THE FLORIDA STATE UNIVERSITY
COLLEGE OF ARTS & SCIENCES
DOUBTFUL DELIRIUM
By
ARTHUR NORIEGA
A Thesis submitted to the
Department of College of Arts & Sciences
in partial fulfillment of the requirements for graduation with Honors in the Major
Degree Awarded: Fall 2023
John eyes the one-story bungalow from the safety of his Corolla, parked beside the curb where its front yard meets the roadway. He removes the key from the ignition and simultaneously unbuckles his seatbelt. He lets out a long, deliberate sigh, and reaches for the gun he keeps in his glove compartment. John hesitates for a moment before picking it up. It's cold exterior is a familiar presence, it’d be almost calming if not for the reminder it provides. A reminder of his punishment. The night sky makes it difficult to see much in the view of his front mirror, save for the adjacent roadway and mailboxes. John tries to let the silence of darkness envelop him, but his eyes catch the soft glow of dim lights emanating from the house. He quickly averts his gaze, breathing more heavily as he stares at the Glock before placing it in a holster beneath his jacket. He adjusts his shirt buttons before cleaning up his messy hair in the rearview mirror. Before John is able to exit the car a faint blue hue quickly encompasses his vision. From his rearview, he sees a blue light hovering just beside his left ear. A feminine voice invades his thoughts, her words cutting through the jumbled fears and anxieties racing through his mind.
02? Do you copy?
“This is ... 02. I copy.”
Any visuals on the target?
“None.”
Perform recon, then move in.
“Affirmative,” John cringes, yet the light doesn’t fade. He waits for a moment before the voice pierces through his mind once more.
John, take what I’m about to say very literally. The light suddenly shines brighter, as the intensity of the presence consumes his mind.
Fuck this up, and you’re dead. No more second chances.
The light swiftly fades, leaving no trace of its existence as John grips his head, reeling from the pain. After a few moments of unintentional hyperventilation, he relaxes, gently resting his head on the steering wheel, but a sudden tapping on his window startles him. His eyes shoot toward the figure, their face obscured in the darkness. John cautiously rolls down his window, the figure taking the opportunity to quickly slide their arms through the crevice and open the door from the inside. John attempts to reach for his gun but is soon stopped when the figure leaps into the car and embraces him in a hug.
“John! For fuck’s sake, I thought you’d never make it.”
The figure loosens his grip, backing up enough for John to make out his face.
“Tommy?!”
Tommy’s sudden appearance initially comforts John. His warm, brown eyes and hair are surprisingly noticeable now that the car’s dashboard illuminates his features.
“Dude, relax, what happened to being fucked-up ninjas?”
“Well, I don’t know any fucked-up ninjas who can see in the dark.” John makes fake quotation marks with his hands. Tommy chuckles.
“Bullshit! Clarence literally has dark vision. Magic eyes or some other shit. You literally worked with the guy.”
“I meant the normal kind of fucked-up. Not everyone can fly and shoot fireballs.”
“Never said you could, but you also can do shit like that. Even if you couldn’t, it never stopped your awareness.”
“Well, yeah. I mean ... are you getting at something?”
“Let's walk and talk. Kate won’t like waiting for dinner.” Tommy extends an open palm to John, who accepts it, surrendering his weight as his friend lifts him from his seat while flinging the door closed. John starts walking toward the house, paying attention to the decor placed around the front porch. Tommy’s front lawn was more than just a simple grassy yard, but a fully realized garden. Shasta Daisy’s overtake the front entrance to his home in two circular patches, as Hostas’s plants of various sizes line the surrounding ring’s of these patches. English oak tree’s line the outskirts of the small housing block; the community's integration with the natural wilderness allowing for small flowers and shrubbery to rest underneath its protection. Collections of roses, sunflowers and daffodils find safety among the other residences, making this quaint community a truly captivating sight to behold. The sections of flora sit between a gravel walkway which leads directly to the front door. A handful of patio pots hang atop hooks on the front porch, beginning to subtly move with the rise of a slight breeze. Tommy remains behind John, peering into his car for any reason to cast suspicion. Loose clothes, stacks of band aids, and trash tossed across the passenger seat was all that Tommy could find at glance.
The gravel crunches underneath their boots, as Tommy places an arm around John’s shoulder, “You seem tense.”
“Huh?”
“Come on, dude, it’s all over your face.” John lifts his head to meet Tommy’s gaze, before quickly turning away.
“Nothing serious. Just in my own head.”
“Wait,” Tommy stops, taking his hand off John's shoulder and turning to face him.
“If this is about the Guild, then let’s talk.” Tommy states, as the creeping reminders set into John’s consciousness. He tries his best to forget, even turning away from Tommy, but he cannot hide the pain in his body language. Tommy recognizes John’s melancholic expression.
“She in your ear again?” Tommy remarks. John feels his eyes twitch, beads of sweat beginning to drip from his hairline. Tommy looks on in confusion and concern. After a brief moment, John meets his gaze and responds. “Nah, man. I...I don’t know. Things have felt like a lot recently.”
Tommy places a hand on John’s shoulder before responding, “I get it. Splitting from the Guild hasn’t been easy. We’re not even out of the fire yet.”
He pauses, looking toward the dense treeline facing away from his home. Scanning for something, anything that could be watching them. “If she’s in there with you, we need to know. That Witch could find our location in seconds. You severed the link, right?”
“Y-yeah.”
“John.”
“I did! She’s... gone. I swear. I-It’s ... not an easy thing to do.” Tommy sighs with relief, roping him into another hug. John can feel his back crack from the force, as Tommy pulls him in closer before letting him go.
“We’ve lost a lot to get here, but the Gem is all we ever needed.” Tommy gestures as if he was holding a small square box, fingers curved around the air and hovering just above his palm. John looks on, doing his best to suppress the sudden surge of anxieties crawling under his skin.
“No man.” John retorts. Tommy appears befuddled
“Yes?! We made a promise. We all did.” Tommy looks sincerely at him, but John can only muster the courage to stare just beside his feet.
“I know, but we shouldn’t put so much on some rock.”
“Some rock?!.”
Tommy shakes John's shoulders. John lets his body sway for a moment before grabbing Tommy’s hands. He attempts to pull himself free but can’t summon the strength to best Tommy’s grip.
“Dude?!”
“What happened sucks, but we’re free. Finally free. No more orders. No more bullshit.” John can feel Tommy’s hands tense around his shoulders.
“The Gem is our key. We won’t need to rely on our magic anymore if this pays for our way out. What they did to you. To us. We don’t need to worry about it anymore.”
“That's only if the plan works. Has Dr. Micheals even met the Alliance representative?”
“Soon. He’s still gotta play the part of the unwavering Guild commander first.”
“And how long till they figure out he double-crossed them.”
“They won’t!” Tommy’s voice bellows throughout the small neighborhood. John tenses in response, staring down his friend with remorse. Tommy steps away for a moment, taking deep breaths as he paces between John’s Corolla and his driveway. Kate’s Jeep Wrangler is parked behind Tommy's Subaru Forester. The two cars take up all of the available driveway space, blocking the garage. After a few laps, Tommy stops and is facing away from John. He stares at the back of Kate’s car before speaking.
“Why did you steal the Gem?” Tommy asks, looking away from John and toward his home. John sighs, the grass out front beginning to sway as a sudden burst of wind scatters the surrounding flora. Leaves and petals are swiftly carried away by the gust, as a loose rose bud collides with John's left cheek. He swats it away, looking back at Tommy, who is now stationary, his face deadpan.
“So that you and Kate could make it out. ” John sheepishly remarks. Tommy rolls his eyes.
“We. So that we can make it out. You’re not some martyr dude. You’re a part of this fucked-up family. We’d still have no chance if you didn’t step up. No one could have done what you did. What your magic lets you do, it saved us. That means a lot John. Not just to me, but to all of us who are riding on this chance.”
John looks down again, but before his eyes meet the ground Tommy smacks him across the face. The sheer force of the strike leaves a red mark. He reels back, barely catching himself against his own car.
“What the hell?!”
“Snap out of it! They tortured us! Put us through trial after trial, just in the hope of seeing some fucking results. The next great assassin was all they fucking wanted. More grunts they can push out to do their dirty work and look at where that got them! Their prized fucking jewel is in our hands now, thanks to their next great assassin.” Tommy exclaims, panting as John rubs his cheek.
“But-”
“But nothing! We were the best they had. A schmuck like Clarence isn’t getting the jump on me. That's all I’m saying.”
John unintentionally chuckles, catching himself as Tommy only laughs harder.
