Next morning Warren decided to pay a visit to his housekeeper.
She was surprised when he said that he no longer needed her service. Oh, she was very good at what she does, Warren assured her, but he was going to leave this place soon, and he was planning on selling the property. She was sad, but immediately brightened to pay her double the salary she had received if she were to quit her job by tomorrow.
She agreed, and was gone by evening.
That night Warren collected the notes stuck upon the table and any other stray notes. He practically combed through the house looking for any sort of matter that could be used as evidence. When he was satisfied he threw all of them into the fire and watched them burn.
Everything was in his head. He needed nothing else. But there was another loose end to take care of. Warren fell asleep to the promise he'd take care of that particular matter.
The worker insisted that he had taken a break when the incident happened. "I was smoking out in the back. I didn't go back to work until ten minutes later. I didn't even know that there was an incident until someone told me."
The police had checked. This man was where he claimed he had been. But there was definitely someone on the counter taking orders from the two unfortunate teenagers. The manager was angry when he was asked to identify the man. "That man wasn't one of my employees! I never tolerate my employees wear shirt during working! They must wear the full uniform!"
Cameras in the counter only showed the back of the man. The camera in the front door didn't much, either. Images captured from the camera were blurry at its best and dark as a witch's ass at its worst, to quote the inspector in charge of the case.
Marilyn went back to the office, feeling definitely worn out. There had been four murders in a matter of days. Though nobody would notice at first, she knew what linked these murders. The Case of Heather Warwick.
She knew all the details of the case. At first it had seemed a suicide case, but when the autopsy report came out and proven that the girl had been a rape victim, the case became more complicated. A few train station workers came forward and gave descriptions of a girl being dragged, not to her accord, toward an unused storeroom, by five teenagers. Identification was prompt, and before she could say Pulitzer Prize the case was closed with the verdict that these young men were to be sent to rehabilitation centres instead of jail sentence.
Marilyn recalled the way her own heart dropped when the verdict was read out. But she was a reporter, and her presence there meant nothing than as a reporter. Now that she recalled that day, she remembered no one came forward crying or shouting angrily at the judge, jury or the accused. Nobody was angry. (Maybe she was, but she was a professional reporter now, and had to act accordingly.)
The swallow had fallen, and no one looked.
"Good evening, Ms Haäs."
She quickly turned. A man stood three feet away from her. She had a shimmer of recognition when his hair hit the streetlamp. That blonde shade! He was -
"I believe this is yours," he said, taking out a notebook she knew all too well. Quickly she grabbed it from him and hid it in between the folds of her coat.
"You're behind these murders, aren't you?" she said after a tense silence. "You did these horrible murders."
He walked a bit to the front and she backed away from him. But now his features were clear to her and hers was hidden in the shadows. "We've only met," he said, smiling without a trace of anger. "How rude of you."
"Why else would you steal my notebook, you damned murderer!" she hissed. "Are you satisfied now that four young men are dead? Not to mention horribly?"
"Ah, Ms Haäs, don't try to trick yourself." He looked at her like she was his daughter and had just said a taboo word. "You know very well these men deserve it. I saw your face when they read out the sentence. I knew you were disappointed."
"It's in their hands; I can do nothing," she said. He had been watching her, Marilyn thought with a growing fear.
He laughed. A cold laughter that was hollow and void of feelings. "I don't want to waste time, Ms Haäs. I have things to do." He turned and waved goodbye at her. "Thanks for the notebook."
When she finally decided to follow him into an alley he had entered she found he wasn't there.
Gideon thought he could somehow bribe those men, but they were made of steel and heartless. He couldn't even talk to them. It was so uncomfortable; the men checked the food before he could eat them, stared at him even when he was using the bathroom, and even worse, when he showered.
It was high morning, and the sun was shining outside. He thought of the sports he could have done instead of sitting and staring at three expressionless faces. If they were female faces that could have been some sort of consolation. But they were men.
Gideon went back to sleep.
Suddenly the window above his bed shattered. The men became immediately alert. Then there was a hissing sound. They all searched for it and found a smoke bomb at the far corner of the room.
"Who did this?" said the tall man.
"I don't know."
"Throw it out. Then make a check around the perimeter."
The window suddenly darkened. They all looked toward it and saw something was hovering there. They hadn't much time to learn what it was.
"Ouch!"
