EPTTL LoL Noir 1 - Philosophy of a Lunatic
The hallways are cool, pristine, sterile. He flashes his badge to a nearby attendant who nods in favor and returns to his work. Detective John Bright is very clear about one thing, and one thing only: he really doesn't want to be here.
He'd had nothing to go on; only a name whispered to him by the few plants and drug addicts he had left in the urine-soaked cesspool that was the heart of the city. They spoke his name with mixed emotions, an odd reverence followed by relief followed by mixed with fear, as though they were glad that someone was after the guy, but afraid for what he might do. He had an odd feeling about this one, to be sure, but since it was the only lead he'd had in weeks and he wasn't any closer to solving the case, he had to follow up.
His footsteps echo loudly at a constant pace, slowing to a stop as he arrives at his destination.
Room 6136.
One of the odd tales John was told was that the staff at the hospital had allowed him to choose his own room and upon seeing it, he whispered "I'm home," calmly entered and hadn't left since. Another was that he was assigned to it but unbeknownst to them it was the exact same number of personalities he was said to harbor in his jigsaw puzzle of a brain.
He beckons to one of the orderlies who begrudgingly walks over with a large set of keys. "You sure about this, buddy?"
John says nothing, hoping his stoic exterior would say all that it needed to, but truth be told, he is rattled. He knows that the staff on this ward have seen some shit, but have they seen what he has? He doubts it.
He is jarred from his thoughts by the sound of the large metal door creaking open. "If you need anything just hit the intercom button on the wall."
Noticing the large red button under it, he asks, "What's that one for?"
The orderly laughs and nonchalantly tosses his head, "You don't need to worry about that. We prepared him for your arrival."
"I really think I'd rather know."
"It's the emergency alarm. I take it that its use was never explained to you as part of your debriefing?"
"Not that I remember."
The orderly laughs again, a cynical, harsher sound than his earlier one.
"Yeah, that's because 6136 is a special case. No need to use the red one in there, because if you did need to use it, it'd already be too late. Have fun you two!"
He shuts the door, locking John in with a madman.
He peers around the room, warily and at first doesn't notice anything. A toilet in one corner, a small nondescript shelving unit, bolted to the wall, of course. A pile of sheets in another corner, a bed, a night-table, a buzzing fluorescent light overhead. The window to the far left along the back wall has some kind of mesh sheeting over it with iron bars easily visible behind it. He looks back to the bookshelf and notices it full of literature. Hemingway, Ovid, Tolkien, Bradbury, Irving, Dickinson. A mixed bag of genres and authors.
He notices one book in particular and, wary of not being able to see the author in question, selects a book scribbled all over in red marker entitled 'Musings.' Having seen this sort of thing before, he opens it and looks inside and is not disappointed. Pages full of disjointed thoughts, scribbles on other pages so dark and etched in John is surprised the pages aren't ripped. Other pages with what appear to be themed drawings: eyeballs of all shapes and sizes. A dinosaur playing the guitar. A page dedicated entirely to bears. John is amused to see one of them wearing what appears to be a suit of armour. A page wherein the author has intricately outlined the various phases of the moon. One page has only the word 'Troika' written and is underlined what appears to be well over a hundred times.
John is thinking this last revelation over when he hears a soft small voice: "Do you like it?"
Startled, he drops the book and backs against the bookshelf. "Who said that?" he calls out, in a voice shakier than he intended. Out of the corner of his eye what he thought was a pile of sheets begins to move and he hears a giggle.
Amidst a sea of white...linen? He can't tell. A man's face appears.
The man appears surprisingly well-kept, a stark contrast to John's scruffy 5-day old growth, bad haircut and pockmarked face.
"I asked you a question, John. Do you like it?"
"I...I'm not sure what to make of it. I see you know my name already, is there something I can call you?"
John inches closer to the man in the corner. As he approaches he can see what he mistook for a pile of sheets appears to be a custom-made sort of pillow suit. It is rife with ripped edges all over, notably at the arms and legs but hastily sewn into the suit there are rigid pads, forcing the wearer into a starfish position. The only visible part of his body is his face, which is reasonably attractive, as far as insane asylum patients go.
"Oh, that won't matter in a minute or so. I am terribly interested in what you think, however, for you see I have prepared some of my musings especially for you. Come now, I only ask your opinion. For example, Chiharu thoroughly enjoyed the bears page, though I imagine she enjoyed the tentacle monster page considerably less."
"Who?"
"Chiharu. She spoke of you often, you know. Harbored some belief that you were going to rescue her...this was years ago, of course. Or was it days? You never really can tell in here. In any case, she soon realized otherwise."
John immediately glances at his pocket. No. Fucking. Way. Could it be that easy?"Tell me more about this...Chiharu."
John notices then that the man's face has changed somewhat; he can't quite place it. He almost looks...scared?
"Chris P. said not to, he said not to, I don't know anything." What the hell, John thinks, His voice is deeper now?
"Who is Chris P.?"
"He's been around for a while, they all have, Utahime, Steve...Chiharu said not to get involved and I didn't, I didn't! Steve is so fake...Why...why..."
John is about to fish the photograph out of his pocket when without warning a blind rage creeps into the man's face and he literally snaps at John, attempting to bite him in the face.John backs away slowly and watches, disturbed but intrigued as the immobilized man continues this episode for maybe 5 minutes. Then calm once again.
