CHAPTER 19: THE LAZARUS EFFECT, PART 4

The morning sun has not quite risen to its place in the sky just yet; it merely creeps off the edge of the Earth before it comes into view. The dark night of the sky slowly creeps and brightens its way towards morning twilight; the light mist and fog of morning dew coating the streets of Hillwood.

This is not the most typical time for a man to be in a hurry to work, but there is one individual who has his own reason to get where he is now. This individual is Dr. Peyton Harvey Scott, a therapist who takes his job very seriously and has a deep sense of empathy; common among his profession, but not nearly common enough.

For the last few months, he has been assigned with the near-impossible task of treating the patient known as Thaddeus 'Curly' Gammelthorpe, known better to the world as the supervillain known as 'The Freak'. He has struggled for all these long months just trying to pierce into his patient's mind, but even this has only gotten him so much information.

Recently, with one bit of information leading him on a chase down to the home of the patient himself, Dr. Scott has come into contact with a piece of information that has finally given him the missing piece that he needs to make his diagnosis. Excited to at last fulfill his duties and make his accomplishment, the good doctor continues on his way to the Hillwood Home for the Emotionally Troubled to make his diagnosis.

Of course, while he has his excitement over his own sense of achievement, the implications over what this diagnosis has revealed has made him hesitant to reveal it to the patient just yet.

First, there is the head of the home that he must share this discovery with first. Making his way into the hospital and heading to the administrator's office, Dr. Scott met right with the Administrator himself, holding his own notes and papers in hand and ready to share. The Administrator was not so ready for his job just yet, letting out a yawn over his morning coffee, but the information within would soon give him a more formal start.

"Sir?" Dr. Scott asked.

"Jesus, Scott, it's, what, 5 in the morning? What's the matter?" The Administrator asked.

"You assigned me to the Gammelthorpe case months ago. I was tasked with making a proper diagnosis. You said that nobody else could figure him out, and I was the only man who could do it."

"Yeah, I remember. So what?"

"I finally got it."

Concurrently, the subject matter of this conversation, the man known as the Freak, continued to sit in his body cast; unable to move at all. Being confined to a hospital bed for the rest of his days, he gets little sleep, little activity needing little rest, left to do nothing other than sit inside his own mind and think.

For many months, he has tried putting his thoughts towards making his body functional once again, longing for the day when he might walk once again and reign terror on the city of Hillwood as he once did before. He has learned to focus his mind and mental energy to an extremely fine point, and he has used that energy to try to move his body, but he has had little in the way of success in getting to his goal.

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, but, not having anything else to do with his time, he has no reason to stop trying.

"Wiggle your big toe." The Freak said.

His mind focuses on the one phalange, trying to move the appendage, but his efforts have not paid off.

"Wiggle your big toe." The Freak said.

He tries again, keeping up this rigid routine day in and day out, hoping that he could at last make mind triumph over matter.

"Wiggle your big toe." The Freak said.

He persists and persists towards this impossible goal, and, to some degree, he knows it will not work, but he continues nonetheless; this same routine continuing on over and over.

For now, however, this routine comes to a stop with the entrance of a guest. His guest today is the recurring visitor Dr. Scott; still continuing on his quest to find his particular mental illness, and to cure it at last. He knows for a fact that he will not have any such luck in either of those goals...

...but he does not know of what Dr. Scott now knows.

"Hello, Curly. How are we feeling today?" Dr. Scott asked.

"You should know. I can't feel anything at all. It's a little early for our little talks, don't you think?" The Freak asked.

"Well, this time, Curly, I've got something particularly important that I want to show you."

As the morning sun arrives in Hillwood, the day comes to an official beginning for its occupants. Waking from a long night of sleep, much of it needed from their busy days preceding before, and some of it merely wanted for leisure or relaxation, the citizens of Hillwood all come to their feet to start a new day in one way or another; some early birds to the worm, others night owls to pick their prey later.

The city is a melting pot, and it begins to broil ever so warmer with tensions growing higher among one another, all because of a new factor in their equation of life:

The escape of 'Little' Nicky Russotti.

