Chapter Four
After Richard's disturbing clash with his former friend, Peter Caine, he walked for hours, trying to work off his roiling emotions. Something about Peter incited him to rage faster than almost anyone else he knew.
So much seemed to have been handed to Peter automatically. Family, friends, good looks, brains, athletic prowess and a winning way with women. All the things that Richard never had – well, at least, not until now.
Though it was late March, it got dark much too early to suit Richard. Traveling from one neighborhood to another, the evening's growing darkness did nothing to improve Richard's dark mood either. Instead, in the cloak of shadows, he began to succumb to what was rapidly becoming his nightly routine.
For as the shadows grew, so did the myriad of voices screaming for attention within his mind and soul – voices that had first appeared with the deaths of Victor, then Joey, then Cory – voices that spurred his hunger for more knowledge. There was a way he'd found to maintain his newfound intelligence, but it came with a price. And along with it, came more killing, more deaths, and more voices inside his head.
Sunlight seemed to keep them at bay with the sunlight forcing them into hiding until the familiar hood of night gave them strength and courage to emerge again.
Anyone passing Richard on the street would have taken him for one of the rambling mentally ill, not only because he was whispering loudly to himself, but also replying in different voices and mannerisms, as if he was doing a one-man play with a multitude of parts.
"Listen, you can't do this anymore, Richie! I know you like being smarter, but you're hurting other people just to keep what you have. And just maintaining where you are just isn't enough for you anymore. No, instead, you want more and more and more. It's like a drug that's gotten ahold of you, kiddo. You've got to shake this or it'll kill you."
"No, Victor! You don't understand! If I don't do this, I'll be stupid again. I can't ever go back to that way of life. I'd die first!"
"It would be better than killing anyone and everyone who happens to be unlucky enough to cross paths with you!"
"You don't understand! I don't like the killing, but the alternative is much worse."
"Don't listen to that old man, Rich! For the first time in your life, you are somebody! Make the most of it! You've got money and power to go where you want to go, do what you want to do, be who you want to be! Don't listen to any goodie-two-shoes who wants to stop you from taking what you want."
"Yes, yes, you truly understand! I agree! The rest of the world be damned!" Richard laughed maniacally, scaring away a young couple out for an evening stroll.
"It's that damned cop who's cramping your style, Rich!" Cory's voice came from Richard's lips. "That damned pig who has been feeding you a crock of bullshit from the get-go. He needs a real comeuppance, that one does."
"I know. For so long, I thought he was my best friend, but he was just stroking his own ego by playing nice guy to the village idiot. He'd be my first choice for some real payback if his disappearance wouldn't bring out every cop and his brother."
"So what if it does? They've got nothing to tie you to these deaths. And that pig deserves to die!"
"Yes, but then I'd have him floating around inside my head like the rest of you loonies and I can't stand that thought."
Richard laughed sarcastically and recognition of his madness tweaked his laughter into something almost pitiful.
"You need to choose people with more smarts, boy. You're wasting your true potential by preying on the dregs of humanity."
"Yes, but smarter people are more likely to be missed."
"So? You're leaving this burg soon anyway."
"But – but my mother – she needs someone to help take care of her."
The sound of the old Richie broke through and surprised everyone into a momentary silence. Richard continued his walking as the quiet continued unabated until he spied an older, uniformed guard getting out of his car, preparing to go into the building across the street, apparently to go to work.
Richie found that the older population gave him a whole lifetime of knowledge, so he had started shying away from anyone under thirty as a rule.
Joey Villanova's voice broke the silence. "No, Richie, you can't do this. Killing isn't right."
"No, Joey, it isn't right and I'll probably burn in hell for it, but how many times can you burn in hell? I mean, I've already killed, so if there's an afterlife, I'm already screwed. You know what? I think I'll continue to kill because I like what happens to me when I lock in and start sucking away their knowledge!"
All debate was over as Richard slipped into his role of serial killer and fingered the taser in his pocket. He had found the self-defense device on the body of one of his victims.
Now, he used the taser to steal more knowledge and memories in the final moments of his victim by amping up his affinity for electricity. Electricity had always held a certain fascination for Richard, despite almost dying from its deadly effects.
Richard's hunger for knowledge became all-consuming. The rate of his murderous self-medication was rapidly accelerating until it reached the point he couldn't go a day without a fix, often more than that.
Richard found he could only initiate the process just as his victim was dying. Unfortunately, the process wasn't without its drawbacks. The voices in his head and the seizures were getting worse.
And Richie was amazed that no one had associated the random deaths of the city's destitute with him so far, but he knew his good luck wouldn't last forever. He had plans he was about to set into motion, then he'd head for a larger city – some place where he could lose himself in the masses and feed himself a steady supply of knowledge without anyone missing his victims.
oOoOoOoOo
Though Richie's mother had been initially thrilled by the miraculous changes in her son, she soon grew frightened her by the rapid and negative transformation that ensued. She would have given anything to have her dear Richie back at her side, instead of this dark, brooding stranger living under her roof.
