An ufotable production
Nine Years Before Present
A historic building in the local area, having been founded in 1927 by its first presbyter Reverend Robert Norquist, it was a normal Sunday morning at First Broadway Episcopal Church, located in Broadway, Kansas, USA, a commuter town for the nearby and much larger city of Wichita.
The two of them sat in the back, eager not to draw attention to themselves. His advanced age, combined with his Asian features, would have made him stick out like a sore thumb.
As for her, well, the whole world knew her face. And so she wore a broad-brimmed hat and sunglasses. Perhaps not the most appropriate church attire, but she much rathered that somebody not upload footage of her and her *ahem* friend here together. She still wasn't 100℅ confident in his ability to accomplish everything that he said he was going to do, and in the event that he got caught by the Organization she didn't want them knowing about her association with him this past year.
Nonetheless, when he asked her to come with him to this place, more or less in the middle of nowhere, as his "last request" she knew she couldn't refuse him this. So here they were. For whatever reason.
Long ago she convinced an American man to pose as her husband so as to fool the press, ever gluttonous for the juiciest and most private details of Sharon Vineyard's life. Though obviously their relationship was founded upon a lie, they got to know each other quite well, and ultimately he invited her to attend a Sunday morning church service with her. That was some years ago, of course, but she remembered the experience fondly.
Thus, she came here today expecting the service to have a certain appearance. What she didn't realize, however, was the extreme diversity between styles of worship in different Christian denominations. A Baptist service and an Episcopalian service were nothing alike, as she was now learning.
A middle-aged woman with short hair in the colorful priestly robes walked down the aisle holding up a crucifix, followed by a procession of robed men. Then the congregation sang English hymns to the sound of organ music. Then she offered up flowery religious platitudes, and then they sang once more. And so it went, until the service ended.
And soon, the pews were nearly empty. But Vermouth and Nobutaro remained seated.
She looked around. She knew that soon enough somebody would come and ask them to leave. The embarrassment of being put into that kind of situation was something she figured they could avoid by just going now.
But at the same time, they'd both come from quite a long way. To throw the Organization off the trail they'd landed in San Francisco and then took a bus all the way here. But why? What was this random church building in a foreign country to the so-called Oracle of Milcom? Clearly this was something of a pilgrimage to him, like the trip to Mecca for observant Muslims, or the trip to Jerusalem for medieval Christian travelers.
Whatever the deal was, it had him choking up. She'd never seen him like this.
The Reverend Jeanine Sanders walked up to them.
"Is there something I can help you with?" she asked, curious. "Because we're about to lock up."
It was Vermouth's quick thinking that saved the day:
"Yes, my father-in-law attended services here as a child," she lied, "and its been a long time since he's been back here."
The Reverend nodded. "Take as much time as you need. I'll lock up when you're done."
She walked away.
"Alright," Vermouth said to him (in Japanese, as is the majority of the dialogue in this). "Spill it. What the h*'ll happened here to get you so worked up like this?"
" ...Watch your language."
"Huuh?"
"Mind your language. We're in a house of worship. Act like it."
"That doesn't answer my question," she said. "What happened here?"
"That..."
He sighed. "That is a long story."
"Something tells me we have all the time we need."
He shook his head. "Not enough. But as for the short version, alright. In this building...no, in this town...well..."
He looked at her. "This is the town where I grew up."
Also Sprach Zarathustra: I: King of Hearts
Wednesday, May 25, 1966
...Crickets.
Most unusual that they could be so numerous as to make such a racket.
Honestly, they both just wanted to go. It was getting late and they knew that the longer they stayed the later it'd be when they got home. Well, not literally home. But to bed. Bonnie told her mom and dad she'd be staying at a friend's house for the night and that she'd come home first thing tomorrow morning. Conveniently she didn't say what friend, and she hoped they didn't probe her about it. Fortunately it appeared as she was leaving that they bought the story without a second thought.
Bonnie did not have a watch, but she figured it was probably nine-something by now.
Dark enough that that person could be on the prowl without being easily spotted but just early enough that his target (though they didn't know for sure whether it was a man or woman) would probably not be asleep. This ideal window of action had surely passed by now. All they could hope for would be to discover the crime scene after the fact and look for any clue that that person might've left behind.
Wichita was a big town, of course. Lots of neighborhoods for that person to choose from. In this neighborhood there were two homes that fit the bill, per the notes they'd taken. On the street adjacent there were three. All in all they were wandering the area aimlessly, hoping to stumble upon something.
Assuming that the killer employed the same MO here as with his two previous victims, they might be able to hear it. A 1957 Chevrolet, a typical car for that day and age, had a fuel efficiency of about 15 miles per gallon, and could hold about 16 gallons of fuel. Such a car whose fuel tank was 1/4 filled at the time could manage about 60 miles; assuming that an idling car expended as much gasoline as a car going about 5 MPH or less, they figured there'd be an at least 12 hour period of audibility beginning at the minute of the murder. Cars in this era were, of course, significantly louder than they would be, say, a half century later, something which in this case was to their advantage.
They had initially assumed that the killer would be reluctant to strike the same neighborhood twice, and that while this option was still available he would strike in parts of town that'd yet been hit. This assumption proved false; so far their guy had hit the same general area twice. Maybe he lived in the area? In any case, they were assuming that he'd strike the same area a third time, which gave them significant leeway to narrow down their search.
It was a warm night, which was good because Bonnie's person was not well suited at all to handle the cold for long stretches. She was about average weight for a teenage girl her age and she was wearing a knee-length dress with no jacket, scarf, or mitts, with shaved arms and legs. So far this was their eighteenth out of thirty six neighborhoods that they surveyed; they hadn't read in the papers of a third murder, so they were assuming the third would come soon. It had been six days since the last murder, which was roughly the span of time between the first and the second. So there was a good chance it'd be either tonight or tomorrow night.
So all in all their odds weren't too shabby. They were about halfway done, assuming that they wouldn't catch anything. Otherwise it could come any-
*mmmmmmmrrrrrph*
They stopped, turned around, and took a few steps towards the house they'd just passed up. Sure enough they could make out a faint rumble.
It was a small house with a small garage door, the garage inside probably being big enough for a single car. Perfect for somebody who lived alone. They had no flashlight on them so they walked up to the mailbox, leaned in close, and squinted.
"Is that a 4?" Bonnie mumbled.
...No, looks more like a 7, his voice said inside her head.
"Darn, I wish we hadn't forgotten the flashlight," she said.
In any case, there's no harm in checking it out. Seems like this could be one of the houses, just looking at it.
In agreement on that point, Bonnie walked up to the front door, breathed in deeply, and:
*knock knock knock knock*
Ow, she thought, her knuckles reeling from how hard he did that in his over-enthusiasm.
Sorry.
They waited.
And waited.
"Let's try the door."
(Author's Note: While technically Bonnie is speaking English, for the big screen all of this dialogue, as well as the large majority of that in this series, would be dubbed in Japanese.)
She put her hand to the copper door knob, turned, and pushed. To neither of their surprise, it swung open.
They stepped inside.
"Hello?" Bonnie called out loudly, keen to make sure this wasn't a misunderstanding.
They waited a couple more seconds. Then they closed the door behind them.
They were now intruding in a stranger's house. If that person called the police they'd have a hard time explaining that to her dad. More worrying, however, was the possibility that the killer was still inside.
They drew their knife and cautiously turned a corner. There was nobody there, but now they could hear it quite loudly.
There was a regular side door leading into the garage. It did not have a transparent face so they couldn't look inside. But they both knew now that they were in the right place, and that they were too late.
Bonnie, let's switch. Now.
"What are you going to do?"
You know.
"What's the point? You could die, and for what? Enough time has to have passed that they're already dead."
We have to check out the crime scene. That's basic. If nothing else I can turn the car off and confirm the victim's death.
"Can you hold your breath that long?"
We'll just have to see. Thirty seconds. That's all I should need. This body's up to that, right?