Many fear what will come from his return; most concerned with their lives and the lives of those they love, and others with the sense of peace in the city. This man's history of ruling organized crime with an iron fist is well-known throughout the city, and are all well aware of what he is capable of. The citizens of Hillwood disagree on many things, but they cannot disagree with this fact:

There is a new threat to their city.

Those that seek to combat that threat are a group of masked crimefighters known as the Hillwood Heroes; a group led by the world-famous hero known as the Green Eye. The Heroes seek his guidance for answers on how to handle some morally questionable problems, but, last night, another has made that answer for him, by Valiance, the arguably least level-headed of the group.

He is not in disagreement with his teammate's judgement, but the fact that someone such as him could have made that decision still baffles him. With the morning sun coming to rise in Hillwood once again, the Green Eye, now simply in the ego of Arnold Shortman, questions his motivations further.

Inside the base of the Hillwood Heroes, Arnold finds Buckley Lloyd still at his mainframe, continuing to stay dressed as Valiance.

"You really ought to get some sleep, you know." Arnold said.

"I could say the same thing about you." Valiance said.

"I don't have to sleep anymore. You still do."

"Speak for yourself. Did you want something?"

"Last night, we all could've taken 'Little' Nicky, but you told us not to."

"Do you disagree with that?"

"No, but... I just wouldn't expect you to do that."

"If you're asking me why I did it, you can-"

"I already know. When you saw that man break down in front of his son's grave, you felt the same way you felt when Rhonda died."

Valiance went silent for a moment, not fully comfortable with the fact shared with him. The question of how Arnold knew came to his lips, but quickly retreated when remembering of his empathic powers.

"So, what's the meaning of this conversation?" Valiance asked.

"I just wanted to say I was impressed. I remember the last time you had a moment like that, back when you and I were first starting out. Do you remember what I'm talking about?" Arnold asked.

"When you stopped me from killing Wolfgang. I remember. I still should've shot that goddamn Nazi punk in the head."

"But you didn't. You brought yourself to stop. That's called empathy."

"Is there a point you're trying to make?"

"I'm saying that it's been a long time since I've seen that sort of move out of you. It means you're starting to come a long ways. I know you'll never be able to get over losing Rhonda, but, the way you're going, you'll lose a lot of your pain before you know it."

A sliver of nervousness began to come over Valiance's body, realizing that Arnold had still no idea of his other project to bring Rhonda back from the dead. Though the fact should have brought him more comfort than anxiety, the fact that the thought even crossed his mind put him at greater risk of him finding out this secret.

Killing the thought as best as he could, Valiance moved the conversation away from the subject.

"Don't you have something else to do today?" Valiance asked.

"Actually, yeah. I'd been thinking about visiting an old friend, but I haven't quite had the courage to do so yet. That event last night gave me the drive to finally do it. Thanks." Arnold said.

Ending his conversation with the white knight, Arnold began leaving the Hillwood Heroes' base, heading off to make his way elsewhere to pay his visit.

"You know, I'm surprised you've been taking this whole affair lightly. Someone like 'Little' Nicky on the streets, I'd think you'd put more focus on him; keep your fiancee safe." Valiance commented.

"Helga's out of town, and some good timing on her part, at that. She'll be gone for about a week. We should have everything taken care of before she gets back." Arnold said.

Seattle is often heralded as one of the art capitals of America; being home to movements like the birth of grunge, a center for performing arts and theatre, and a past with a jazz scene. Remaining the most populated city in Washington and its largest city, it remains to be a ground for the most art-minded individuals to find a home suited to their lives.

Coming to this town for a visit is Helga Pataki, a woman hailing from Hillwood; a city resting many miles from here. Her primary drive for this visit is for an annual week-long poetry slam, and she has been looking forward to this opportunity for months for the chance to show her own art with others.

In between the first day of this convention, however, there is one additional reason for such a far visit. Making a stop at a local women's health clinic, Helga fulfills an appointment set up before her departure, taking care of a test that she wanted done in secret from her fiancee and his parents:

A pregnancy test.