"What the hell -!"
"It's tranquil-"
The three men fell down, unconscious. Gideon didn't want to wait any longer to find out. He leapt from the bed, his heart pumping wildly under his shirt as he opened the door.
But it wouldn't.
Panic slowly clouded his mind. But he could still think. Yes, the guards! They had it. They kept the keys! Quickly he dove toward the unconscious bodies and searched them.
"Looking for these?"
The voice and the sound of delicate metal clinks made him look toward the window. Standing there - no, wait, he wasn't standing, Gideon thought with increasing alarm in his mind. He was flying!
"Sorry," he said, casually tossing it out of the broken window. Gideon screamed and tried to reach him, but Warren merely flew higher upward.
"Hello, Gideon." Warren savoured the astonished look on his face and nodded. "Yes, I am the one who killed your friends. Usually I don't talk like this to them but for you, I make an exception." He opened the slender gun chamber and loaded two yellow-tailed darts. Gideon glanced briefly at the unconscious bodies; they had green-tailed ones.
"Oh yes," Warren went on, noticing his glance. "This has been specially prepared for you." He swooped close to Gideon and knocked him down so that he was lying on his back. Before Gideon could rise he placed a firm shod feet on his face and his chest. Sounds of protests came from his almost crushed lips.
"You see, Gideon," Warren went on, twirling with the small slender dart gun in his hands. "One day I met this girl. She was beautiful in her own way, charming, and she could have made a very good pair for me."
"What do you want?" Gideon managed from between his mashed lips. That made Warren push his feet harder against it and Gideon moaned in pain.
"She left me and I thought she would be safe. Then you and your friends came along and raped her." He leant closer to Gideon's squashed face. "Did you know something?"
"That she was a virgin?"
Warren bit his lips. Gripping the tip of the gun tight he twirled it upward and then after gathering enough momentum and speed to probably knock down a horse his hand moved down the butt in an arc toward Gideon's face. A dull crack was heard. Gideon groaned loudly and started to struggle. Warren kept a foot on his chest and replaced his other foot on his mouth.
"That's for talking back," Warren said, satisfied. Blood was flowing from Gideon's forehead. "She had nobody, Gideon. Nobody. Her parents fought until her mother nearly died; now still in coma. Her father is in jail and hated her. She never knew the truth until she saw his father took this broken bottle and stabbed her mother at the heart. She never knew her parents hated each other so much."
"You're making me cry," Gideon said through his squashed lips. Warren took off his foot from both Gideon's chest and lips, but before he could move, probably even swifter, Warren was in between his legs and kicked his balls as hard as he could. Twice. Gideon could only shout as loud as his lungs could hold. The pain was indescribable.
"Then you," Warren pointed a foot at Gideon who was rolling and moaning on the floor in pain "you came there and just raped her. Did you ever think that she was everything she had left in this world? Her pride? Her life?" Warren kicked him anywhere his feet pleased as Gideon tried to crawl away from him. "Did you?!!"
The last question was shouted at Gideon's ear; he saw stars and his ears rang endlessly. When everything had cleared he found Warren was standing again over him.
"Well, now, boy, it's time." The bedroom door was being forced from outside; it seemed that the whole household was outside trying to get in. "Do you want to know what this is?" When Gideon didn't answer Warren went on. "I don't know it myself." He chuckled. "But what I do know is the instant this thing entered your bloodstream you'll become a vegetable."
Gideon's eyes widened at this.
"Oh yes," Warren said, taking off the safety. "I heard your father currently contracted a cancer of the prostate and he could probably never have children again. He should have thought before jumping into the bed last time."
*No!* he thought angrily. *I am the sole heir to Midton Company!* Gideon rushed up. "You dirty mutant!"
Warren kicked him back down firmly. "Shut up." Checking the gun twice he pointed it at him. "Oh, before I say goodbye, let me tell you; you'll be a vegetable and your whole body will become like a three-year-old. But your mind will stay the same." He pointed at Gideon for accuracy, then pulled the trigger. Twice.
Two yellow-tailed darts found its mark on Gideon's chest and arm respectively. Gideon felt his strength and his consciousness drain away at a frightening speed. No, he thought. No... no!
When they managed to break into later Gideon could only stare at his father with a faraway look in his eyes while his hands clumsily trying to hug his father's neck. "Papa!" was the only thing he knew.
