But then Brad’s clueless.
So that means I need to go back to cold spots and the sound of heavy footsteps walking up and down the hallway.
That gets Brad’s attention. He starts listening.
The footsteps stop just before the door to his bedroom. The footsteps don’t walk past, stopping short for full effect.
Brad kind of whispers, “No way...”
He forgets all about the game until he hears the sound of crowd noise coming from one of the other rooms in the house.
The crowd noise is right out of the live stream.
Brad gets excited and it’s sad. “No way, bro, like shit, for real?”
Who is he talking to?
He talks to himself I guess.
Brad tweets, “First sign of symptoms or bro’s a haunter.”
Then he goes out into the hallway, kind of fearless, actually. Different, because most people would be weirded out. Indeed, most would interpret the activity as negative. Yeah, something that is bad. But not Brad. He’s chasing the crowd noise, but it switches locations.
He ends up back downstairs, where the TV is.
Would you like to know how Brad dies?
Eh, I guess. Sort of. But I’ll know anyway since you know, so go ahead and tell me.
Bradley Vola will graduate with a B-average in communications. Vola will continue with postgraduate studies, opting for physical therapy. He will spend much of his twenties in academia, attending parties and absorbing the fraternity/sorority subculture. Vola will continue as an instructor at the college, his career peaking as an associate professor. During his eighth year as a professor, Vola will meet a student and a relationship will form quickly. Vola will leave the college in order to retain ethical integrity; he will acquire a job at another state university. The switch between universities will result in his career stagnating at assistantship. Yet Vola will find peace with his once-student-turned-lover. Vola will leave the university at sixty and work as a freelance consultant from home. Vola will die of pneumonia at the age of eighty-one.
The TV is on, like there wasn’t really a problem.
Brad looks disappointed. The thought here is that he imagined most of it. He really wanted the haunting.
It’s kind of sad.
It’s sad, right? I’m not just doing what you say people do a lot: projecting?
No. It is indeed a little perplexing.
Brad’s tweet gets no favorites and definitely no retweets.
It’s a bust, and I’m kind of like, all of a sudden, “Maybe give the guy a helping hand? You know, just let him think that it might be possible?”
There would be no harm in that.
Yeah, so maybe the TV shuts off again. Brad knows what that might mean. Then the TV starts switching channels, stopping on everything that isn’t sports—not that he’ll really notice that part.
Brad starts laughing. “Dude, this is awesome.”
Just like him to be overanxious. I’m kind of like, “How is he in this situation? A house that looks like it’s his, no family whatsoever?”
It’s totally strange, legitimately strange.
After the TV, all the picture frames fall off the walls at once.
Gets a rise out of the guy.
Then I don’t really see anything else to be done and leave him thinking he’s lucky or something. But he thinks of demons as demons, like everyone else. And they all think it’s so cool until contact is made. After that, it’s like, “He’s doomed.” It’s kind of hypocritical.
I’m done. You ready to leave?
Whenever you’re ready.
Yeah, this is sad.
Indeed.
Sorry, Brad. No hard feelings, really. Maybe if you were more like yourself and weren’t trying so hard, you’d end up not having to pretend you’re friends with people. You could just actually be friends.
Like what we’re doing.
Indeed.
Sorry, man. Brad, you’ll be cool.
One day.
It’s crazy to think that Jon-Jon lives here. It’s a huge house, definitely worth... like a million dollars or more. I mean, look at this: the place is gated! If Jon-Jon lives here, either his parents are loaded or he’s squatting. Maybe he’s renting a room?
Either way, this is going to be good.
I’ve been wanting to mess with Jon-Jon since he made it clear that he cares only about business. He made money off me, off Nikki, off running the gauntlet, Falter, all of it. He makes money by pitting people against others; he makes money by selling to those same people. He basically messes with his clientele. Someone’s got to mess with him, but he acts all cool and stuff so that nobody really can mess with him.
I want to mess with him.
Really, really freak him out.
You have no reason to ask for my approval. Let’s begin.
This place is insane. Like, I don’t even know where to begin. Jon-Jon’s definitely living here. I don’t know if those are his parents though. The people in the kitchen?
They are indeed his parents.
That’s crazy. He’s like, what, twenty-three?
Jonathan Johnson, or “Jon-Jon,” is twenty-six years old.
No fucking way.
Would you like to know how he dies?
Do you even need to really ask? Bring it.
Jonathan Johnson will be arrested on assault and drug possession charges after an altercation with a woman who will be revealed to him later, post-arrest, as an off-duty officer. She will have caught notice of his activities via a vengeance burn—a competing dealer calling in a report. Johnson will serve three months in state prison before earning parole. Johnson will have difficulty returning to the life he had led prior to his arrest. Many competitors and former clients will have turned on him by the time he resumes social appearances. Johnson will attempt to break parole in order to avoid his competitors’ own dead pools. On the eve of his twenty-ninth birthday, via something as fickle as using another inmate’s basketball hoop without asking, Johnson will incur multiple stab wounds during work detail. His wounds will not heal.