Sitting in the waiting room of the clinic, Helga awaits patiently for her test results to come back, passing the time with a few reworks to her poems. Reading through her notes and drafts in her sketchbook, she reads over each poem's rhyme schemes and words, hoping she gets each facet right for the convention.

"A life to grow inside of me,

A life I will hold sacred,

A beautiful babe to hold in my hands,

A child pure and untainted,

To know I have created a life,

To be a mother and a guardian,

To at last no longer feel hollow and empty,

To both give birth and feel born again..." Helga read.

She feels good about what she has written so far, but is not sure how to continue. The search for the next words march around in her head, but she cannot seem to find what to write next. Soon, however, her search for the next words will come to a short pause, as something more important comes to her attention.

A nurse made her approach to Helga, bringing with her a sheet of paper, the paper itself reading her test results.

"Ms. Pataki?" The nurse asked.

"Yeah, that's me." Helga said.

"I have your test results here, Ma'am."

The nurse handed over the test results, which Helga took into her hands. For a brief moment, Helga found her eyes closing before reading the paper; her own anxiety getting the better of her from what could be on the paper. Eventually, Helga took a deep breath and gave a small smile with a chuckle, readying herself to see the results for herself.

Opening her eyes, Helga read the test results.

As dense and as full as the city of Hillwood might be, it is not too hard to navigate through, as long as you know what you're looking for and how to get to it. Arnold Shortman has lived in this city for a good number of years of his life, and, though he might have been absent from it for a period of 5 years, there are some things that he does not forget so easily.

Navigating his way through this city is one of them. Years ago, just while on his path towards adulthood, he was swinging on vines and climbing trees like a feral child; navigating the harsh and dangerous jungles of San Lorenzo for himself. This city is built of concrete and metal rather than wood and leaves, but it is a jungle nonetheless, and he can navigate it just as well.

Of course, having a subway system does help in his those goals.

Following his subway trip towards the Hillwood Home for the Emotionally Troubled, Arnold makes his way towards the front door of the building, ready to pay a visit to one particular individual inside... or, as ready as he can be to face this particular man; this man who has caused much trouble in his life in just a short amount of time:

Thaddeus 'Curly' Gammelthorpe, better known to the world as 'The Freak'.

By the hands of this 'man', the entire world as he had known it had been turned upside-down; a worldview already seriously thrown out of alignment from his own experiences in San Lorenzo. In just a few days' time, he had managed to bring the city of Hillwood to its knees with nothing but a handgun and the control over a few mafia soldiers.

His reign of terror was quickly stopped by sending him falling on his back, paralyzing him for life, but the result has never sat quite so well with Arnold. So, today, the football head has made his plans to try to make some manner of peace with this beast in human flesh.

Whether he seeks peace with himself or with the Freak is a question not easily answered, but perhaps left better solved not at all.

With all his formal procedures followed through; checking himself in as a visitor, keeping all sharp objects out of reach of the patient, and ensuring that there was no harm that would come to either of the two, Arnold was finally cleared for his conjugal visit. Stepping to the hospital room holding the beast himself, he was soon addressed with his most common greeting, the casual welcoming of...

"Hey Arnold." The Freak said.

Taking a good look at the suspended the Freak, Arnold found it hard to keep his very lunch down in its place in his stomach; the sight of a man completely immobile and covered head to toe in a body cast difficult to process for someone like him, especially knowing that he put him there. A quivering breath left his nose with his own haunted feelings just barely leaving with it, and he made his approach to this character at last.

"Curly. You're... looking better." Arnold said.

"You can skip the jokes. I get my fill of them with my doctor. What finally brings you back to my neck of the woods?" The Freak asked.

The right way to answer the Freak's question was slow to come to his lips, but, with a few sharp wits, Arnold brought himself to answer the question.

"I've been... thinking a lot about how you've changed things. How things are different in the city now because of what you did." Arnold said.

"Oh, you know I can't take all the credit there. Who started this whole Hillwood Effect thing, dressing up in a green suit, beating up crack dealers and pedophiles? How many little copycats have you inspired out there like that Ace Savvy kid? But, in all fairness, neither of us would be where we are without each other. We're a duo, you and I. Siegfried and Roy. Hall and Oates. Penn and Teller. Cheech and Chong. Well, those Rocket Power kids fit the bill for the last one, but you get my drift." The Freak said.