"Y-Yeah, I can manage that. But it's a mind thing, isn't it? The fact that I can do it doesn't mean you can."
Again, we'll just have to see.
"What the heck then? Why can't I do it?"
Because I'm the one who dragged you out here. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I got you killed.
"But-
No time to argue about this. I've risked my life in this body before, right? If I should die, well, you should already know what to do. Cooperate with them fully, admit the situation from the onset. They won't be able to kill you since my body is too valuable to them. Do whatever it takes to survive, and to eventually secure your freedom if possible.
Bonnie shook your head. "No way, you're just being a showoff. I know what to do. Just open the door, turn the ignition and check their pulse. Then run back. I can do that, no prob-
Grr, I wasn't asking!
*vreeng*
Taking a few steps back upon the initial disorientation, Nobutaro then looked straight at the door. He walked up to the door, his/her heart shaking.
The environment up ahead was totally contrary to the survival of living organisms. It was an artificial pocket of death within a planet teeming with life. One slip-up and he was royally screwed. Bonnie's parents would believe their daughter to be dead, as there'd be no evidence to the contrary. If Bonnie managed to make contact with them via his body's powers then that would raise far too many unwanted questions, though he was sure she'd try it anyway.
My only option, then, he thought, is to not die. Shouldn't be too hard. Pinch my nose and hold my breath. I should be fine.
He took a deep breath, tightened his/her chest, swung the door open, and rushed inside. After a moment's hesitation he closed the door behind him, not wanting the gas to seep into the main house.
He ran to the car door and opened it. A middle-aged woman was lying non-responsive in the driver's seat, probably dead. Nobutaro turned the key in the ignition. Within seconds the car powered down.
He felt like there was a weight pressing down on him/her. He quickly thought about running back into the house and then coming back after he caught his breath but he just as quickly decided against him.
He pressed his finger to the woman's neck.
One...two...three...
Nothing.
Done, he ran back inside the house and slammed the door behind him. He dashed several feet ahead, fell to his knees, and then:
"HHHHHAAAAAAAAHHHHHH..."
"HHHHHHAAAAAAHHHHH..."
One deep breath after another.
They did it.
Can I have my body back now?
"...Yeah," he said, still panting.
*vreeng*
After waiting a second to regain her bearings she stood up.
"Was she dead?"
Yeah. I didn't have time to check for a driver's license though.
"It should be enough that we call the police. They can identify her for us."
Alright then. Let's see if our guy left behind anything.
They walked into the kitchen and looked into the sink.
Sure enough, there was an emptied glass pitcher with traces of lemonade still in it.
They stepped into the living room and looked at the carpet. Sure enough, there was a large immaculately clean spot whereas there was dirt and whatnot elsewhere on it.
"...Alright, I trust we both know exactly what happened here?" Bonnie asked.
Yeah. Looks like they didn't think this through so far as to know to cover their tracks.
"Or maybe they were too afraid to remain in the house any longer than they had to after the deed was done?"
Yeah, or that. I'm sure they left fingerprint evidence all over the place.
"But that wouldn't matter if this person was never arrested, right?"
I guess not. Or so long as they never joined the armed forces. I've heard they fingerprint you there. It's been nearly two weeks since their first murder, so I think we can safely assume that neither of these things is the case.
They searched around some more and then left silently out the back.
*knock knock*
Startled, Yuri sat up.
He looked up at the grandfather clock on the wall and read the time. He knew that there was only one person who could be at his door at this hour.
He had a half-finished glass of booze sitting at his desk. He knew it was probably room temperature by this time, so he didn't bother finishing.
Instead he got up, walked to the adjacent room, and unlocked and opened the door.
She stepped inside. He closed the door behind her.
"Well?" he asked.
"...Yeah, we found one tonight."
"Did you catch him?"
Bonnie shook her head.
She crashed on the couch a few feet from his desk, showing no regard for posture or ladylikeness.
"...Oh, I'm not talking to Bonnie, am I," he said.
"Nope," Nobutaro said with Bonnie's mouth.
"Is she there?"
"Yeah. This body is really tired, so I volunteered to walk us back here. But my body was also pretty tired, so it looks like she fell asleep."
(Author's note: Though this is dubbed in Japanese, technically Nobutaro is speaking in English. He's fairly fluent in the language by this time though he speaks with an accent.)
"Can you wake her up?"
"I mean, sure, but do I really want to? My body's getting a good night's rest about now."
"It shouldn't be night in Japan right now."
"Meh. When Bonnie's up I'm usually up, so my regular routine involves sleeping in the middle of the day. Well, it's not very well-illuminated in that dungeon so I don't really care."
"Doesn't sound like your body gets nearly enough exercise."
"It doesn't...So, to summarize, our guy targets single women, middle aged. The kind of people who'd be lonely and eager for visitors. He comes in, late enough to minimize his chances of being seen by somebody and..."
He yawned.
Yuri snapped his finger. "Hey, hey, don't doze off yet. What's he do?"
"He comes in posing as a vacuum cleaner salesman," Nobutaro said. "Gives them a little demonstration. He's probably a charming, talkative fellow, and he gets them to offer him something to drink, in the process them fixing themselves something as well. When they're not looking his puts something in their drink, knocks them right out. Then he drags them to their car garage, puts them in their car, puts the seatbelt on, cranks down the windows, and starts the ignition. Then he leaves and lets the fumes from the exhaust do the rest. From what I've heard it seems he's used the same MO for his last two victims as well. The press never reported certain specific details that the three cases have in common, so I'm pretty sure the same guy's behind them all."
"Stiggie?"
Nobutaro shook his/her head weakly. "No, it's not Stiggie. Different method. And I...I wish people would stop calling him that..."
He yawned again.
"Do you have an address?" Yuri asked.
"No," Nobutaro said, "but I know the house is on Jersey Street..."
And then a few seconds later the person of Bonnie Cartwright drifted off to sleep.
Instead of probing further, Yuri slowly got up, got the top sheet from his bedroom, and covered him/her with it.
He knew that before going to bed there was one last thing he needed to handle: the matter of tipping off the police. And so, he immediately proceeded to write a letter to the police, sealed it, got into his car, drove six miles, and then dropped off the letter in a postbox that would most likely be delivered to the police the following morning.
The Next Day, Thursday
The car stopped a few yards from her driveway.
"Um, Tarokun wants to know whether you're about to call the police?" she asked.
Yuri nodded. "He doesn't have to worry about that. I've already tipped them off."
"Well, thank you," she said, getting out of the car and closing the door behind her.
Yuri took off and she headed towards the front porch.
"...Are we going to talk about what happened yesterday?" she asked, finally alone.
What's there to talk about? I did it to keep you safe. You should be thanking me.
More than a little frustrated, she swung the door open and dropped the knapsack. The time was 10:54 AM.
"I'm home!"
Her mother, Stacey Cartwright, came into view. "Good. Later you can help me with supper."
Bonnie went and put her stuff in her room, washed her hands in the bathroom sink, and then came back.
"By the way, was that Mr. Yuri out there?" her mother called out.
"No," Bonnie lied. "So what are we having?"
"Spaghetti and meatballs," her mother said. "With a side of homemade blueberry jam on Wonder Bread."
"Yummy. Did Mrs. Miller give us jam again?"
"Yup. She came by yesterday afternoon. And to top it off, your Aunt Kathy's coming over tonight."
"Oh? Is dad going to be home for dinner?"
Her mother sighed. "I told him before he left this morning, but...You know how your father is. We'll just have to wait and see."
Bonnie nodded awkwardly, knowing exactly what she meant by that.
After a mundane and markedly unaccomplished day at work, Chad Cartwright once again accompanied his two best police buddies to the Round Robin Billiards Hall, which had been their favorite hangout spot for about a decade now.
