His Empty Eyes [PG-13, series]

Part 1

A few days ago, I got a text from my friend Tom, inviting me to hang out with him and a few others for a party. I accepted, because I don't really get a lot of invitations to hang out. I anticipated today for a long time, and I learned from past mistakes to expect to drink anytime I was hanging out with my friends, so I made arrangements and had my dad drop me off instead of driving myself. I had driven myself home while I was tipsy once before, and it was an experience that I don't want to have again.

My dad dropped me off at my friend's house. He mentioned that he was going to drop my brother off at his girlfriend's house because he was spending the night and then started to crack a joke about getting drunk, but I shut the door before he could finish. I walked to the door and knocked. His mom answered. I asked if Tom was home, and she invited me into the living room where I found a few of his other friends waiting. I felt really uncomfortable around these strangers, and I needed some alcohol to loosen me up. She asked me if I was thirsty and went to get some water when I shook my head yes.

She came back with a serving tray and a few glasses of water sitting on top. She passed them one by one to Tom's other friends' and then to me and then excused herself and went to the kitchen, where I assume she stayed until we left. Tom finally came downstairs just as I finished my glass of water. He asked what car we were taking, and one of his friends said "mine." They got into a little argument about how his car wasn't big enough to fit everyone, but his friend was adamant about taking his car, so they decided to take two cars. Tom announced that we were leaving, and his mom shouted to be careful and we all left the house.

I got into a car full of strangers. Tom went into the other car. The moment I got in, I knew this was going to just be very uncomfortable. The car itself reeked of weed. As soon as the car started, someone next to me lit up a blunt they had and offered some to me. I smoke when I'm offered, if I'm in the mood. But I just wasn't up for that tonight so I declined. He gave me this judgmental look before he took a hit and then he passed it around to another friend. After only a matter of minutes, it seemed like the entire car was full of smoke. 

It took about ten minutes to get to the party, but it seemed a lot longer than that. I got out really quickly and Tom was standing at the gate waiting for us, so we walked over. Everyone who was in the car with me was pretty much stoned, except for me and the girl who was in the passenger's seat. We had a quick conversation as a group and then walked up to the porch and knocked on the door. I already felt like going home. The music was so loud, you could probably hear it a few blocks away. I was so confused how nobody called the cops yet, but the street looked pretty empty and most of the lights from the neighboring houses were off. I guess they were at the festival.

Some big dude opened the door and invited us in, passing us each a can of beer as we entered. I finished mine before we even made it to the basement, where the party was. That doesn't say much, though. I just have a problem with drinking beer like it's water. It was jammed down there, and I was starting to feel claustrophobic in only a matter of seconds. "I knew I shouldn't have come here" I remember saying to Tom, who pretty much just shook it off as me being me. 

About an hour and a half later, I still wasn't having much fun. I danced a little, and drank a few more beers, but for the most part I was just having a lousy time. I'm just not the type of person that can enjoy an experience like this. The town made me uncomfortable, since it wasn't a good neighborhood, and the people just didn't seem like the type of people that I would hang out with in any other situation. I had my guard up the entire time and tried my best to separate myself from the party. After a few beers, all of my inhibitions usually leave me. At this point, I was pretty tipsy and would normally be having a good time. But something was different. I didn't give it much thought past that, but I decided that I was going to go home and looked for Tom.

I wandered around the basement looking for Tom and finally found him playing pool with the girl who didn't smoke in the car and some other guy. I told him that I wasn't feeling well and that I was going to go home and gave him a hug and one of those pats on the back and stumbled my way back up the steps, down the hall, and out the front door so I could call my dad to come pick me up. It took me two tries before he finally picked up, and I told him that I was ready to go home. He asked me where I was, and I told him the address, and he said he'd be there in a few minutes.

I sat on the porch for about fifteen minutes before he got there. A few other people had left at that point, so I didn't feel like a complete loser. But I still felt pretty bad that I couldn't shake off my party-pooper mood. I was sure at that point that Tom wouldn't invite me to hang out with him anymore. Not in large groups, anyway.

I played with my phone while I waited. When my dad finally got there, he pulled up on the side of the street, behind the car that Tom rode in. I walked to the car and opened the door. It was then that I noticed across the street, a shadowy figure standing in my direction, standing beside a telephone booth. He was staring at me. Just staring. I couldn't make out his eyes, so I wasn't really sure what to make of it. I wasn't afraid, or creeped out. It could have been someone with a staring problem or something. I shook it off almost immediately.

"How was it?" my dad asked.
"Fine." I lied, as I took my seat and shut the car door.
"Did you have fun?"
"Yeah." I lied. "I'm just not feeling well."
"What's wrong?" he asked as he started to drive.
"I just have a headache." I said.
"Alright, kiddo." he replied, turning down the volume of the music.

We drove the rest of the way in silence. It wasn't that long of a trip back to the house. Only about twenty minutes. When we got there, my dad dropped me off, and told me that he had to go to the store to pick up a few things for tomorrow. I didn't really think much about it, but I probably should have. It was 3:00 in the morning. What store was he going to? He gave me the keys to the house and told me to take it easy and try my best to sleep and that he'd be back with some Gatorade for me for when the hangover came. I laughed, said "okay" and shut the door, walking towards the front door and unlocking it, and making my way into my bedroom where I fell onto my bed. Just as my head hit my pillow, the headache intensified. Unfortunately, we were out of Advil, my go-to headache cure, so I had to suffer through it. I groaned and turned to my side and tried my best to fall asleep. Eventually, I dozed off.

I woke up to the sound of a door slamming shut. I rolled over and dug my hand into my pocket and took out my phone. It was only 4:14. I groaned again and turned back on my side, staring at my phone. 4 missed calls and 5 text messages. All from my dad. I unlocked my phone and opened up our conversation. 

"Kyle I need you to call me as soon as possible." the first message read.
"Kyle please call me." the second message read.
"Kyle!" the third message read.
"Take your phone off silent mode and ♥♥♥♥ing call me." the fourth message read.
"Your brother's in the hospital. He got jumped." the last message read.

My heart sunk. I tried to stand up. I was still tipsy, so I couldn't. I tapped the phone icon in our conversation and waited. No answer. I tried again. No answer. I sent him a text, telling him to call me and I waited. He called me back about two minutes after.

"We're going to be here for a few more hours." he said.
"What?" I asked.
"It's going to be a few more hours before we leave."
"You aren't home?!" I asked.
"No. I'm waiting for the doctor to come and check Phil out." he said.

I got cold and immediately froze up. My heart began to race. I woke up because I heard the door slam shut. Someone was in my house. My eyes glanced towards my door, and the light was on. 

"Someone's in the house!" I whispered alertly.
"What?!" he asked.
"Someone's in the house!!" I repeated. "The front door slammed shut and now the hall light's on. Call the cops!!"
"Grab your baseball bat or something and hide in your bathroom." he told me. "I'll call the cops. I love you" he said.

He hung up. My heart was pounding. Suddenly I seemed to be able to stand to my feet, but not without stumbling a little. I didn't have my baseball bat, so I had to make do with a hanger that was hanging on my the edge of my bed from the shirt that I had put on to wear today. I quickly grabbed it and started trying to untwist the hanger. I dropped my phone in the darkness and it made a thud as it hit the floor. My heart was racing, so I ignored it and made my way to my bathroom door. I pushed the door open and walked in, shutting it quickly behind me. I didn't turn the light on. If whoever this person was came into my room, I didn't want him to think that anyone was in here. I tried my best to make it to the bathtub where I could hide, sliding my hands against the wall until I could feel the cold tile on the wall where the shower started. I pushed the curtain aside and crawled into the bathtub, sliding it back quickly into place behind me. My heart was pounding out of my chest. Sweat was dripping down my face. I had never felt this helpless. I have never been so scared in my life. I hid my head between my knees and prayed, like all atheists do when they lose all sense of control.