"You still treat this like it's a game, don't you, Curly?"

"Of course I do. It is a game. What is a game more than just two sides trying to win against each other? You already won, but I've still got the bigger fanbase. I heard you stopped a whole group of my followers by just treating them to a football game."

"Some people can be helped by just some compassion and patience. I tried to offer you that, and I still hold that offer, but you won't take it."

"Of course not. Besides, then I'd lose all fan mail. I get at least 5 marriage proposals a day from lonely women and teenage girls, telling me about how they're so lost and I gave them the guidance they needed. How pathetic is that?"

"From what I heard, you weren't too far off from that before I came back. Does a set of pearls mean anything to you?"

The Freak had no reply for the football head; his mouth remaining silent and his eyes looking a thousand miles away.

"No answer? Did you forget already? Or have you convinced yourself that Rhonda doesn't mean anything to you anymore?" Arnold asked.

"How well do you think you know your past, Arnold?" The Freak asked.

"What?"

"How well do you think you know your past?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Have you ever felt like all your childhood memories are just as malleable as fiction? That you can just... make it all up? That you can rewrite it yourself to bring yourself to do anything? Maybe you didn't have all that great a relationship with your parents, but you convinced yourself that you did because it was all you had? Or maybe you tried to glorify it so you could get over not having your real parents?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Well, recently, I found that my own childhood was just as connected to reality... as a talking sea sponge who works in fast food."

"What do you mean?"

"When you and I had our first fight up on the roof of P.S.118, what did you see?"

The reminder of what sort of horrors he saw in the Freak's mind were unforgettable to Arnold, but never too easy to reminisce on. From his reading of the Freak's past, Arnold not only saw, but felt the pain of abuse he had suffered: Beatings, burns, torture, molestation, and other monstrosities.

"I saw enough to understand." Arnold said.

"Is that so? You think you understand me?" The Freak asked.

"I can see and feel your past just as you feel it, Curly. I know it just like you do."

"Oh, but that's the catch. I didn't know. It was all made up. I just didn't know it."

"What are you saying?"

"You missed my last appointment. You should've been there, it was a real doozy, unlike the others."

Most of my days, I don't sleep much. Being in a bed all day and not being able to move, you don't spend a lot of energy. Not spending a lot of energy, you don't need to rest off what you don't do. As I was lying in bed, I got an unexpected greeting from my persistent and all-too friendly doctor.

His name is Dr. Peyton Harvey Scott. His name's a mouthful, but his kindness is insufferable. He's just like you, though he doesn't quite have your exact spark. Anyways, he steps into my room for what I assume is just another little checkup. He comes around to my bed, talks to me a little, tries to get me to talk about my past. I told him a few things, just to shut him up, but, unlike the last few doctors, he wasn't scared off.

Like I said, he's persistent. That persistence, however, led him to find something pretty interesting about me. He takes a seat right beside me, like he always does; makes himself comfortable. He doesn't look the part for it, though; his face shows that he's really not happy about something.

That got me interested.

"Eh... What's up, doc?" I asked.

"Curly. Do you remember the last time we talked, I had you answer a few questions for me?" Dr. Scott asked.

"Yes."

"Those questions were part of a polygraph test, sometimes called a lie detector test. I assume you know what that is?"

"We've all seen it on TV."

"Right. Well, the reason that I wanted to go through those tests was because I got some information that made my... understanding of you... change."

"What? You didn't find the stash of nudie mags under my bed? I swear, I was holding it for a friend."

"I'm serious, Curly. I've spent so long trying to understand you, that way I could find some way to help you. I've finally found you out, but..."

He started to trail on me there. I wanted to know just what exactly he found out about me. I doubted that it was anything groundbreaking or huge, and, I guess it wasn't that much to me, but it did give me a nice little surprise. Either way, I had to push him to get my answer.

"But what? Exactly what did you find?" I asked.

"Well, first... You know how you always told me about how you burned down your home?" Dr. Scott asked.