It was an ideal spot: the tables were vacuum-cleaned every night and evidently replaced or treated when the lawn-like surface no longer looked pristine green. The wood had a lacquered finish, the balls were well-polished and clean as a whistle, and the pockets led the balls rolling down to collection points on the low side of the table so that balls could be hit into the same pocket and over again. Any given party was given a large booth to play in, separated from elsewhere on the floor by high wooden dividers/walls where a reasonable degree of privacy could be assured, though of course there was a clear pathway in and out of a booth. There were no windows in the booths, though there was a bright light above in every booth so as to make sure the players could see.
There was, alternately, the option of playing a game on a pool table in the main room, which had ceiling fans above, the radio playing on a central loudspeaker system, a large bar (that any player could go buy a drink from, of course), and a stage where every now and then various performers (mainly of the female variety) did their thing. One could smoke, if they brought their own pack or if they were willing to part with $1.50, and the ventilation system was exceptionally modern so suffocation was not so much a concern as lung cancer.
Kevin made his move. The cue ball shot across the pool table and a couple of balls scattered, though none dropped into a pocket. It was Chad's turn.
"So anyways, you know, we could still come here and play a round or two after work every now and then," he said.
Leaning against his cue, Gay stared Chad down a bit fiercely. "Why?"
Chad took a swig of his drink and set it down again on the wooden divider. Then he turned around and faced Gay. "Why? You know d*mn well why! What am I doing here, huh? No, correct that: what are we doing here? Does the little town of Broadway even need us? What ever happens in a town like this? I'll tell you what: absolutely nothing. Why, I'll betcha a single man could do the job all three of us are doing."
"So...what? You're just going to quit?" Kevin asked. "Hope for the best until you get that opening? You've got a family, for Pete's sake!"
Chad shrugged. "I never said I was going to be in between jobs. I already put in an application about a week ago."
"A week?" Gay repeated incredulously. "And we're just now hearing about this?"
Chad crouched over the table, angling his cue just right to get that green striped 14 ball into the side pocket. "I didn't know how to break the news to you guys. So I figured the best way would be over a friendly game of pool."
"Yeah, one h*ll of a friendly game alright," Gay said sarcastically.
"C-Come on!" Kevin said. "If you do this, you'll have to take a pay cut I'm sure."
"Yeah, probably," Chad said nonchalantly. "But you know what? I think I can live with that."
"Did you at least talk this over with Stacey?" Gay asked.
"Nope," Chad said, breathing in deeply, making his shot at last, landing one in. "I'll get it over with sometime tonight. Or tomorrow night. But surely you know why I have to do this."
"We don't!" Gay said. "What's this to you, huh? None of those people have killed anybody over here. Or anybody who you or I know. It's-it's not like your family's in danger or anything."
Chad shook his head. "You can't say something like that for sure. I mean, take for example Mr. Mill...Kevin, your dad commutes to Wichita every day, right? It could be him. Any day now he could be the next to die."
Kevin was silent.
"Sorry if that seemed harsh. But, I know I have the skill set to be of use to any one of those ongoing investigations. And I sure as h*ll can't help with that from here, where it seems like I just get paid to...get cats out of trees and discipline snot-nosed brats throwing rocks. I...I just gotta do this, you know? It's been on my mind for a good while now...ever since this all started back in '57, actually. The fact that I'm just now acting on this, after all this time, that's the real tragedy."
Gay finished up his drink. "Well, it was an honor serving with you for all these years."
He extended his hand.
"W-Whoa there, I didn't say I was leaving tomorrow," Chad said with an awkward chuckle. "I haven't heard back from them yet. I figure when I do it'll be at least a couple of days before I start. I think I've still got a fair bit of time l-
He paused.
"What time is it?"
"Umm, I can ask the guy up front if you want," Kevin said. "Why?"
"I'm supposed to be home for dinner. Katherine's coming over...Stacey's gonna be so mad."
He opened his wallet and put some money on the table.
"This should cover it, I think," he said. "If not then I'll pay you back later. Goodbye!"
And with that he stepped into the central room and headed towards the exit.
"Hey, tell that gorgeous woman of yours I'd eat her cooking any day!" Gay called out jokingly. "Don't matter to me what it taste like!"
"Yeah yeah, at least try to think of some fresh material next time," Chad called back without stopping or turning his head. "Okay bye."
*ding dong*
A couple seconds later Stacey opened the door and greeted her sister.
"Hi!"
They hugged.
"Oof, is that dinner?" Aunt Kathy asked, fanning the air near her face for dramatic effect.
"Yeah, sorry," Stacey said apologetically. "I burned the meatballs. You can smell it from here?"
"...Yeah."
They both chuckled.
"It's alright though," Kathy said. "A free meal that I don't have to work for is always something I look forward to."
She came in.
Bonnie, donning oven mitts, took the pan of spaghetti out of the heat and set it on the kitchen table.
"Bonnie!" Aunt Kathy exclaimed as they hugged. "My goodness, how long's it been? Look at you, all grown up and pretty! I'll bet you have guys courting you left and right!"
Indeed, Bonnie upon coming home earlier had taken a bath, changed into a blue Sunday dress, and spent about twenty minutes ironing her hair as to get it straight and bobbed (she also had some makeup applied to her face).
Chad (who as it turned out was not late for dinner that night) stepped in from the living room, holding a now crumpled up newspaper.
"Hiya Kathy," he said, shaking her hand.
Stacey looked around. "Where's Gordy?"
"I'll go get him," Bonnie said.
She ran upstairs and peered into the room of Gordon "Gordy" Cartwright, age 13, who was lying on his bed staring up at the ceiling, a comic book lying about a foot from his head.
He sat up and looked at her. "Time to eat?"
She nodded. "Aunt Kathy's here. Come down and say hello."
"I'll be right down," he said.
They all held hands and bowed their heads. Chad cleared his throat, and then said, in his manliest voice:
"O Heavenly Father, thank you for this food that we partake in, that nourishes our bodies, and for this drink, that quenches our thirst. In thy name we pray, amen."
"Amen," they all repeated. And with that they could eat.
About ten seconds into her meal Aunty Kathy realized Gordy was staring at her.
"Is it my highlights?" she asked, ruffling her hair as a gesture.
He nodded, looking away. "You put paint in your hair?"
She laughed. "No, no, I used a stuff called madder. It's a plant that people once used to dye clothes, before the invention of all this synthetic crap. My friend Lucy showed me how to apply it. It's all natural. Won't slowly poison me like whatever else people are using these days."
She grinned. "Why? You want me to show you how to do it?"
"Okay," he said eagerly.
"Now hold on," Chad said. "Kathy, you know he's a boy. In fact, as of today he's now a member of the local YMCA."
"How was that, by the way?" Stacey asked.
Gordy hesitated. And then:
"I don't like it."
Chad sat straight up. "Excuse me? Son, you know it took me a lot of work getting you accepted to there. This isn't no run-of-the-mill youth hostel, alright? This is a club and bathhouse. The kind of place upper class parents send their kids. Now what isn't there to like?"
Gordy shrugged, looking down at his plate. "I was uncomfortable the whole time."
"Uncomfortable?" Aunt Kathy asked. "How?"
Gordy shrugged again, again not looking up. "I dunno. I just was. Everybody was weird."
Chad was taken back with a certain idea. "Son, you aren't saying there were coloreds in a place that nice?"
Gordy shook his head. "No. They were just weird. I don't...I don't know how to explain it. They made me feel really uncomfortable. They...slapped my butt."
"Say WHAT?" Stacey said, bursting out laughing (as was Chad).
"They slapped your butt?" Chad repeated, trying to keep a straight face. "Son, the YMCA is all about athletics. If you can't handle it getting a little rough at times, then..."
"N-Never mind," Gordy said. "You don't understand."
"Well what is there to understand?" Chad retorted. "I know you've never been into athletics, but maybe now's about time for you to man up a little. You know, you're a teenager now. When school starts back up you ought to try out for the track team or something. I don't know."
"Hey, come on," Aunt Kathy said. "Maybe Gordy's not into sports. What's the big deal? Why can't you just let the kid be?"