“Ya see? Not so hard to laugh when you realize we’re on the winning side.”
“Sure, man. I see what you mean. Have you heard from anyone else?” John mumbles as
Tommy cocks an eyebrow.
“Like who?”
“Like I don’t know ... Seth? Ya know. He’s-”
“With Presler and in recovery. She’s the best we know at this stuff, he’ll be okay. Besides, if they can’t even take that bozo out, then we’re more than fine.” John's eyes start to drift again but Tommy firmly shakes him back into focus.
“I...I’m sorry. I know this is a lot. Let’s just eat some good food and talk some shit. Kate’s been missing your attitude.”
“Attitude? The hell is she on?”
“Exactly!” Tommy places his hand on John’s back, swiftly guiding him across the gravel walkway and to the front door. Tommy swings the door open, pushing John inside before closing the door behind them. The soft hum of jazz echoes throughout the home's halls. The decor is simple, but orderly. The clean space is complemented by the dimly lit candles illuminating the scenery.
“We think they elevate the vibe, but honestly its like so fucking hard to walk around here at night.” Tommy says.
“Don’t you have lights?” Suddenly the lights flash on in the hallway, John lifts his hands up to block them but is caught off guard by the appearance of a figure at the end of the hallway.
“Ugh, I knew he wouldn’t get it.” Kate rolls her eyes at John as she walks up to him and Tommy. She gives John a soft hug before kissing Tommy on the cheek.
“Sure did take you a while.”
“I actually got here before Tommy expected.” Kate darts her eyes to Tommy, he chuckles, nudging John on the shoulder.
“Bit of an exaggeration, but I’ll allow it.”
They all laugh, Kate grabbing them both by the arm and leading them deeper into the house. “Food gets cold, ya know?”
“It just came out! Cut a guy some slack. It's John’'s fault anyway.”
“Can we drop it?”
“Next time. When you show up at the expected time.” John sighs as he’s pulled through an open door frame and into their dining room. The small table is neatly set, a white tablecloth coating its circular body. Four chairs covering each of its sides. The table is tucked away in a small corner of the room, with the kitchen being accessible through a doorway on the left side of the space. A large wine cabinet sits adjacent to gorgeous works of abstract art leading towards the doorway. John looks around for a moment, surprised.
“Dr. Micheals isn’t joining us?”
“Left about an hour ago, couldn’t miss his flight,” Kate replies, as she rearranges some of the plates.
“And he's missing my cooking! Not every day you get to try my signature Pasta.” Tommy remarks.
“Not so signature if you learned it from me.” Kate replies.
“Hey! Baby steps, remember? Save the banter for our honeymoon.” Tommy states. They exchange a sly smile. “Being their main arms dealer has its perks. Guy could’ve moved us to Guam, but Birmingham isn’t so bad. Really I’m just glad we’re out of the States, never thought I’d get the chance to see anything else.” John’s expression dims as Tommy continues.
“Has the UK been treating you as wonderfully, John? Can’t say I’ve ever felt less like a bloke.” Tommy replies, as Kate leans against the wall closest to the doorway they entered from. John can’t help but giggle in response.
“What?! A bloke? You even using that right?” John responds. Tommy clears his throat with a rough cough, before responding in a poor mockery of a British accent.
“Of course I am! Don’t be daft! I’m quite skilled at mimicking even the most difficult accents.”
“You sound pretentious sweetie.” Kate interjects, trying her hardest to hold back her own laughter. Her best attempts to quell her snickering fall short, and she quickly begins to cackle alongside John. Tommy tries his best to appear upset, but soon falls prey to the same contagion as they all joyfully laugh together. They catch their breaths as Tommy speaks up.
“I missed this... reminds me of that one time John tried to get us some of the upper division's food. You mimicked Dr. Micheals, right? ” Kate jumps from her place beside the wall, her face alight with a nostalgic excitement. John looks confused for a moment.
“Your grandfather? I don’t remember using his face.”
“I remember! Took you like twenty minutes, and the nose didn’t even look right.” Kate remarks, letting out another chuckle, as John’s eyes begin to widen.
“Hmmm, the Dr. Micheals part sounds familiar but-”
“You serious dude?! We were itching for that food for a minute. Looked like some expensive shit, but it was definitely better than whatever they were serving us.” Something then clicks in John’s mind, as an old memory sticks to his attention.
“Oh yeah! We didn’t have a key so I snuck through the vent system.”
“Right! Didn’t you end up snacking on something?” Tommy excitedly replies.
“Y-yeah... yeah! Some kind of custard, it was really good though. I remember grabbing some for you guys when...w-when.” John’s eyes begin to drift down to his feet, Kate and Tommy take notice, looking back in confusion.
“John?” Tommy replies.
“They caught me, end of story.” A still silence hangs in the room. Tommy nervously scratches the back of his head as John simply stands motionless, eyes pointed towards his own feet. “Come on, that’s not the worst ending.” Kate replies, as she leans against John’s shoulder. John tilts his head back to look at her.
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Easy, just look at where it got us. You wanted a decent meal, and the Guild thought it best to punish you. We were working for them. Unwilling or not, we still did their dirty work. What did we get in return? Pain and trauma. Now, just a few years later, their downfall is being orchestrated with you as one of its star players. With us backing their descent. The Alliance will have the Gem before we know it. Tommy’s grandfather will be labeled a hero alongside us. The people who brought real evidence of the Guild’s crimes to light. A dangerous super weapon and years of human torture laid bare to the entire world.” John shrugs. Kate sighs, before slapping him on the back. Tommy drags his hands across his face as he speaks up.
“Really dude? Can’t get much better than that.”
“Y-yeah... I get it. Think I just gotta sit on it.”
“Well, you can do that with some food!” Kate replies, gesturing her hands towards the door leading into the kitchen.
“Oh fuck! I totally forgot about that. Let me get that—'' Tommy replies but is quickly cut off as Kate motions for him to sit. “Relax, Prime Minister. You can practice some more of that accent mastery on John. I’ve got the pasta.”
Kate and Tommy chuckle, but John doesn't possess the resolve to join them. Suddenly, John feels a slight buzz in the back of his brain. His focus is being drawn away from Kate and
Tommy as his thoughts begin to cave in upon themselves. The buzz hits a sudden crescendo, blasting waves of psychic energy into John’s brain. It’s a familiar pain, a signal that his masters find his actions unsatisfying. The Witch, her magic inching its way into John’s mind, attempts to draw out an idea among the cluttered sea of worries and anxieties. He feels a tug yank at his thoughts, drawing him towards notions of a grizzly punishment. She is warning him, pushing him to finish his mission. John could feel the sweat inching its way down his cheeks. He swiftly wipes his face before he speaks up.
“I-I can grab it really quick!” John begins to walk towards the kitchen, but is stopped short by Tommy’s reply. “Don’t be so hasty dude. She’s got this, and I’ve definitely got some more slang that I’m dying to tell you.” John tenses, looking back towards them.
“I can’t have you guys doing everything. It’s uh... fine. Seriously it's fine, I’ll be super quick and-”
“It’s all right, John. Just wait in here for a moment?” Kate passes John and strides towards a record player sitting atop a wooden table with a compartment underneath it. John is stunned, frozen by his thoughts as he cautiously watches Kate. She opens the door to the compartment, seeing several vinyls lined up next to each other and still within their protective sheets. She peruses for a few moments before removing one from the safety of its cover and placing it gently on the record player’s platter. Soulful jazz encompasses the room as Kate leaves for the kitchen. John feels a well of anxiety pooling in his chest. Tommy pulls a chair out for him. “Relax. Come on, let's finally take a breather.” John looks towards the empty chair and then back towards Tommy. His thoughts are cluttered, scrambling for any purchase upon which to drag themselves back into focus. John takes a deep breath and walks back towards the table.
“If this isn’t over and it kills you, then what?” Tommy facepalms, an eye peeking through a crack in his frustrated grasp.
“Then I know you’d get them back.” Tommy pats John on the cheek, before turning around, “Want a fag?”
John recoils, “A what?!”
“It’s a cig dude.”
“Oh... no.”
