Horror Becomes Me

by Oldrich Stibor

  He had to admit, he was impressed with this new theory of his. Quite the leap though. That was a lot of ground to cover in just a few days and for the life of him Mathews could not even begin to imagine how he came to that conclusion. It changed everything. If Foster was right then the entire investigation was turned on its head. But it was a promising change. A normal citizen committing the murders out of preservation for a loved one would be easier to catch than a psycho who spends his days and nights focused on his little game. A normal guy would make mistakes. Maybe even be swallowed up by guilt and come to them willingly.

  As they cruised up Front street he stayed two or three cars back, nice and cool. By the time they reached Wilshire and hung a left towards Mount Hope, Mathews was pretty sure where they were heading.

  He slowly pulled his car off to the side at the top of the rural street and watched as Jeremy got out and approached the Matherport residence.

  Twenty minutes later Foster exited the house, got in his car and made his way back up the street. Mathews had to pull the seat down flat to avoid being seen as Jeremy passed by. Calmly counting to ten, he turned around and proceeded to follow him.

  The next stop was a semi detached, in a nice neighbourhood in the valley. Mathews got comfortable and drank a protein shake and waited. The shrink came out an hour and a half later, visibly shaken, maybe even crying. Mathews jotted down the address to look up the owner later.

  The next stop was Mrs. Stien's condo. Was he banging her?

  “You fucking scum bag,” Mathew's cursed under his breath and instinctively took note of the time. Six thirty-four. He wondered if this was Jeremy's usual MO? The old shoulder to cry on routine? More like the cock to cry on.

  “Scum bag,” he said again to himself and got comfortable. Chances are he would be here for a awhile. He wasn't going to wait all night though. Fuck that. This was simply a curiosity. Unprofessional sure. Unwarranted, yes. But it was a little guilty pleasure he was allowing himself for having to put up with this ass hole everyday.

  A half an hour later Costa called.

  “Mathews.” he said into the handset.

  “Hey,”

  “What's up?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Just getting some food why?”

  “We may have something here. Do you know where Foster is? I can't reach him.”

  “I have no idea,” Mathews said looking up at the condo.

  “Okay, well he may have found the link between Mister and Matherport. He had Nancy look into someone named Danny who had written Matherport several letters. I just read them. Looks promising.”

  “This Danny reported missing?”

  “No, we got a couple Daniels deceased. Natural causes. But there is a Daniela White reported missing in o' eight. Lived in the same county as Matherport.”

  “Okay, I'm coming in.”

  Mathews hung up and took another look up at the condo. He had to admit the quack was good. O' how he loathed the creep.

  CHAPTER 12

  The first glass of wine went down faster then she could taste it. As did the second and by time Mary was filling her glass up for the third time her vision was blurred.

  She tended to clean when she was stressed. There was not a single microscopic fleck of dust which had escaped her manic scrubbing and spraying and wiping. The apartment was sterile and silent. So silent it was starting to drive her nuts. She didn't want to play music though, it seemed disrespectful somehow. This was no time for music. She turned on the television instead and began to flip through the channels at random. News: boring. Sit coms: They're still making those? A reality show of Italian trash making Italian trash everywhere unduly validated. Then, like a punch line to a bad joke her own face flashed across the screen. Bloodwitch, circa two-thousand and six. The scene was just before the climax. Mary – the Bloodwitch- needs to bath in the blood of young men to regain her powers so she can exact revenge on the secret organization of Catholic witch hunters which had burnt one of her previous incarnations at the stake a thousand years previous. She had one such young man in bed, and was about to fuck him silly, so as to make him drop his guard of course, then slit his throat. Mary remembered that day well. The guy was this big swinging dick who thought that he was God's gift. He kept getting hard in the scene, which wasn't unusual in a sex scene, but every time it rubbed up against her he would give her this look. Like, 'oh my what do we have here? Go ahead sweetie. It won't bite'

  She watched the movie for a moment like stranger might. What was this trash? And then she turned it off in disgust, just like most people would. Sitting back in the now familiar cocoon of silence she realized that was a message from God, or the universe, or karma or whatever. Finish what you started.

  She walked to the framed Bloodwitch poster on the wall and pulled it down. Her first instinct was to smash it off the floor but realized that would send glass everywhere and she was bare footed so instead she brought it to the kitchen where she opened the back with a butter knife and slid the poster out from the frame. She then tore it in half and tore the halves in half over and over until she had a million little jigsaw puzzle pieces and then stuffed them into the garbage.

  One by one she pulled the posters off the walls. She took down Franken-doll picture and the Devil's Daughter stills, and threw out the stack of signed dvd copies of Zombie fem-slaves and then moved to her office with garbage bag in hand to continue the purge. In the bag went the framed first issues of her magazine and the stack of autographed pictures of herself in cute little Santa's helper costume which she sent to members of her fan club at Christmas and the fucking Bloodwitch bobble heads.

