The Extremely Crappy Days at Ashfield High

Chappy Thirty One: Goodbye for Now

South Ashfield Heights, an apartment complex in the city of Ashfield has had its share of strange occurrences. Since the disappearance of the investigative journalist, Joseph Schreiber, the second-to-last-tenant of Room 302 of the same building, things have never been quite right there. Two years afterward, Richard Braintree, the tenant of Room 207, was found dead in his room, sitting in the chair that looks towards the other side of the building. The numbers '19121' were carved into his forehead, and just a few hours later Eileen Galvin, resident of Room 303 was brutally attacked. She survived, due to the superintendent finding her in a pool of her own blood after hearing a scream and calling for an ambulance.

Many of the residents were incredibly frightened. Galvin had the numbers '20121' carved into her back, and they believed the 'Walter Sullivan copycat' had somehow broken into the apartments. After three other murders earlier that day, in which each victim had similar numbers on their corpses, police had been scrambling around the city and various other locations nearby. They were amazed at how quickly the murders occurred. Whoever was responsible was moving at a dazzling speed, and no evidence could be found at the scene of each crime. Not even a single fingerprint.

Because of the similarity between the recent numbers and those from the last two rounds of the Sullivan case, police believed the same perpetrator, or another copycat was at work. It was impossible for Sullivan himself to have been committing the murders, since he had killed himself in his own jail cell by plunging his soup spoon into his throat.

So, considering that there were no leads in the case, the tenants of South Ashfield Heights were extremely fearful, and most were up the entire night. Frank Sunderland, the superintendent, expressed concern for Henry Townsend, the resident of Room 302, since he had not left his room in the past week or so. None could be sure of his condition, but Sunderland was dreadfully sure something similar to what happened with Joseph Schreiber was happening. Schreiber had not been for seen for about two weeks before his disappearance, and peculiar noises came from inside Room 302…

However, the next morning Townsend was found lying on the sidewalk outside South Ashfield Heights, weary and starved. His shirt was stained with crimson, and his eyes were dark. He was rushed to St. Jerome's hospital when seen by passerby.

Townsend was questioned by police, but they could only get a small piece of information from him: the numbers '20121' were actually '20/21'. There was virtually no evidence to pin Townsend as a suspect, but the twenty- first victim was never found, even after sixteen years. It's impossible to say if there even is a twenty- first victim, and whether or not that person was murdered or still alive.

A year after that, though, Frank Sunderland was struck by a near fatal heart attack after checking Room 302, which was currently empty, Townsend having moved out a few months before. Sunderland said something of "darkness in the room", and that "a powerful force sent him out".

These things were reminiscent of several very strange events in the tourist town of Silent Hill, which is about half-a-day's-drive from Ashfield. The town was rumored to have been controlled by an ominous religious organization. Little to no proof of this has ever appeared, however.
---

Cheryl couldn't think of anything to say as Christian smiled at her. "Ah, Mother, I hope you have been doing well. Things have been quite hectic lately, I know, but soon all will be clear. I am here to enlighten you."

"…On what?" asked Noah plainly, his voice strained. He should have been dead by now, but something was keeping him alive, prolonging the inevitable.

The blond boy looked to him. "On just a few things, Noah. The ritual is nearly complete, so, before he dies, I felt I should answer any questions, while there is still time. I'm sure you have things you wish to ask, and besides, when God rises from the depths of eternity, it will have no time to answer meaningless inquiries."

Noah snickered. "God? Don't start with that again. I'm tired of hearing the same thing about 'Paradise' or 'God'. I don't know who you are, and personally I don't care, but I will not believe whatever it is you call God exists."

Christian giggled with amusement, cocking his head to the left while staring at the brunet. "Such firm defiance, but it matters not. You are no longer needed, whether you believe or not." He crossed his arms and sat on the ground across from him. "To be honest, though, you were the only intriguing one out of them all. I remember Gillespie, and Stone. Called themselves believers… It is humorous, looking back on how pathetically they acted. They were not worthy, but you, Noah Franklin, had the capability to become worthy. Yet you abandoned this. You are admirable, but what have you accomplished?"

Noah gritted his teeth. "I accomplished what I needed to be at peace!"

"But you are not at peace, are you? Having second thoughts, correct? Let me fill you in on something, my friend… When someone, such as yourself, decides to embark on the bold path you took, they must be sure they will leave nothing behind, but you are leaving something behind, aren't you? Something you just realized is dreadfully important…"

The nineteen year-old got shakily to his feet. He shook his head furiously. "Shut, shut up! You have no idea about how I feel, and much less what I think is important!"

Christian only smiled. "It is too late for you now, though. You're going to die, and there is nothing left for you to do," he said, with something of a sneer.

"You're going to mock me now…? What… What gives you that right! You're no better than I am!" Noah cried with rage. "…Why…? Why, damn you! Tell me! What was it all for? Tell me…"

He crumpled to his knees, shaking uncontrollably. He sobbed and yelled out, tears streaming down his cheeks.

'He's breaking down,' thought Cheryl without much sympathy. As if he could read her thoughts, Christian glanced at her.

