“Waiting hurts. Forgetting hurts...but not knowing which decision to take can sometimes be the most painful.”- Jose N. Harris, “Mi Vida: A Story of Faith, Hope and Love” (2010)
September 23, 2019,
23:29 local time,
Marian Park,
City of Marian,
Marian Capitol Region, Republic of Marian
Bruce McCrain glanced
up at the scoreboard. In the 88th minute, Bruce's Marian City
Football Club held a 3-2 lead against Parma F.C., the result powered by Bruce's
two goals and a third scored by Bruce's best friend, Kyle Edwards, on an assist
by Bruce. Though it was just an exhibition match, no one thought MCFC- one of
the world's least heralded professional clubs- had much of a chance against
Parma, one of the world's top clubs.
Yet there they were,
clinging to the lead and expending every ounce of energy they had to keep it.
The crowd were doing their part, cheering on the underdogs as they began
thinking that the impossible could actually become possible. Bruce, Kyle and
the rest of the team got a rush of adrenaline from the crowd noise, though with
much of their energy already spent, the boost the team got was not much.
That depletion of
energy would prove decisive. MCFC manager Garner Webb didn't use any of his
three available substitutions, fearing that changing his lineup would have
proved costly. Parma manager Roberto D'Aversa, though, used all of his
available changes in the hope that someone could provide a spark for a team
that had put forth an anemic effort.
In the 89th
minute, referee Carlos King glanced at his watch and spoke in his microphone to
one of his assistants. The assistant then held up a sign that read “4”, meaning
that, to make up for the amount of stoppages in play, four more minutes needed
to be played. By the 90th minute, the MCFC was gassed, and Parma
would strike.
Antonio Barilla, one of
the substitutes, raced towards the net from the wing. At the same time he made
his run, midfielder Alberto Grassi saw it and threaded a perfect pass to him
just as he got past the last defenders. Bruce was certain that Barilla was
already behind the defenders after the pass was made- which would have ruled
him offside- but he decided against making a protest as he had more immediate
concerns.
Bruce raced to get in
front of Barilla and help out his goalkeeper. He actually did manage to get
into proper position, but Barilla- a longtime veteran- anticipated Bruce's
move, turning to get by him and give him an unobstructed shot at the net. In a
split second, Barilla's move worked to perfection as he coolly slotted the ball
into the net.
3-3. First minute of
added time. Barilla's teammates mobbed him as he celebrated, but Barilla soon
brushed them off. He reminded them they still had three minutes to play and
thus they had a chance to actually win the game.
The stunned MCFC didn't
stand a chance. Parma pounced on an erratic pass and the next thing MCFC knew
they were defending their goal again. The defenders again put forth a valiant
effort to preserve the draw and preserve some of their pride, doing all they
can as Parma laid siege to their goal.
In the third minute of
added time, Kyle wound up getting the ball at his feet. Glancing up at the
clock, he decided to simply kick the ball away with as much strength as he can,
believing that King would blow the game dead. Since soccer etiquette dictated
that the referee cannot end the game when a team is on the attack, Kyle had to
clear the ball out of the defensive zone.
Not wasting any time, Kyle
struck the ball with his foot. He actually got a good boot to the ball, but
Parma defender Matteo Darmian read what Kyle did perfectly and managed to
intercept the ball before it crossed midfield. Immediately Darmian whipped the
ball back into the goal area, where forward Roberto Inglese- who had already
scored twice in the game- received the ball with the net at his mercy. Inglese
didn't waste any time, firing the ball into the net as the exasperated MCFC
defenders looked on, helpless and devastated.
They soon all sunk to
the ground, sullen and spent, as King sounded the whistle to officially end the
game and hand Parma the 4-3 win.
Immediately after doing
so, Kyle ran up to King and got in his face, yelling and screaming at the
referee. Kyle protested that the referee allowed the game to continue for too
long and that he should blown the game dead as soon as Kyle kicked the ball
away, but King's only response was to wave Kyle away.