"Yep. I grabbed every liquor bottle I could find, not that there wasn't a shortage of it, mind you; and set the whole house on fire. I can remember the smell of the flames."

"You didn't burn it down, Curly. It's still there."

I didn't know where he was going with that at first. At first I thought he was just screwing with me, but I knew him better than that.

"Come again?" I asked.

"I went in the house. I saw the bloodstains where you shot your parents. You didn't burn the house down. And I know you're not lying when you say you did." Dr. Scott said.

I still wasn't sure what he was trying to say. What he was telling me just wasn't making any sense. Not that it still does.

"Hmm... Let's go with your logic for a minute. So, if I said I burned it down and I didn't actually, but you say that I'm wasn't lying, then what the hell was I saying?" I asked.

"You believe you burned it down, but you didn't. You remember it falsely. What I've diagnosed you with is called psychotic disorder, commonly known as psychosis, or, at least, something close to it. You don't perceive reality as we do. Your mind creates visions and perceptions of things that are there that are not." Dr. Scott said.

I wasn't buying it.

"Yeah, right. How do you explain all these scars and marks all over me? How do I remember how each one happened? You're not going to try to tell me that my parents were actually some kind of saints, were you? They were goddamn devils in human skin. I shot those bastards down because they tortured me for years! You call that a psychosis?" I shouted.

"Curly, do you remember how you told me about the day when you decided you wanted to kill them? How you were beaten and left on the floor, and how you got up and took a gun for yourself?" Dr. Scott asked.

"Like it was yesterday."

I didn't think he would have anything to disprove what I said. I was so sure that he was full of shit and this was some kind of trick. I was absolutely certain that he would give this up and just go away like he always does.

I was certain until he pulled out a camera.

"I found this in your home. There's something I'd like you to see on it." Dr. Scott said.

He turned the camera on, starting playback of the last video recorded.

The video feed showed my father turning it on and checking to see if it was working properly. He wasn't a big tech guy. I heard my mother in the background, sounding awfully opposed to what he was doing.

"Oh, dear, do you really think that we need to use this thing? I just don't feel right recording our baby like this without him knowing." My mom said.

"I don't like it anymore than you do, sweetheart, but we need something to show that he needs help. Maybe if he just sees it for himself, he'll gain a better understanding." My dad said.

"I know, but... Oh, he's just been so... disconnected. I don't feel so right about the idea of doctors locking him up and feeding him so many pills day in and day out. I can't imagine my little boy coming out of that alright."

"Not to mention we can't afford it on our insurance. But, maybe, this could give us a step in the right direction."

I heard the door start to click in the background of the video. I recognized that as me coming home from school. I was still really off-put by what my parents were talking about, but I was willing to keep watching to see what happened.

"Honey, quick, he's back!" My mom whispered.

"Right, dear, I've got it." My dad said.

My dad hid the camera in some little corner of the wall. I don't know where it was, but, wherever he put it, I got a good view of the front door and living room.

As the video went on, it skipped ahead to some time later. The feed showed my parents walking through the door, and me right behind them. As I walked through the door, I held a set of pearls in my hands. I remember what the pearls were doing in my hands and what happened next...

...or so I thought I remembered what happened next.

"Son? Can we talk, please?" My dad asked.

I sat on the couch, and my parents sat in some chairs across from it. This wasn't at all how things played out that day. I thought at first that maybe he had recorded some day I didn't remember. Still, I kept watching to see what happened.

"Curly... Sweetie, you know we love you very much, and we've always tried to do good for you, but what you did today was not acceptable. You seriously hurt that other boy, and he could be in the hospital for months. What he did to you does not justify what you did to him. Do you understand that?" My mother asked.

"Yes, mother." I said.

"Why did you do it?"

"I wanted her for myself. I thought she would like me if-"

"What?! Honey, no, this isn't how you win over a girl. Poor Rhonda's probably scared to death because of what happened. What you did was seriously hurt somebody. That doesn't benefit anybody. Dear, we know you've been sick, and we've done our best to try to help you the best we can, but I'm just scared that what we're doing just isn't working. You know how much we love you, Curly, and we want the absolute best for you."

