’t speak ill of my own flesh and blood, especially if he’s got it splattered all over himself. He works as a janitor in a hospital. We have over 600 used and new needles in out attic. Father likes to play doctor. And I’m the patient.
    I heard a noise and whipped around. A large black dog stood before me. A thick black collar hung from his neck with a section from a chain dangling on it.
    “Sirius!”
    He lunged towards me and I wrapped my arms around his neck. You could see every bone under his dull pelt, even in the darkness. He was abandon years ago, tied to a tree with no food or water. I noticed him one day and carefully approached him. He snarled grossly, so I retreated. But I came back the next day with a slightly rancid piece of meat. He stood and snarled when he spotted me. I threw the meat past him and he pounced on it. I slunk forward as a growl rumbled in his chest. I was about six feet away from the tree he was tied to. I came back every day for two weeks, by then I was close enough to reach the tree, and on that Friday I brought some chain cutters from my father’s tool shed and a large piece of meat. The dog was even thinner then than he is now. I was close enough to see the extent of the damage now. I noticed he was a pit bull dog, his hip jutted out of his body and his skin was sunken between his ribs. He had pale pink skin exposed on the right side of his face and neck, where it looked as thought some one had tried to set him on fire. I threw the meat past him at the right distance so that he would have to stretch out to the end of his lead to get it. He lunged for it and the lead grew tight. As he groped the air for the meat I ran to the tree. I crept up next to him and positioned the chain cutter a foot or so away from his neck. So far he hadn’t noticed me, or just didn’t care. I sliced through the chain with little difficulty, years of rust made it weak. As soon as the chain broke he stumbled face first onto the ground. He composed him self and gobbled down his meal. He turned to me, but I felt no fear. What could he do? Kill me? I wish. He was a savage, untrusting beast, but only because ha was made that way by humans. He had noticed the weight of the chain was gone, even thought some still clung to his collar. He looked at me, sizing me up, seeing his options. He could run, or attack... but I had fed him, and never hurt him. I kneeled down and held my hand out. He recognized the gesture, but ignored my hand and lunged at me, showering me with licks of gratitude. He, at that moment, became my dog. He still hated every one else. That day he became, as the Romans called, the angry star that survived the worst. Sirius.
    With my arms still wrapped around him, tears streamed down my face and into his warm pelt. I released him and he licked my face. I turned to Roxanne,
    “Let’s go to Max’s house”
    She smiled at me. God, she was beautiful.
    “Is there anything you need from your--”
    “No” I cut her off. “I-I already got what I need”
    I stood up and strode over to the bushes by my house and pulled out a rucksack from deep in the brambles. It contained some clothes, a switchblade, some old photos and scrapes of paper, and my journal.
    I swung the bag over my shoulder and pushed my hair out of my eyes again, and we started down the road.

    Max

    I rubbed my eyes and opened the yellow file titled CASE FILE 38972 for nearly the hundredth time. Inscribed in dull grey ink, it told a story.
    May 30 21 52 hours
    On the above date and time I responded to The Beauchamp Hotel at 98th and 3rd street. I entered suite number 81. One of the housekeepers, Matthew Agato, was standing in suite number 81 abreast the fire place located on the south wall. I found the victim sitting, as though placed, in the fire pit, engulfed in flames. The suspect apprehended is believed to be the serial killer responsible for 27 deaths: three were stabbed, shot, poisoned, run over, drugged, suffocated, strangled, hung and three were burned alive. All killed in random locations. Refer to section 4 for locations of deaths. Refer to section 5 for more details on the killings.
    I closed the thick yellow file and lumbered to the bathroom and splashed water on my face. I glanced up in the mirror and studied myself. I was pale and my face sunken, skin on bone. I had dark bags under my eyes which made me look half dead. My hair was dark, charcoal color, swept back out of my eyes. My black shirt hung loosely from my body. I was small, but with good build. All my clothes were a little too big… but I didn’t mind.
    A sharp rap on the door made me spin around. I breathed deep and strode out of the bathroom and into the dreary living room. The harsh knocking continued a little louder. For some reason my stomach grew tight and my palms got clammy. I slunk to the window and peered though the moth-eaten curtain. Two silhouettes were waiting at the door. I wiped my hands on my jeans and opened the door. Sweet relief crashed over me as I realized it was my two best friends that stood before me. I considered them for a moment. Roxanne looked even thinner than before, but well-rested. Bryon was a sight to see. His face was cut up and bruised and his light brown hair was razzled in every feasible direction. His baggy jeans were tattered and blood stained. His too-small t-shirt was ripped and worn out. He too was thin, but he had thick clumsy legs that he tried to hide with loose jeans. His bare feet were callused and caked with dirt. He gave me a weak crooked smile that made me grin back at him. I let them in and closed the door behind them and locked it silently. They sat on the old lumpy couch in the living room and I sat in the arm chair. It was then that I realized that a giant black dog was trying to climb under the coffee table. I rolled my eyes and made a ‘heh’ noise of amusement. I looked around the room and pulled the yellow folder out from next to me. I tossed the folder on the coffee table, causing Sirius to jump a little.
    “I stole the case file. We need to catch this guy.” I stated
    Bryon and Roxanne exchanged glances. For some reason, rage boiled up inside me. I slammed my fist on the table
    “MY FATHER WAS FRAMED!” I bellowed, waving my arms about. “He worked at that hotel! He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time! He didn’t put that man in the fire! He didn’t kill any of these people! He’s INNOCENT!”
    The last word rang out with the crispness of a piano key.
    “We know” there was a slight hint of desperation in Roxanne’s voice, “We know, but what can we do? Were just a couple of teens…”
    “We can free an innocent man. They’re gunna kill him, Roxy.” My eyes started to well up. The truth of the statement hit me for the first time. They were going to kill my
    father for a crime he didn’t commit. My dad was all I had left. As well as Bryon and Roxanne. I was the only thing they had. That statement pleased me, for it was true. If I left to find the real killer, they’d have to go with me. My face tingled. I knew what I had to do.
    “You guys can stay here tonight” I went upstairs to get pillows.
    “I call kitchen floor!” Bryon yelled out to no one in particular.
    Heh. Bryon was a weird kid.