"I'll tell you why," Chad said sternly. "When I was a boy I never had the opportunity to do what he's doing now. He should count his lucky stars, is all I have to say on the matter. Why, in my day all there was to do was to play rough and tumble, trundle wooden hoops, catch frogs down by the creek..."
He sighed. "Those were the days. Nowadays, I hardly see him without his nose up a comic book. Kids these days, they...read about adventures instead of having adventures. And it just ain't right, I tell you. A boy should learn to be strong. Why...what happens if one day Uncle Sam calls you up to go fight the reds in a jungle somewhere? Would you be tough enough to survive? The way I did? Huh?"
"Chad, I think that's enough," Stacey said.
After a second's deliberation Chad backed down. "Look, all I'm saying is...you know."
"Yes, we know," Aunt Kathy said with a slight tone of hostility in her voice.
There was a pause.
Kathy turned to Bonnie, eager to change the subject. "You've been awfully quiet this whole time."
"Oh, have I," she said glumly.
"How about it?"
"Huh?"
"The highlights," Kathy said. "You talked to me on the phone just last year saying you wanted to dye your hair...what color did you say it was again? Was it blonde!"
Bonnie (who had brown hair) shook her head. "I don't want to look like that brat Jane Osteen."
"Oh? Is Jane that girl at your school who your mother's been telling me about?"
Bonnie just nodded.
But then, realizing this opportunity, she looked her aunt in the eye and said:
"Red hair. I've always wanted red hair."
"Like about the color of these highlights?"
"Yeah, but my whole hair. Not just part."
Kathy chuckled. "Alright, I think I can arrange that. I don't have any with me right now, but tell ya what, when I get back to New York I'll be sure to mail you some madder, and I'll also send instructions on how to use it. How's that sound?"
"That sounds good," Bonnie said. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Then Aunt Kathy turned to Stacey. "Listen, um, I have a small favor to ask you."
Stacey breathed in deeply.
"No, no, I'm not sticking my hand out and asking for charity," Kathy said. "I just need you to take a look at something for me. After we eat?"
"...What is it? You can tell me right now."
Sighing, Kathy took a yellow Manila Folder out of her purse and handed it across the table.
"The pages are stapled, so...just read it," she said.
Stacey took a look at the front page. "This again?"
"Again? It's been five years. I wised up from last time's mistakes, got some good people to mentor me, and I really think this will knock the socks off the viewers in the audience."
"So...what?" Stacey asked, exasperated. "You came here to ask me for $1000 start-up money? For another pet project of yours?"
"Pet Project?" Kathy repeated with indignation. "I put my heart and soul into this. It took me six months to write this script. I had my friend Todd look over it and he says it's good. And when he says something's good, it's good. I have a confident feeling about my work here. This one...this one won't fail."
"That's what you said last time," Stacey said. "What is this, you think Chad makes, like, a five figure salary in a year? We don't have the money for this."
"If you're really this desperate for money why don't you get a proper job already?" Chad suggested.
Kathy looked at him, chafed. "A proper job? What is it you think I do?"
He shrugged. "You're like, you think you're a movie star or something. But you can barely pay rent. Now I know living in Manhattan ain't cheap, but I really think you could do better. Or better yet, why not just get married?"
"...Excuse me?"
"Get married. Find yourself a man. Then you won't have to worry about money."
"And what, you think I'd just be happy as...a plain old housewife? Confined to the home most the day?"
He sighed. "Katherine, you're a 36 year old woman. Why don't you just grow up already and stop begging us for money? We all...we all reach a point in our lives where we have to accept that we oughta just settle down and commit to certain responsibilities. I've accepted that. Your sister's accepted that. The only person who hasn't accepted that is you. You're the problem here. And...look, I know that sounds harsh, but I'm just telling it as it is. Grow up already. We're not giving you a dime. And that's that."
Gordy pushed his plate forward. "I'm done. Can I go to my room?"
Stacey nodded.
Bonnie stood up. "Me too, if you don't mind."
"Alright," Chad said. "I think we and your aunt will still be here talking for a little while, so...why don't you two get ready for bed."
The toilet flushed. She rinsed with a bar of soap.
Then she looked straight at her own reflection in the mirror.
She could feel the tension, the anger seeping into her own consciousness from his. She was sure that on the other end he was pacing his cell like a caged tiger, filled with bottled up aggression. She could tell that at times he tried to mask it, but it was just too much. There was no way she couldn't feel it.
She stood up straight and relaxed her shoulders. "Alright, what's the matter? You can tell me. You know that."
That hypocrite! 'Pillar of the family' indeed. 'Voice of reason' indeed. T-That no-good two-timing scoundrel! Does he care who he leaves behind?! The lives he destroys?
"You're talking about dad? Why?"
Then she realized.
"You don't mean that photo."
Oh yeah. I do. He left that woman halfway across the world. Alone! Betrayed! And who's to say she's the only one?
"You're jumping to conclusions. We don't know who that woman was to him."
I know I do. I...pah. Fine. I get it. You wanna give your old man the benefit of the doubt. But he doesn't deserve it. He's a liar! Everything he says...
She sighed. "Tarokun, you don't have to be mad for me. It's my choice, and I choose not to hold it against him, whatever may have happened."
He was silent.
"Aren't you...aren't you even the teensiest bit exhausted? From making yourself feel this way all the time. I don't know about you, because you won't tell me, but...I'm sick and tired of this. I want it to it. I just...want...it to stop."
That last part she said with emphasis.
"When is it going to stop? When every last copycat is dead? When Stiggie's dead? Tell me!"
Silence.
She fell back against the wall and slid down. "Tarokun, we used to be happy. I just want to go back to those days...it wasn't that long ago. I just..."
And that was when she started to choke up. "Why can't we just...Why do you have to-
*knock knock*
Wiping her eyes Bonnie stood up and opened the door.
"Hey, I need to use the bathroom," Gordy said.
He peered past her. "Who are you talking to?"
She shook her head. "Nobody."
And then she smiled, reassuringly. "I'm just talking to myself. Don't worry about it."
She brushed past him and stormed to her room, upon which she closed the door behind her, fell onto the bed, turned off her lamp, and drifted off to sleep.
The Next Day, Friday
The door creaked open. Footsteps.
She opened her eyes and turned her head. There was Gordy.
"Mom wants to know if you're going to eat," he said in his usual monotone voice. "There's three eggs left."
And so Bonnie got out of bed. As she ate breakfast in the kitchen, her mother was on the phone talking with Mrs. Miller.
The second her mouth received the last bite from her fork, her mother put the phone back on the machine.
She turned to Bonnie. "You almost finished with that?"
Three seconds later Bonnie took a gulp of milk, and then nodded. "Done. What happened with Aunt Kathy last night?"
Stacey sighed. "Well, you heard all that anyways, so...she left disappointed. I hope she doesn't stay mad at me, because we're not going to change our minds about the money. We have our own bills to pay, and she should've been more mindful of that fact."
Bonnie put her dishes in the sink.
"You don't have anything to do today, right?"
"Uh, no," Bonnie said. "I don't think so. Why?"
"Your father forgot the lunch I prepared him. Can you go bring it to him?"
"...It'll take me an hour just to get there, though."
"I know," her mother said. "I have to bring Gordy to the dentist in ten minutes to get that cavity filled, so I can't take it to your father right now. I mean, if it's really that much trouble then-
"No, it's fine," Bonnie said.
She grabbed the lunchbox off the counter and headed out the door.
She swung open the transparent door and the little bell ring. She went up to the front desk.
"May I help you?" the receptionist asked.
"Could you give this to Chad Cartwright?"
The woman raised an eyebrow. "And who are you?"
"It's good."
Gay walked up to them. "Hey Bonnie. That for your dad? I'll give it to him."
She handed it over and nodded. "Thanks, Mr. Callaghan."
And with that she was out the door again, a twenty second exchange for which she traveled an hour and for which she'd now have to travel an hour back.