Minutes passed, but it felt like hours. I was trapped in my mind, analyzing the situation. That person I saw across the street at the party. Could it be the same person? Was this planned? Or was that just a coincidence? My house was a half hour away from that party. Not to mention it was also across a bridge in another state. He would have had to tail us and follow us all the way back, which seemed way too unlikely. In that moment, I decided that it was just a coincidence that that happened tonight and that it was a separate instance. Still, the possibility of the two happenings being related lingered in my mind.

My concentration broke when I heard my phone vibrating on the hard wood floor in my room. It must have been my dad, because it started vibrating again not too soon after it stopped. And then it happened again. And again. This continued for the rest of the night. My phone's vibration was pretty loud, especially in contrast to the wooden floor. I sat in the dark alone with no signs of there being anything else going on in the world than what was happening to me right now, and only the humming of my phone filling in the hallow walls. I prayed that the phone wasn't loud enough to draw attention to my bedroom. The night outside was quiet. It was one of those nights that you would feel was too quiet if you gave it some thought. I felt like I was in one of those horror movies. I was a giant cliché and I was scared. Would he find me? Would I die if he did?

The front door slammed open and I heard orders being barked out by what could only be policemen. They were searching the house. I heard footsteps rushing upstairs, and voices coming from my brother's room right next to mine. Not too long after, my door opened. Safety wrapped it's hands around my heart. I was safe. I heard footsteps walking towards the bathroom door, and when it opened, I never felt so relieved in my life. White light engulfed the bathroom for a moment, before the light switch turned on. My shower curtain flung open and I looked up higher to see a man in a police uniform with a gun pointed at me. I smiled, full of relief. 

"Put your hands up!!" a police officer shouted.
I did as they said.
"Put your hands up!!!" he repeated, more urgently.
I rose my hands higher and looked him in the eye. 
He wasn't looking at me. 

I turned my head to the left. There was a man standing next to me in the shower. He was holding a knife and he had the craziest, twisted, most frightening grin I had ever seen. His eyes were wide. They seemed to be full of joy, of excitement. Of thrill. Chills ran over my body as safety released it's loving arms from my heart.

What happened next is something I'll never forget, even if I tried. He lunged towards me, screaming, pointing the knife at my chest. I closed my eyes, prepared to die, and screamed in fear back. And then my arms rose, in an attempt to protect me. My face turned the opposite direction. It was a natural reaction, something I didn't give any conscious thought of doing. The rest of my body was frozen. Suddenly a gunshot fired and a metallic clank echoed against the tiles. I felt a slight breeze against my face and I heard the sound of something else I couldn't distinguish collapse. For a moment I was stunned. Then my face felt warmer than it had since I got home. I opened my eyes and ran the back of my hand against my cheek. I looked at my scarlet fingers in horror. I was covered in blood. I broke down and began to cry. The police officer looked at me with pain in his eyes as I sank my head between my knees.

He let me cry until I couldn't cry anymore. He didn't try to comfort me. He just let me process the events on my own. I could tell she cared, though. He stayed with me in the bathroom while the other police officers left my bedroom. The man who broke into my house was still beside me. He fell and broke the curtain's rod. His face rested against the toilet. I turned my head, resting my temple against my knee and looked his direction. His face was covered in the blood that continued to run from the wound on his forehead. His eyes were empty. He was a shell of a being. His eyes had blood in them too. I continued to gaze into his empty eyes. I had never seen death before today. He was smiling.

"Why?" I asked him.

The police officer turned to my direction and walked over. I looked toward him. He had a sympathetic expression written on his face. "Some people do things for no reason at all." he finally said. I accepted his answer and looked again at the man.

My brain began to process these events in a way I didn't think was really possible for someone in my position. I wanted to know who this man was. I wanted to know what he did for a living. I wanted to know everything I could find out about him. I wanted to know about the man whose blood covered me. I wanted to know the man with the empty eyes. 

Finally, I stood. The policeman looked at me, confused, as I lifted my leg out of the tub and began to walk back to my bedroom. My phone was lying on the floor, a few feet away from my bed. I picked it up. I had 42 missed calls from my dad, with the most recent one being twenty minutes ago. He must have been contacted and told about what happened. I put my phone in my pocket and turned back towards my bathroom and walked in. 

"Can you give me a minute alone please? I asked.
He nodded. "I'll be out in the hall."

When he left, I shut the door. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone and opened the camera app and began to take pictures of the room around me. I wasn't sure why. I asked myself why I was doing this, because even I didn't know. I was losing my mind. I was scared again. "Some people do things for no reason at all." was what the policeman said, and it was that statement which brought me some comfort. When I finally reached the toilet in my pictures, all of my attention was focused on the man. I must have taken at least twenty pictures of the man alone, many of them focused on his empty eyes. When I felt I had enough, I locked my phone and put it back into my pocket. I opened the door, closing it behind me and walked towards the hall.

As I reached the hallway, the front door opened. It was my father. I looked at him, and he looked back at me. In a moment, I felt like a little boy again. I ran towards him and he began to run towards me. When we met, he grabbed me in his arms and embraced me. My pain fled my body.

"I love you." he said.
"I love you too."
"I'm so glad you're okay."

My dad let go and stared at me. At my face. My bloody face. My dad turned his attention to the officer standing behind me. He nodded, rubbed his hand through my hair, and walked toward him. They walked into my bedroom together. I walked towards the front door, where my brother was standing. He was staring at me too. Slowly, he walked towards me. His hand rose, and he rubbed it against my cheek. He was crying. "What happened?" he asked.

I opened my mouth to speak, and in that moment, I heard a loud scream coming from my bedroom. I ran down the hall and into my room. Nobody was there. My bathroom door was open. My dad was on the floor. He was holding the man in his arms. He was crying.

My heart sank into my chest again. The man who almost killed me was someone my father knew. Not only knew, he was someone my father knew well enough to cause him to cry.

"Dad?" I asked, slowly walking towards him.
He looked up, but quickly turned his attention back to the man.
"Why are you crying?" 
He didn't answer.
"Dad?"

Part 2

It's been a few weeks since the incident. I've been going to therapy to help cope with it all, and my friends and family have been really supportive. My therapist is pretty nice. She's an older woman with really big glasses so she's seen some things. She's there for me when I need her, at any hour of the day. It's nice. She gave me the okay to head back to school a few days ago.

My first day back was this past Friday, and it was a nightmare. I had been out of school for about twenty days and the nerves of going back after being out for that long were built. In a therapy session with my therapist, she mentioned that sometimes after we get into habits of freedom, losing that freedom is a shock to us and that contributes to our fear of going back into an old routine where freedom isn't exactly there. I didn't think that had anything to do with it, but I agreed at the moment regardless.

Kids these days are ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥s. The teachers don't do much to help support students in need at my school, so I had to pretty much fend for myself. Tom is my only friend who is currently in my school. All of my other friends graduated last year. I guess that's what I get for making friends with upperclassmen when I first started school here. Tom has made it a point to be with me all day while we're there, and he even walks me home. 

We go to a private school just on the edge of my state. It's the best school in the area, but it's also very expensive. My grandparents pay for it for me. The rest of the school is made up of mostly snobby rich kids who get everything in life just by asking for it and waving daddy's credit card. It makes me sick.

Since I've been back at school, I've been the butt of a lot of jokes. What happened to me was in the newspaper for three days after it even happened, each spinning new tales. I live in a pretty small town. Not a lot of interesting things happen here, so that probably has something to do with the way the newspaper has been treating my story. They've been exploiting my family ever since, in hopes of gathering new information about what happened.

I don't know how kids are so mean. I don't know what possesses them to make fun of the bad things that happen in someone else's life, as if it doesn't already make them feel like complete ♥♥♥♥. I don't know how they cope with themselves. And you know what? I don't even want to. I was never that way. Growing up, I was always considerate of other people around me even if they weren't considerate of me. I learned at an early age that kids are ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥s, though.

A few years ago, my mom was mugged walking home from work one night. She was mugged on a corner and was too weak to move. A stranger walking by saw her and called 911, and she was taken to the hospital. I didn't visit her. I didn't want to see my mom like that. She understood. The day after, I went to school and I had a lot of the kids made fun of her. One boy asked me if she was a prostitute. I guess he found it funny she was found on a corner. I didn't laugh, and when I spoke up against him and called him a retarded insensitive dickhead, my teacher gave me detention. The world isn't fair. It caters to people like that.