    I was jerked out of my slumber by Bryon pouring ice water on my face. My wails of surprise and rage woke up Roxanne, who promptly burst out laughing. Bryon cheerily glided into the kitchen to make coffee. Roxy and I had an entertaining verbal quarrel about the fact that kids are growing up too fast. She debated the children’s right to be an individual and dress the way they pleased, I however thought they all looked like little adults with scab less knees and blisters from heels. What happened to playing soccer with the neighborhood kids on blustery Saturday afternoons? When did that turn into going to the mall? But I digress.
    We all bummed around the coffee table and indolently sip our coffee while continuing our banter. Sirius plopped his head down on Bryon’s lap when Roxanne started a story about her Mother. After the conversation lagged a bit, Bryon went into the kitchen to make some eggs. Roxanne stood up and started to the stairs
    “I’m gunna go take a shower”
    “Good idea” I replied.
    Bryon’s eyes followed her up the stairs and his ears got red when she shut the bathroom door. It was almost like he was embarrassed by his own thoughts. I cleared my throat.
    “Bryon, I’m going to find that killer if it’s the last thing I do.”

    Bryon

    What Max said came as no surprise to me. I strolled over to the couch and sat opposite the arm chair Max was occupying.
    “You can do what ever you wish” I stated.
    “I need you and Roxanne” he looked so dead.
    “What about Sirius?”
    He gave me an incredulous look and I grinned. He smiled and relaxed his shoulders a little.
    “Of course I need Sirius.”
    I saw Sirius wag his tail from under the table. I cocked my head to the side and wondered, did he know we were talking about him? I took a sip of coffee and pondered vaguely how we were going to do this and Max answered my thoughts.
    “We’re taking the truck”
    I choked a little on my hot beverage. Max’s father had a small dark green, ancient truck used for God knows what.
    “What do you mean we’re taking it?!” I gasped.
    “…I mean we’re going to take the truck, and drive to the crime scenes.”
    He looked at me as though I were dense.
    “Dude, some of those scenes are, like, three months old. I think out of common decency, they might have moved the impeding bodies out of the streets…”
    He rolled his eyes.
    “Sure, but I need to talk to the people in the towns. There is some sort of connection between all these people. If we can figure out the pattern, than maybe we can catch this guy before he kills again.”
    “What makes you think he’ll kill again?” I sighed.
    “Because he is still at large.” He said through gritted teeth. I fumbled to think of that to say next.
    “Well…erm…maybe he got it all out of his system and now he doesn’t want to kill anymore.” It was such a lame thing to say and it made me sound ditzy. Before Max could chew me out on that last insipid statement, I recovered myself.
    “Ya know what man? There’s nothing like a road trip to get yur problems off yur mind…ya got yur tags?”
    “My what?” he questioned. I suppose I do talk a little weird.
    “…You got yur license?”
    “Oh, yha, I got it a little while ago”
    I furrowed my brow. “You get yur tags when yur 16?”
    He shrugged. “I guess so.”
    In our town the changed the law due to a recent explosion in teen crashes, you have to be 18 to get your license. Stupid small towns. Max did look kinda older; he probably convinced the people he was 21 just so he could buy booze. As long as I have known Max, I never really knew that much about him. I never really knew what he thought about anything. I haven’t ever actually seen him take drugs or drink, but there was something about him that made it obvious to me. Maybe it was his dead expression.
    Roxanne walked down the stairs wrapped in a white towel, her hair wet and tied up in a messy pony tail. Her perfect body, in nothing but a towel. She gracefully strolled in my direction. My heart started to pound against my rib cage. My throat was knotting up. She stoped just short of me, bent over and started rummaging through her duffle bag. My palms started sweating and my heart was racing. I wanted something to happen. Anything to happen. I wanted to say something as beautiful as she was. Do something! I urged myself. She straightened up and looked at me. She smiled perfectly and went back upstairs with a bundle of clothes. I let the air out of my lungs.
    “That was hard to watch, Bryon.”
    I blinked at him. I forgot he was there.
    “Why don’t you just make a move?” he questioned.
    “What do you expect me to do? It’s not like I can just ask her out to a night on the town. Besides,” I mumbled “I’m banned from every public restaurant in this, and every surrounding town…”
    He raised his eyebrows at me. “How do you even manage that?!”
    I shrugged and went back to sipping my coffee. I thought I’d throw something random out there, so I blurted out “Why are there NO blue gummie bears?”
    He laughed absently, he was thinking. I studied him. I contemplated what he was thinking. I have a desperate desire to know what people think. I’m a bit more complex then I let on. I tend to put on a face for people. As much as I’d like to know what people think, I never let people know what I’m really thinking. They’d never understand.