Man, that sounds like a movie. It should be a movie.
Jonathan would like to be in a film.
I take it back. But it seems so much like how he’d want to live his life, like some kind of badass, but really he’s just an opportunist. It’s obvious that he’s trying to be something he isn’t. I can tell that he realizes what he’s doing. I mean, he lives with his parents, who are raking in the cash, but he still does all the things he does for cash.
Indeed.
It seems seedy, sketchy. I really want to mess with him. What do we do to mess with a guy like Jon-Jon?
It will not require a whole lot of effort.
Jon-Jon lives in the guesthouse, all by himself. There is no need to even go inside the main house, even though I kind of want to. But he lives in the guesthouse, which is only three rooms, including the common area.
Of course, when I see him he’s counting money. He’s counting money even though he’s already counted it more than a few times. Look at him, counting money just because he likes counting it. What kind of guy are you? I want to ask him.
“I watched you sleep last night. I made you stop breathing for one whole minute...” I whisper into his ear.
He jumps up, money going everywhere.
“Shi-shit. Hunter. Y-you—what are you doing?”
So he’s scared. You’re right. That was easy.
I ask him, “Why do you think you can be some gangster or something?”
He can barely look at me. Jon-Jon’s looking for a weapon. He’s walking away from me, and it’s clear that he sees me as a monster.
I’m a monster, why?
“How about a beer?” I ask him.
“Sure,” Jon-Jon stammers.
I won’t be where he thinks I am when he gets to that knife.
He looks around. The knife in his hand makes it easy to notice that he’s trembling.
“You scare easy.”
He hears me, but he can’t see me.
I think I’m getting used to this haunting stuff. It’s true that it’s hard for people to not notice you when they’re absolutely freaked the crap out. Maybe they’re just intimidated. Either way, it really gets people looking. It gets people in a state where they can’t just turn you down as something they don’t care about.
And then I ask him, just because it feels right, “Where’s my beer?”
He keeps a whole fridge full of stuff. He’s always got a cooler somewhere.
“Then a smoke? Can’t a loyal bud get a smoke?”
He grows plenty under one of those lamps in that closet, the one near the entrance of the guesthouse. The door to the closet opens on its own. He turns and looks, which gives me time to steal the knife from him.
“Shit...”
I tell him, “No knives.”
He’s thinking, “Where the hell are you?”
He’s thinking, “How is this possible?”
He’s thinking, “Why isn’t he dead yet?”
Because Jon-Jon figured I wouldn’t last, right? He figured I’d end up like the rest, totally brain-dead. Like, just a body and no one else.
Indeed.
But how much of that is true?
It is accurate, in parts.
Which parts?
Consider this—if they banished me back to the kingdom, wouldn’t you follow?
Yeah, I think so. I mean, I’d be afraid, but I wouldn’t want to live without you around.
Indeed. And vice versa.
So he figured I’d be done, finished.
This is where I walk right up to him and ask, “How much of a gangster are you, on a scale of one to ten, ten being a crime lord?”
No answer. He just stands there, trying to hold it all together. He looks right at me, eyes wide, a single tear forming in his left eye.
I watch as it runs down his face, and then I answer for him: “Two. At best.” I shake my head. “I’m Hunter, who are you?”
Not saying anything. He’s scared stiff and shaking.
“Jon-Jon?” I shake my head again. “You’re just like anyone else, but you just think you’re bigger, more important.” I dangle the knife he was going to use on me in front of his face. “I mean, really? You were going to attack me? Like some kind of monster?”
I drive the knife into one of the couch cushions.
“That’s not meant for anybody.”
And then I tell him. I tell him everything you’ve told me. I tell him about his future, about how he’ll keep riding out that idea of being some kind of dealer, some kind of gangster, some kind of self-proclaimed badass or something. I tell him about how he’s racking up the enemies.
“I’m one of them. Big surprise, I know. But I am. I’ve always hated you.”
He’s turning people against him, secretly. Only reason they’re not lashing out and just ruining him is because of all the dirt and money he has on them. He gets us all warped around this idea that he might be powerful, able to really ruin us. But what’s he doing? He’s not doing anything.
He can’t do a thing.
Jon-Jon is just an idea. Nowhere near being alive. Can’t be alive if living takes some degree of care.
“You don’t care,” I tell him. “You won’t care at all unless you’re forced to, like, care to get out of what’s happening here!”
Let’s get out of here. I can’t stand the sight of him. He’s the one who looks completely insane. He’s like this impossible idea that
somehow exists just because so many people pretend that it’s real. Like a crackpot theory that continues to go around from circle to circle because it’s, I don’t know, somehow believable to people with a certain kind of mind-set.
I mean, I guess.
He’s just a guy, and a guy not really worth knowing. He owes me a lot, but I’m not even going to bother. Unless you want to mess with him?
I’d rather not.
Yeah. He’s not worth a damn. I said no to people who made me want to be less like myself when I dumped Becca. I’m saying no a second time.
People like Jon-Jon are the real demons.
I’m just tired of being something I’m not. You know?
I know well.
Yeah. You and me, we’re the same.