  She wanted to take the pile of papers from her desk and burn it all. Smash her laptop and tear up every last piece of work related material she could find and violently rip it from her life forever. But she couldn't do that. At the end of the day this was a business and she had employees who depended on the work. Fuck it. It was Erin's problem now.

  Mary jumped at the sound of her intercom but tried her best to compose herself before answering it.

  “Hello?” She said into the console.

  “Mrs. Stien. You have a visitor.” The FBI Agent said in his best non-secret-agent -voice. “A Mr. Foster.”

  Mary was relieved to hear it was Jeremy but would have preferred if he had left out the 'Mr.' part. What did he mean by calling himself that anyways?

  “Thank you,” she said. “Please let him up.”

  “Yes, Ma'am.”

  She thought about going and cleaning up a bit but she didn't have time so instead she just poured them both a glass of wine.

  Two minutes later he was gently knocking at the door.

  “Oh my God Jeremy. Are you okay?” she asked as she opened the door. “I didn't know what to do when you took off like that. I thought maybe I should call agent Costa,”

  He stepped inside and lowered his voice. “You didn't did you?”

  “No. No I didn't. I thought maybe you would.”

  He seemed relieved but still pressed the issue. “Did you tell anyone yet about that last video?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Please don't”

  “Okay” She agreed, even though she didn't now why but he looked so serious about it that he must have had good reason.

  He looked like how he pretty much has looked since she met him. Tired and defeated. Only worst. Much worst. And it seemed as though he had been crying.

  Jeremy stumbled down the hallway like his was trudging through mud.

  “How are you?” He asked looking down at the garbage bags overflowing with movie paraphernalia but not bothering to ask about them.

  “Not very good obviously. But I guess not any worst than yesterday.”

  “That's something I guess,” he said, trying to make some sort of expression with his face she couldn't read.

  Mary grabbed the glasses of wine off the counter, handed him his and lead them to the couch.

  “What happened?” Sh
e wanted to know as soon as they were seated, though he didn't answer. He just stared down into his glass of wine.

  Jeremy opened his mouth to speak but the words never came. Twice, three times he tried, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, suffocating on the air.

  “Are you okay?” She finally asked.

  He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. Dumb question.

  “I mean, I know you're not. Neither am I, of course... I just mean... I'm concerned about you.”

  “I appreciate that,” he said and then they just sat there for a few moments in silence.

  “It's nice. You being here,” Mary said staring down at the hot pink nail polish on her bare feet. “Nobody else would understand. My sister won't even talk to me. She blames me for all this.”

  “It helps to have someone to blame. People want to believe that human fault is what brings us misery, and not God, or reality or whatever... They will come around.”

  “I don't think so,” she said getting up from the couch. “Do you want something else to drink?” She asked realizing he wasn’t touching the wine.

  “Water please.”

  She came back with the water which he promptly dumped down his dry throat and placed the empty glass on the coffee table.

  Silence sat there between them like a third party, though it was welcoming; comforting even.

  “I keep thinking I'm going to wake up,” he finally said after some time. “And when I actually do wake up in the morning – which is rare because I can't sleep – I feel like I'm dreaming. That this is all just a nightmare.”

  “I know exactly what you mean.”

  “You know my brother died a few weeks ago.”

  “Really? Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry.”

  “No, no. It's okay,” He said politely waving off her condolences. “He was... disturbed. It was a long time coming. The thing is though, when it happened- the morning it happened, somehow I just knew he was gone. I mean, I knew it, knew it, in my bones. Before anyone told me. How do you suppose that’s possible?”

  “I don't know,” she said trying to hold at least some of the intense pity she had for this man from coming across in her face. “You must have had a very strong connection.”

  “Yes, and no. We were twins. Identical. I don't know if that made us any closer or not. I guess it must have... we were so different from each other. I mean, he was mentally ill and I'm a psychologist for Christ sake. But close or not, it still doesn't explain how I knew.”

  Mary wanted to say something but what could she say? She realized that maybe all he wanted was for someone to just listen to him and so that's what she did. She reached out and took his hand softly in hers and listened.

  “Nobody knows this really- mental illness run in my family. My father committed suicide when I was very young. My mother took off. My brother... I've spent my entire life trying to not be sick too. Trying to do the right thing.”

  “You still are doing the right thing. You didn't have to help me. You could have said it's not your problem. You could have just told me to call the cops... maybe you should have.”

  “I don't blame you.”

  “I know. I know you don't. Because you're a good person. You are. We are going to get through this.”

  “No. No, not me. I'm done...”

  “Jeremy. Look at me.... look at me.” She said gently placing her hand on his chin and turning his head to face her. She could see that his eyes were swelling with tears, which brought her to the verge of crying also. Nothing was sadder than seeing a strong man cry.