She approached the front porch when-
There was a young man standing at the door talking to her mother.
She did not recognize him.
And then it hit he-
It's fine. That's not our guy.
"How do you know?" she asked, trying to keep herself from getting worked up.
Because that person wouldn't be so bold as to do this in the middle of the day. Plus, we can presume he scouts his victims out ahead of time. He would know that your mom didn't live alone.
Knowing that he had a valid point, she breathed a sigh of relief and walked forwards.
A few seconds later the man wrapped up his conversation and began to leave, walking past Bonnie.
Bonnie stepped inside.
"Who was that?" she asked.
"He said he was with a church called the Jehovah's Witnesses," Stacey said, not entirely sure what to make of that. "He gave me this pamphlet and invited me to attend services. I turned him down, so he left."
She handed the pamphlet to Bonnie.
After about a minute of reading she found that it seemed to check out.
Still, her heart was racing from the ordeal. She headed upstairs to her room and closed the door behind her.
And then:
"...I'm in."
Huh?
"Our guy. Let's nail him, and do whatever we have to so that he can't hurt anyone else."
You wanna go right now?
"Yeah."
She walked down the narrow wooden stairs.
"Mom, I'm going out again," she announced.
"Huh?"
"Yeah, I thought since I had nothing better to do I'd go hang out with my friends."
(Again, she didn't want to specify which friends.)
"Um, OK," Stacey said. "How late do you think you're going to be?"
"I should be back before this evening. You're not fixing a big dinner tonight, are you?"
Her mother shook her head. "No, it's fine. Have a good time."
And then Gordy came down the stairs. "Hey Bonnie, look at this."
He opened his mouth and showed her his mercury filling on his front left side of this mouth.
"Gross," she said. "Why'd you show me that?"
He grinned. "You wanna see it again?"
"No!"
"But it's like I have silver teeth now! Isn't that cool?"
"Tooth, singular. And I think you should start brushing better."
"The dentist says it's because he doesn't floss," Stacey said.
"But mom, flossing makes my mouth bleed," he protested.
"Well, that's better than having to wear dentures at thirty, isn't it?" Bonnie retorted.
Gordy scoffed. "Nah. All my teeth would be metallic. And then I'd be like a superhero. They'd call me...Lockjaw."
That was just about enough to make Stacey topple over in laughter. Bonnie likewise chuckled until her insides hurt.
And then:
Wham.
She understood. At long last she understood. She wasn't sure whether Tarokun let it slip by accident or if he finally decided to disclose this to her, after recently deciding to clam up (for reasons unbeknownst to her).
But now she understood it, in this moment. Maybe not everything, but enough, or so she thought.
On the level of the soul, the two saw face to face, eye to eye, without having to say or think a word. Their intents lined up. Needless to say, this hadn't happened in a while. But now it did.
Bonnie stepped out of the room, and stood at an angle where he face would not be seen by family while talking with Nobutaro (last night was too close a call for her).
Her heart felt warmed and pained at the same time as she understood what it was he wanted, and what would make him feel better. There was no perfect solution, but for a little while maybe this would satisfy him.
"You want this, don't you," she whispered.
Yes. And I'm sorry. I know that I'd probably be asking too much of you. It's selfish of me, and you absolutely don't have to-
Bonnie shook her head. "No. It's no problem at all. Do it."
There was a moment's hesitation. But then she could feel it dawning upon him, the realization that what was once not permitted was now permitted, if just this once. It all happened so fast, like an avalanche, and:
*vreeng*
He re-entered the kitchen, where Mrs. Cartwright and Gordy were. He figured that, since obviously they'd see no distinction between Bonnie and the him that inhabited Bonnie's body in this moment, he could get away with this.
Right now he had a license to just go for it. He didn't want to let this opportunity pass him up.
He rapidly moved forward, until her motion devolved into a borderline fall, wrapped his/her arms around Bonnie's mother, and-
Stacey was definitely surprised by this. But she was quick to reciprocate by hugging back.
"Mom," he said with Bonnie's lips in English, "I'm worried."
Mom. The sound of that word coming from his lips, in this context. Did he dare?
"Worried?"
"There are bad men out there. You could get hurt."
"Shh," Stacey whispered back, still not entirely sure what was going on but nonetheless performing her obligation here. "I'm not going anywhere. You'll always have me."
"You promise?"
"I promise. Nothing bad will happen to any of us. If anybody tries to hurt any member of this family, your father will protect us."
Your father will protect us.
Nobutaro felt hot. That last remark triggered something in him that put him in a bad mood once again.
Trying not to show it, he quickly headed out the door and then switched back.
*vreeng*
...Thank you.
She smiled wistfully. "You're welcome. But, what I don't understand is..."
Silence.
"Why now? After all this time, why now?"
There was a sigh on the other end.
Bonnie, you have a family that loves you very much. I've been going along with the ride for a long time now, but recently I've come to realize...What's true for you is not true for me.
"H-Huh...?"
Thank you always for letting me be a part of your world. But our two worlds are, regardless, fundamentally different. You offer me daily respite from that fact, but sooner or later I'm going to face the music for the crime of having been born into this world as the person that I am.
"Is that...why you've been holding back on me?"
Yes. I hold back my true feelings because I am me and you are you. We can talk like this. This should be enough, and I don't see any reason why this has to change. But the way that we've been living most of our lives, how do I put this...? It's unnatural. Closer than we should've been. Our individuality is put into question whenever we do that, and I believe that a man's individuality is the most precious and inviolable of human privileges on this earth. Even married couples don't do that...
Upon that last remark Bonnie felt him getting flustered, though of course an association between the abstract principle/example raised and the implication between these two individuals in question would be enough to make either one of them blush.
"So what you're saying is, you believe I should do the same to you?"
Yes. That is exactly what I am saying. As things stand right now, you disclose too much. I try to keep out of your most private thoughts, but you're certainly not making it easy for me. It might take some time, and a little getting used to, but I believe that it's in your best interests as well as mine. We aren't children anymore, after all.
Silence.
Well? Aren't you going to say anything?
"Like what? What you're telling me to do is..."
I understand. You'll need some time to think it over.
But for the time being, he continued, we need to focus on our mission.
Bonnie reluctantly nodded. "Alright then. Let's go. You wanna check out the crime scene again?"
Yeah. Did you bring enough change to call Mr. Yuri?
"I did."
Then this shouldn't take very long.
They pulled over about half a block away from the house, so as to not draw attention to themselves. Bonnie got out and started walking.
Sure enough, there was crime scene tape covering the front door. But that shouldn't have been an issue; what they were really here for was what they were unable to examine at night: the outdoors of the crime scene.
If there was anything that they missed, anything at-
Bonnie was taken aback, not expecting to find something like this so easily.
They were in the backyard, from which they could see the road on the opposite side. About a foot into the victim's back yard from that road they could make out the beginning of tire tracks.
I see. He used that to avoid witnesses.
"They're way too narrow to be from a car," Bonnie said. "That and way too light."
And it's not like he would've just parked a car here anyways. No, this was...
"A bicycle," Bonnie finished. "But how did he take the vacuum cleaner with him?"
He must've carried it with...Crud.
"Huh? What is it?"
I know what kind of person was behind this.
Yuri began clearing his desk of the random clutter, setting things on his kitchen table.
Then he took the map out from under his bed, took it out of the long, narrow cylindrical container, and unfurled it across his desk.
"Alright, give me the address one more time," he said.
Bonnie told him.
He went and grabbed his notebook in which he had the prior two addresses listed, and he wrote down the third one.
Then he began peering over the map.
"Let's see," he muttered. "Jersey Street would be over...here, so that means..."
He looked down at his notes for reference.
Then finally he nodded, after about two minutes.
"You have something?"
"If my estimates are correct, all of these places are within thirty minutes of a single point. That's not to say they form a perfect triangle, but...yeah. It looks pretty compelling to me."
"Thirty minutes?" Bonnie repeated, following Nobutaro's lead.