“Should have known” He reaches behind to open an alcohol cabinet, peering through its contents. John looms behind him, expressionless. Tears form in his eyes as he reaches for the gun in his holster. “Now I know it's not your favorite, but-” Tommy is cut off as a gunshot rings throughout the house; Kate screeches from beyond the kitchen door. Tommy grips his stomach as he tumbles backwards, colliding with the nearby wine cabinet. Blood pools at his lips, but before Tommy could mutter another word John fires again. The bullet races through Tommy’s forehead, piercing the wall behind him as Tommy collapses to the ground. Kate burst through the door, a look of shock and realization dawning on her face. She rases her palm, red streaks of flame crest across her finger tips as she begins muttering an inacantation. John quickly ducks as a bolt of fire rips through the airways, slamming into the wall behind him. John spirts towards Kate, kicking her through the doorway before a second blast could appear. She grunts, but quickly regains her focus before attempting to run toward the exit of the house. Footsteps echo throughout the small estate, as John gives chase. John Coltrane’s “In a Sentimental Mood” drowns out the clutter of steps and the sounds of a struggle.
John sits quietly at the bar; there aren’t many people left around to see him playing with a loose bullet casing underneath the modest diner’s counter, save for a couple and an older man sitting near the back. Shimmering fairy lights hang loosely from its ceiling, giving the diner an ever present glow from the inside. Large window panes circle the entirety of the establishment, providing a view from every possible angle. The bar sits at the very middle of the restaurant, encircling its center while the various tables and booths line the remaining spaces. The older gentleman stands from his booth near the entrance of the restaurant and begins walking towards the bar. John hears the man's approach and swiftly places the casing in his pocket. The man calmly takes a seat next to John. His movements more relaxed than John is expecting. At first, John only sees the man’s long overcoat, a loose fit on his thin frame. Once taking a seat, John could also see the plaid button up and khaki pants he wore underneath. The man gives off a welcoming demeanor, accentuated by his soft brown eyes and calm expression.
“I’ll have another-straight.” The old man says calmly towards the bartender, whose eyes swiftly dart towards her newest customer .
“Bourbon? I can bring it to your table if that's easier,” the bartender says.
“It’ll be fine. I’ll close the tab after this one.”
The bartender offers a simple smile, turning her attention to John as she walks off to graba glass. “Want the check, Sean? Not trying to rush you out, but we’ll be closing soon.”
John doesn’t make eye contact, only reaching into his pocket to grab his wallet. “Sure thing, running a little late as it is.”
The old man cocks an eyebrow; he had been eyeing John since he walked through the door just an hour ago. He speaks up before the bartender could get too far.
“I’ve got his tab, just put it on my card.”
The bartender looks back, momentarily surprised before letting out a soft chuckle. John doesn’t respond, gently rearranging his wallet before placing it calmly back into his pocket.
John tilts his head slightly towards the man’s direction, providing a soft nod of affirmation.“Appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it.”
John doesn’t respond as he takes the final sip from his glass. He gently places it down
before pushing it across the counter. As he begins to stand, the old man extends his hand.
“Dr. Casey Micheals. It was Sean, right?”
John stands, muttering, “Yeah. It’s a pleasure but I’ve really gotta-”
“I understand, you’re probably in a rush. I’ll be honest, I know this is really strange, but you remind me a lot of my grandson. Got the same sort of look in your eye.”
John, appearing confused, turns back as the old man pushes back from his stool “From around here? Not many people around these days” the man says.
“Here for work. Leave tomorrow morning.”
The bartender walks back to the two men, and places the check in front of Dr. Micheals.
He sets a $100 bill on the counter next to it.
“Keep the change.”
The bartender stares in shock before grinning. “Thank you sir! Have an amazing night.” She grabs the check and the cash before moving to the couples table. The old man smiles back before turning to face John.
“Walk me to my car? I won’t take up any more of your time.”
John pauses for a moment, peering out toward one of the diners windows. He sees two cars parked in different sections of the lot. He lets out a deep sigh, as he begins fixing himself.
“Sure, didn’t park that far.”
Dr. Micheals offers a gentle smile. He waves goodbye to the bartender and follows John, opening the diner’s door as they leave. The two stand parallel to each other as they amble along the sidewalk. The old man takes a pack of Marlboro’s from his pocket, lighting one. Its embers scatter across the dimly lit sidewalk, a few wafting towards John, who stops and waves the smoke away from his face. Micheals walks a few steps ahead before taking notice of John. Micheals chuckles as he catches sight of John’s tensed expression, eyes squinting and narrowing in focus towards the burning cigarette.
“Not a fan?”
“No.” John backs a few more steps away before letting his arms rest at his side. Dr. Micheals shrugs as he takes another hit.“I’d always get at my grandson for this. Cigarettes. He seemed to enjoy them. Kate didn’t though, she’d always--” Dr. Micheals pauses for a moment, staring deeply into the loose embers before toking on the cig. “These little bastards almost seemed to help his nerves, calm him...if only for a time.” He takes one final drag before examining the mostly intact cigarette. He suddenly flicks it to the ground, stomping it with his foot.
“I thought after doing it enough times I’d understand... but maybe I just can't.” John glances briefly at the cigarette’s remains before remarking, “Not like that’s a bad thing. I imagine it brought you two together.” John catches up with Dr. Micheals as they continue towards the parking lot.
Micheals struggles to get his keys from his pocket as he lets out a soft chuckle.
“It’s always been him I’m missing. I imagine he’d find some humor in it. Me taking up his bad habits.” A bittersweet smile forms across his face as he finally retrieves his keys from his pocket.
John stands beside Micheals as they approach his car, a white Toyota Camry. Micheals opens his front door and stops, turning back to face John.
“Sorry for the rant, kid. I feel like I'm always rambling these days.”
John shrugs.
“No need, glad I could hear you out.”
“Huh, thank you. Hard finding good people.” Dr. Micheals extends his right hand. A warm smile accompanies it, “Take care. Really was a pleasure. My grandson would’ve liked a guy like you.”
John returns the favor, matching his grasp with his left hand, “Yeah... about that...”
John snaps his fingers, as the street lights suddenly go dark. Dr. Micheals gasps, looking around in confusion. John subtly reaches into his pocket with his free hand, pulling out a small white handkerchief. He suddenly tightens his grip, and before Dr. Micheals can properly understand what's happening, John pulls him close. He lets go of Micheals’s hand as he takes him into a chokehold leading with his right arm. He quickly grabs the cloth out of his right hand, with his left hand, clasping it firmly over Dr. Micheals’ mouth as John tightens his grip around the doctor’s neck. Dr. Micheals begins to fight back, jabbing several times with his elbows in an attempt to strike at John’s stomach. After some unsuccessful attempts, he soon pushes back against John's weight, slamming his back into the exterior of the sedan. The breath is forced out of John’s body, as he ruggedly gasps for air, further tightening his grip on Dr. Micheals.
From the diner, the couple are calmly standing from their booth, as they walk towards the front door at the very opposite end of where they sat. Halfway through the walk the woman suddenly stops, placing a hand on her boyfriend as she stares through the large glass windows.
“The lights went out.” She remarks staring blankly. The boyfriend looks over to see the parking lot, darkness inhibiting the near perfect view of its relatively large perimeter. Initially his vision could only make out his own car, parked in the closest spot near the dinner’s entrance. However,. due to the couples viewpoint inside the diner, the distance made it clear that at least one person was beside the car, but the combination of the individual’s wild movements and the lack of proper lighting made it difficult to fully see anything else.
“Looks like there’s some crazy drunk guy.” the boyfriend replies.
“Huh? Really? Where?!”
“What? You wanna check it out or somethin-” The girlfriend wraps her arms around her boyfriend, not letting him finish. After giving him a kiss she releases him, swiftly grabbing his hand.
“Yay! I love it when we go on little adventures!”
“Adventures?! Wait you didn’t let me-” They’re soon walking hastily through the front door, waving goodbye to the bartender as they exit.
John finally catches his breath, as he feels Dr. Micehals is slowly losing his strength. The once furious onslaught of jabs has dwindled into weak thrusts of his elbow. His legs begin to wobble under his own weight, as he helplessly claws at John's arm for any means of pleading mercy. Dr. Micheals did his best, but the chloroform was finally taking its toll. He slowly sinks into John’s arms, as he removes the cloth from the old man’s mouth. John holds the unconscious body in his arms for a brief period, continuing to catch his breath as he slowly opens the backseat of Dr. Micheals’ car. He gently sets his unconscious body into the foot space of the backseat.
“I...I’m so sorry about Tommy. I miss him too.” John mumbles under his breath, soon pausing to check his surroundings. The diner appears to be getting swallowed by an expanding void, drowning the area in darkness. John turns away and sighs with relief before noticing the faint click of footsteps. John rapidly scans his surroundings, catching a glimpse of the couple walking towards the parking lot.