"Mom, I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me-"

Once I said that, I flinched up and fell on the floor. I remember my father punching me in the face. I remember his white knuckles hitting me in the face. I remember the coppery taste of my own blood in my mouth. I remember every last detail of it.

But it didn't really happen.

What did happen, is that I fell on the floor as if I really was hit. My parents both jolted up in their seats when they saw what happened to me, then rushed right up to me to see if I was alright. Physically, I was fine; no blood like I thought I remembered, but I was still convulsing like I was punched.

"Oh, god, son, are you alright?!" My dad asked.

"I'm sorry, Father. I'm sorry-" I said.

Then I convulsed again and I was out. No punch from my dad, not a single hand laid on me; what happened to me I did to me. My mother couldn't stand to look at what happened, and turned away from me and towards my father in tears. He held her pretty tightly. It looked like he needed to hold her just as much.

"Oh, god, what are we supposed to do?" My mom asked.

"For now, maybe we should just leave him alone. He isn't hurt, but he's clearly still off from today. Maybe he just needs some rest to feel better." My dad said.

My father grabbed a blanket off the couch and laid it over me. He tucked me in pretty tightly to make sure I was okay. Then he went back to my mother and tried to calm her back down.

"You know what's going to happen now. They're going to send him off to some hospital and make him some drugged-up zombie. I couldn't even let the school give him Adderall, I can't stand to see him like that." My mom said.

"I know. I can't, either, but it's for the best. It's obvious we can't help him anymore." My dad said.

They stood there for a minute, my mother crying on my father's shoulder, both trying to put their minds off me. My father got an idea to cheer her up a little, however.

"Listen, I've got an idea. How about we go shopping and make a nice dinner? Maybe a little food will cheer us all up from this." My dad said.

"Oh, how is a little food going to make this better?" My mom asked.

"Well, Curly'll be hungry when he wakes up. That's a good start."

"But how are we supposed to tell him that he's going to be sent off to some hospital all by himself?"

"We'll burn that bridge when we cross it, dear. Just one thing at a time. C'mon, a little time outside'll help you."

My parents walked out the door and went for some groceries for that dinner. I still slept on the floor. After that, the video feed sped up again.

This time, I saw myself getting up off the floor and stripping naked. This part I really don't remember. Probably for the better.

All those scratches all over my body? I took a knife and did them all myself. I carved so many scratches on myself, you'd swear that I was somehow trying to kill myself as both as slowly and as quickly as possible.

I went out of view at that point, but I eventually came back down dressed in my coat and makeup. I'm guessing that what I remember happened upstairs went like I thought, but the next part wasn't so much the same.

The video feed went again to when my parents got home. They brought home some steaks and a lot of vegetables, as well as a nice, big red velvet cake. That was my favorite kind. They walked to the table and prepared to set everything down.

I shot my mother in the head and watched her blood soak on the floor. She was carrying the cake, and it splattered on the ground. Waste of good cake.

My father couldn't believe what he was seeing. When he saw me with the gun in my hand, he instantly dropped to his knees in fear. He knew I was probably going to kill him, but he tried his best to talk me down anyways.

"Oh, god... Oh, god, Curly, what have you done?" My dad asked.

"'How dare I'? A better question is, 'why haven't I sooner'? I feel so much more relieved now that she's finally dead. And when I pull this trigger again, ending your miserable life as well, I'll feel even better.'" I said.

"What?! Curly, no, please, it's me, your father. Please, don't kill me. We can get you help. I can get you help."

"'Maybe you should've. Perhaps then you'd be alive now.'"

I put the gun to his head. He's crying his eyes out.

"Son, please. I love you, son. I love-" My dad said.

I pull the trigger. His brains splatter against the wall and he finally stops talking. Even as the life's leaving him, he's still trying to say 'I love you'.

When he was dead, I walked right out of the house, not a second thought about any of it.

When the Freak finished his haunting and disturbing retelling of the events prior to his visit, Arnold looked to the bedborne man in a state of utter confusion and shock; unable to process everything that was shared with him. Much like the Freak's own reaction to Dr. Scott's sharing of information, Arnold finds himself denying it.

"I don't believe you." Arnold said.