  “This has to end at some point. I know you and the FBI are doing everything you can to catch him and you will. I'm scared too but this can't go on forever.”

  He couldn't hold back the tears any longer. Though he wasn't crying. Not really. It was more like tearing. His face was stone, but the tears flowed from his cold eyes in steady streams.

  “How did I know he was dead?”

  “Shhh. That's enough of that for now,” She said in a soothing tone.

  “How did I know? It's important. It has to do with this somehow... I just.... I don't know... I don't understand how that's possible.”

  She could feel his hand tighten around hers and before she had time to think about it she was wrapping her arm around him and pulling him towards her. They held each other for a moment and she could feel him taking a deep breath to steady himself. With his face still wet with tears he raised it up to hers. Their mouth smashed together with desperate passion. She could taste the salt of his tears and feel the urgency in his lips and jaw as he probed and pressed at her mouth. She began to fumble at his tie and shirt buttons and he in turn began to unbutton her.

  In between the grasping and exploring of each other there were moments of hesitation on both their parts. This was a bad idea- clearly. But it was a loosing battle.

  Before they knew it and despite both of their better judgement they were undressing one another. And then he was inside of her, desperately pushing deeper, both trying to extinguish their pain, to mask it if just for a brief moment. Though it was like placing a band-aid on bullet wound. As much as they tried to loose themselves in each other, the pain was still there, seeping in and around the pleasure, which only fuelled them to try harder. To push it down and away for the moment, to fuck the pain away, to have if only for a fleeting moment some triumph over the suffering.

  A persistent and painful anxiety began to grow in Mary along with her climax. This one foolish decision, despite how good it was, was going to do nothing but exasperate this whole mess. But she needed this as surely as she needed food or breath. Her heart had become so hard and cold that if she didn't get some satisfaction or elation from something or someone or anything, she would go mad.

  And then they were finishing. She dug her nails into his back and bit his shoulder to keep from screaming. Collapsing into one another they shared a sigh. The pain and misery came back on them ten fold, like a flash flood in the barren tundra of their hearts. It wasn't going to change a God damn thing.

  CHAPTER 13

  The dreams Simon had of his mother never stopped. Ever. Even when awake he thought of them; thought of her.

  More and more he was in his own head. It was the only way to get away from the orphanage and the evil things which happened there. He didn't even want to try and get along with the other kids anymore and they had learned to stay away. Nobody had forgotten the forking he gave Brian last Easter but sometimes the very biggest boys would still pick on him just to prove that they weren't afraid of him. It was stupid. He knew the only person they needed to convince were themselves. They needed to believe they were strong or not victims, or whatever but they were trapped here just like him. And he was sure he wasn't the only one who Father McDermind had taken… a special interest in.

  He never knew when it was going to happen. He had nearly gone mad worrying about it but eventually his brain got to tired of thinking about it and he was able to just turn it off. Pretend that it wasn't going to happen again, that it never did in the first place. But he could only pretend for so long.

  As the months stretched slowly by boys came and went. Sometimes they were eventually collected by distant relatives or aunts and uncles, and when that happened the boys who were being freed, taken home to a real home, could never look the other boys in the eyes as they left and the boys could never look the new ones in the eyes as they came.

  “This is Peter,” Father Cavelli announced on a random cold Sunday afternoon after mass. “See that he is welcomed.”

  The new kid was small. Too small to bully Simon around anyway. But small kids had joined the bullies in the past just to fit in. He sized up Peter wondering how quickly he would turn into one of them. He seemed nice enough though, he seemed scared anyways which was a good sign. The ones who pretended they weren't almost always ended up being the worst. And why wouldn't he be scared? If he knew what happened in St. Joseph's forget about scared, he would be horrified. Not that that woul
d make a difference or that anyone would care. That's why they were all there after all. Nobody cared.

  There was something different about this new kid Peter though. For starters he was nice to Simon. More than nice like polite nice, he was friendly. They would sometimes play checkers together, and Peter had even started teaching him how to play chess. There were times when the other kids would see them talking or playing together and they would come over and tease Simon just to do what? Embarrass him in front of Peter? Pete was too small to stick up for him though. He wasn't as big or as strong as Johnny was unfortunately.

  If Johnny was there he would stick up for both of them because he was never scared of bullies no matter how big or mean they were. It was like he saw right through them, like Simon did, but had the courage and the size to do something about it. But he wasn't there and there was nobody like him to protect them when the other kids came around so they just had to keep their distance and hope for the best. Eventually Peter started to get picked on too, which made Simon feel terrible because he was sure it was only because he was friends with him.

  “Where are your parents?” Simon asked him once when they were outside raking leaves.

  Peter got really sad looking and didn't answer for a long time and when he did it wasn't an answer at all really.

  “You think we will be here until we are old like the priests?”

  “No, they have to let us go when we are sixteen,” Simon said and never asked him again about his parents and thankfully he had never asked Simon about his.