People more or less are the same these days too. They're making fun of what happened to me and cracking jokes directly in my face. I got into a fight with one of the more popular guys in my grade in the hallway between classes, because he called my dad a psychopath. Punched him right in the face, but then his buddies pushed me against the lockers and knocked the wind out of me. Tom was in the bathroom, and when he came out he rushed towards me and helped me stand up and they left.

Every now and then I get panic attacks and relive the night. My therapist tells me that this is natural, and when this happens I should go outside and get fresh air or listen to classical music. She tells me to let them happen as they happen and not to fight them or to feel bad about having them. She comforts me by telling me that its my brains way of coping with it and processing it. She says over time, they'll come around less and less, but because of how traumatic the situation was, they'll never truly go away. I haven't gotten one at school yet, which I'm very thankful for. I really don't need to be harassed for anything else.

It's been more or less the same since this happened. Every day has been a repeat of it, actually. Even after I get home from school. Tom makes sure I'm comfortable before he leaves to go to his house. He makes sure I have everything I need and tells me he loves me, but he always adds a "no homo" at the end of that. I laugh and joke around, saying "get lost ♥♥♥♥♥♥" and he leaves laughing as well. Then I go on the computer and research the man who broke in. The man with the empty eyes, I call him.

I found out his name when the police report was released to us. He had his wallet on him when he broke in. His name was Elijah Higgins. He lived a few blocks away from me with his step father and his younger sister. She came to see me a few days after to apologize for what he did to me. I guess she wanted some closure from him. She said she didn't know he was capable of doing something like that and didn't know why he did it. She seemed more upset about it than I was. Maybe it was because she grew up with him, and probably looked at him like a figure of strength. I didn't ask. It wasn't my place. I told her what the policeman said to me that night, "Some people do things for no reason at all."

She's stopped over my house about every other day since her first time confronting me, and we talk about her brother. Over the course of the past few weeks, we've developed a weird friendship. She says it's weird that I'm so fascinated by him. My therapist tells me that this is also normal. She told me to think of the way that people hear about these tragic events that happen in movie theaters. After it happens, some people become so fascinated by the thought process behind someone doing these things, and also want to learn more about them. I guess I'm just one of those people.

She stopped over again today. We didn't talk about Elijah. 

"Where's your dad?" she asked me. I didn't answer, so she asked me again.
"This is weird." I said. She looked at me, confused. "Your brother tried to kill me, and we're sharing stories." I continued. "I should hate you just by being associated with him. What's wrong with me?" I asked her.
"Nothing's wrong with you." She said.

I didn't reply. I just stared at the wall, thinking. About my dad.

"What happened to your dad?" she asked again.
"They took him away." I said.
"Where?" she asked.
"Somewhere safe." I said. "Somewhere where he can get help."

Our conversation was cut short. My brother got home earlier than he would normally came home. She rushed out the door almost immediately after he came in the house, excusing herself, blushing as she walked out. "Bye Kyle! I'll see you tomorrow." she said. 

My brother gave me a look. "What?!" I asked, a little offended.
"Who's she?" He asked.
It took me a minute to reply. She never told me her name. I had asked her a few times what it was, and she always said that I didn't need to know her name. I never pushed it past that point, even though I didn't understand what that meant. "A friend." I finally said.
"She's hot." he commented with a smile.

He walked off into his room where he spent the afternoon. Around dinner time, he came out while I was in the middle of cooking dinner. It was pretty unusual for him. He usually spent his time in his room, where he kept to himself. During dinner, he would take his food into his room and eat it there. He didn't really say much to me, and I didn't say much to him either. I think he was just scared to talk to me alone after what had happened.

"Hey." he said. "What's up with you?" he asked me.
"What do you mean?" I asked, still focusing on cooking.
"I mean, what's up with you?" he asked again. "You're acting like nothing happened. You're acting like this is the way it's always been." 

I didn't know how to answer, but it was a question powerful enough to make me stop what I was doing. My mind lingered. I thought back to a therapy session I had a few days ago where she mentioned that people cope in different ways, and that there are different stages of grief for everyone and people process events differently. She said that it's nothing to be ashamed of and that by acting like things were normal was just my way of coping with it externally. She said internally, things were different. And that made sense to me.

"You wouldn't understand." I finally said to him. This seemed to bother him, which I guess I should have expected. I know I would get offended if someone told me I'm not capable of understanding something. I hesitated to apologize, because it was true. He really wouldn't understand the way I was acting. "I'm sorry." I said to him. "This is just my way of coping." He seemed satisfied with that answer.

"What do you think dad's doing right now?" he asked me.
"Probably sleeping." I said. "They don't usually let ward patients do much."
"Do you think he's thinking about us?" he asked.
"Do you think about him a lot?" I asked him.
"Don't you?" he asked. "I think about him all the time." he continued, a moment later.

I didn't answer. A few minutes passed, and dinner was finally done. He took his plate, and walked back into his bedroom. I sat at the kitchen table and ate by myself. He finished before me, and brought it to the sink where he quickly washed it. He wished me a good night, and I did the same, and he walked back into his bedroom. When I finished, I put my dishes in the sink and went to my bedroom. I turned on my computer and looked up more information on Elijah. I found his address on a news article and took a picture of it with my cellphone. After a few hours of searching his name, I called it a night and went to bed.

The next morning, Tom came by earlier than usual and we walked to school. School was uneventful compared to the past few days. Nobody really gave me any attention, which I was thankful for. I dealt with a few people pointing and laughing at me for what I picked up as having a crazy dad, but I ignored them. When school let out, Tom told me he couldn't walk me home today because his parents sent him a text message telling him he needed to come home immediately after school. "Keep me updated." I asked him. He nodded, and we walked our separate ways.

I didn't walk home. I took out my phone and looked at the picture of Elijah's address and mapped it out and started heading there instead. It took about seven minutes to reach his house. It was the last house at a dead end street. The lawn was dry and the house was made up of gray pieces of wood. One of the windows was broken, and the trees in front of it were dead and didn't have any leaves on them. "So typical." I said out loud. "Of course he would live in a creepy looking house." I stood at the sidewalk for a few minutes, staring at it. Studying it.

On the roof, there was a rooster attached to the top that turned depending on the direction of the wind. I thought that was cool. I never saw one of those before. The house was encased in a white picket fence, which I felt was a little out of place considering it was very ordinary and not creepy at all. The house itself was small. You could tell that people were still living there, though. It was just a feeling you got from the place. After I felt like I was standing there for too long, I decided I would walk back home, so I turned around and started walking back.

I made it about halfway down the street when someone called my name. I turned around and saw his sister running towards me, waving. 
"What are you doing over here?" she asked.
"I wanted to see what your house looked like." I said as we started walking.
"Do you like it?" she asked me.
"It's really creepy." I commented. She laughed.
"We haven't been taking very good care of it recently, I admit. It used to be really beautiful, but our lives have been so busy recently." she said.

On our way to my house, our conversation drifted from talking about the house, to talking about Elijah.

"He was an artist." She told me. "He liked to paint."
"That's unexpected." I said.
"Why?" she asked.
"He didn't look like the type of person who would paint." I said.
"He was actually really good at it." she said. "I have some pictures." 

She took out her phone and showed me some of the most beautiful paintings I had ever seen. Most of them were landscapes. Some of them were pictures of people. She continued flipping through them, until I saw one that caught my eye that seemed completely out of the ordinary, based on what I saw so far. "Stop." I commanded. She stopped. "Can I see that?" I asked, holding out my hand. She nodded and passed me the phone. I took a closer look.

The painting was as beautiful as it was disturbingly familiar. It was a painting of a woman, dead, in a tub full of blood. She had a rose in her hair and her lips were black. Her arm was hanging over the edge of the tub, and a scarlet knife was on the floor. It had a romanticization about it that disturbed me. I flicked to the next picture. It was also disturbing. It was a picture of a woman with her mouth sewn shut. She was laying in a casket, her arms outstretched and a look of terror on her face. It was eerie and dark, painted in black and white. It appeared as if she was at a funeral. There were bouquets of flowers and a hand was shown holding the edge of the casket, looking as if it was closing.