"Then don't. Take another look in my head and see what you find." The Freak said.

Arnold did so, following the Freak's request to verify his sayings, and found that he was very well speaking the truth. Looking into the mind of the maniac once again, Arnold felt through the entire chain of events playing through for the Freak just as it originally did a few hours ago.

And, in that moment, he is speechless.

"See what I mean?" The Freak asked.

"But... But I don't get it. How could you have turned out like you are now from all that?" Arnold asked.

"I guess childhood memories shape you whether you like it or not, and whether they're real or not. Besides, if you're gonna have a past, might as well choose the one that gives you the brightest future."

"But you were driven to letting out your anger on everyone and everything after what happened. Why don't you feel any different now? You know you're not actually fighting for something. Why keep this on?"

"That's funny; the good doctor asked me that very same question. You know what I told him? Because it's who I am now. My mistake the first time around was that I was trying to get some kind of petty revenge on everyone else for my own problems. But, now that I realize how all my childhood was bullshit, it just makes everything else clearer to me. I have a purpose now. My purpose now... is to be your bad guy."

Once again, Arnold fell silent without any answer. The revelation of his enemy being laid out so clear to him brought him a strange mixture of feelings; one that would take some further effort to fully unravel, but there was still one important thing to take away here that was the most vital to him.

He came here looking for some kind of peace with this man. There was a shred of guilt that he held in his heart for leaving him paralyzed, having destroyed his body beyond repair. He was under the assumption that the Freak would still hold his anger over him for their fight.

But, with this encounter, he can see that the Freak is thankful for it. Throughout his strange and twisted thoughts, he is thankful.

"Thank you." Arnold said.

"For what?" The Freak asked.

"I came here today looking to make some peace with you. I still felt bad about dropping you off that roof, and I wanted to try to make some amends with you, hoping that you would get better. But I can see now that you won't get better. I was still holding onto some hope that you could be saved, but it's clear to me now that you're too far gone."

"So, now what? This a 'goodbye'?"

"I guess it is. Goodbye, Curly. I hope you find some kind of peace in your life."

Arnold prepared to walk out of the room, making his way back home and putting this affair long past behind him. Before he left, however, the Freak still gave one last question for Arnold, knowing well that he would never have another opportunity to get this answer out of him.

"Just tell me one thing, Arnold. You had some guilt over dropping me off the roof, but you only did that because I shot you. You didn't want to drop me, and you wouldn't have. Do you regret not dropping me at all?" The Freak asked.

The Freak expected a long period for this answer to come, but his wait here was relatively short.

"I don't know." Arnold said.

Finally, Arnold walked out of the room, preparing to make his way out of the hospital. He did not expect this day to end the way it did, but he could not have foreseen any way it could have ended well. Wishing no more business with this man, Arnold continued his exit; looking forward to a relaxing day at home before his nightly patrol.

However, a bump into a passing group of black-suited men in sunglasses showed that he would not have that time to relax just yet. From encountering this group of men, he accidentally reached into their hearts and minds, learning what desires and memories laid in their minds towards where they are now.

He didn't mean to pry like this, but he does not feel bad about doing so now.

With this accidental glimpse into the minds of these men, he found that they were men sent by 'Little' Nicky Russotti on a mission to apprehend the Freak and take him with them for him to kill. Automatic weapons laid under their suit jackets, making it clear that these men would not allow anyone to stand in their path.

Such a threat meant nothing to the Green Eye, but a sudden dilemma washed over Arnold regarding the chance to intervene. He knew that the Freak was beyond rehabilitation, he knew that 'Little' Nicky wanted revenge for his son's death, and, if he had stayed out of their way, perhaps he could prevent any casualties here. 'Little' Nicky would have the Freak, and that would be the end of it.

But Arnold could not allow that possibility to come to fruit. Every fiber of his being tells him that the Freak deserves to die for his crimes, and there is no one more fit to serve out his death sentence than 'Little' Nicky himself, but there is still one more factor that prevents him from allowing this to happen, one integral part of his being that will allow the Freak to live once again on this day:

He is the Green Eye, and he cannot allow a murder to happen on his watch.