"Pitiful, don't you think? Humans are so inferior. They need someone to hold their hand the entire way, and if someone doesn't… well, this is what happens."

The woman was about to respond, but Noah suddenly rushed at her, tearing the pistol from her and aiming it straight at Christian. "You blasted thing… You can't just tell me I'm nothing…! I chose this for myself, I swear I did. I'm not a puppet of yours, and you don't have the right to tell me I'm insignificant!"

"Oh, put the gun down, Noah," said Christian as he stood. "You won't pull that trigger. You can't. And even if you did, you wouldn't kill me. I'd still be here, but the boy would be dead, much like he will be soon."

Cheryl approached him slowly. "You mean he's going to die…?"

Christian nodded. "He will… lest the Conjurer spill blood."

"Conjurer?"

"Yes. As it goes in the Last paragraph of the Crimson Book…

'When all gather on the sacred spot, the Crazed One will surrender his life,

The Mother shall seek her Son,

The Carrier will pass his will onto The Maiden,

The Controller will attempt to halt thee,

The Conjurer will face himself,

And the Receiver shall weep,

For when the time of the Awakening is reached,

God will awaken from the ashes of the war between the Conjurer and the Receiver,

In the form of the Maiden,

And the blood spilt from the Conjurer and Carrier will ignite the flaming road to Paradise…'

"Lovely, isn't it," stated Christian as Noah cocked the gun.

"I hardly think so… Jeremy recited those godforsaken lines so many times to us I memorized them perfectly… and I never liked them…"

"Yes," replied Christian, "but Jeremy Blackheart knew not of who was the Conjurer or the Receiver… He knew only of the Carrier, the Son, and the Mother."

Noah shrugged. "Like I care, Jeremy is dead! It means nothing, that paragraph means nothing!"

"Oh, you are wrong," responded Christian with a grin. "The Crazed One has already given up his life, the Mother has already sought out her Son, the Carrier, however, failed to pass on his will to the Maiden, and the Controller has tried to stop the others. All that is left now is for the Conjurer to face himself."

"Whatever!" spat Noah as he fired the gun, only for it to turn out empty of bullets. Christian chuckled. "Even the pistol mocks you now, Noah. What are you to do now?"

The young man threw the gun to the ground. "Damn you… Damn you, damn you, DAMN YOU!" he screamed before collapsing on his knees, blood flowing freely from his previous wound. "You won't… mock me anymore… You won't tell me… I'm inferior… You… You…"

Then he fell completely, dead, a pool of blood gradually growing out from underneath his body.

The blond teenager shook his head disappointedly. "So much potential wasted… He had it within him to be…"

He stopped. Turning back to Cheryl, he grinned. "Oh well, seems my time is up." His eyes closed and he stumbled backwards, unconscious. Cheryl caught him as two shapes became visible in the fog.

"Ms. Mason! Ms. Mason!" exclaimed Nicole as she ran up to them, but ceased running immediately upon seeing Noah. "Oh my God…!" she said while backing away. She turned away to James, and he squinted.

"How, how did he die?"

"…He wasn't given a chance, that's all… He died with something left behind…" she muttered in response.

Nicole looked at her uncle, and then back at Christian. Cheryl sighed. "We better get on our way. We have to get him to a hospital," she said, nodding towards Christian.

"No!" replied Nicole suddenly. "We can't, I mean, Josh and Myron are here somewhere too. We can't just leave them here."
---

"What are y-y-you d-doing here, here, Mr. W-Wells?" asked Myron curiously, taking a few steps forward.

"It's not Mr. Wells, Myron," stated Joshua with grim seriousness. Walter smirked and slowly walked towards them.

"You certainly have been a nuisance to catch, Joshua, but soon this will all be over. I can finally be with Mother, be free from all this."

"I still don't get it," said Joshua. "Just why are you doing this? Why are you trying to kill me?"

"Why?" Walter chuckled. "It is because you are the key, Joshua, the final piece in this grand puzzle. My entire life has been devoted to this, but now it is really the only thing left I can do. I am nothing more than a shadow now. Existing as I do, it is horrible, and I cannot go on like this."

Joshua looked to the street while Myron scratched his head. "Y-You c-c-can't k-kill him… T-That's, I mean, that's…"

"Wrong?" Walter finished. "Unfortunately, you are in no position to tell me what is wrong and what is right, Myron." He glanced toward him, and then saw the golden cross.

He was silent and expressionless, but his eyes did not leave the cross. "How did you come across that?" he demanded quickly, causing Myron to back off.

"J-Joshua f-f-f-found it after that g-girl left it behind, behind."

"…A girl…?" Walter thought for a moment, smiling. "Oh yes, I remember now. How foolish of me. Yes, that young woman acquired the cross from that old man, and they escaped from the fire…"

He looked back at the cross with a stern expression. "Now, then, give it here."

"W-W-What?"

"I said-,"

"No, don't give it to him!" exclaimed Joshua as he reached and took the cross from Myron. His face instantly scrunched up in discomfort however, as slim threads of steam rose from his palm.