"That one's creepy." she commented.
"Did you see these pictures?" I asked her.
"Of course!" she said. "I took them."

The way she replied to me seemed honest, but dismissing. "If my brother was painting paintings like these, I would have been more concerned." I said to her.
She shrugged. "I didn't think it was that big of a deal." she said. "You don't have to overanalyze everything someone creates. They don't all have meanings."
This was the first time I really disagreed with something she said. Up until this point, we saw eye to eye. "He painted a picture of a woman in a bathtub, drenched in blood." I pointed out.
She seemed to realize what I was getting at, and quickly apologized. "He painted that one about two years ago." she said.
"Do you think he did that?" I asked her.
"I don't know what to think." she said. "I don't want to think that he was some kind of serial killer."

I accepted her answer and flicked to the next picture. It was a landscape painting of the river that ran through the center of the town. I flicked again and my heart started to race. It was a painting of my dad and Elijah with their arms around the back of each other's necks. They were smiling. Their eyes were empty.

"Isn't that beautiful?" she commented. "They're so handsome!"
"Are you kidding me?" I asked. 
"What?" 
"When did he paint this picture?" I asked her.
"About a month ago." she said.
"Do you know this other man?" I asked.
"Not really." she said.
"What does that mean?" 
"I've seen him stop by our house every now and then." she clarified. "But I never actually spoke to him before. Why?"
"That's my dad."

She stopped. I didn't notice until I was about ten steps ahead of her. At that point we just reached my house. I looked back. Her head was down.
"I'm sorry." she said. "I didn't know."
"I know." I said. I knew what she was saying. She didn't know my dad was my dad. What she meant by that was that she didn't know they were friends. "I didn't either." I lied. "I knew that he knew him, though." I said to her.
She looked up at me. "How?" she asked. 

I walked over to her and grabbed her hand, and turned back towards my house. "That night." I said. We reached the door, and I turned the doorknob and we made our way into the living room. "What happened?" she asked. I let go of her hand and she sat down on the couch. "He found his body in my bathroom." I said, as I sat down on the couch as well. "I heard him screaming, and when I got to my bedroom, I saw him in my bathroom, holding him. He was crying."

"What happened after that?" she asked.
At that point, I looked down at my lap. "I realized that they must have known each other." I said. "It wasn't something that someone in that situation would do, you know?" I asked. I looked up, and she nodded. Then I continued. "You don't cry for someone who could have killed someone you loved." My voice was getting louder. I was getting angry. She rested her hand on mine. I pulled away and stood up. "They knew each other. I knew they knew each other." I said forcefully. You could sense that I was angry by the tone of my voice, which at that point had become more hostile. "I tried to ask him why he was crying, even though I knew the answer. He didn't answer me. He just looked up, and then looked back at Elijah. And then I asked again, and he just ignored me!" 

"Calm down." she told me as she stood up. I walked a few steps away from her and looked at her. "How can I calm down?"
"I don't know." she said.
"How would you feel if that happened to you?" I asked her with anger.
"I don't know." her voice was soft.
"Then don't tell me to calm down." I snapped.

It was at that point that I realized how understanding and caring she was. She walked over and gave me a hug. "I'm sorry." she said. I sank my head on her shoulder. "I shouldn't tell you how to feel." she continued. "I don't know how I would feel if I was put into a situation like that, and I can't even begin to understand how you're doing so well after experienced what you have. I would have broken down a long time ago." She let go of me and looked me in the eye. "You're so strong. I admire that about you." I smiled, and she walked back to the couch. "Tell me what happened after that."

At that point, I was calm again. I continued. "The policeman who was with him and brought him into the scene was standing in the bathroom with us, in the corner. He was the same one that told me that people do things for no reason at all sometimes." She smiled, and nodded. "He turned to me and brought me into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. I sat down on my bed and he told me that before I got to the room, he kept on saying no and was rocking back and forth, crying. That didn't tell me anything. I asked him if I could speak to him. He told me that that wasn't a good idea right now. I asked what would happen next. He said that they would take my dad in for questioning, but given the circumstances, he'll let me watch the interview if I keep quiet about it. He said that he wasn't allowed to do that, but he would take the risk with me. I smiled at him and thanked him."

"What happened at the questioning?"

"We left about an hour and a half after my conversation with the officer. My dad finally came out of the bathroom. Blood was all over his shirt and his pants and his hands and he had some on his face under his eyes, which were swelled up from crying so much. The officer told him he had to take us in for questioning. He didn't question it. The police officer walked out of my bedroom, and the look my dad gave me was one of pure disgust. Then he looked emotionless, and just walked out of the bedroom and met the officer in the hallway, and I followed behind them. We got into the car, and he drove us to the police station." I paused.

"Then what?" she encouraged.

"They questioned me first. They brought me into a room and a detective came in and asked me what happened. I told him that I went to a party with some friends but got sick with a headache. I told them that my dad picked me up, and then he dropped me off at home because he had to pick some things up for a party we were planning on having during the weekend. Then I fell asleep, and woke up because a door slammed shut. I looked at my phone, and my dad told me that he was at the hospital while I was sleeping. I called him back and I realized when he said he was still there that someone was in my house. Then he said he would call the cops and that I should go into my bathroom. I went into the bathroom and waited for the police to come. When they came I told them happened in the bathroom, and I told them that I found my dad crying in the bathroom after he saw what happened and that he was holding Elijah."

"What happened when they questioned your dad?"

"I left the room and they brought my dad in the same hall as I was leaving. Then they brought me to the officer that said I could watch, and he brought me back into a small room next to the interview room where I could see and hear everything going on through a one way glass window. He brought me in and let me sit down and then he asked me if I wanted to be alone. I said yeah and he left, telling me that he would be outside the door." I paused and she looked up and nodded.

"They asked him what happened, and he was quiet. His head was down. He didn't answer any of the detective's question. Then the detective started talking about Elijah specifically. He mentioned that I said that my dad was holding Elijah when I got there and my dad looked up at the detective." I paused again.

"Then something happened to my dad. He snapped. I've never seen anyone act like that before."

"What did he do?" she asked.

"He attacked the detective." I said. "He jumped to his feet and dove across the table and attacked the detective. He smashed his head against the concrete floor and kept picking it up and pushing it down. I ran towards the window and I started slamming on it, screaming for him to stop. I heard him say "He will pay. He will pay." over and over again, and I knew that he was talking about me. I started to cry and I ran out the door to get the police officer, but he wasn't there. I went back into the room and looked through the window and saw that he was standing inside the interrogation room, struggling to get my dad off of the detective. When he finally did, my dad rushed toward the window and looked directly in my eyes, even though he couldn't see me. He smiled in a way that scared me. It was a crazy grin. And his eyes were empty."

"What happened after that?"

"Then they took him away and the police officer came and got me and asked me what happened. I told him that he wanted revenge for what I did, even though I wasn't the one who killed him. I told the officer that he tackled the detective and said "He will pay" over and over again and I knew he was talking about me. They wanted to know the relation between Elijah and my dad more than I did at that point. For me, I just became emotionless towards my father, even though I was still curious about his relationship with him. I saw the look in his eyes and that forever changed my perception of him. He wasn't my father anymore. He wasn't anyone. I told the officer that I needed to go home."

"Why did they let you leave without any parents at home to take care of you guys?"

"After I said I needed to go home, he asked me if anyone was going to keep care of us, and clarified that my dad was going to be taken somewhere to get help. I told him that my mom was going to come and watch over us. And that's why he didn't put us into any form of foster care or anything like that. I don't think he believed me. I think he let me go on my own because he didn't want to cause anymore pain by separating my brother and I." I paused, and went to the kitchen for a drink. I turned the tap on, and waited for my glass to fill. "So he drove me home, and I decided on the way that I didn't want my brother to know what happened with my dad in the room." I chugged the entire glass of water. "Before he dropped me off, he told me that he would set me up with a therapist for all of this and that he'd give me the information when he found one who was willing to help me. He said that he would try to contact some charity to help pay the bills while my dad wasn't around too, and I thanked him for that. When I got home, I told my brother that my dad had a nervous breakdown while he was being questioned and they had to take him to a psych ward until he was stable and until then, it would just be the two of us."