Kyle gave up, shaking
his head as he walked away. King kept his eye on Kyle and when he shook his
head, King called for Kyle to come over. After Kyle did so, King took out a red
card, which would mean that Kyle would get a three game suspension.
“Huh?” said Kyle,
incredulous upon receiving the card. “What did I do?”
“You said something
that offended my position,” said King. “You can't disrespect a referee like
that.”
“Um...Carly, buddy,”
said Kyle with a wry smile, “I didn't say anything to you. I didn't say
anything at all. You're making things up.”
“I don't make anything
up,” said King. “I heard it, and I'm done with you.”
King then immediately
marched away briskly, preventing Webb and the team's captains from properly
confronting him. When Webb confronted Kyle about what happened, Bruce had his
back.
“Coach,” Bruce said, “I
was there...Kyle didn't say a word. I don't know what the referee was talking
about it.”
Webb, though, had his
arms folded and gave Kyle a displeasing look.
“The red might have
been harsh,” said Webb, “but Kyle, how many times do I have to tell you not
to confront the officials? Let me do that, or let your captains do that. You're
just asking for trouble.”
Kyle shook his head in
disbelief.
“I'm sorry I wear my
heart on my sleeve,” he said. “I didn't see you protesting the decision
to extend the game.”
“It was the right
decision,” said Webb.
“Oh yeah?” said Kyle
with his hands on his hips. “What does the official record say that Inglese guy
scored?”
“ '90+5,” said Webb.
“Fifth minute of extra
time,” said Kyle. “When we were supposed to play four. I rest my case.”
Kyle then walked away
in a huff, muttering and shaking his head. Webb could only look on, shaking his
head and muttering his thoughts on a player he found very difficult to work
with.
“Look, coach-” said
Bruce, trying to stick up for his friend before Webb dismissed him with a wave.
“Don't start,” said
Webb. “There's nothing you can say to me now...he's done this too much.”
September 23, 2019,
01:31 local time,
Marian Park Stadium,
City of Marian,
Marian Capitol Region, Republic of Marian
“We should have won,”
said Kyle as he and Bruce walked out of the stadium. “I'm not giving up on
that.”
“You're right,” said
Bruce. “You're right...but that was Parma on the other side...really is no
shame in losing to them.”
“Brucey,” said Kyle,
“doesn't matter how good they were...we still should have won.”
Bruce let out a sigh
and shook his head, getting exhausted of the conversation.
“Kyle,” he said, “I'm not
disagreeing with you...I'm just trying to look at the positive.”
This time it was Kyle
shaking his head.
“See, this is the
problem with our team,” he said. “We're always 'looking at the bright side',
'seeing the silver lining', picking up our 'moral victories'...but we never
grow. How much longer can we accept being a tenth-rate, garbage club when we
should be one of the best teams in the world? We have no excuse...there should be
no excuse. The great teams of the world...they don't 'try to stay positive'.
They take their losses and they take their losses hard. Why? Because
they always want to improve because they know they can always be
better. Do you think Inter Milan and Man U got to where they are 'by looking at
the bright side'? No! They got there because they can't accept being 'second
best'...and neither should we.”
Bruce let out another
frustrated sigh.
“You make a great
point,” he said, “but you need to have some perspective. We're miles
away from being able to compete with the Man U's and Inter's of the world...no
one gave us any chance against Parma...so many people thought we'd lose by a
record-breaking scoreline...one guy from the BBC even said he'd be surprised if
Parma didn't get 100 by us tonight. Losing sucks but...we did better than
anyone could ever dream of. This has to be a step in the right
direction.”
Kyle scoffed at Bruce's
remarks immediately.
“Yeah,” he said, “maybe
I'm tired of just making steps. I want to actually get there.”
At this point, a
limousine pulled up in front of the boys. Stepping out were Kyle's father,
Alfred, a tall, slender but physically fit 52-year-old man, and his sister,
Niege, whose blue coloured hair and punk rock fashion style made Bruce fall
madly in love with her, the two having dated for over two years now.