You know I really want to. I know you think it’s not worth it and that it’s just because it’s her—Nikki Dillon—that I want to see. Just a glimpse though. You never do that, do you? You never just take a peek?
I don’t follow.
Guess not. It’s, well... anyway, you got to know that I’m interested for more than just that. I just want to see what the real Nikki is like. I’ve always had a crush on the girl. From a distance, she seems perfect. But then I found out that she’s more like everyone else. But part of me just wants to be able to see, you know? I mean, I’m fine if you don’t want to go, but maybe I need this just for closure. She was the reason I liked being haunted.
Stupid, I know.
It was before people started showing their true colors and stuff.
No reason not to, given that we’re already outside her front door. But then should we be, like, more covert about it? Spy agent style or something? Should it be straight haunting? Huh?
I know, I know. It’s up to me. But help me out. Be a friend. Am I scary enough to her without all the haunting and stuff?
It appears as though standing at her door for an inordinate amount of time would be enough of a fear-inducing proposal.
Ah, shit, fine. I’m ringing the doorbell. Here goes nothing.
I’m still nervous. After all that’s happened, I’m still so fucking nervous. I could be shaking, I’m so nervous. I don’t even know. Am I shaking?
Yes. You are shaking. Stop shaking.
I’m trying. She’s not answering.
She’ll answer.
But she’s not really answering. I bet it’s because she sees me at the door.
Ring the doorbell again.
Okay.
This looks pretty creepy, just standing here. That’s kind of the point though, yeah? I guess I’m sort of hoping she’s different when she’s not surrounded by people. Like Brad and everyone else—kind of hoping it’s like, “Hey, you’re actually not a coldhearted bitch.”
Ring the doorbell.
I just did.
Keep ringing it. Do not stop.
Oh, I get it. Eh, might as well go that way. This is creepy as hell. The parents are probably going to call the cops.
The parents will do no such thing.
That’s reassuring.
But not as much as when she opens the door and acts like everything’s okay. It’s like, What are you driving at? I hear the locking mechanism slide open, and there she is, standing there like she would at school. And it’s like, Hey, it’s been a while.
She doesn’t look at me like I’m a disaster, doesn’t look at me like something went wrong.
Nikki sort of eyes me up and down and says, “Hunter.” And then she looks past me and says, “I guess you’ll want to step inside.”
Not going to say no to that. Nikki walks over to where she was sitting before, next to her parents, who look at me and act like I wasn’t actually ringing the doorbell like crazy, like I’m not that kid who has the demon, like I’m just someone from school stopping by to say hello.
So I say, “Hello.” Guess that’s as good as anything else to say.
Nikki motions over to an empty spot on the couch and I sit down. She offers me a drink and then fetches a glass of water that I don’t actually drink.
Nothing about this seems weird though.
Like, everyone sitting here—they are already so far away from caring it’s kind of like they’re all still alone. There’re the parents, yeah, but Nikki’s that way too She looks tired. She looks bored. She looks... I really don’t know.
So I ask her, “How’s it going?”
She kind of nods. “Same.�
��
The parents both ask me, “How do you know Nikki?”
Well... But instead I say, “We go to Meadows. We have a class together.”
But then Nikki says, “No, we don’t.”
Her mom smiles. “That’s nice.”
Her dad says, “It’s important to keep friends close. It’s crazy out there. Lots of demons just looking to run you down...”
Are you weirded out by what’s happening?
It is mildly disconcerting.
Yeah, this is creeping me out. Shouldn’t they be all like, Get the hell out? They should be looking at me like I’m insane. That’s what I’ve expected it to be. But now... Well, one thing’s for sure: Nikki’s definitely different outside of school. It’s like the life’s been taken out of her.
What’s going on? I can’t help but get the feeling that—
You feel it too, don’t you? Of course you do. So what do we do?
I guess I shouldn’t have to ask. It’s kind of obvious. Got to get out of here. I guess they all knew.
I don’t know. I’m just...
I’m nervous, okay? I’m nervous.
They’re acting like nothing’s wrong. They had a plan all along.
Nikki looks at the glass of water in my hand. “Would you like another drink?” And that’s a signal or something. You’re as aware as me. It’s going to happen. But where, where will they enter? How will they get me? Why do they make me the insane one, when really I’m maybe just what they don’t understand?
Look around. See anything?
Nikki just left the room. It’s going to happen now, isn’t it?
Indeed. It will.
Can we do anything about this?
There are a number of options—many of them resulting in capture. The lone choice is to invoke activity. Yet in doing so, it will result in quite the display of possession. It will not hold you in favor. It will accentuate their understanding of your situation.
Yeah. So we’re cornered.
The whole thing felt wrong, you know, showing up here.
But it’s kind of like I had no choice. I was going to show up here anyway. I needed to know. It’s kind of like “I told you so.” I know that’s the case. I know you told me not to come here. It’s my fault. I’m weak, I’m human. I’m not actually weak, just saying. I really shouldn’t have bothered. Yeah, there they are. There’s Becca.
Falter Kingdom Page 21