“Shit!” John mumbles. He closes the back seat and enters the driver side door, leaning back in his chair as he attempts to remain obscured whilst still focusing on the couple. After a few moments he can clearly tell that they’re approaching the sedan. John had thought this could be a close call, but had hoped that the darkness would shield him. He tucks Micheals as best he could into the crevice he was already laying in, then quickly climbs back into the front seat. He hurriedly places a finger on his ear, as the small blue light appears over it. John simply thinks and the message gets across.
This is 02, requesting immediate authorization for the use of Mimic! A familiar voice soon shoots through his mind.
02?! I ended transmissions in case of a potential trap, not so you could cease communications for over six-
“NO TIME!” The couple grows closer to the car, their footsteps increasing in intensity.
What is the nature of this request?
“Are you fucking- I’m in Dr. Micheals’s sedan, I need to look like him.”
Is he dead?
“No! BUT, I’m about to be caught in the act if you don’t-”
Authorization granted.
John immediately tenses, pouring every ounce of focus he has into channeling his ability. Faint traces of yellow light soon outline John’s face. The lines shoot across his body, encompassing his frame like a bodysuit. His skin almost seems to dissolve, as new textures and facial structures replace his previous frame. Before the couple could catch a glimpse of his countenance beyond the darkened windows of the sedan, John steps out of the car.
“Damned keys! Where the hell did those little bastards get off to!?” His sudden yell startles the couple. John is also momentarily stunned, the power of his new vocal chords catching him by surprise.
“Um... is everything alright sir-” The girlfriend, a blond woman no older than twenty-two, stands just five feet away from John.
“What in the hell!?” John shouts and reels back, feigning surprise before the couple as they leap back.
“Who the fuck are you!? Trying to steal from me!? You enjoy sneaking up on old men!?” The couple, now appropriately terrified, bolt away from John as he yells further obscenities at them. Only once he sees them getting in their car does John finally relax. He slumps back into the driver's seat. After a brief moment, the blue light reappears by John’s ear, a voice piercing through his cluttered thoughts.
A little much?
“... it worked.”
You sure? Seemed more like dumb luck to me, the guy didn’t act anything like that.
“It was pretty spot on if you ask me.”
I can literally see through you. No it wasn’t.
“Close enough.” John readjusts himself and checks his rearview mirror. All that greets him is the grim expression of Dr. Casey Micheals, tired, but without the light or kindness in the real man's eyes.
“Alright, mission accomplished. Can I finally get the fuck out of here”
Nope. Getting waaaaay too ahead of yourself. The Witch replies. John tenses up at the thought. It should be over by now. “This is the last one. We talked about this.”
And when was chloroforming someone an option? Don’t remember talking about that.
“This one’s different. He didn’t-”
Stop. This isn’t a discussion, you’ve got terms and a role to play. Nothing more. John stares back at the real Dr. Micheals, his body lying uncomfortably in the backseat. He notices his chest moving; Micheals is breathing calmly and quietly. John balls his free hand into a tight fist.
“Tommy was enough. Please don’t make me-”
Kill him? Are you always gonna be a brat about this? He’s just as guilty as you, don’t forget that.
John grips the sides of his seat, nearly tearing the stitching from the seams as the material wrestles against John's grasp.
Job’s Not done until he’s dead. Now finish it 02, locate the Gem and execute Micheals. We don’t have all night.
The blue light vanishes. John’s phone buzzes as he bangs his head into the steering wheel, the car horn following suit. He relents after a moment, looking down at his phone to see GPS coordinates from an unknown caller.
“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!” John yells to himself as he slams his palms into the car’s steering wheel. His tantrum breaking off a piece of rubber, the fragment bouncing off the front windshield and back onto his cheek. He stops, taking a moment in the newfound silence. The murmur of crickets offsets the overwhelming quiet inside the car, but nothing could drown out the thoughts racing through his mind. He places his foot on the brake and attempts to pull out of the parking lot, before coming to a profound realization. The car isn’t on. John pauses to check the ignition.
No keys.
John sighs, looking back at Dr. Micheals. He swivels onto his knees in his seat, leaning into the backseat and rifling through Dr. Micheals’s pockets. The contents of the doctor’s wallet are littered across the backseat with not a key in sight. He finds Dr. Micheals’s phone in his jacket pocket, but no keys. Suddenly, the phone buzzes, its screen’s brightness catching John off guard. Tommy’s brown eyes seem to shift towards a small rose bud in the screen saver photo. He stands between his father, and Dr. Casey Micheals, his arm around their shoulders, his temple resting on Dr. Michaels’ chest. They’re at Continental park, they have the best playground in Kendall. Miami’s finest; children race one another in the background.
A text from an unfamiliar messenger is displayed on the screen. The name Marsha then comes into John’s focus, as well as a brief message; Late night, sweetie? Just make sure you don’t keep the staff up too late, you know they need sleep.
John turns off the phone, staring blankly into his barely visible reflection before placing it in his pocket. He steps out of the car and immediately finds the keys, sitting on the ground outside. There are key chains from various destinations around the globe. He sees the button for the trunk and opens it, before opening the backseat doors in order to grab Micheals’ body. It's when he’s about to lay him down in the trunk that he notices a compartment, recognizable by the Guild’s logo plastered on the exterior of the trunk bed.
Setting Michaels down, he quickly places a hand firmly in the center of the logo, causing the mechanism to rise and reveal a briefcase tucked underneath. John’s expression immediately grows vibrant, quickly grabbing the case before sealing the compartment. He closes the trunk after safely setting the unconscious Dr. Micheals in a somewhat comfortable position. John surveys his surroundings, ensuring that no one was around to witness his crime. After a brief moment John opens the backdoors of the sedan and places the case on the seat, now taking time to examine its exterior. The case is sealed by inscriptions barely visible to the naked eye. The symbols wrap around the locks, but aren’t noticeable on any other side of the case’s frame. John cautiously places a hand on one of the locks, determined to open the case, but he instead feels a sharp sting ripple throughout his body. The blue light shimmers besides his ear, feeling its presence blinking in and out of reality. He throws the case to the floor as he cries out in agony. The yellow coat of magic returns to John's body, encompassing him in a brilliant light before the luminations explode off of him. The light scatters into tiny particles, as John’s skin returns to its original complexion. The light beside his ear followed suit, as it began slowly returning to its normal color.
What -as th-. 02?! Do yo- -opy? The witches voice intrudes into his thoughts, but its message grows more distorted, her presence seemingly fading from his mind. After a moment of brevity, the psychic energy soon ripples through John's thoughts with a newfound intensity. A shiver of fear runs down John's spine as he crumbles into a ball on the floor of the parking lot. The pain was increasing in its ferocity, it felt as if knives were being forced into John's brain cavity, stabbing and scraping at whatever thoughts laid in its wake. Inversely, his mind found purchase against the newfound voice, clinging to a once ancient idea. A promise once cast aside.
0-0-2-02!? H-Hello?! Do you copy?
“Not sure. It's...excruciating.”
Elaborate
“A case. It might be a trap he laid in the car.”
That’s just me and he’s no mage. Even still, Tommy might have bugged it. It’s definitely the Gem. Ditch the ride, and take the body. The light fades, but before John could realign himself, its luminescent glow quickly snaps back beside his ear.
Car parked 300 feet northeast of your location, follow the path I’m sending. I’ve unlocked it and given it the command to start upon your arrival. Don’t fuck this up. This is becoming too risky.
The light fades, and John doesn’t waste a second. He presses his hands firmly against the concrete, but he’s only greeted with sharp pains. Pins and needles press against John's muscles as he urges them to work. With an unwavering determination, John fuels his body to stand and steady itself. He feels his hands tingle as he readjusts. Looking down he notices their original pigmentation has been restored. He quickly re-enters the car as he stares back into the reflection of the front seats rear view mirror. It’s his face. Messy black curls enshroud his complexion before giving way to blue eyes. His frame exudes an aura of kindness and sincerity, just as his late friend Tommy would have once described him. His looks were deceiving, but his eyes could hardly hide the truth. Deep drowsiness was affecting their every dimension. An emotional toll clearly striking the life from his pupils. John does his best to clean up his hair, as he stares back at the briefcase, a grim smile spreading across his face. He rushes back to the trunk and swiftly opens it. Reaching into his own pocket John grabs Micheals’ phone and dials 911, tossing it on the unconscious body before dashing away from the scene.
A brief run later and he arrives at the car, a Chevrolet corvette with its best years still ahead of it, just a few blocks down from the diner in a small community. John hurriedly steps in and puts on his seat belt. He then places a hand to his ear as sirens begin to sound in the distance.