He winced and ground his teeth. "It's burning again!"

Walter snorted, his own hand starting to simmer. "Let it, let it go," he commanded, but Joshua did no such thing. "I can't! Ahh…! It's stuck… to my hand!"

Blood ran down the cross, dripping to the asphalt as the heat increased. Joshua grasped his wrist with his free hand, sweat running down from his brow. Walter clenched his fist painfully, steam rising from it.

The brunet teenager cried out in agony as the cross itself started to melt into a thick liquid. As it did this however, they all noticed there was something not melting within his hand. The outer shell of the cross was melting to reveal a short, spear-like object. The burning stopped as the last of the blood and liquefied gold seeped through Joshua's hand. He was out of breath, and studying the intricate designs on the small spear.

"What…? What is this…?"

Then it happened. He could see images in his head, but they were distorted, blurred with film grains. He saw a young boy knocking on a door, yelling for his mother. He saw a bald man, sitting at a desk near a red typewriter, writing on his hands and mumbling incomprehensible things. And last, he saw his own father, sixteen years younger, about to step into the entrance of a poorly shaped tunnel going into the wall of a bathroom somewhere…

The Ninth Spear…

'What…?'

Strike the Conjurer with the final Spear…

'Con…jurer?'

Strike the true body of the Conjurer...

'I… think I understand…'

The Ninth Spear...

Joshua looked up, his eyes weary. He glanced at Myron and then to Walter.

"I know what I have to do now. I understand."

Walter stared at him, for the first time with fear in his eyes. "…No… You don't understand, Joshua…"

The teenager gulped and turned to Myron. "Could you make sure Christian turns out all right?"

The boy gave a slight nod as the brown- haired boy held out the spear. Grasping it with both hands, he thrust it into his abdomen. Myron gave a startled yelp and watched as Joshua's shirt became instantly stained with crimson. Blood flowed out, his eyes rolled back, and he struggled to stand, before stumbling back and falling.

Walter stared on in surprise as blood seeped from his mouth and a circle of red grew from beneath his shirt underneath his coat, soaking it. "So… this is how it truly ends…" he gasped while looking down to see a steady stream of silver flow from the bullet hole that Noah had given him. He had been careless, and he fell, snow clinging onto his coat.

"Josh!" came a scream from ahead, and Myron looked up to see a woman running towards them. He recognized her. It was Mrs. Townsend.

She collapsed on her knees before her son upon reaching him, tears stinging her eyes. "What, how…? J-Josh… No… No!" she screamed before embracing his limp body and cradling him, crying the entire time.

Myron was silent as Henry reached them, equally quiet. He glanced down at Walter's body and swallowed hard. His gaze landed on the spear now, and he looked away shamefully while Eileen could not stop sobbing.
---

The fog had lifted by the time Zeik crawled out from under a loose part of the rubble. His left arm felt like it was broken, and some of his coat had been burned off. But he was incredibly lucky to have survived. He groaned.

"Damn, do I feel like crap!" he announced to the air, looking around. No one was around, at least not anymore, but he heard a set of footsteps approaching.

They belonged to a young man, most likely in his early twenties. His black hair was combed with care, and his black jacket had not a single speck of dust on it. His black jeans were somewhat faded, and his boots seemed to have had their share of wear and tear.

He cleared his throat, his cerulean eyes focused on Zeik. "Anthony Williams, I presume?"

Zeik snorted. "I don't go by that name anymore… and just who are you? We need to know each other's name if we want to have a tea party."

The young man grinned. "Oh yes, pardon me, my name is Lucas. Lucas Schreiber."

He then turned away and crouched on one knee before letting out a short whistle. A puppy, the one Zeik had seen previously, ran from out of nowhere and into Lucas's arms. "Good boy," he said while patting him on the head. "You've done well, being my eyes and ears to see how Townsend and Richards have been progressing in their respective roles."

"Hey, Lucas, seems Noah and Blackheart bit the dust while they were here," said another, female voice. Both of them turned to see a woman, around the same age as Lucas come jogging up. Her shoulder- length dirty blonde hair had several streaks of bright orange going through it. The wine- colored jacket she wore was a tad oversized, and her jeans were a dark, dark blue.

"Really?" Lucas seemed genuinely surprised, but his tone changed quickly. "Found anything else, Linda?"

"That guy, Walter Sullivan, just as we thought. He's dead, so…"

"…so there's a chance Townsend might be dead too."

"Yeah," she responded, stretching. "So what's the plan now?"

"That's simple. I want you to find Melissa and the others. We have some things we need to discuss with them now that both Blackheart and Langer are dead. I, for now, will go to Ashfield and see how our good friends Townsend and Richards have been doing."

With that, he knelt down and let the puppy go. "You, boy, are to stay in the shadows until further notice, alright?"

It gave a yelp as a reply and ran off. He smiled and stood straight. "Perfect."

Linda glanced at Zeik. "What about him? We're going to leave him?"

"No, take him as far as two miles from Ashfield. He can walk from there," answered Lucas before striding off.

Linda smiled and winked at Zeik. "Let's get going, then."