“Hey,” said Niege, who
promptly gave Bruce a long kiss and a hug. “You guys did great out there.”
“Thanks,” said Bruce.
“Tell that to your brother.”
“Oh come on now,” said
Alfred, hugging his son, “I don't think anyone in their right mind would have
believed you could hold Parma to a 4-3 victory. You guys played your hearts
out...nothing shameful at all about that performance.”
“Except we lost,” said Kyle.
“Up 3-2 in injury time...that should be a victory. No excuses.”
“Kyle,” said Niege,
hugging her brother, “it's Parma F.C., not Brisbane United. Just the
fact you weren't down 20-0 at injury time should be a victory enough.”
“See?” said Kyle once
all the greetings were finished. “How many times have we said the same thing
after every game? How many more times do we have to tell ourselves that we lost
before we realize we're not a winning outfit?”
“OK, OK,” said Alfred,
trying to usher the group into the limo in order to stop Kyle's rant. “We'll
have plenty of time to debate this on the ride home.”
“Are Mom and Dad in the
car?” said Bruce, referring to his parents, Thomas and Martha McCrain, who
employed Alfred as their butler. Bruce had moved back into the McCrain estate
when Martha and Thomas decided to try their marriage again, though now Bruce
lives on a separate part of the estate and only under Martha’s care.
“No,” said Alfred with
a dour look. “They let me drive the car but they didn't come at all...something
about 'business', I think.”
Bruce sighed, visibly
disappointed, prompting Niege to rub his back.
“They always have
'business',” he said. “I would have thought playing against one of the greatest
teams in the world would have finally inspired them to come see me play but...”
“I know,” said Niege,
kissing Bruce on the lips, “unfortunately we can't choose our parents...but at
least you have us.”
Bruce smiled and looked
at the Edwardses warmly. He then returned Niege's kiss and gave her a hug.
“You're right,” he
said. “At least I have you guys.”
October 22, 2019,
13:42 local time,
Alfred Edwards’
Apartment,
City of Marian,
Marian Capitol Region, Republic of Marian
“These bills,” said
Alfred, sitting in the kitchen leafing through the mail, “they just keep piling
up, don't they?”
“Dad,” said Niege,
noticing her father while getting a bottle of water from the fridge. “Is
everything OK?”
“Oh,” said Alfred,
“everything is as it usually is...everyone keeps wanting more money from me
while giving me less of it...I'll never understand how this world works.”
“I thought President
Duke was going to make things better,” said Niege, who read her father's
concern.
“Oh love,” said Alfred
with a sigh, “if only you understood. President Duke seduced everyone with
promises of lower taxes and less bureaucracy but he's only made a mess of
things.”
“I thought
libertarianism was a good thing,” said Niege. “It sounded like a good thing.”
“Yeah,” said Alfred,
“maybe for you, 'cause the police can't nab you for having a toke or going for
a run in your birthday suit...but the other side is that there are tolls on all
the roads, sky high fares for the metro, fees for your school, fees for maintenance,
fees to park your car...fees for everything. Oh, and no controls for
anything, like rent or working hours, and no social services provided by the
government. I know our boy Dukey said it was necessary because 'The Republic of
Marian is still rebuilding and we can't pay for a lot of things' but that's
just a load of B.S....Dukey's just out to profit for himself and his rich
buddies.”
Niege let out a
sardonic chuckle and shook her head, acknowledging her father's concerns.
“Daniel Duke is a
trillionaire,” said Niege. “Did people really think he was going to help the
poor at all?”
“Ah,” said Alfred with
a smirk, “maybe you do get it. Duke was a great marketer...he knew how
to sell his plan. He fooled a lot of people...and they're going to pay for
it...literally.”
“Endgame hurting his
knee helped him though,” said Niege. “Really reminded people that our politics
had become too nasty.”