“What now?” The response does not simply invade his mind, it pierces through to the core of his very being.
Drive.
The car suddenly roars to life, as John slams on the accelerator, swiftly maneuvering between the sea of trash cans and light poles, making his way through the suburb’s winding avenues. John could feel the Witch tugging at his mind, sending him the image of a path he’d need to follow, but John has already planned ahead. He senses the magic in the car is being fueled by his very essence. It’s linked to him, if only for the moment. He knows he won’t have much time once he’s done, but he’s been ready for a long time.
He takes a deep breath and places a hand on the briefcase as the blue light surges around his ear. The pain sends John’s body into spasms, as he begins to convulse in his seat. He slams the brakes, nearly sending him flying, but the car is slowed by the patches of grass it skids into. Shocks, like splinters burrowing into the surface of his skin, shoot through his whole body, ripping through the coat of blue magic that once enveloped him.
A few thoughts slip into his caving mind; surprise, confusion, but mostly anger. A rage like no other, her rage. Before it could come close to reaching his mortal body the spell binding them to each other fades. The case smolders as John blinks in and out of consciousness, his body still trembling from the jolt. The last he sees in that moment is the glow of the street lamps, illuminating one last reflection through the cracks in the windshield's glass. His face, fractured and dismayed, laid reflected before him in the fractured windshield, yet all he could do was smile.
The phone rings as John begins to stir, the bed creaking in every explicit way imaginable. Motel beds were never comfortable, but this was an unthinkable level of discomfort. John rolls to the left, hand barely reaching the phone as he yanks it from its holster. It feels cold against his face. “...Hello?”
“Mr. Samson? Front desk wanted to let you know that check out is at noon”
“...Right.”
“... It’s 12:30 sir.”
John looks towards the alarm clock beside the telephone. 12:32 PM displayed in bold red text. “Actually it’s 12:32.”
“...Right. Well, the cleaners tried to enter earlier and were locked out. So if you wouldn’t mind leaving before 1:00 then we'd kindly look into the removal of your late fee.”
John hangs his head over the side of the bed.“Got it. Sorry.”
“Yes... Enjoy your afternoon sir.” The phone clicks as the line disconnects.
John slams the phone back into its cradle and slowly rolls himself out of bed. He eyes the briefcase barely in his periphery. John brushes aside several used gauze bandages and an empty bottle of rubbing alcohol as he moves to lay the case flat on the motel table. He hesitates as he reaches for the latch, instead pushing the case further onto the table. John shakes his head before leaving it there. Walking to the bathroom he sees a tube of toothpaste laying uncapped and adjacent to a portable toothbrush. They are strewn about the counter, isolated along the barren emptiness of the counter’s exterior. The reflection reveals the bruised and battered reminders of the crash. The corner of his left eye is bruised, a small lump making it difficult to fully open his eyelid. Several scrapes line his cheeks and down his neck, ending where his shirt covers his chest.
Despite this aversion, his gaze soon fixates on the slight shimmer shrouding the case as he brushes his teeth. Unsurprisingly, he soon stops himself short of getting ready and moves towards the table. The magical aura exudes past the case, like a spiritual pressure pushing past even where John stood. This feeling was warm, a far cry from the searing pain it had delivered to him previously.
But it saved me, right? John’s thoughts clung to a desire to be free.
He’d put his faith in the magic that had severed the witch’s hold on him. Whatever was inside could be worth the risk. John reaches for the case's locks, the warmth only growing stronger. Yet once he places his hands on its exterior the warmness fades, the yellow energy associated with his magic now seemingly pouring from his hands. He feels his very soul being sucked into the confines of the case, his magical energy visibly leaping from his exterior and into the body of the case’s frame. The feeling grows ever more intense, and John can barely focus on trying to open the case itself. It soon becomes too much as John wrenches his hands free from the case's hold. He can barely stand, legs shaking as he soon collapses to the floor.
What the hell? He feels exhausted, a similar kind of exhaustion. It's as if he had just used his magic to conjure Mimic. John clasps his hands together as he takes a long and deep breath. He looks towards the case with unfamiliar resolve, staring it down with a clear and decisive goal.
Tommy would’ve tried. John wrenches his body from the ground’s embrace, standing in front of the case. He takes a few moments to prepare, jumping in place, stretching, all before hovering his hands over the locks of the case. He takes note of the locks, two latches held down by simple notches. The case’s magical defenses were all he had to worry about. Stealing himself, John presses his hands against the locks, his magic just as swiftly being pulled away from his body. John doesn’t waste any time, placing all his focus on his hand movements as he attempts to lift each latch from their hinges. John fights through the encroaching weakness, his hands fiercely shaking against the strain of the case's defenses. John finally gets his fingers between the crevice of the left latch, lifting with all his strength as it flies upwards. A burst of magical pressure pushes back against John, but he continues to wiggle his fingers between the right latch. Yellow energy surrounds the body of the case, as a faint purple hue soon begins to emanate from around the case’s locks. The purple energy grows in size, safusing itself with the yellow glow of John’s magic. The energy’s intertwine, the pressure now sending the motel room into disarray: Boxes of tissue paper fly haphazardly around the room, as John's folded clothes and toiletries are sent careening to the farthest corners of the space. John tightens his hold on the right lock, maneuvering his left hand beneath his right in an attempt to give it some extra leverage. The gusts of magic press against the force of John's fingertips, a crushing pain soon shooting through his hands. John lifts with all his might, crying out in pain as the magic crackles around the remaining lock. Through insurmountable effort, John presses his fingers firmly up against the rightmost latch, opening it with a satisfying click. A kaleidoscope of magical energy disperses in every direction, shaking the very foundation of the building as John struggles to maintain his balance. He opens the case, a torrent of magic shooting past him before ceasing abruptly. Now, the case delivers comfort, its previous warmth seemingly returning to its frame. Despite this, John fights to catch his breath, heaving at even the slightest twitch of a muscle. He steadies himself against the table, catching up with his lungs as he finally bears witness to his findings.
A Gem, no bigger than five centimeters across, lay at the very center of the case in a mold obviously designed to contain it. It emits a faint purple hue from its exterior, but it otherwise seems like any other mineral. Confusion lies plain upon John’s face before a new idea cuts its way into focus. He finds the burner phone he held onto and dials in an old number. After a few rings the phone goes to voicemail. John tries again, and again, and again, before giving up and defeatedly letting the prerecorded message play out in full. After a few moments of silence an older woman’s voice begins to speak through the device.
“This is Jane Presler. If its about my night job, fuck off. Any inquiries on Presler’s Preem Pastas can be left after the beep.”
Another pause hangs over the call before a loud beep is cast through the line.
“Hey Pres. It’s... John. Promise that this isn’t a flop. Think I found something. We can talk more details in person, but this thing oozes magical energy. Should at least sell for a few thousand. Just let me know, I went through a lot gettin this thing. It needs to be worth it.” John hangs up the phone and tosses it on the bed. He walks towards the sink in the bathroom, placing his hands on the counter as he looks towards the mirror. His face is wrecked from fatigue, drowsy eyelids barely giving room for his pupils to focus. His hair is beyond messy, curls now stringy and hanging in every which way. He closes his eyes, letting his head fall until his chin is nearly touching his chest. His hands grow tighter against the cold frame of the counter, knuckles turning white from strain until a slight chip in its exterior catches him off guard. He acquiesces, opening his eyes to find that he’d cracked the countertop, a small fissure now having grown where each of his palms once rested. John sighs, moving away to turn the faucet for the shower on before stepping inside.
The water attempts to wash away the worry that rests in his thoughts, but its ferocity only seems to grow with the temperature.
Is it really that special? It looks like a worthless diamond. Would it even sell for thousands? Each drop cascading new anxieties through his very being, sparking found fears of regret and dread long since buried within the body’s recesses. It was the Gem, so what gives?! Why did it break John free?! Was it even intentional?! He can’t focus, thoughts creating a torrent of dread that brought him to his knees. The water struck him like whips, reminding him of the memories he can’t seem to escape from. He cleans himself to the best of his ability, his thoughts only sharpening its visions, its cuts driving deeper into his deeply sunken ego.