"I'm sorry." she said. "I didn't know."
"I know." I said, looking into her eyes. She looked like she was about to cry.
"I see now why you didn't tell me about your dad, Kyle." she said to me. She looked towards the kitchen and seemed to be in some deep thought.
"What are you thinking about?" I asked her.
"I'm trying to remember something about your dad while he was at my house." she explained.
"Like what?" I asked.
"Anything that could help us understand this." she clarified.

As she said that, my mind began brainstorming as well.
"Did your brother have any mental health issues that he got help for while he was younger?" I asked.
"Like what?" She replied.
"Did he have to speak to any psychologists for anything that wasn't normal?" I asked.
"No, he didn't have any problems like that." She said. "He did go to a camp during the summer, though." 
"What kind of camp?" I asked.
"A camp for kids with behavior issues. They called it Camp Chill Out, or something. Some lame name." she said.
"My dad went to camp as a kid before too. He would always talk about it with me while I was younger." I said.
"Maybe that's where he met Elijah." She suggested.
"It's the only explanation." I said. "They must have become life long friends there."
"Yeah." She replied. She frowned and looked me in the eye. "What happened to your mom?" she asked.
I frowned in response. "She left us."

The wheels were turning in my head as revolutions came to mind. I came to clarity. Elijah and my father met at a camp for anger and other behavior issues as children, and hit it off, and must have became good enough friends to remain friends for the rest of their life. Good enough that my dad would hang out with him at his house from time to time. But my mom was a good woman. She must have left because of an altercation similar to the one that I had with my father at the police station. That's the only reason I could possibly think of for her to leave us. But why would she leave us with such an unstable personality? 

"Please tell me your name." I requested.
She smiled. "It's Emily."
"Emily." I repeated, with a smile.
I shared with her my thoughts. She was attentive throughout and seemed to agree, judging from a lot of her head nods, with what I had to say.
"Well then!" she said. "I guess we both know what you have to do next."
I nodded. I needed to speak to my mom.

Part 3

I hadn't seen, nor heard from Tom since we parted ways after school last month. I tried contacting him every few days after he disappeared, but his phone wasn't in service so I was left with more questions and uncertainty than anything else. I would often drive to his house to check up on him, hoping he would be there. Every drive up there, I amped myself up to the possibility of seeing him again. I would tackle him through the open doorway, and punch him in the arm for making me worry about him. But that never happened. I would always leave his house disappointed. He was never home. Nobody was.

One day I gathered enough strength to look in the mail slot only to see nothing but what looked like black tape that conveniently etched its way across the opening, just enough so that I couldn't see anything inside. Frustrated, I turned my attention to getting a look inside from the windows. I didn't have much luck there either. They were all covered with some pretty thick curtains, but I did have the luck of catching a glimpse from a small opening on the edge, where the windowsill ended. Thankfully, their furniture was still there. They didn't move my best friend away from me, which is what I feared the most. But it's been a month since he disappeared, and it was the middle of the school year. Where could they have taken him? And why weren't they ever home?

I decided I would stake out the house. I had to have just been extremely unlucky with my timing in getting there. They could have just left for a quick errand to the store when I pulled up. It was worth a shot to at least try, so I chose a day and time that I knew that they would more than likely be home. Next Sunday evening. It was a special day.

It was 4:00 when I decided to leave to stake out his house. I got ready, dressed in all black, and hopped in my car. I drove to his house, and parked a few blocks away just to be safe. I didn't want them spotting my car and deciding to turn around. It wasn't all that logical of an assumption that I made, but I figured it made just as much sense as it did his parents plucking him out of his life and interrupting an essential relationship in mine. I didn't put anything past them anymore.

I made my way out of my car and walked across the street. Tom lived across from a pretty active park, where a lot of kids my age hung out. I didn't feel like it was all that out of the ordinary for me to be there. I could blend in with the other teenagers well enough, I thought. I sat on a bench almost directly across from the front door of his house, and took out my phone. Then I waited.

The sun set early for this time of year. Around 7:30, the park started to empty out. There was still no trace of Tom's family. I started to get discouraged. By 8:15, I was the only one there. Dressed in black. Sitting alone. Staring at the house. Waiting for his family to arrive. Hoping Tom would be with them when they did, if they came at all.

It wasn't until 9:00 that something happened. A white minivan pulled up to the driveway of his house. I turned my phone off, and stood up, walking slowly towards his house. I was alert and ready to exploit any opportunity that came to get the information I needed to know. The door opened, and what looked to be a man in a hoodie came out of the doorway. He fixed his shirt and closed the door. He walked to the trunk and opened it, grabbing something inside before quickly shutting it. It looked like a box. A box with a handle on it. He marched his way up the steps and stood on the patio, waiting a moment before knocking on the door.

I heard the knock from across the street. He had a pretty strong knock. It definitely would have got my attention had it been on my front door. Suddenly, a light came on from the living room window. "What the ♥♥♥♥?!" I whispered to myself, shocked. A moment later, the door opened. His mother was at the door. She seemed happy and surprised. Her hands were in the air, and she gave whoever the man was a hug. Then they both went inside. I took a seat back at the bench behind me, still focusing on the house and what could have been going on inside.

The light turned off not long after, and the front door opened. It was the man again. He didn't have a box in his hand anymore. He walked down the patio steps towards his car. "Who is that?" I asked myself. The car door opened, as he got inside. In a moment of complete lack of control, I rushed towards the car. I didn't even look across the street before crossing. There I stood, behind the minivan. Blocking its path.

The car turned on, but it didn't move. It stayed there. It was now or never for me. I rushed to the driver's side and gazed into the window. "Tom?!" I shouted.

The window rolled down and Tom's face emerged. "What the ♥♥♥♥ are you doing?!" he asked.

"What am I doing?!" I replied. "What are you doing?"
Tom rolled his eyes. "I don't have time for this, Kyle." he said. "I have way too much going on in my life right now."
"Like what?!" I snapped back, honestly intrigued.
Tom was quiet.
"Tom. Please tell me what's going on." I pleaded, resting my forehead against the car door. "Why haven't you answered your phone?" I asked.
"I don't have one anymore. My mom took it away from me after I got home from school that day." He replied.
"Why did she do that?"
He looked down. "She was afraid I'd try to call you."

I was disappointed. That hurt. I was always under the impression that his mother liked me.
"Where have you been?" I asked. "Nobody's heard from you for like a month!"
Tom seemed visibly upset. "I know. I didn't have a choice." he said. "My parents decided to send me to military school."
I expected something like that happened. No family would take their kid out of school without putting them in another one. But it was still something I was pretty unprepared for. "Why didn't you tell me?" I asked.
"It's not like I didn't try, Kyle! I went to your house before I left, but you didn't answer."

In the past month, I wasn't home much. I would go to school, then I would stop at Emily's house, and we would spend the rest of the day trying to find out information about my mom. The only time I would be home was right before I would go to bed, through the night, and the early morning. On weekends I would spend my entire time with Emily. But I couldn't tell him that. He had a lot going on in his life right now. "It must be tough." I finally said. "Being away from the people you care about." He nodded. "I'm sorry, Tom. I've been going though a lot and haven't been home much." He nodded again.

"I need to go now." He said. He looked depressed.
"When will I see you again?" I asked him.
"I dunno." He was telling the truth. I could tell from his tone of voice. He genuinely didn't know, and that worried me. "The only reason I'm here right now is because I got clearing to come home for my mom's birthday. And the only reason I got that is because my dad has connections with the president. I was dropping off her present."
I smiled. "I was right." I said. "I knew you'd be here today. I just knew it!"
Tom half smiled and looked me in the eye. "I'll visit you as soon as I can." he said.
"I know." was all I could muster, stepping back.