She was surprised when he said that he no longer needed her service. Oh, she was very good at what she does, Warren assured her, but he was going to leave this place soon, and he was planning on selling the property. She was sad, but immediately brightened to pay her double the salary she had received if she were to quit her job by tomorrow.
She agreed, and was gone by evening.
That night Warren collected the notes stuck upon the table and any other stray notes. He practically combed through the house looking for any sort of matter that could be used as evidence. When he was satisfied he threw all of them into the fire and watched them burn.
Everything was in his head. He needed nothing else. But there was another loose end to take care of. Warren fell asleep to the promise he'd take care of that particular matter.
The worker insisted that he had taken a break when the incident happened. "I was smoking out in the back. I didn't go back to work until ten minutes later. I didn't even know that there was an incident until someone told me."
The police had checked. This man was where he claimed he had been. But there was definitely someone on the counter taking orders from the two unfortunate teenagers. The manager was angry when he was asked to identify the man. "That man wasn't one of my employees! I never tolerate my employees wear shirt during working! They must wear the full uniform!"
Cameras in the counter only showed the back of the man. The camera in the front door didn't much, either. Images captured from the camera were blurry at its best and dark as a witch's ass at its worst, to quote the inspector in charge of the case.
Marilyn went back to the office, feeling definitely worn out. There had been four murders in a matter of days. Though nobody would notice at first, she knew what linked these murders. The Case of Heather Warwick.
She knew all the details of the case. At first it had seemed a suicide case, but when the autopsy report came out and proven that the girl had been a rape victim, the case became more complicated. A few train station workers came forward and gave descriptions of a girl being dragged, not to her accord, toward an unused storeroom, by five teenagers. Identification was prompt, and before she could say Pulitzer Prize the case was closed with the verdict that these young men were to be sent to rehabilitation centres instead of jail sentence.
Marilyn recalled the way her own heart dropped when the verdict was read out. But she was a reporter, and her presence there meant nothing than as a reporter. Now that she recalled that day, she remembered no one came forward crying or shouting angrily at the judge, jury or the accused. Nobody was angry. (Maybe she was, but she was a professional reporter now, and had to act accordingly.)
The swallow had fallen, and no one looked.
"Good evening, Ms Haäs."
She quickly turned. A man stood three feet away from her. She had a shimmer of recognition when his hair hit the streetlamp. That blonde shade! He was -
"I believe this is yours," he said, taking out a notebook she knew all too well. Quickly she grabbed it from him and hid it in between the folds of her coat.
"You're behind these murders, aren't you?" she said after a tense silence. "You did these horrible murders."
He walked a bit to the front and she backed away from him. But now his features were clear to her and hers was hidden in the shadows. "We've only met," he said, smiling without a trace of anger. "How rude of you."
"Why else would you steal my notebook, you damned murderer!" she hissed. "Are you satisfied now that four young men are dead? Not to mention horribly?"
"Ah, Ms Haäs, don't try to trick yourself." He looked at her like she was his daughter and had just said a taboo word. "You know very well these men deserve it. I saw your face when they read out the sentence. I knew you were disappointed."
"It's in their hands; I can do nothing," she said. He had been watching her, Marilyn thought with a growing fear.
He laughed. A cold laughter that was hollow and void of feelings. "I don't want to waste time, Ms Haäs. I have things to do." He turned and waved goodbye at her. "Thanks for the notebook."
When she finally decided to follow him into an alley he had entered she found he wasn't there.
Gideon thought he could somehow bribe those men, but they were made of steel and heartless. He couldn't even talk to them. It was so uncomfortable; the men checked the food before he could eat them, stared at him even when he was using the bathroom, and even worse, when he showered.
It was high morning, and the sun was shining outside. He thought of the sports he could have done instead of sitting and staring at three expressionless faces. If they were female faces that could have been some sort of consolation. But they were men.
Gideon went back to sleep.
Suddenly the window above his bed shattered. The men became immediately alert. Then there was a hissing sound. They all searched for it and found a smoke bomb at the far corner of the room.
"Who did this?" said the tall man.
"I don't know."
"Throw it out. Then make a check around the perimeter."
The window suddenly darkened. They all looked toward it and saw something was hovering there. They hadn't much time to learn what it was.
"Ouch!"
"What the hell -!"