He quickly finishes, drying himself as he leaves the shower and starts to exit the bathroom. Suddenly, a burning thought in his mind clutches him tightly and with an unfamiliar force. John steps back and buries his head in his hands: was this worth killing Tommy? John reels back, nearly falling into the shower he’d stepped out from, before catching himself against the wall beside him. John checks the bathroom, as a still full quiet consumes the presence of the space, before he begins to hear a faint hum from outside the bathroom door. Its frame appears aged, faintly malformed, as John cautiously presses his hand against its cracked exterior. It creaks with an unfamiliar noise, seemingly having aged in the time spent in the shower. John appears confused, soon dazed by the nauseating headache soon clawing at his skull. He crosses the door’s threshold, as another splinter of pain cripples his movement. John’s brain aches with agony as he crumbles to the floor. Flashes of distorted memories begin to force their way into John’s mind. Images of his fallen friends, happy and amongst their families. John see’s the time he spent with his clan, with his family. His brothers and sisters lined up alongside him, each awaiting judgment. He hears the loading of pistols and the heat of branding irons, a distant gunshot seemingly reverberating in the back of his skull. John suddenly feels a warm liquid slide off his face. He quickly moves his hands down, rubbing his upper lip before seeing what he’d expected. Blood, dripping from his nose at a now alarming rate. Another sharp spike causes him to collapse on his back. He begins convulsing, mind splintering as each new memory takes shape, each spike of pain igniting a new vision. He stands before his grandmasters, each a champion in their field. Bowing before his lords, he hears the cheers of their fallen families, and the grander cries from their deceased siblings. John only finds himself mortified. Their faces, deformed and decrepit, each appearing with their own unique set of injuries and malformations. Blood drains from their bodies, as he panics, hurriedly searching for his former allies, yet all he finds are corpses, standing and staring. Their bodies soon contort and coalesce before his very eyes into heaps of gore and viscera.
The grandmasters stare down at John, their eyes growing more demonic and devilish, their bodies literally growing in size before him as flames overtake their surroundings. The now enormous visages of the grandmasters loom before John as he utters but a single phrase.
“Obey.” John can’t move. He tenses, flexing every component of his being, yet nothing heeds his calls. His body almost feels numb, detached from himself yet still clutching onto his every soul. Demanding that he stay and watch. Every muscle and bone in John’s body yearning to escape this space. This moment, yet nothing happens. John’s mind is racing, begging, pleading with itself to find some means of escape. Yet even his greatest screams merely echoed in his skull, barely escaping the barrage of thoughts that now cluttered its fractured catacombs. John sits in the quiet, his mind still reeling from the clutter of fears and anxieties.
He’s suddenly pulled within focus. A familiar feeling. He feels the tug of his fingers as sparks explode from below his periphery. An image slowly comes into view, as Tommy's lifeless corpse lay face down on the ground before him. Blood begins to pool beneath John’s feat, yet the warmth of his pistol’s exterior is all that invades his thoughts.
His eyes suddenly open, as John quickly sits up. He only makes it about halfway before the incredible stress of his convulsion catches up with him. His body stings with pain and soreness as he lies back down on the floor. He places a hand against his head, using the other to wipe the blood off his face. He attempts to relax his aching body, but the calm doesn’t last for long. This familiar stress soon ends his short reprieve, reinforcing a sense of doubt unfelt in John for quite some time. He does not often consider the blood on his hands, yet John was being forced to remember. That wasn’t just a panic attack, John’s got experience with those. That unfathomable, unreal level of agony had never brought him so summarily to his knees. John tenses and shudders at the mere memory of it, shaking his head before attempting to push himself off the bathroom floor.
He slowly stands, steadying himself against the wall as he scans his surroundings. The rest of the bathroom almost appears as he left it, yet the tube of toothpaste was nowhere to be seen. Same with his toothbrush and most importantly, his gun. John grows more panicked, he heard nothing whilst in the shower.
Did someone come in while I was out? How long was that? Seconds? Minutes? hours?!
John looks towards the mirror above the counter, its reflection showing the rest of the room. John looks towards where the Gem should be, but the briefcase is empty. Then, John caught something in the corner of eye. Just beside the case, barely within view from his position outside the bathroom, was a person. Their backs are turned away from the mirror. Instead, they are looking outside the front window, the door leading out of the apartment being just beside it. All John could make out was their shirt, seemingly torn to some degree but he couldn’t make out the severity.
No visible weapons, none on the trespasser or within John’s own reach. He waited a few moments, hoping to understand the figure's intentions, but all they did was stand there. John couldn’t even tell if they were breathing. He almost believed they could be some cocky assassin waiting to confront him, but then he’d at least have heard something.
It’s just some goon, nothing more. John steady’s his hands, crouching lower to the floor as he silences his movements. Stepping out of the corner that shields him from the tresspasser’s view, it only takes a second for the trespasser to suddenly turn around. John tenses, one moment away from leaping back around the corner, before he freezes. John’s gaze remains fixed to the eyes of this figure, questions firing throughout his thoughts yet none carry his answers. The trespasser, it was their face that was throwing him off.
“...Tommy? H-How in the-” Tommy raises his hands far above his head, his expression quickly turning from neutral to panicked. “Dude, please just hear me out!”
“Wait what do you-”
“You don’t have to do this, we can still get out!” Tommy stumbles to John as he drops to his knees, hands clutching John’s bath towel. Before it could fall off, John kneeled in front of Tommy as he continued to weep. “Slow down. What’s going on and...how are you-”
“Just tell me where she is, John.” Tommy keeps gripping to the towel, tears welling in his eyes. John’s eyes widen, Tommy’s gaze is unflinching. John feels sweat bedding across his face as Tommy speaks louder. “John! Where the hell did you put her?!” John tries to stand, but
Tommy only tightens his grip. His strength was, to put it lightly, unusual. An indomitable force that, try as he did, John could not escape from.
“I-I don’t understand... didn’t we already-”
“WHERE DID YOU BURY MY WIFE?!?!” An undertone was present with this screech. A deep guttural below, finding a means to echo within the motel room. He suddenly pushes against John's chest, the force knocking the wind out of John as he’s slammed into the ground behind him. Tommy’s eyes are consumed with a dark abyss, creating no present reflection as John peers into its endless void, his full weight now pressing up against John’s body. Tommy then swiftly moves his hands: once pressing down on his chest, now strangling his throat. “WHERE IS KATE?!” John kicks and flexes in every way that he can, attempting to surpass the unyielding might that has now suffused him to the floor. His vision begins to darken as Tommy’s expression grows more angered and enraged. John thrashes as hard as he could,the pressure on his neck making it hard to even concentrate.
His vision started to fade, his mind wandering to the thoughts of that fateful final conversation. Yet his body felt composed. Primed to accomplish an objective, as John feels his arm grab ahold of something. The coldness of the object travels up John's arm, his anxiety’s guised as shivers race across his spine. His arm suddenly twitched, and then there was the first bang. The pressure is suddenly gone. John takes a deep breath, gasping until he’s caught off guard.
Blood? John feels a liquid pouring onto his stomach as he looks up. It’s there, matted and streaking off his side, but its not his. Blood gushes from Tommy’s stomach, a hole in his shirt showing the point of impact. John gasps before the second bang. Sparks flying to the side as a new hole opens in Tommy’s chest. John tries to match Tommy’s gaze but all he sees is the abyss which greeted him prior. John finally recognizes the pull of his finger, yet he couldn’t even struggle. He got lost in the dark, horrified. “N-No, T-Tommy I don't wanna-” the third bang encompasses his vision in a brilliant flash of light, as John wakes up.
John lurches forward, an alarm blaring in his ear from on the nightstand. The creaking bed frame further startling him, as he is catapulted off the bed. He collides with the floor, accompanied by a loud crash. He let himself lay there for a moment, pain pulsing on the side of his face. The alarm continues screaming across the room, as John weakly pulls against the cord connected to the nightstand, watching it bounce against the ground. He weakly pulls it towards him, shutting it off as he notices the time.
12:55 PM, the lights appeared to be slightly cracked from the fall. He tosses it to the side before frantically scanning his surroundings, feeling his body for any residual marks. His neck and chest felt sore, but were otherwise uncompromised. A quick glance at his shirt revealing no lasting blood stains. John slowed his breathing, sitting quietly in the dimly lit room. He couldn't begin to process what had just occurred, his mind felt numb after the barrage of traumatic thoughts and buried anxieties.