He rolled up the window and then he drove off. Out of the driveway, down the street, around the corner, and out of view. My best friend was gone. And I wasn't sure when I would see him again. My life was turning to complete ♥♥♥♥. I gathered my losses and swallowed the pride I had remaining. The thought of confronting his mother, who was surely avoiding me, faded when my senses came around. I walked down the street to my car, opened the door, and sat there and began to cry.

"My dad wants to kill me because his psychopathic friend was killed because of me." I said to myself. "My best friend was taken away for me for God knows what reason. And I don't have a single clue where to find my mother." My mind turned to Emily. She was the only good I had in the world, and she came from a tragedy. I wanted to see her. I needed to see her. I turned the car on, and drove. I drove to Emily.

I reached her house and found her sitting out front. She often did that at this hour. She says it's the most beautiful time to be outside, because the temperature is just right and there's not too much noise around the neighborhood because the kids are all going to sleep. I parked on the street, and got out of the car. "Emily." I called.

She looked up. She was doodling in a notebook when I got there. "Hey there!" She said, smiling. She stood up, placing her notebook and her pen on the step, and walked towards me. When we met, I hugged her. "Whoa there!" she said, taken off of her feet. I guess she didn't expect that, but she didn't know about what happened to me today. I ended my embrace and told her what happened. She seemed sympathetic, but not surprised. "Well…" she began. "I mean, it's not all that shocking to me…" I was confused. She went on. "I know it's harsh and you don't deserve it, but his parents want the best for him even if that means hurting you. No doubt that what happened to you is affecting him. They probably just want him to keep his mind off of things like that. He's been involved in this ever since it happened." I was quiet.

"He's been your rock." She said.

It's true. Tom has been my rock. Without Tom, I would have probably taken my life a long time ago. He's been there for me whenever I needed him. She was surely right on her rationalization for his parents to do that to him. "I still can't shake the feeling that they did this to personally hurt me." I said. Emily frowned, and drew me in for another hug. She rubbed my back and tried to ease my pain. "I don't know what to do."

"You need to do what's best for Tom now, and what's best for him is to leave him be." She said. That was a hard thing to do. Tom had been my best friend for years now. How could I leave my best friend alone? How could I accept that these things were happening to him because of me? "Kyle, I know what you're thinking. I would be thinking the same things you're thinking right now if this happened to me, but you're strong. You're strong, Kyle. You'll get through this just like you got through much worse, and when you come out on the other side, you'll be even stronger." She said. "And you'll always have me."

I pulled back from her embrace and looked her in the eye. "I'll always have you." I repeated with a smile. I drew my head closer towards her, and in a lapse of judgment, I went in for a kiss. She turned her head and it landed on her cheek. She backed away.

"Kyle…" she finally said.
"I know! I'm sorry." I said.
"I just don't think of you that way. I'm sorry. You should go." She advised, turning towards the house. She made her way past the gate, up the stairs and to the door. She looked back, frowned, and open the door. Then she was gone.

My head sunk. I turned tail and got in my car and drove off.

A few days passed and Emily hadn't attempted to contact me. I had really messed up, and I was reaching a point where I started to believe nothing was ever going to go my way again. My grades were starting to slip in school, but those were the least of my issues. My panic attacks became more regular, and I began to have frequent nightmares of my dad seeking revenge. I was at the lowest point in my life. Everything else in my life was exceptionally ordinary. I went to school, came home, ate dinner, and went to bed. I had stopped looking up information about Elijah after my conversation with Emily about my father a month ago. I started to have problems falling asleep at night, and whenever I did fall asleep, my nightmares would wake me up not long afterwards, so I didn't get much sleep.

I made the decision that I wanted to go visit my dad at the psychiatric ward before I visited my mom. It only made sense. I didn't know where my mom was or how to contact her. Maybe going to visit him would clear the air between us. Maybe he was normal. I figured, at this point, it was worth a shot. I made my decision to visit him during dinner. My brother was home, so I let him know what I was thinking. He encouraged me, and pleaded that I take him with me, but I told him that he didn't need to see my dad in the state that he was in, but I would tell him that he misses him and can't wait for him to come home and that he thinks about him every day. He was pleased with that, it seemed. He went to his bedroom shortly afterwards.

The next morning was a Saturday. I woke up pretty early. Around 6:00 in the morning, which was later than I would normally wake up these days. I got more than four hours of sleep last night, which was an accomplishment for me. I made my way through the house and made a cup of coffee. I went to the family bathroom to wash my face and handle my business. I hadn't used my own since the incident. After that, I returned to the kitchen to pour my coffee. I drank it quickly and then left the house before my brother woke up. The time now was 6:20. I was going to visit my dad today.

The ward opened doors to visitors at 8:00 in the morning until 12:00 in the afternoon, and then opened to visitors between 4:00 in the afternoon to 6:00 in the evening. I wanted to get there as soon as possible, and it was about an hour and a half drive from my house to the ward, so that left me with ten minutes free to myself before I could visit him.

The drive was long and boring. It was composed of about three different roads, all going on forever. They were long, winding roads in the most rural of towns. I don't think I saw a single house once I reached the second road, and the only sign of life on the third road was a prison I passed along the way, somewhere in the middle of what looked to be a desert. When I finally made it, I sat in the car for the ten minutes I had free and then composed myself as best as possible before making my way into the building.

I was greeted by an extremely obese woman with short, curly hair and a big mole on her upper lip. That was repulsive, but I did my best to remain as pleasant as possible. I asked her if I could be granted access to visit my dad. She asked if I had been here before. She sounded like a toad. I told her no. She gave me some paper work that I had to sign, and I sat down and completed it in about twenty minutes. It was a lot of forms and a lot of required reading that I excused myself from due to laziness and anxiety. I just wanted to see my dad.

When I finished the forms, I handed them back to her and she went to make copies. She got back and gave me a sticker. Apparently I had to wear that sticker on my chest the entire time I'm here. She let me know that it lets the staff know that I'm not a patient, because patients are permitted to wear their own clothes as long as they're deemed safe by the Executive Board. I nodded in understanding, and placed it on my chest. She grabbed a phone and rang the visitors' office to inform them that I was there, and to prepare my father. She hung up, and told me that my father would be there waiting for me when I got there.

When I had finally gotten to the visitors room, I could see my dad waiting for me. He was sitting in the room with a bunch of other patients who had family visiting them as well. Guards lined the walls of the room to make sure that nothing bad happened during the visiting hours. I was relieved that they seemed to be so prepared. I had heard stories of psychiatric wards where dangerous things happened because of lack of control from the staff. It was nice to know that this place wasn't among them and that I was safe here.

I opened the door, and walked in. It smelled like a hospital. It was so disgusting, I almost threw up immediately after it hit my nostrils. I had no idea how any of the people here could ignore that. A few seconds later, it became something that my nostrils seemed to accept, and the confusion I had faded. I found it to be weird, but it was ignorable given the circumstances I found myself in. I was going to come face to face with my father for the first time after the incident. I was scared.

A guard ushered me towards my father, and sat me down. He announced to my father that I was here, to which I rolled my eyes at. "He's not retarded." I spoke under my breath.
My dad looked up at me and smiled. "Kyle." he said.
"Hey dad." I replied, faking a smile back.

The conversation had a lot of awkward silences in it. We had talked about my school, my brother, the house, what it was like living without him, Tom, and just how I was doing. He seemed normal.

"These people treat me like I'm some kind of psychopath in here." He finally said. He seemed very concerned, from the tone of his voice.
"Don't you remember what happened?" I asked him.
"Of course!" He replied, seemingly offended that I thought for one second that he could forget such a thing. Just as he said that, tears formed in his eyes and he let out a surprisingly loud moan, which alerted the attention of the guards. His arms flung toward me and he hugged me, crying. He was apologizing. For everything.