“Oh please,” said
Alfred, scoffing. “If you think Endgame worked for Dukey's opponents you must
be mad. I'm not saying Dukey staged his attack, but the way he talked about it
was another way he fooled us all.”
“Fooled?” said Niege.
“I don't know. Until a few years ago, we were a country of warlords, albeit one
less chaotic as Ireland. We had Presidents but they were all a sham until this
election...and, who knows, this one could have been a sham too. None of the
President's opponents wanted to play fair, you remember, calling the vote
rigged and imploring the electoral committees to not do their jobs, instead of
accepting the loss graciously like they do in other countries. Whether or not Endgame
worked on his own or for someone else is irrelevant- Daniel Duke is right that
we have major work before we can establish a legitimate democracy here.”
Alfred shook his head
and wanted to respond but the doorbell interrupted him.
“Hello,” said Alfred
after he opened the door.
Standing in front of
him was a buxom red-haired woman who looked much younger than she actually was.
She spoke with a strong Oklahoman drawl that made her sound laid back, but
today she was all business.
“Can I help you,
Madam?” said Alfred as the woman gave Alfred a strange look.
“You have no idea who I
am, do ya?” said the woman.
“I'm afraid not,” said
Alfred. “I don't get a lot of Alabamans here.”
“Sorry to disappoint
you but I'm not Alabaman either,” said the woman. “I'm from Oklahoma...a far
way from home.”
“Yes,” said Alfred,
“and you've come to my home...for what only Jove knows.”
“I'll just cut to the
chase,” said the woman. “Is your son Kyle Edwards?”
Now it was Alfred's
turn to gave the woman a surprised look.
“Yes,” said Alfred, who
closed the door behind him and folded his arms, a look of concern on his face.
“I'm Kyle's father, Alfred Edwards...but how do you know who he is?”
“I was at the Parma
game,” said the woman, who was promptly interrupted by Alfred's hand gestures.
“No, no, no,” he said.
“We're not doing autographs or anything of that sort. In fact, I may have to
ask you to leave.”
As the two argued just
outside the door, Kyle- roused from his slumber- listened intently. He was
certain he recognized the woman's voice, but he couldn't be definitive about it
because the door muffled the voices. He threw on a bath robe and decided to
take a chance, stunned at what he saw when he did open the door.
“Angela Carey?” he
said, looking at the woman- who was indeed Carey- with eyes as wide as the Sun.
Carey managed The Bulls of the Bay, a soccer club from Empire Bay in Florida
whom Carey turned into one of the world's top clubs. Carey herself made her
name long before then, becoming a pioneer for women's soccer when she became
the first woman to play against men when she played for Inter Milan against AC
Milan in 1980, scoring twice in that contest.
“You know this woman?”
said Alfred, giving Kyle a look.
“You don't?”
said Kyle, returning the favour. He then explained to Alfred who she was, as if
it should have been obvious.
Carey smiled brightly
as she looked at Kyle, who was now feeling all kinds of embarrassment due to
his wardrobe choices.
“Oh, by Jove I'm sorry
Ms. Carey,” said Kyle. “If I had known I was meeting you today I'd have more on
than this dumb robe.”
“Oh that's OK, son,”
said Carey with a warm smile. “You go in now and get changed, we've got some
things we need to discuss.”
Kyle took in several
deep breaths to calm himself down before nodding his head and closing the door
behind him. Inside, he was over the moon with ecstasy. Angela Carey wants to
talk to me? thought Kyle. What could she possibly want? Does that even
matter? She wants to talk to me!
“Now how do you raise
one of the best football players in the world and you have no idea who I am?”
said Carey with a chuckle.
“I'm sorry,” said
Alfred. “I really only go to his games...he's told me a few things but I'm more
of a cricket guy myself.”
A thought then came to
Alfred.
“...but I do
remember the news when you made your debut,” said Alfred. “I was just a lad
getting his feet wet in the Army. Me and the boys...we had a very good laugh
about it...not that I'm proud of it.”