She had never been afraid of Richie before, but she was now. The way he would disappear for hours on end, barely speaking when he returned. It made her feel much older than her fifty-two years.
Reading the headlines in the newspaper about a serial killer roaming the streets, she worried even more about Richie, so after worrying about him most of the night, when Ritchie finally came in, she confronted him. "Richard, we need to talk."
"Not now, Mother. I'm tired and I have a headache." He turned toward his room, barely acknowledging her presence.
Desperate to reach her son, she clutched his arm, determined she wasn't going to let go of him until he listened to her.
"You know, change can be a good thing, but you don't have to change so fast, Rich. It's not normal. Give yourself some time to settle into this new lifestyle."
"It's not normal? What exactly about my life has ever normal, Mother?"
Richie seemed to bristle at her invasion into his private affairs.
Dorina bristled right back at him. "If I didn't know better, Richie, I'd think you were up to no good. The way you come home smelling of booze and cheap perfume... It's sinful and degrading! I don't know you anymore! For all I know, you could be involved in those homeless murders!" She'd said the words in anger, never believing they could possibly be true.
Her son's expression went taut as he moved menacingly close to her.
"It's Richard, Mother. And damn it, what if I am the dreaded murderer of the destitute? It's not like the world's gonna miss them! They were the dregs of humanity anyway. I've done the world a favor by getting rid – "
Then the enormity of his rapidly uttered words sank in for both him and for his mother. Unable to deny the truth of his admission, Dorina's face went ash-white and she stumbled back into her easy chair, her petite frame landing heavily in the overstuffed armchair.
She took in great gasps of air, clutching a trembling hand to her chest. "It's true. Oh my Lord, it's true," she murmured, a fine mist of perspiration spread over her pale features.
"Mom? Mom? I didn't mean it, Mom!" Richie's familiar, gentle tone broke through her panic and pain and her head jerked up at the sound of her beloved son's voice. "I didn't mean for my smartness to ever hurt you, Mom. Never to hurt you! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I love you."
"R-Richie? My Richie? Are you still in there? Thank God, you're still there. I knew you couldn't have disappeared completely." She brushed a grateful hand across his face before clutching her chest again. "I love you, Richie. I'll always love you."
"Mom, don't leave me. Please don't leave me. I'll be good. I promise I'll be good. I'll make all those bad voices go to sleep, please just stay with me."
"Wish I could, baby, but I don't think – " The pain she was feeling suddenly mushroomed into crushing agony and it cut off her reply.
"No, stay! Stay! Stay, Mom, stay with me. Please. I promise I won't do any more bad things."
"It's up to you now... to do the right thing, son. Remember, I love – " Her hand went limp in his.
"NOOOO!" Richie screamed until he had no breath left, but when he inhaled again, Richard, the evil one, was back in control.
"Weak bastard. Almost too late to suck her dry, but not quite."
Richard closed his eyes as he placed his hands on her head, waiting for the blessed rush of knowledge to feed his out of control addiction – an addiction which no longer knew any restraints as he drained the knowledge from his dying mother and felt no remorse whatsoever.
Yet, it was not without consequences this time as something associated with taking knowledge from his own dying mother threw him into a prolonged, life-threatening seizure.
oOoOoOoOo
Peter felt a certain obligation to sit with Richard until he was awake and alert. It was something he attributed to a debt of responsibility to Dorina Petry, his former high school teacher, who had made his transition to the Blaisdell home a little easier for him so many years ago.
Somehow, Peter felt like it would make her own transition to the next life a little easier if he spent a few minutes of his time watching over her son. So, Peter sat in the darkened room and kept his silent vigil until Richard slowly awakened.
Peter was surprised to see little of the recent animosity present in Richard's grogginess. Richard's eyes narrowed into an unspoken question before a wave of sadness came across his features.
"Mom... she's gone, isn't she, Peter?"
Peter nodded a silent response, placing a hand on Richie's arm for a moment, then said as his own voice trembled with painful grief, "I'm sorry, Rich. She was a fine woman."
"Yes, yes, she was. And tough... I always suspected she'd outlive me."
Closing his eyes, Richard asked a question of Peter that almost sounded like the old Richie – almost but not quite.
"She was always such a good person. Taught me how to be good, how to do the right thing no matter what. Something that I've lost with my increased intelligence."
Richard paused and looked up at Peter. "Peter, do you believe in such a thing as good and evil?"
The question took Peter by surprise and he paused to think about his response as he studied the man before him. "My father likes to say no human soul is all good or all bad. It is that mixture of good and evil, which defines us all. Shadow and light, yin and yang, the eternal balance of life and death is present in all of us."
Richie nodded. Without opening his eyes, he whispered, "And some of us have more of that balance than others."
Peter moved closer, not understanding Richie's cryptic meaning, only to be stopped when Richie's eyelids flew open. Suddenly, it was like Peter was staring straight into the black heart of Satan himself.
"Get away from me before I kill you, pig! Get away from me now!"