"This is all my fault." He said. "This is all my fault."
"What's your fault?" I asked him.
"All of this." He replied. "All of it."
"Why is it your fault?" I asked.
"I made some terrible mistakes in my life, Kyle. And that night brought them all to light." He explained.
I saw an opportunity to find out what I wanted so desperately to know, and I took it. I wish I hadn't.
"Is that why mom left?" I asked.
"Don't talk about your mother!" He snapped. His voice was full of scorn. He seemed to regain all composure.
"Why?" I challenged. "I just want to know what happened to her."
"I'm your father! You'll do as I tell you!" He was standing now. He was screaming. A guard was walking towards me. This couldn't happen now. Not when I came so close. Not when answers were a mere moment away. Desperation swallowed me. I needed to know the truth.
"Please tell me, dad. Please." I pleaded.
"Daddy says no!" He hissed in a childish tone, glaring at me in the eyes.
I was confused. What the hell was wrong with my father?
The guard had reached us. "You need to leave, sir." He was addressing me.
"Tell me what happened between you and mom, dad." I pleaded. My dad began to seem visibly frustrated at that point. His hands began to shake, and he was mumbling something that I couldn't understand, staring at the floor. "TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED!" I shouted, my voice full of a sense of power and urgency, and command that I never thought I was possible of producing.
The guard seized me immediately and began to drag me away from my dad.
"ELIJAH!!!" I shouted from the doorway as it opened.
My dad's head rose and he looked at me. His eyes were wide for a moment, but they quickly returned to normal. His tongue stuck out from between his teeth, and a grin came upon his face. It was the most disturbing thing I've ever seen. It was like he was an animal.

"TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED TO MY MOTHER!"

As the doors closed, I heard him laughing. It filled the room and the hallway, and it reached the deepest parts of my soul. It was a laugh that I would never forget. It was so, incredibly wicked. And yet, it was childish and playful.

I didn't get the answers that I wanted to get from this visit, but some things came to light. Whatever it is that's wrong with my dad is utterly terrifying. He has these trigger topics that bring these things to light, and once they occur, you have to refrain from pushing him or they'll continue to eat at him until he completely loses himself. But he's still keeping something from me. Something important, I feel. Something that is essential that I know.

It's clear to me that something happened between my father and my mother at one point or another. My only question now was clear cut. Was my mother alive still? My dad's response to mentioning her frightened me. And his transformation into something that became more and more frightening was something that couldn't be ignored if it related to my mother. His twisted laugh replayed in my head, over and over again, as I drove home. I needed answers.

"He said everything that happened that night was his fault." I said.
Emily stared at me, dazed. "Everything?" she asked, putting a lot of emphasis in her question.
"Everything." I repeated.
"When we first started talking, you told me that your dad left you at home to go to the store at 3:00 in the morning, right?" she asked.
"That's right." I confirmed.
"And you said that you found that to be odd, right?" she asked.
"Yeah, but I didn't think it was worth getting into. We had a party planned for the weekend and we weren't really prepare for that." I clarified.
"Okay this is just confusing." she commented.

"Tell me about it." I said. "What's the connection between my dad's behavior and the way that Elijah was looking at me in the bathtub?" I asked nobody in particular. At that point I was just thinking out loud. "Why, out of all the houses, did Elijah enter mine? And why did he wait in my bathroom?"

Emily frowned and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know." she said. "But we need to find out. Let me come with you next time you go see your father." That was her only request.
"Let you come? Next time?" I asked. "I don't think I'm allowed in that building ever again. I literally got thrown out!" I exclaimed. "I don't think there will be a next time."
"Then I'll go by myself." she assured.

There was no fighting it. She had made her decision, and it was final. She was going, whether I liked it or not. And truth be told, I did like it. She was going for me. She was going to find out answers to questions I couldn't. She was sure to have better luck than me. She was a familiar face to my dad. She's his friend's sister, after all. There was bound to be a connection between the two of them.

"Okay." I finally said. "I'll take you with me next time."
Emily grinned. "Great!" She shouted with a sense of success. "It's a date!" she joked, quickly laughing and causing me to blush.
"When do you want to go?" I asked her.
"We can go tomorrow." She said. "In the meantime, we need to do some more research on your mom."
We agreed that we would go back to my house and research my mother. We got in the car, and made the quick drive back to my place, and rushed into the house.

"Look for anything with your mother's name on it." She told me when we reached the office. I opened the filing cabinet and began my search for information about her that could lead to finding her. Emily looked through another filing cabinet on the other side of the room. I had no idea what was inside these filing cabinets. I had never been inside my dad's office for more than a few minutes. I don't even really go upstairs that much, since I had everything I needed downstairs.

The filing cabinet I was in contained mostly school records. There were things in here that I had forgotten about. The chess certificate that I got when I was a kid, the participation award that I got for participating in a spelling bee I didn't even place in. I actually had a lot of participation awards, which made me rethink a lot of the accomplishments I thought I had in my lifetime that I remembered my mother bragging about when I was younger. It was hard. I closed the folder and opened another one that was right behind it. The folder was red, so I assumed it contained important documents. I was right.

In it, there were newspaper articles about murders from neighboring states. A lot of the news articles were the same. They were all about murders of women in bathtubs, drenched in blood with a knife found nearby. It was exactly the same as the painting Elijah made that Emily took a picture of. I didn't know what to say, or if I should say anything to her at all, so I folded it, and placed it in my pocket. The rest of the folder was made up of news articles similar in story to the first one. They all detailed murders. The murders were all of women. And the women were almost always wearing black lipstick. There was clearly a connection to be made between these articles and the paintings Elijah had made. I decided I couldn't hide this from Emily, so I made the decision and called her over.

"Take a look at this." I said, handing the articles to her. Immediately, tears began to fall down her cheeks. I felt terrible, but I knew that this was the right thing to do. There couldn't be anything in this mystery that was known to one of us and not the other. We wouldn't figure it out alone. We needed each other. And we both needed to know everything we could. She continued to cry as she studied one newspaper article and moved on to another. She saw the connection between each of the murders. She saw the connection between the murders and the paintings.

"We need to go to my house." She decided. I nodded, and we made our way back to the car. When we got there, she rushed inside. She slammed the door behind her before I got the chance to go in. I didn't want to intrude, so I sat down on stairs in front of her front door and waited. She was in there for no more than three minutes before she came back outside. "Look" she said. She was holding something in her hand. It was lipstick. More importantly, it was black lipstick. "I found this in his room." she said. And this confirmed our beliefs. Her brother was a serial killer. He had a signature killing method and a signature sign off of using black lipstick on his victims so that people knew it was him. My father documented the murders that were made public and kept them hidden from my family.

The questions still remained. What happened to my mother? What the ♥♥♥♥ was wrong with my dad? Why did I not know there was something wrong with him, until just recently? Why did my dad keep a record of these murders? And, most importantly, why did Elijah come to my house that night two months ago? Was my dad involved?

We would find out. Tomorrow.

Part 4

"Dad, I brought someone to see you." I said to him, gently touching the back of his hand with my own before taking my seat. He looked to me, and I looked to her. Her high heels rang against the tile, and her strut could be heard throughout the visitor's room. She looked amazing, dressed in one of those blazers you see lawyers wear and a skirt that complimented it well. She was wearing black lipstick and in her hair was a single red rose.

"Hello Todd…" She said with a sense of purpose, as she graced past my dad and reached her seat. She was so elegant. I've never seen her like this before. "My name's Emily…" She looked at me with a smirk of confidence. I knew exactly what was coming next. "Elijah's sister." She extended her arm in the way you see Queens do to their subjects, like she expecting a kiss from a true gentleman pleased to be in her presence. She held a kind but firm half smile, and waited for my dad to respond.

He looked up at her. She gazed into his eyes. It was at that point that I realized what her angle to this encounter was. She was going to seduce him. The look on his face said it all. He wasn't angry. He was himself. He was smiling. It was working. She mentioned Elijah's name, but he was still himself. "The pleasure is all mine." she said, curtsying, before taking her seat. She smiled shyly when she noticed he was still staring at her.

Emily turned to me and whispered in my ear. "Men like to feel like they're the only person in the room. They like to feel like they're the only person that matters to a woman." She said. "They like the sense of power it gives them. They like the sense of importance they get from being the only one in the room who she gives her attention to." She paused. "Men like a woman who isn't afraid to put him in his place. Most importantly, men like to think that they're the ones who are in control." She was right. I liked all of those things. "But they're wrong." She added, returning to her seat.