"At about jogging speed," Yuri clarified. "Our culprit's on a bike, so clearly he's going fast enough to warrant not just walking. But not very fast, if what you're saying is true. Come look at this."
He circled an area on the map.
"What we're looking for is probably a teenage boy who lives in this area," he concluded.
He shrugged. "Granted, that still leaves a lot of possible suspects, but it's definitely a start. If he strikes again soon, I don't know if you'll have enough time to stop him, but eventually-
"Tarokun says no," Bonnie said awkwardly. "He says we're going to kill him tomorrow night."
Yuri sighed. "I...wouldn't get my hopes up that high. Investigations like this take time. You two have already done more than the police at this point, I'm sure. Just be confident in that."
"Tarokun," Bonnie said, "We don't have to go down this road. Mr. Yuri can tip off the police as to the leads we've gotten so far. At the very least that should cause him to lie low for a while, perhaps keep him from taking any more victims until the police gather the evidence to put him behind bars."
You don't understand, Nobutaro said, though only Bonnie could hear him. People like him aren't like us. They aren't human. They're vermin. You know what the Good Book says: a life for a life. We're doing The Lord's work by giving these evildoers what they deserve.
"And we aren't exactly like him?" she responded sternly.
...No. We aren't.
"What did he say?" Yuri asked.
Bonnie looked at him. "He's going to do this, whether we like it or not."
The Next Day, Saturday
After dinner Bonnie retired to her room to hit the sack early, locked the door behind her, and then snuck out the window and ran out to Yuri's car.
From there they drove to the Post Office.
The man behind the counter waved as Bonnie headed over to where the safety deposit boxes.
Once again she found the number belonging to Chad Cartwright, unlocked it with a key, opened it, and took it out.
Her weapon of choice, a Ka-Bar combat knife that her dad had lifted off of a dead Marine years ago during his days fighting in the Pacific Theater of WWII and which he since brought home as a memento. It was a very sturdy weapon, designed to meet the rigorous standards of modern warfare. Perfect for killing.
She slipped it in her pocket was about to leave, but then she turned around and took something else out.
It was the photo, of her dad with an unknown Asian (probably Japanese) woman. She and Nobutaro took a good look at it, and then put it back and locked the safety deposit box once more.
She returned to the car, buckling up in the passenger seat up front.
The car just sat there for a solid minute.
"What are you waiting for?" Bonnie asked finally.
Yuri sighed. "If I can please speak to Tarokun?"
...
*vreeng*
"Yes?"
It still unnerved him, knowing that in the blink of an eye he was now speaking to a wholly different person. He could see it on the face of Bonnie, a whole different expression and temperament belonging to Nobutaro.
But he cast that thought aside and:
"You understand the seriousness of what you're about to do?"
"Yes. A person is about to lose his life. I know what that means, I know what that looks like. I know very well how terrible that is under normal circumstances."
"And?"
"This isn't about what I want."
"Oh?"
"Somebody has to do it. If not me, then...who?"
There was a pause.
"Taro-kun," Yuri said. "It could be said that there are three universal human taboos. Do you know what they are?"
"No, but I have a feeling you're just about to tell me."
Yuri laughed. "Come now, don't be such a party pooper. They are as following: murder, incest, and cannibalism. The first is pretty self-explanatory. For any given person, the safest world that he could live in is one where the act of people killing each other does not take place. As for the second, modern science has shown that inbreeding has a deleterious effect on the human genome. If practiced continuously by large numbers of people the end result would be the extinction of the human race. But how about cannibalism?"
"I don't know. It relates to murder, perhaps?"
Yuri shook his head. "If the person's already dead, what would it matter, were that the case? No, cannibalism is taboo because the human body contains sicknesses that can infect human beings, by definition. Whereas with animals the viruses present might not be able to effectively interact with the human body, for humans a virus can do the same to one person as it does another. Just think: the Black Death was introduced to Europe when a few infected corpses were catapulted over a city wall by an invading army. Tens of millions of people died as a consequence. If mere proximity to dead bodies could cause that, what do you think eating infected human meat could do?"
"I see."
"There are exceptions to these rules, of course. Taboos against murder do not preclude the possibility of the phenomenon known as 'warfare', which both of our countries know exceptionally well. First-Cousin marriages are still commonplace in many parts of the world. Cannibalism is practiced by some hunter-gatherer tribes. But also, there is what I refer to as semi-cannibalism. That is, the consumption of higher primate species other than human beings. On the plains of Africa there are peoples who kill and eat 'bushmeat', which includes the likes of chimpanzees. Among chimps we've found specimens suffering from a condition known as immunodeficiency syndrome, in which there is something that attacks the body's immune system from the inside, so that even something like the common cold might prove deadly. Most likely this is caused by some kind of virus that affects chimpanzees."
"You have to think," Yuri continued. "Chimpanzees are the closest relatives to human beings among the animals. We probably share a large percentage of our DNA in common with them, I'm sure. It might just take one or two notable mutations for this simian immunodeficiency virus to become able to infect people. The first ones affected would be the local African bushmeat eaters. But then, when you consider large numbers of Western tourists going on safari on the African continent and then traveling home, I imagine that in this scenario it would spread quickly to, for instance, the American coast, and then into this country's interior regions. Depending on how easily transmissible such a virus might be, it could be like the Black Death all over again, since we'd have zero immunity to it."
"I think you're full of something else on this one."
"Fair enough. It might not ever happen. But the point is, there are serious consequences for those who violate these taboos. That's why aversion to the second taboo is ingrained in us from birth, and why an aversion to the first and third might naturally develop later, and why society instills in all of us an aversion to all three. For an adult person, that aversion is largely an instinctual matter. Your mind is trained to punish itself should you violate these taboos, and in the most severe manner. To have to live in such a state of self-loathing and negative emotion every day ...well, let's just say that in my opinion you'd be doing that person a favor in putting him out of his misery for good."
"Was this pep talk supposed to make me feel better? I already know what I have to do, and why I have to do it."
"...Alright then," Yuri said. "I just thought I'd give it a shot."
He put the car in Drive and slowly pulled out of the parking space.
But Nobutaro, looking away, then said:
"You're saying that our guy has to be miserable right now, having violated the first of the three taboos. But in my book, just one out of three wouldn't be so bad."
"Huh? What does that mean?"
"...Nothing. I'll call you when the job's done. Don't wait around."
And with that, Yuri let his foot off the brake and they were on their way in a short time.
*click click clank*
That could be to his disadvantage, he knew. His bike lock. With it he couldn't claim that somebody else stole his trusty bike and used it for the heinous crimes in question, if push came to shove. Then again, the odds of his bike being used as evidence against him were slim to none, and in any case he'd soon be able to afford to dispose of it.
Monday. Two days from now. He'd finish his last exams, he'd gather his stuff, and then his parents would come bring him home. Dad promised him a car of his very own so long as he did good on his finals; he was confident that he made excellent grades, in any case, so he knew the promised reward was as good as his at this point. All he needed to do was get a sizable bit of studying in Sunday and he'd be ready to roll the next day.
One he had that car, he could afford to dispose of the bike. All things considered he probably should've just waited until then before setting off on his string of murders, but it would be at least a couple months before college, so...
Several rooms on the school grounds had carpets, so there was need of a guy to vacuum it, and of course for a vacuum cleaner. It was kept in an unlocked closet. He could easily sneak it out of there at night, so long as he made a point to unlock a window during the day. From there he could secure it with his bookstrap, sling it over his shoulder, and slip the bookstrap's loop handle up his arm. It was a pain to lug around, but worth it.
It wasn't a pain to dress up every time; all he had to do was keep on his school uniform. Grooming his hair at the end of the day was only about a five minute comb job. Once all preparations were made he was free to go.
As a straight-A student and captain of the debate team at the Rockefeller Academy in Wichita (a prep school) Doug McCormack, age 18, knew that he would not be up there on the police's list of suspects, assuming that they even believed these happenings to be the work of something other than the suicidal intent of a few lonely middle-aged ladies.