“That's England for
you,” said Carey with a wry smile.
“Anyway, Alfred,” said
Carey, deciding to get back to business, “I'll need you to come with us when
your son is ready.”
Alfred gave Carey a
look.
“I'm sorry?” he said.
“What do you need me for?”
“I hope you can keep
this a secret,” said Carey, leaning in so she could whisper in to Alfred's ear,
“because I want to tell him myself, but I want to sign Kyle to my team. MCFC
has already agreed to take on Kyle's contract, but now we need your approval
before we can move forward.”
Alfred looked on, his
mind racing as what Carey told him was a lot to digest. He did, however, have
an easy answer.
“Oh you'll have to ask
him,” said Alfred. “It's his decision ultimately if he wants to go.”
“I realize that,” said
Carey, “but FIFA regulations state that because he's not yet an adult, I can't
sign him without parental permission. So I'm going to need you to sign a few
things.”
Alfred nodded his head,
the impact of these developments not lost on him. He then invited Carey inside
his home where he gave her a coffee and the two engaged in idle chitchat along
with Niege while they waited for Kyle to get ready.
Once he was ready, the
news would be quite the game changer for everyone involved. Kyle and Bruce
received a lot of attention from the worldwide soccer press after their
performance against Parma, which they would maintain through a string of
friendly games over the next month, causing many soccer pundits to believe the
pair were destined to become two of the game's greats. The development was
melancholic for MCFC, who, while happy for their players, came to realize that
they'd be too expensive for the club to keep. Webb- who wanted to keep both
players- resigned because of the stress, leaving the decision to MCFC's owner
who made the reluctant decision to sell the pair's contracts.
The offers were not
great until Carey came by with matching $250 million offers for both contracts,
the richest in the sport's history, as she firmly believed in the talent of the
young boys. The board for the Bulls thought she was overestimating, but she
stuck to her guns and the board relented given her track record. The deal would
also see both boys earn $100 million a year, the largest salary given to a
player in any sport.
It was all eye-popping,
and Kyle couldn't believe his luck. One issue did remain, though.
“How long did it take
for Brucey to sign this?” said Kyle, not hiding his giddiness.
It was here that
Carey's mood got dour.
“Bruce isn't coming,”
she said sombrely. “His mother wouldn't sign the contracts.”
The Edwardses all
looked on in shock.
“What?” said Niege.
“Why would he do that? What's Bruce going to gain here in Marian?”
Carey let out a sigh.
“She didn't say,” she
said. “She didn't even give me a chance to talk to Bruce myself and didn't even
bother to take any of my documents to show Bruce. I doubt the little feller
even knows I wanted to make this deal. It's all very disappointing...for him
and for me too, but there's nothing I can do.”
Kyle then looked at the
contract, but his smile was now gone. He'd make more money than he could ever
imagine, but he realized he'd be losing his best friend. Sure, he'd be able to
pop in to Marian from time to time to visit, but it wouldn't be the same. Is
his new life worth sacrificing his old one?
Then he remembered his
father's monetary issues. Alfred barely made ends meet, and who knows if he'd
continue to do so with the libertarian Duke as Marianite President.
Bruce can afford to
stay home, thought Kyle. I
don't think I can.
With a deep breath and
a heavy sigh- and an even heavier heart- Kyle put pen to paper and officially
signed the contract. Alfred too put his signature on the contract, making
everything official. Carey then thanked the Edwardses for their time and bid
them adieu, telling them she'd contact them later with the next steps, as she
still needed to file the paperwork with FIFA as well as both the Ravens and the
MCFC. The season wouldn't begin until January anyway, so Kyle had time before
he needed to make his more permanent move.
When Carey was gone,
the three Edwardses shared an emotional group hug. Their lives would be changed
forever and they knew it would be for the better- but they still faced a
difficult road ahead.