"It's been a long time since I've seen you, Todd." She said. "You're looking well." He didn't reply. He blushed. "I've missed you." She added.

My dad looked to me, and I looked to Emily. I wasn't sure where she was going with this anymore. That worried me. When I first asked her about my dad hanging out with Elijah, she said she didn't really talk to him much. Was she lying? She didn't have any reason to. At that point, she didn't know who he was to me. If she was, that wasn't important to me, but it was still something to think about.

"I've missed you too." He finally said to her. Again, she smiled a shy smile, and forced a giggle. She really knew how to work a man.

Then she cut to the chase. "I came here because I need to ask you some things, Todd. Is that okay?" She asked him. He nodded. She replied with a quick smile. "Great." She looked to me and gave me a quick smirk, before turning her attention back to my dad.

"How did you know my brother?" She asked.
"Who is your brother?" He asked.

Emily looked to me. I was getting nervous, but she seemed to still be just as composed and collected as ever. "Elijah." She finally said. I stared at my dad, waiting for something to happen. But, again, it didn't come.

"Higgins? He was my friend." He said, smiling. Emily frowned.
"Elijah was my brother." She said. He nodded. "He had a lot of nice things to say about you, Todd." My dad smiled. "Do you want to know what he said?" He nodded again.

"He said that he was sorry a lot of the time. He said that he was sorry for what he did." His happy expression faded, and he began to look a little panicked. "Do you know what he meant by that?" Emily asked. Again, he nodded. "What did he mean?"

My dad didn't answer immediately. He turned his attention to the floor, and then to me. "He made some mistakes." He finally said. "That's all."

"Todd, I came here for answers. I need you to be open and honest with me. For Elijah." She said.
"I know." He said.
"What mistakes did he make?" She asked him.
"He took some lives." My dad replied.
"Who's?" Emily asked.
He looked at me, visibly upset. He was just looking at me, with sympathetic eyes. With eyes that read to me as pain.

Immediately, I got up and left the room. I was going to break down. Emily followed after me, as I turned the corner to another hallway and sat down on the floor, resting my back against the wall. My hand sank between my knees, just as it always does when I'm feeling powerless. "Kyle." Emily called softly, turning the corner. She slowly sat down beside me and starting to rub my back. "Are you okay?" She asked.

I wasn't okay. She knew I wasn't okay. She knew what I was thinking. But she was going to have me say it anyway. "You'll feel better." She promised. "Maybe not now, but later." She went on.

I looked up. I looked in her eyes. And then I spoke. "Elijah killed my mom." Emily had a tear run down her cheek.

"I'm sorry." She said softly as she gave me a hug. Our embrace lasted long enough for me to feel better. We had a sense of urgency and a limited time window to find out answers. I had gone most of my life without my mom. I was upset, but I could deal with my emotions later. I made the decision to go back to the room, and she followed me, with her arm around my back. We walked in together, and returned to our seats.

My dad was crying. He looked at me, with regret in his eyes. "I'm sorry son." He spoke. I ignored him in that moment, because I didn't want to break down again. But I accepted his apology, internally.

Emily's composure returned. She was dignified again. Crying didn't seem like something she was capable of doing when she was like this.
"Todd, you're not well." She said to him.
He frowned.
"You're mentally not well." She explained.
He nodded.
"What's wrong with you?" She asked him.
He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know." He said, honestly.

It was at that point that I interjected. "How don't you know?!" I asked, with a harsh tone.
He looked at me. He began grinding his teeth. What did I say wrong? I wondered.

Emily took back control of the conversation. We could all feel the shift in his attitude when that happened. I had triggered something. It was the only explanation. "I understand." She said. "There are things about me that I don't understand either, Todd."

His eyes were empty. He was staring at her now with glazed eyes that made me wonder what it was he was thinking. Whatever it was, it couldn't have been good.

"This shouldn't be happening." I finally said. "You're my dad. You're supposed to be there to protect me." He looked over, with empty eyes still. "You were my dad my whole life, and you were never like this." My voice was shaking. He was starting to come back. "Why, dad?" I asked. "Why didn't I know about this? Why did I only just find this stuff out about you?"

Emily interjected. "Todd." She said, placing her hand on his knee. She leaned forward. "Kyle's sorry for what happened." She said. He looked her in the eyes, and she tilted her head to the side and returned his gaze with a sympathetic smile. "He's sorry."

I didn't know what she was getting at, but I trusted her, so I forced a frown. He looked my way, and in a moment that I could only describe as a miracle, he began to cry.

"This is all my fault." He said. "This is all my fault."

He got up out of his chair and came to me. He was on his knees now, looking into my eyes and grabbing my hands. "Please forgive me." He said. "I only wanted to protect you."

I felt sorry for him. I don't know what's wrong with him, he doesn't know either. He's lived with whatever this is his whole life, and it only started to affect him in such a way recently. I didn't know what to say. I was scared I would say something else that would spark any confrontation. He had said this before. We had been in this place before. Yesterday he said the same thing.

"What's your fault?" I asked him.

He widened his eyes. He looked scared. "Everything." He spoke, in a gentle and mysterious tone. His stare was blank again. But it wasn't like before. He seemed to be in incredibly deep thought.

I turned my attention to Emily, who seemed to be getting emotional at this point. I felt like we were finally getting somewhere.

"What happened when you dropped me off at home?" I asked him. "You said you were going to the store."
"That's right." He said. "Party."
"Did you go to the store?" I asked.
He shook his head against my knee, still staring blankly somewhere between Emily and I.
"I went to the store." He said. "And then to see Elijah."

It was the first time I heard him speak his name. Elijah.

"What happened?" I asked.
He took his head off of my knee, and looked at me. His answer was honest. "He wasn't home." He simply said.
"Where was he?" I asked.
"Home." He said. "He was home."
He was still looking into my eyes. I knew what he was saying. He wasn't at his house, but he was at mine. "Why?" I asked.
He looked away. And he didn't say anything.
"What happened before you picked me up?" I asked.
He looked back. "I was with Elijah." He had spoke. "We were together."
"Where?" I asked him.
"At our spot." He looked away again.
"Where's that?" Emily asked.
He looked at her, and put his finger to her lips. "Shhhhh…" His eyes were wide. And then he spoke. "Secret." He said. He smiled.
"What happened when you were with him?" He asked.
His head tilted back in my direction. "We were playing. We were playing our game."

He was scaring me. But we couldn't stop. We were getting the answers we came here for.

"No cellphones!" He shouted suddenly, pointing across the room. I turned to see where he was pointing. Nobody was there. It was just an empty chair. I looked again at my dad. He was standing up, still pointing across the room. He shouted again. "No cellphones!" A guard began to chuckle softly.

"You weren't allowed to have cellphones during your game?" Emily asked.

His arm fell and he looked at her. He nodded. "No cellphones." He repeated. "It was our only rule."

"They would find us." He said. "They would find out what we were doing." He was smiling.
"And what were you doing?" Emily asked.
He looked at her, and said very matter of factly, "I told you. We were playing our game."

Our conversation suddenly shifted gears when Emily had asked him her next question.
"How are you today, Mr. Kelt? Are you okay?"
He sat back into his chair. His tone returned to normal. "They treat me like I'm some kind of psychopath here." He said.
"Yeah." She replied.
"I'm tired of eating oatmeal! I want to go home." He looked at me. And I looked at him.
"We want you to come home, dad. We miss you." I said.
"How's your brother?" He asked me.
"He's doing okay. He wanted me to let you know that he misses you and thinks about you every day." I told him.
He smiled. "I think about him everyday too."
Just when I started to wonder it, he had the answer to my question. "And you, buddy." He said.
I smiled back.

This was my dad. This was the man that raised me. This was the man I knew. He was here, in front of me once again. I stood up, and walked toward him, leaning down, and gave him a hug. I felt relief when his arms touched my back. "I'm so sorry, buddy." He whispered in my ear. "I'm so sorry, for everything."

I let go, and felt his arms slide down my side. I stepped back to my seat. "Please tell us about your game." I requested.

"We played it since we were kids." He said.

We didn't say anything. We knew he would continue. He was going to tell us everything.