He then heard a knock at the door. He jumped at the sudden sound, ducking under the bed. Attempts to see beyond the door prove fruitless, as not only was the door very obviously far away, but the blinds were closed over the window. After a few moments, another knock followed by a voice. “Cleaning service!” They continue knocking before trying the door again. John see’s the door lock strain, baring their entry as they sigh from the other side of the doorway. John looks towards the bathroom counter, everything’s as it was, gun included. He relaxes, fully standing as he starts to walk towards the door before noticing the briefcase. The Gem is still absent from its place within the crater. John then hears its faint hum, as he snaps his head towards the bed. It lay just beside his pillow, its purple glow being far fiercer than it was before. He walks over and grabs the burner phone. Seven missed calls, all from Presler’s number. John starts to feel a panic rise through his chest, but finds the strength to steady himself, rushing over to grab his gun. It's after grabbing its chilled exterior that he hears a loud series of knocks from the door. “Everything okay in there?” more powerful and louder knocks follow suit.
“I’ll have to get security to break this open if you keep quiet! Please, just come out!” John swiftly puts on his pair of dress pants, tightening the belt buckle he’d left on them as he hops toward the door. It's then that he felt a soft tap on his shoulder. A deep voice soon commands the presence of the room, speaking directly into John’s ear.
“Forgetting something?” John snaps his head back, terrified he sees the decomposed corpse of Tommy standing before him. Without thinking for a moment, John grabs his bag nearest to the entry door, quickly snapping the latch off the door as he hears Tommy roar from behind him. He looks back to see Tommy leaping towards him. John throws open the doors, taking a step away from the entrance as Tommy sends himself flying directly outside.
Wait, wasn’t there a cleaning lady?! John freaks, immediately worried about her safety he peers out the door. The bucket of cleaning supplies lay just in front of the door, but this was far from the face he’d expected to see. Kate, her eyes a deep green and hair as dark as the night sky. She looked out of place in the cleaning uniform, but that wasn’t John’s first thought. It was the recognition of doubt, of whether this was still just some crazy dream. For a moment these thoughts faded, as Kate speaks.
“Hey John, got a minute?” Her eyes turn into a deep pool of darkness before she speaks again. Reaching into her back pocket she reveals to have the Gem, gesturing it towards him. It’s magic only begins to pulsate. John immediately tries to step around Kate, but Tommy soon blocks his path, grinning maliciously.
“N-No. NO! None of this is real...you’re dead. This was over a long time ago!” John slaps himself refocusing his vision, to see Kate now has also decayed, a bullet hole laying in the center of her forehead. “It’ll never be over John, not for someone like you.” The Gem then pulsates, magical energy rushing out of every corner of the Gem’s design. The room and hallways start to shift and turn out of focus. Tommy and Kate grow more malformed, more vile, as blood starts to pool from their bodies and the very walls around them. John kicks Kate in the chest, sending her and the Gem flying into the wall behind them. Ducking around Tommy, John evades his second lunge and dashes straight towards the staircase. He leaps off the railing, almost colliding with stairs themselves before luckily sticking the landing. He arrives at the parking lot taking a moment to catch his breath as he feels his phone ringing. He reaches into his pocket and starts to further survey the outside, there were a handful of people walking out of their cars, and even less standing around their motel rooms. They were smoking cigars, listening to music, or simply watching as John suddenly froze just a few feet off the walkway on the first floor of the motel. He had a hand wrenched into each of his pockets, he felt the burner in his right pocket, but there was something new in his left. Yanking it free he’s stunned to see the Gem, harmoniously surging with its purple energy, now rests within John’s fingertips. He immediately throws it, sending it flying off the nearby railing as he takes a moment to breathe. Suddenly he feels a slight discomfort as if his pants had shifted in some way. His eyes widen, reaching yet again into his pockets. It was the Gem, holding it again in his palm. John was profusely sweating, attempting to catch his breath whilst also sizing up the severity of the situation. John throws it into a nearby garbage can, as he takes out the burner phone. He sees a missed call from Presler before the phone roars to life, beginning to ring again. Presler’s number takes up the entirety of the small device's digital screen. He answers it immediately pressing the phone to his ear with his right hand as he speaks up, “Pres! Thank god, you have no idea what's been-”
“Can it John! Where the hell have you been?! It's been a year since... You said you’d try and stay in contact. What the hell happened?”
“I can explain. Sort of, but we need to meet now. Something’s extremely wrong with this Gem.” John tenses back, waiting for a response, but the call hangs on a pause for a moment too long for John not to notice.
“H-Hello? Am I losing you over there?” John waits for another moment before feeling something burning in his pocket. A new voice then speaks up.
“You lost me a long time ago John. Why can’t you just say it?” Tommy’s demonic voice cuts through the line. A shock rushes through John’s spine as he remains silent, fear rupturing any peace of mind.
“Level with me John. Why the hell did you do it?” John breathes become scattered, hurried as he begins trembling under the stress. John tries to pull his arm away from the phone, but he can’t. His body began resisting his cries for help.
“Money? Na man, that’d be too shallow. Even for you. Power? Don’t think so. Ya still seem pretty weak to me.”
“Tommy... please you know its not-”
“TOMMY IS DEAD! Focus that brain rot of yours on the important questions!” John looks around to see that several of the motel guests are looking his way. Looking around further he notices many of the motel guests suddenly exit their room. A small boy lets out a sharp yelp as he merely glances at John’s direction. John looks around, frantically searching for what could be catching the guests off guard.
“Was it to save someone? Fuck no! The Guild killed your family, right? We were all you had left.” John panics, being unable to identify the source of his attention. Suddenly he feels a warm liquid begin to pool down from his right arm. John freezes, slowly tilting his head to the right, a face wracked with anxiety resting on his shoulders.
“The Guild took everything. Well, I guess not really.” John looks to see blood oozing down his arm, as it begins to pool beside his body. John's breathing intensifies as he sees cuts running up and down his arm. Noticing the blood pooling at his feet, he sees two stab wounds on his lower torso and right leg. The pain suddenly rushes through John’s body as he drops to one knee.
“They never did take your life. We really all should have known that it mattered most to you.” John’s eyes grow wide, now fighting the urge to retaliate in rage as Tommy’s words sink into the pits of his stomach.
“My life?! I don’t give a shit about that!” John retorts. Tommy begins cackling from beyond the phone line.
“You anxious piece of crap! That's bullshit! Major fucking bullshit! You really think I’d buy that?!”
“Stop it! You don’t understand-”
“Understand?! What?! Your mind? I am your fucking mind. Your thoughts speak louder than words John, but an idiot wouldn’t even need the Gem to learn that nugget of knowledge.”
John is stunned, a constant headache reaffirming the Gems control over him. He feels it tugging at his thoughts, weaving across his mind as Tommy builds upon his anxiety.
“You were too scared of the dark, weren’t you?! Afraid of what getting killed would really feel like?!”
“CUT IT OUT! I-I’m FUCKING SERIOUS TOMMY! STOP FUCKING AROUND!”
“Don’t worry pal. This won’t be pretend for much longer.” The blood leaking from John's arm soon forces him to release his hold on the burner phone, as it falls to the floor. He tries to flee but he can barely stand, gravity pulling him further towards the concrete floors of the parking lot. Soon apparitions of Tommy, Kate, Seth and Dr. Micheals surround him. Their bodies appear more spectral and translucent. “NO! I DIDN'T KILL YOU, THEY-They...” The Gem begins to burn through his pant leg with an insurmountable heat, cutting through his flesh before he attempts to yank it free. The corpses only grow in numbers, begging and pulling at John’s every essence.
“John... please, we know what happened.” The voices speak in unison, not attacking John, but simply staring him down. “STOP IT! I CAN’T ACCEPT THIS! Y-YOU... Can’t.” John's voice grows weaker, a strong tug at his mind soon forcing him to crumple onto the ground. His head fills with fumes of an unwavering toxicity, every molecule of his being feeling as if it's tearing apart. John attempts to pull himself out of this trance, but can’t resist. His eyes barely focusing on the lone image of Tommy, the last thing to stand before him. His eyes are normal, relaxed with the same kindness John wishes he could have. Tommy pleads one final time, “You were my hero once John. Don’t let it do this to you.”
“This? You’re doing this Tommy. I only ever wanted the best for you guys! The FUCKING BEST!!” Tommy frowns, kneeling on the ground and placing a hand on John’s head.
“It could have been so much better for you. He would’ve wanted better for you.” A magical intensity soon encompasses John’s mind, fracturing his every thought into millions of shards. Tommy gives John a weak smile, as John’s body convulses.