Old maids. That's what they were. The women who all of the men rejected. Unfit to reproduce, and therefore unfit to survive. He had no qualms about taking their lives; he was a superior human specimen and they were far from his equals. He knew that eventually the police would realize that this was the work of some ingenious serial killer, years and years from now, when he had a good job somewhere far away from here. Those police files would eventually be leaked to the police, and an entire subculture would develop around the study and de facto celebration of this unknown larger-than-life shadowy figure who once operated in the Wichita area.
He would be immortalized. Like the person who kidnapped the Lindbergh baby. Or like the man who shot President Kennedy.
Or like the Stigmata Killer.
Stiggie had six documented kills. He was intent on topping that soon enough. That person, whoever he was, was very showy, posing the bodies for dramatic effect.
But he's not nearly as smart as me, he thought. No. I kill with finesse. I'll show him up soon enough. He's nothing but a second rate psycho compared to me.
He pedaled his bike along the smooth path. The front gate was just up ahead.
He knew that somebody passing by in a car might get a brief flash of a guy on a bicycle. They most certainly wouldn't think anything of it, of course. Why would they? And why would they bother remembering a detail like that? He stayed in the lane contra the flow of traffic, so they were unlikely to catch a glimpse of his back in any case.
He was getting nearer to the gate. But:
Was that the faint outline of an approaching person he made out in the dark?
He couldn't tell whether the person was in his way or not. So he decided to just stop and let them pass.
But then, they came to a stop. Just a few feet away.
What resulted was a stare-off, or rather a squint-off. Neither one could clearly see the other, and there was only a half moon out tonight.
To his right, and to that other person's left, was a tall oak tree. An irrelevant detail but still.
By the outline's shape it seemed to Doug that the person was wearing either a long coat or a dress. Given the time of year, he figured it was probably the latter.
Should I just try to go around her without saying a word? he thought. It sounded like a good id-
Suddenly, a bright light was shining on his face.
He got off his bike, kicked the stand down, and stood upright.
"Who are you?" he demanded, wincing and half looking away. "Show yourself!"
"...Who am I?"
So it is a woman, he realized. Wait...surely that isn't-
"I am the King of Hearts. I know your every thought and intent. I know the evil that your mind has devised, and that your hands have worked."
He then realized that he'd seen her earlier today: a girl about his age, walking around campus. For about five seconds straight she had stopped and looked right at him, though he was one guy in a crowd of about nine. Granted, he couldn't tell for certain whether this was her, since he was in the dark, but it would've made sense if she were.
"Who are you? Are you the family of one of those women?"
"No. I'm here to give you one chance."
"A...chance?"
"Yes," Nobutaro/Bonnie said. "I need you to listen very, very carefully to what I'm about to tell you. Because I will not repeat myself."
He turned his flashlight off.
And then he/she sprinted forwards at lightning speed.
The car pulled over in the middle of nowhere, them having gone off the road minutes ago. There was nothing but empty prairie in every direction. Yuri and "Bonnie" got out of the car.
"Why did we come all the way out here?" Nobutaro asked.
"Because we'll have plenty of room to practice this way, and it's unlikely anybody will see us."
Yuri unbuttoned his waistcoat and revealed a scabbard beneath. He handed a certain sharp tool to Nobutaro/Bonnie, holding it backwards by the tip of the blade.
"A butter knife?"
Yuri shrugged. "If you lose or break one I've got more to spare. Now...let's begin. First, there's grip."
"Hmm?"
"Tarokun, how do you hold a knife? And I don't mean when you're in the kitchen. When you're in a fight, how should you hold a knife?"
"Umm, well, I've never been in a fight," Nobutaro said. "So I wouldn't know."
"That's a good answer, but also a bad answer. What do you want to accomplish in a fight?"
"To beat the other guy?"
"Yes, but if you're using a knife then I think you want more than just to beat him up. Your objective in that case is either to scare him off or to kill him. Whatever eliminates the threat to your person or otherwise accomplishes your goal. So either way you have to know how to use good grip."
"Now, I don't think your goal is to go around picking fights on the street," Yuri said. "If you want to kill someone, you want to get it done with quickly and without hassle. So in that case let's assume an ambush of some kind. There are two kinds of ambushes. In Scenario A, he doesn't know you're even there until BAM! Do it right and he won't have time to defend himself before he's got a little present lodged six inches into his chest. In Scenario B, he knows you're there but he doesn't know you're about to attack him. Again, do it right and he won't have time to defend himself. The second approach can be every bit as deadly as the first, if implemented effectively. If attempting the second, you're gonna need to learn how to fastdraw."
"Fastdraw?" Nobutaro asked, confused.
"You ever seen one of those Westerns? They grab their gun from their holster really fast and shoot. It all takes like one second. That's a fast draw. Now, overall you can't act quite that fast if you're using a knife, but you can draw your blade from its sheath or scabbard just as easily as you can a gun, if not easier. The faster you draw your knife, the less time to respond your enemy will have. And that's good news for you, obviously. That's something you're gonna want to practice."
"But for now," he continued, "we're gonna talk about grip. There are two broad categories of knife-holding method. There's forward grip and reverse grip. Both are pretty straightforward to define. With forward grip, your thumb is closet to the blade of all your fingers, and the farthest from the butt of the hilt, which in some knifes is a prominent feature called a pommel. If you're gonna use a army-grade weapon and not a kitchen knife then it's going to have a pommel. That's just the way it works. With reverse grip, your thumb is closest to the pommel of all your fingers, and farthest from the blade."
Nobutaro tried these two grips out for his/her self.
"Reverse grip is bad in a normal fight," Yuri said bluntly. "You can't slash very well with it and it's especially bad for attacking at low angles. But it's good for stabbing, because you can put a lot more power into your movement. Get more bang for your buck, or so to speak. If you're gonna catch somebody by surprise, and especially if that person isn't an experienced knife fighter or martial arts expert, you might want to go with a reverse grip strike. You can put both hands into it, to sink your weight and body strength into the knife's movement. And believe me, if you're gonna be fighting grown men in that body you're gonna need all the strength and weight you can get. Now, there's also the question of finger posture. Obviously, your thumb is going to want to be clenching the knife tightly. If any finger is off the knife, your grip is going to be much weaker, and without a good grip you can't make the knife do exactly as you want it to do when you're swinging or thrusting it at high force. Lose control of your knife and that's it, you've lost already, unless you can somehow manage to regain control."
"What if there's nowhere for my thumb?" Nobutaro asked.
"Then you're holding it wrong," Yuri said. "Either you can place your thumb on the pommel, when does wonders for the strength of your grip,
Second type of ambush. Reverse grip strike, in a curved, semi-elliptical movement, from left to right. Target area: the mid-to-upper area of the heart, on the left side of the chest. One second for posture adjustment before strike. No fast draw needed. Flashlight tossed to side at onset of movement.
In short, Nobutaro did just about everything right going into this attack.
But luck just wasn't on his side tonight.
As he went forwards, he tripped on the bike stand. His knife, consequently, sunk into Doug McCormack's left shoulder. The force and shock knocked him a few feet back and then to the ground. The bicycle fell over onto Nobutaro/Bonnie, knocking him onto his side.
It took him a couple seconds to dislodge his/her self and stand up. By this time, of course, McCormack had stood up and regained his composure, now being cognizant of the situation.
"You b*tch! You tried to kill me!"
He removed the knife from his shoulder and brandished it. Nobutaro couldn't see that in the dark, but:
He's holding the knife! He's about to charge! Duck and trip him!
And that's exactly the way it played out.
Falling into the grass, McCormack was unable to keep his attacker from diving onto him and grabbing his knife.
Before Nobutaro could deal a lethal blow, McCormack got himself positioned right, put his feet to Bonnie's stomach, and kicked hard. Being light as she was, and considering his strength, she was sent flying a couple feet onto his/her back.
