You slowly get to your feet, using the edge of the bed as a prop to help steady yourself. As you try to stand up straight however, a sharp pain shoots up your left leg from your ankle, making you cry out. Putting your weight on your ankle more gingerly this time you realize that you must have twisted it somehow. You rack your brain for some sort of explanation but like an uninspired artist you draw a blank.
Turning around in a small circle you look around in an attempt to piece together what may have happened. The first thing you notice are the tracks of dirt on the floor. There are lots of them and they are everywhere. Back and forth and around the room like someone was pacing. Maybe you? Maybe not. You're no expert but it appears that there are two sets of tracks, belonging to two different people. But if there had been someone else there you would have known it, wouldn't have you? You're not so sure. In fact, you're not so sure of anything anymore.
Your eyes abandoning the tracks of dirt around you, they stray to your feet. Your brows furrow in bewilderment. Your shoes are filthy and caked with mud. At least you know that one set of tracks actually belong to you. But even though that answers one question, it only raises another: How did your feet get so dirty in the first place? and not only your feet you realize after a moment. But the rest of you as well. You're a complete mess. Your clothes soiled and grainy against your skin.
The sound of birds chattering filters through an open window drawing your attention to the fact that it is early morning. You glance at your watch which reads one minute to three o'clock. That cant be right. On closer inspection, however, you realize that the second hand is no longer moving. 2:59 is when your watch had stopped working. The battery couldn't have died, however, you replaced the battery not a month earlier. something must have happened to cause it to stop, but what?
Not having the energy to try and figure it out, you slowly limp to the door, every muscle in your body aching as if you have just competed in a triathlon.
Reaching for the door, you notice that your hand, both of them in fact, have been rubbed raw, the skin on the knuckles scraped away, an enormous amount of dirt stuck under the fingernails. Beyond being able to be surprised anymore, you simply take it in and open the door which swings in towards you with a deep and prolonged creak.
You walk out onto the cabin porch, careful not to put too much pressure on your twisted ankle.
"It just keeps on getting better and better." you mutter to yourself morosely.
Sitting in the clearing, as soiled and caked with dirt as you are is your car, a huge dent on the front fender.
Sighing, you go and lean on the porch railing, asking yourself just what the fuck happened last night.
The answer comes as a thought. Not yours however. It's like it is just placed there. Like someone planted it.
I orchestrated a little meeting. You were going to squeal, probably still are, I had to protect us. Make sure there's nothing incriminating against us.
Us?
Yes, us. What do you think this is, a one man circus? I'm the reason you're even still sane buddy boy. The only reason you've made it this far. And here you are busy trying to fuck up everything that Ive done. You better get your mind right homes because there's no way in Hell I'm going to let you land us in a prison cell. And don't try to fool yourself because if you do go to the police that's exactly where we'll end up. where you'll end up. And anyway, the job isn't done yet. there are still two more names to take care of.
You blink. The dream.
Yes, your dream. Ive been trying to clue you in for ages. trying to ease you into this but you're more of a pussy than I thought. The two left are Reggie and his bitch boyfriend Carl. They know that you're coming for them so its going to be considerably harder. I suggest you let me handle it.
Handle what? Killing them? Are you insane?
Actually, you are. But let's not dwell on technicalities. And anyway, insane or not, its what Kelly wants.
Something in your mind clicks and you realize something.
Wait, why do you sound just-
-like Kelly? Why don't you answer that yourself. and here's a hint; it's not merely a coincidence. But enough chit chat, I need you to get back to campus, clean yourself up. We have alot of work to do if we're going to get the powers that be off your case. you've been acting extremely suspicious like of late. I mean, that whole locking yourself in your room get-up, not cool man. Now unless you want me to do it for you, and believe me I'm more than willing to, I suggest that you pull out them keys, get in the car and gets the driving.
Setting yourself into motion, you slowly head for the porch steps, nursing your ankle as you go.
Reaching the bottom you turn to look back at the cabin. The door is still open.
Don't worry about that, it'll be taken care of. just get your ass out of here.
Doing as you are told, you turn away from the cabin and limp to the car. Getting behind the wheel, you stick the key in the ignition. You turn it but the engine refuses to turn with it. You try several more times until the car finally comes to life.
Your hands on the steering wheel, you look from side to side wondering how you're going to get out.
Just follow the tracks sweetheart and you'll be fine.
"Following the tracks" means turning around and so you throw the car into reverse. Turning in your seat so you can see out the rear windshield your eyes happen across a shovel sitting on the back seat. As expected, it is caked with fresh dirt.
Yeah, I moved the body chum. Couldn't have you bringing the police out here and finding it, could I? Now drive.
Obeying without question, you turn the car around and follow the tracks that were left by it the night before.
You soon find yourself on a main road and using a sign to determine where you are, you head in the direction of school.
The road you are on is a quiet one and only the occasional car passes you going in the opposite direction. As the minutes pass, however, the traffic becomes steadily heavier until you hit the first wave of morning rush hour traffic just outside of the town that nestles the university.
After what seems an enormously long time, youre finally on campus property; your car attracting a magnitude of stares and gawks from passing students and teachers alike. Ignoring them, you park your car in front of your dorm and jump out.
More stares and gawks as you climb the stairs to your floor.
Your floor, lucky enough, is almost empty except for a few guys rushing down the hallway and past you presumably heading for their lectures.
You pull out your keys as you approach your door but when you reach there, you find it already open.
You locked up before you left the night before, you're sure of it. It looks like someone jimmied the door. Pushing the door open, you step inside not knowing what to expect.
Everything seems to be in place, nothing tampered with. That is, until your eyes reach your desk. Someone has obviously given your books and papers a thorough perusing.
"Some interesting reading you've got there."
Startled you drop your keys. The jingling of the keys as they hit the hard wood floor unnerving you even further.
Spinning around, you face the direction from which the voice came from. Sitting on your couch, quite comfortably you might add, is none other than Detective Gervaldi. Homicide.