Peter jumped back at the transformation and it was a good thing, because Richard lashed out with an angry fist, knocking over his bedside tray.
Everything clattered to the floor as Richard's voice screamed over the rattling din, "Get out of here! Get away from me now! Get away and never come back!"
Peter stumbled backward toward the wall as nurses and orderlies came running at the sound of trouble. Confused and puzzled, he drifted backward until he was out of the room and awkwardly made his way down the hallway with Richard's hoarse voice still screaming.
"Get away from me, Peter! Get away before I kill you! Kill you! Kill you! Kill you!"
If the truth be told, Richard's death threats stabbed at his soul more than any physical pain Peter had known in a long while. So bitter, so angry, so... not Richie.
oOoOoOoOo
Richard was leaving a popular nightclub, following a potential victim when he bumped into Peter's ex-girlfriend, Camryn Caldwell. She recognized him immediately. She had been with Peter on numerous occasions when he had to stop by the Petry residence for one reason or another.
"Richie? Richie Petry? What are you doing in a place like this?" she asked incredulously.
Richard looked at Camryn for a moment before recognizing her, then he rapidly changed his plans. Assuming Ritchie's persona, Richard took on a pensive, lost demeanor.
"I know you... you're Detective Peter's girlfriend, right?"
"Yes, I'm Camryn. Well, actually, Peter and I have broken up. Say, does your mother know you are out this late?" she asked, gently taking his arm and moving to an area away from the entrance to the club and its excessive noise.
"No, I-I snuck out. We had an argument and I just started walking."
"You walked all the way from your apartment? Oh, Richie, honey, let me give you a ride home. It's just not safe for you to be out this late," Camryn said, giving him a quick hug, then reached inside her purse for her keys.
"Well, okay, Camryn, if it's not too much trouble."
"No, not at all. I'm just glad I ran into you," she said, stepping ahead of him to unlock her car.
Smiling deviously, Richie murmured as he fingered the taser in his pocket before he followed her to her car, "So am I."
oOoOoOoOo
Peter was running late for work, not something completely out of the norm for the busy detective. Instead of hitting the snooze, he had accidentally switched off his alarm when it rang in the darkened bedroom. So, when he finally did awaken, he was already ten minutes late for work.
His body was still moving faster than his mind as he ran from the shower, roughly toweling himself dry. He reached into his closet for clothes to wear, using the light from the bathroom to guide him since every moment counted and stopping to turn on a light was a privilege he didn't have at the moment.
Suddenly, he felt the icy cold brush of death's passage shimmer across his consciousness, more so than he had felt after his encounter with Richard a few days before.
He stumbled backward, tripping over some discarded shoes and landed on the carpet hard. The early morning darkness cast the room into a shadowy funeral dirge – one silently progressing past his prone position. He shivered uncontrollably, knowing it had nothing to do with the fact he had no clothes on.
He caught a whiff of familiar perfume and shouted Camryn's name so quickly, it even surprised him. Scrabbling on hands and knees, he reached for the telephone and rapidly punched in Camryn's phone number.
"Damn!" he shouted after switching off his cordless telephone when there was no answer.
He got dressed in a blur of activity and ran out of his apartment, barely remembering to shut the door behind him. "This elevator is taking too damned long," he said as he ran his hands through still wet hair.
He pulled his car keys out just as the elevator door opened on the basement garage floor. He started running for his car, but stopped when his heart began pounding in his chest and his mouth went dry.
Somehow, he knew death was around him, encroaching upon his path. He reached outward with his Shaolin senses as he started again for his car. When he didn't sense any active danger, he thought he must have misinterpreted the signs until he reached the driver's side of his car.
Someone had propped Camryn's dead body next to his car, leaving her to be discovered by him. The very sight of her staggered him, knocking the breath from his lungs just as surely as if he'd been sucker-punched. He dropped to his knees, letting go of his keys and jacket in the process.
Camryn had been badly beaten before dying. Tears welled up as he took her lifeless form into his arms and rocked her there, muttering the word 'no' over and over like it was a mantra powerful enough to bring her back from the dead.
Finally, he reined in his grief and gently laid her body upon the cold, cement floor of the parking garage. He covered her with his jacket and stood. He knew he should call into the precinct, bring in the forensic teams, get started on finding the bastard who killed her, but he seemed paralyzed.
Wiping his tear-soaked face with the back of his hand, he saw his car keys lying on the ground next to Camryn's body. He picked them up and jiggled them in his hand for a moment.
Just a few minutes earlier, the only thought on his mind was getting to work before Strenlich chewed on his butt for being late again. And now – and now, he couldn't get a clear thought to process through his clogged mind.
The jingling keys in his hand suddenly irritated him and he clutched them in a tight fist before lashing outward with both hands, extending both arms straight from his sides and screamed Camryn's name in the deserted garage as loud and long as his lungs would allow, leaving her name to echo in the vast garage – just as it would echo forever in his guilty heart.
oOoOoOoOo
Chapter 4