Bruises and scrapes all over, Nobutaro knew he couldn't afford to stay down. He was onto his feet in no time.
"You're-you're psychotic," McCormack said in disbelief, running off past the gate and leaving the bicycle behind.
Fortunately for Nobutaro, running while carrying a vacuum clear on his back was not McCormack's strong suit. He/she almost caught up to the man, who then dived into a car and locked the door behind him.
Nobutaro banged on the door. "Hey, that's not your car you know! Don't think you can just wait this out!"
But then the car came to life.
The owner must've left the keys in, Bonnie noted.
The car went into Drive and a now desperate McCormack was about to speed off.
Recognizing that he only had about a one-second window to act, Nobutaro leapt onto the back of the car and managed to grab on to the trunk door handle (which was locked).
A most extreme and dangerous form of hitchhiking, you have to admit.
He's running scared.
"No duh!" Nobutaro retorted, hanging on for dear life, hunching in an awkward and very uncomfortable position, desperate to keep his/her feet above the pavement, which at these speeds could potentially rip her shoes apart and then tear the flesh off of her feet.
I mean it. He's worried if he stays here you'll kill him, or that other people already know.
"You mean he's about to skip town?"
Yes. He just knows he's headed for the Floodway Bridge past Trenton Ave.
"That'll take him into Broadway."
I'm sure he doesn't intend on stopping there. He knows the car has over half a tank full. That'll get him a hundred miles out or more. From there he'll just ditch the car and keep running, until he's past state lines.
Nobutaro grimaced. "I don't think there's any way for me to stop him."
You have the knife on you. Can you slash one of his tires?
"...Let me see."
He let go of the handle with one hand to make an attempt when-
The car turned, and Nobutaro very nearly had to let go, just barely managing to grab back on, though his shoes slid on the pavement for a couple of seconds (he could feel the heat emanating from such).
Sorry, bad idea.
"No, it's the only plan we've got. You have to tell me how the conditions of the road are up ahead. Tell me when it's clear and I'll try again."
Forty seconds later, Bonnie gave him the clear.
And so he cautiously let go again, scooched to the left, stretched out his arm, and:
You almost there?
"I can touch it with the blade, but I don't think that'll cut it...wait a minute."
Turning his wrist so as to hold the blade at an angle, he gave it a try. He held it in place for several seconds, trying very not to let go and hoping that a passing car didn't happen to "graze" his/her hand.
Fifteen seconds later, he heard finally heard the sound of a broken tire being slid across the road at rapid speeds. He knew the car would have to come to a stop soon.
His legs pressing hard against the car, he knew he couldn't afford for his head to go flying forwards into the back glass or onto any part of the vehicle. That would spell an instant death sentence for him, and at that point Bonnie, of course, would be trapped in his body for the rest of her life.
The car showed no sign of stopping as they neared the bridge.
He's starting to panic. I think he'll be stopping soon.
The car turned onto the bridge. A clunking sound ensued as it passed over the metal bars, though of course the defining flat tire sound overpowered it in volume.
Soon they were over the bridge.
And then the car began to slow down. Which was good for them, of course, but Nobutaro wasn't going to take any chances yet.
And finally, the car pulled over and came to a stop.
Practically slamming the door open and falling out of the car onto his knees, pressing his shoulder so as to keep blood loss to a minimum, McCormack had a classic "deer in the headlights look" as that young woman with a murderous look in her eyes approached him.
He leapt backwards (because for some reason he thought that would help) and then he/she dived onto him, though this time Nobutaro was careful enough to avoid his legs.
"Bonnie, look away and stop reading him right now. Disconnect for about thirty seconds."
...
With one hand he/she forced McCormack's head down and with the other began the slitting motion of the throat.
And then he began convulsing. He grabbed her shoulders and tried to sit up, coughing up blood on Bonnie's face and hair.
But then he stopped moving, and it was over.
Nobutaro looked around. There were no cars coming from any direction.
Still, just to be safe he dragged McCormack's body behind the car so as to lengthen the time it'd take for the body to be discovered, allowing them to make their escape.
Cover in bruises, scrapes, and McCormack's blood, Nobutaro sighed. "We did it."
By foot home was maybe forty five minutes away. They had a lot of ground to cover.
And so, they set off on the journey home into the darkness.
("Be Thou My Vision" by Kalafina, feat. Yuki Kajiura, instrumentals in "Celtic" style)
Bi thusa mo shuile a ri mhor na nduil
Lion thusa mo bheatha, mo cheadfai's mo stuaim
Bi thusa i m'aigne gach oiche's gach la
Im chodladh no im dhuiseacht lion me le do gra
Bi thusa mo threoru i mbriathar is i mbeart
Fan thusa go deo liom is coinnigh me ceart
Glac curam mar athair is eist le mo ghui
Is tabhair domhsa ait conai istigh i do chroi
The Next Day of May 1966, approximately 8 years after the publication of the "Giles Report" which in the years following inspired a number of copycat serial killers seeking the same infamy enjoyed by the Stigmata Killer, who in 1957 and 1958 took six innocent lives in the Wichita area; those murders were yet unsolved as of this time.
Gay took pictures of the grisly scene with his oversized flash police camera.
Chad examined the body.
"Well?" Kevin asked. "What do you think?"
"By the distribution of the blood, I'd say...his throat was slit and he also had a stab wound to the left shoulder."
He examined the victim's hands. "No visible piercings here, so..."
"Not Stiggie?" Gay asked.
Chad shook his head. "This doesn't seem to adequately match the MO of Stiggie or of any known copycat."
Kevin shook his head. "You know what I think? I think there was some kind of struggle here."
"Oh yeah?"
Kevin pointed. "You see that flat tire? I think, and this is just my opinion of course, somebody posed as a hitchhiker. They said something that distracted him, slashed his tire so he couldn't escape, and then tried to kill him. But he fought back. Didn't make it easy for the b*st*rd."
"So, uh, what should we call this one?" Gay asked. "The Broadway Police have jurisdiction and were the first to the scene, so we get to name this sicko, right? How about...the Hitchhiker Killer?"
Chad shook his head. "We're not going to give these people what they want. No cute nicknames. These are murderers we're talking about here. The worst kinds of criminals."
Kevin leaned over and examined the wounds on the body more closely. "Hey, Mr. Cartwright, come take a look at this."
They peered in real close to the wound on the shoulder, while Gay looked on from a couple feet away.
"You were in the Pacific war right?" Kevin asked. "So, like, I'm guessing you've seen this exact kind of wound before?"
"Huh?"
"I mean, I was in Korea. I saw it more than I would've liked. This wound was not done by some ordinary knife."
"Trench knife?"
"Or something like that, yeah," Kevin said.
"Trench knife?" Gay repeated. "W-Wait, hold on, wouldn't that match the wounds on-
"Stiggie's victims, yeah," Chad said. "The piercings on their wrists and ankles were done with something similar, or so the Wichita police have speculated based on autopsies."
Kevin shook his head. "Well I'll be. That son of a gun is trying to copy the Stigmata Killer's exact MO. The lengths to which this guy went...looks like they're serious."
"Great, just what Broadway needs," Gay said. "Our very own Stiggie. Just imagine what this'll do to home prices. A dozen black folks moving in couldn't have that kind of effect."
"...I'm going to find this guy."
Gay and Kevin looked at Chad.
"This sh*t doesn't just happen in my town. Not on my watch. I'll catch this...Stigmata copycat, or whatever he likes to call himself. And I'll see to it that he either fries or hangs."
"Still, where'd he get an army knife in the first place?" Gay asked. "You don't think...ex-military?"
Kevin nodded. "It is indeed very peculiar..."
After church was over, Bonnie headed straight to the women's bathroom.
Washing her hands, she looked up in the mirror and noticed a slight red stain that she apparently missed last night.
Nobutaro noticed it too.
"...I've changed my mind."
Huh?
"I don't want red hair anymore."