He laughs. "I can see by the look on your face you've just borne witness to one of my...turns. They're quite uncontrollable, sadly. I hope Bly didn't scare you?"
But it's John's turn to snap. He pulls out the photograph of the victim he carries around with him as a reminder of the atrocities scum like the man in front of him are able to carry out.
"Do you know this girl? Is she Chiahru?" John has all but lost patience with this game.
"I'm not sure what you're referring to, John. That picture is very nice though. A bit gory for my tastes yet somehow comforting. Familiar handiwork at the very least, if you know what I mean."
And then the man grins and winks at him.
"CHIHARU! WHAT DID YOU DO WITH HER, DAMN IT?!"
The patient known only by his initials M.B beckons the detective to come closer. Knowing better but inwardly deciding
To hell with it. He leans in.
M.B whispers in his ear: "I killed her." His face changes and then he begins to giggle like a small child. "You wanna play too? It'll be fun!"
John presses the intercom button.
The doctor greets him outside the door after it is shut and bolted. "Any luck?"
John shows the doctor the picture of the girl. Or what was left of her. The doctor appears immediately horrified. "And you think....you think 6136 did this?"
"Well he admitted to something, and now we finally have a name for our victim. I'm going to head back to HQ to run it through our database---"
"I'm sorry, but detective, what did our friend say that this girl's name was?"
"Chiharu, why?"
The colour drains from the doctor's face.
"I'm afraid your lead may very well be a dead end. We've had this sort of thing before with 6136. He's what some of the, um, less tactful employees refer to as 'The Mixed Bag.' We don't have a name for him and have no idea where he came from so those initials are all we have. I can't remember if the initials came first or the nickname did, he's been here so long. Anyway, the reason he is a 'mixed bag' is because he has been diagnosed with just about every major category and spectrum disorder there is."
"Okay..."
"Manic episodes? Check. Narcissism? Check. Schizophrenia? You've seen his, um, writing I assume?"
"Yeah."
"Psychotic and sociopathic? Check. And of course, DID.:
"DID?"
"Dissociative Identity Disorder."
"I'm not sure where you're going with this."
The doctor takes a deep breath. "Did his voice happen to change at all during the time you were interviewing him?"
"Yes, but---"
"And I'm willing to bet he mentioned other names as well, correct?"
"Yes." All of a sudden, John's eyes grow wide. Understanding dawns on him in that instant, right before the doctor explains it himself.
"You see, detective, the girl Chiharu you mentioned? She's a name we've heard before. We assume it to be one of his many fragmented personalities. I'm not sure where his mind got the idea to formulate a teenaged Japanese girl, but then again these disorders are often so poorly understood---"
John grows frantic. "But---but he said he killed her! He admitted to killing her! How can you kill a personality inside your own damn head?!"
The doctor put a thick, cold hand on his shoulder. "The human brain is a powerful thing, detective." He pauses. "Did you know that the term 'lunatic' is derived from ancient peoples believing that the cycles of the moon induced madness in people? Perhaps despite all of our advances in modern medicine there is yet something to this theory?"
John takes a deep breath and thinks back to some of the drawings he observed back in the room.
He lets out a resigned sigh. "Damned if I know."
As John leaves the hospital it is raining. Of course it is, he thinks. "Why should this suburb of TL be any different from the rest of this miserable damn city?" he yells, to no one in particular. He shivers and takes one look back at the mental hospital. He has decided he is still going to head back to HQ just to see if he can learn something from the jumbled mess of thoughts and ideas spoken at him by the madman, but he's not getting his hopes up.
From the mind of one raving psychopath to another, he thinks.
A killer is still on the loose in the streets of TL LoL and he feels helpless to stop it. He knows that night is coming, and once that darkness strikes, the killer will himself. He hated the papers for giving the serial killer a name, of course, it just sensationlizes the murders, allows the victims and their families no peace and worst of all, gives that killer asshole the fame and glory he wants.
Damn 'Read it!' Even for a publication that only cares about its own self-image, it's going too far! he thinks.
Those attention whores are going to have a field day with the next one, I'm sure about it.
But he knows in his heart that he has not, and will not give up. There are citizens to keep safe: honest, hardworking people. He rattles different groups off in his head: researchers for TL R&D, the Moderators, the city planners and strategists...each of them trying to make these suburbs their own carved-out little place in the city, trying to make it better for the people who, through very littel choice of their own, have chosen to take up residence here. Because honestly, where else can they go?
As John begins the long drive back to TL HQ he thinks to himself, Maybe I'll do another exposé, another writeup summarizing the case. That'll surely bring it the notice it needs from the other communities, hell, maybe even the stupid paper will get on board. He thinks this, but doesn't entirely believe it. Because there is no moon in the sky tonight, and as he drives away from the TL LoL suburbs, the 'Darkness Killer' has claimed another victim under the cover of his namesake.
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Story one, COMPLETE!
This was originally posted here as a tribute to the LoL subforum rather than a blog entry, but my first foray into creative writing in a VERY long time has me itching for feedback (read: approval
). Any praises, criticisms, corrections or anything you have at all to say about me/the story, feel free to post in here. I'll probably update the blog sooner or later with more life details as well, such as what it's like to go to school full-time and live with a two-month old. I'll drop a hint: it's fucking difficult.