Steven finishes talking with 911 as he hurriedly sets the work phone back in its cradle. The motel lobby is crowded with several of its residents, their panicked expressions bringing no comfort to Steven’s dilemma. The lobby only possesses two entrances/exits. Two sliding doors facing the north side of the building, and one handlebar door to the west side. Both of which were funneling crowds of individuals into the lobby. The sheer quantity of people has crowded the small lobby’s interior, much of the room's decor has been destroyed or forcibly shoved to the side as more guests attempt to create available space. Several of the guests are being pushed against the glass which separates the front desk from the lobby. The desk sits parallel to the north entrance giving Steven an excellent view of the chaos that was brewing at his workplace. Steven takes a step away from the glass, as even more people begin pooling in from the Lobby’s entrances. One of the motel’s house keepers, Ruby, races into the lobby from the north side, pushing past several of the patrons before arriving at the front desk, slamming her hands on the glass as she catches her breath. She appears disheveled, her hair nearly flying out of her ponytail as sweat is visibly pouring off her face. Her clothes are smeared with blood. Two bloodied hand prints lay firmly planted on the right side of her clothing, one pressed on her shoulder, the other near her hip. Steven looks on in horror as she begins to speak up.
“I-I checked the rooms! E-Everyone’s out! Are the police coming!?” Ruby states between hurried breaths.
“Yes! A few of the guests called ahead of me. They should already be on the way-” Steven is cut off by a sudden scream coming from beyond the lobby’s interior. The room grows silent as another yell soon follows the first. Those closest to the door soon begin screaming as well, as the patrons begin backing away from the west entrance. Ruby turns to face the west entrance as she too begins screaming in horror. Steven’s view is blocked by the hordes of people who soon begin filling out of the north entrance. Steven races towards the desk computer, fiddling with the keys as the motel’s security feed is pulled up on his laptop. Steven’s eyes grow wide as he sees John, standing a few feet from the west entrance. The motel parking lot sits just a few feet behind John, as a handful of people hiding among the cars point their phones in his direction. Despite the grainy distortions of the security feed, John’s bloodied, broken body is still distinguishable. His face, obscured by his hair’s stringy curls, masks his collarbone and chest as blood pours off his shirt and onto the floor, dripping further down his arms and legs. Visible lacerations cover John's body, primarily appearing on his wrists, but more visible stab wounds leech through the newly created tears in his shirt. In his right hand, seemingly encased in blood, is a small pocket knife. The patrons push past each other, racing from the north exit. Steven's eyes remain fixed to the computer, a morbid curiosity pushing past his every instinct. John suddenly jabs the blade into his left arm carving up and around his shoulders before swiftly raising the knife into the air. He brings it crashing down into his body, repeatedly stabbing into his chest and legs as onlookers continue to run in fear. John's head is unmoved, looking down at his feet as his left hand wildly swings out of control. Between the flurry of stabs, John pushes through the west entrance of the lobby. The last of the runners escape past him, with the few who remain either standing paralyzed or joining the many who are capturing the chaotic self-immolation on camera. Steven steps back from the computer and further away from the glass protection, as John continues to walk across the lobby floor. Blood pools beneath his feet, each stride creating a new splotch of the dark red liquid. His knife suddenly launches free of John's grasp, embedding itself in the cushion of a dismembered couch. John’s arm does not relent, pounding its fist into his gaping stab wounds. John’s body trembles after each step, his joints verging on the point of utter collapse. John stumbles toward the front desk, sirens growing louder in the distance. Steven presses himself against the back wall of the front desk space, as John remains still. John slowly lifts his head, his stringy hair falling beside a malformed expression, one surprisingly neutral, no sign of strain or pain visible. His bloodshot eyes, however, gape as if his eyelids are held open by invisible hands, their veins clearly strained against the outer layer of his cornea. Steven remains focused on the strange purple glow pulsing from John’s irises, their vibrant red aura in contrast with the bright purple ring that has replaced their former blue. For a moment, Steven envies John’s almost beautiful eyes. Transfixed by the shock, they almost don’t hear the police rushing past the sliding doors with their guns drawn.
“Put your hands in the air NOW! Or we will be authorized to use lethal force against you!” John’s ears perk up at the notion, but he doesn’t turn away from Steven. John's mouth begins to move, mouthing something unintelligible to Steven until the faintest voice makes it through.
“T....Tommy?” John reaches a hand toward the glass, his bloody print smearing across its exterior. John attempts to make another motion with his mouth before his eyes roll back into his skull, his body suddenly limp and lifeless, collapsing onto the lobby floor. The police hastily surround him, analyzing his body from a safe distance. One of the officers places a hand on John’s neck before quickly lowering his ear to his mouth, his eye aimed directly toward his chest. His eyes go wide as he gestures to the rest of his squad.
“Get the medics in here! He’s still alive!” A team of patrol officers move in and out of the lobby, getting the remaining patrons to exit the lobby and remain outside. The paramedics enter the room with a stretcher and several velcro belts. The team carefully sets John’s body onto the stretcher before tightly strapping his arms and legs to its base. They begin rolling John away from the lobby, as an officer quietly walks up to the glass. He waves at Steven, who is still pressed up against the back wall in complete shock. The officer waves again before speaking up.
“Would you happen to be Steven Reinfenberg?”
Steven stares blankly for a moment before speaking up. “... Yes.”
“So you’d be the manager?”
“... Yes.”
“Then would you mind answering a few questions? I’ll try not to take too much—”
“He was smiling.” Steven interjects. The officer pauses, appearing confused. “Excuse me?”
“Mr. Samson. I think he was trying to smile.”
Steven stares blankly past the officer into the north entrance. The ambulance had been driven closer to the front, its rear facing the sliding doors. Steven could see the stretcher being lifted into the ambulance, splotches of blood were visibly coating the stretcher, as they carted him into its interior. The ambulances double doors swing closed, as a handful of police cars follow close behind.
John’s eyes flutter open. He’s still unmoving in the bed he layed in for longer than he could recall. His eyes soon dart around the motel room, messy in all the ways he left it. He looks at the alarm clock but it's dark. John has broken it in such a way that his own wracked mein is all that distorts against its reflection. Slowly standing, he could only feel an incredible heaviness on his shoulders, on his mind. He peers across the room, everything is barely visible, not even light was peering in through the blinds.
“It must be late.” John recounts his day, yet he could only remember his dream. A dream of torturous remembrance. A dream with that ridiculous Gem.
“The Gem?!” John looks towards his pillow and in the briefcase, but it isn’t in either place.
“It’s better in someone else's hands.”
John walks towards the mirror, but it's strangely dark. No reflection emitting from its frame. Confused, he tries to at least wash his face, but the water won’t run. Neither does the shower when he rushes over to try it.
“Fucking motel service.” John sighs
He tries to find more of his clothes, but can’t seem to locate his luggage. He’s wearing the same shirt and pants he had when he ran his mission yesterday, so John simply shrugs it off. The cleaning service must have taken his stuff while he was asleep. Probably something to do with the late fee.
“Yeah, that sounds right.” He mutters, moving towards the front door, noticing a new excess of trash lying messily on the floor. He tries to open the door, but it's locked. He further presses weight into it, but it seemingly won’t budge. One quick glance at the door frame revealed no apparent locking mechanism. He takes a step back, evidently confused, before quickly inspecting the peep hole. All he sees is darkness.
“Is someone covering the hole?” John mutters, anger boiling in his chest.
“Hey, who is this?! Got some kind of death wish?” He opens the blinds to the window, trying to see what problem he needs to deal with before his expression drops. The infinite void, its black and purple abyss lay beyond the window, fluxing every few moments with a brilliant energy. John closes the blinds and stumbles back, his breathing only further intensifying as he rushes towards the door. Colliding with it, he presses every ounce of power he has into its handle, which, in turn, simply snaps it off the door's exterior. John throws the handle at the window, watching it softly bounce off the wall and land motionless on the floor. Screaming at the room's barren white walls, John begins tearing the room apart. Every picture, wall fixture and piece of furniture is swept into his tantrum. The chaos he swirls in the room creates breaches in the walls interior. Breaches that lead to nowhere. Only darkness fills up the holes he creates with his rage. He stops, falling to the floor before making eye contact with the window. He slowly rises, seeing the deep darkness that takes up the mirror's entire image. He slams his fist into the mirror's frame, as it cracks and splinters. Suddenly, a reflection finally takes shape. He sees his own bloodied face fractured and splintered in the glass, as Tommy stands behind him. His figure is somehow undistorted, looking as healthy as he did the last time John saw him alive. John doesn’t turn, not even breathing as he stands and stares into his friend’s immaculate reflection. The severed glass reflecting the truth of an unkempt darkness not dealt with.
“We missed you. John.”
Tommy’s voice echoes in the cold darkness of the room. John simply stares, smiling into his trauma ridden face, before greeting the sins that stood behind him.
END