"It's tranquil-"
The three men fell down, unconscious. Gideon didn't want to wait any longer to find out. He leapt from the bed, his heart pumping wildly under his shirt as he opened the door.
But it wouldn't.
Panic slowly clouded his mind. But he could still think. Yes, the guards! They had it. They kept the keys! Quickly he dove toward the unconscious bodies and searched them.
"Looking for these?"
The voice and the sound of delicate metal clinks made him look toward the window. Standing there - no, wait, he wasn't standing, Gideon thought with increasing alarm in his mind. He was flying!
"Sorry," he said, casually tossing it out of the broken window. Gideon screamed and tried to reach him, but Warren merely flew higher upward.
"Hello, Gideon." Warren savoured the astonished look on his face and nodded. "Yes, I am the one who killed your friends. Usually I don't talk like this to them but for you, I make an exception." He opened the slender gun chamber and loaded two yellow-tailed darts. Gideon glanced briefly at the unconscious bodies; they had green-tailed ones.
"Oh yes," Warren went on, noticing his glance. "This has been specially prepared for you." He swooped close to Gideon and knocked him down so that he was lying on his back. Before Gideon could rise he placed a firm shod feet on his face and his chest. Sounds of protests came from his almost crushed lips.
"You see, Gideon," Warren went on, twirling with the small slender dart gun in his hands. "One day I met this girl. She was beautiful in her own way, charming, and she could have made a very good pair for me."
"What do you want?" Gideon managed from between his mashed lips. That made Warren push his feet harder against it and Gideon moaned in pain.
"She left me and I thought she would be safe. Then you and your friends came along and raped her." He leant closer to Gideon's squashed face. "Did you know something?"
"That she was a virgin?"
Warren bit his lips. Gripping the tip of the gun tight he twirled it upward and then after gathering enough momentum and speed to probably knock down a horse his hand moved down the butt in an arc toward Gideon's face. A dull crack was heard. Gideon groaned loudly and started to struggle. Warren kept a foot on his chest and replaced his other foot on his mouth.
"That's for talking back," Warren said, satisfied. Blood was flowing from Gideon's forehead. "She had nobody, Gideon. Nobody. Her parents fought until her mother nearly died; now still in coma. Her father is in jail and hated her. She never knew the truth until she saw his father took this broken bottle and stabbed her mother at the heart. She never knew her parents hated each other so much."
"You're making me cry," Gideon said through his squashed lips. Warren took off his foot from both Gideon's chest and lips, but before he could move, probably even swifter, Warren was in between his legs and kicked his balls as hard as he could. Twice. Gideon could only shout as loud as his lungs could hold. The pain was indescribable.
"Then you," Warren pointed a foot at Gideon who was rolling and moaning on the floor in pain "you came there and just raped her. Did you ever think that she was everything she had left in this world? Her pride? Her life?" Warren kicked him anywhere his feet pleased as Gideon tried to crawl away from him. "Did you?!!"
The last question was shouted at Gideon's ear; he saw stars and his ears rang endlessly. When everything had cleared he found Warren was standing again over him.
"Well, now, boy, it's time." The bedroom door was being forced from outside; it seemed that the whole household was outside trying to get in. "Do you want to know what this is?" When Gideon didn't answer Warren went on. "I don't know it myself." He chuckled. "But what I do know is the instant this thing entered your bloodstream you'll become a vegetable."
Gideon's eyes widened at this.
"Oh yes," Warren said, taking off the safety. "I heard your father currently contracted a cancer of the prostate and he could probably never have children again. He should have thought before jumping into the bed last time."
*No!* he thought angrily. *I am the sole heir to Midton Company!* Gideon rushed up. "You dirty mutant!"
Warren kicked him back down firmly. "Shut up." Checking the gun twice he pointed it at him. "Oh, before I say goodbye, let me tell you; you'll be a vegetable and your whole body will become like a three-year-old. But your mind will stay the same." He pointed at Gideon for accuracy, then pulled the trigger. Twice.
Two yellow-tailed darts found its mark on Gideon's chest and arm respectively. Gideon felt his strength and his consciousness drain away at a frightening speed. No, he thought. No... no!
When they managed to break into later Gideon could only stare at his father with a faraway look in his eyes while his hands clumsily trying to hug his father's neck. "Papa!" was the only thing he knew.