November 2, 2019,
00:02 local time,
Blue Mountain
International Stadium,
Collingwood, Blue
Mountain, Republic of Huron
“You wanted to see me?”
said Kyle, entering the space of the stadium reserved for Carey and her staff.
“Yes,” said Carey,
seated at her desk. “Close the door.”
Kyle did so. His
anxiety levels went up right afterwards, as it didn't sound that Carey was too
happy with him at the moment. He had his first game for The Bulls, a friendly
match with Inter Milan hosted here by the Blue Mountain Soccer Association,
and, though the Ravens lost, Kyle thought he had a good game with two goals,
bringing the team to a 3-2 scoreline late in the second half before Inter
scored again moments later for the 4-2 final scoreline.
“Do you know why I
brought you in here?” said Carey, whose wry smile underscored her stern look.
Kyle, too worried to
speak, simply shook his head.
“I know I signed you to
the richest contract in sports history,” said Carey. “I have no shame in that.
In fact, I think ou were worth every penny of that tonight.”
“Thanks?” said Kyle who
felt relieved somewhat but then wondered if it was just false hope.
“Oh no, that's a
compliment,” said Carey, though she wasn't speaking in a complimentary tone,
“but it's also a warning, son. Do you remember Cristiano Ronaldo?”
Kyle nodded in the
affirmative. In 2007 and 2008, Ronaldo led Manchester United to back-to-back
world championships while being hailed as soccer's best player, and one of the
best to ever lace up the cleats. The success got to his head, resulting in him
making all kinds of outrageous demands to his club and going to war with his
teammates and club management. Eventually, United's manager, Sir Alex Ferguson,
got fed up with Ronaldo's antics and sold his contract to the Melbourne
Victory, who, like the MCFC, were a distant soccer outpost far from the
pedigree of the world's top clubs. Worse, the Victory simply wanted Ronaldo for
ticket sales and publicity, as their owners cared little for success on the
field. Ronaldo came as advertised, helping the Victory with their profit margin
immensely, but the team never came close to matching the success of Ronaldo's
old team.
It mattered little to
Ronaldo, whose “brand” took off in Melbourne, but, to Kyle and many others in
the soccer world, Ronaldo's story became a cautionary tale of the perils of
putting your priorities over the club's.
Kyle sighed, Carey's
point made, but he still had some points to disagree with.
“I scored two goals
though,” said Kyle. “I nearly brought us all the way back...by myself. Against
Inter Milan. That's no small feat.”
“Yeah,” said Carey,
“but you also passed up four or five goals because you wouldn't pass the ball.
Look, I don't know if you understand this, but this is the big leagues. You're
not playing Kangaroo FC or Dingo United or whomever you used to play against
where you could do it all yourself- you're playing big clubs, with players
almost as good as you are. That's no time to play 'hero ball' son...you need to
use your teammates...and trust them.”
Kyle nodded silently,
acknowledging what Carey said.
“Look,” said Carey,
softening up her tone, “I know Radamel Falcao isn't Bruce McCrain...but he's
still pretty good. I think you two have a real chance to make some magic
together...I saw glimpses of it on the field. I just need you to make it
happen. OK Kyle?”
Kyle nodded his head in
acknowledgement, upon which Carey dismissed him for the evening.
After walking out of
the office, he thought about immediately heading back to his hotel room before
deciding against it. He wanted to spend some time practising, because what
Carey said really rang true for him.
When he got there, he
saw that Falcao, who played as a forward like Kyle did, was also still there.
“I guess Tigers don't
need sleep either,” said Kyle, referencing Falcao's nickname, El Tigre,
which drew a chuckle from Falcao.
“When you get to my
level,” said Falcao, who, at 33, was almost old enough to be Kyle's father, “if
you're not doing all you can to be the best player you can be, you don't get to
play at all.”
“I know,” said Kyle,
taking to heart what Falcao said. “Coach was just telling me about that...I
thought I knew everything, but there's so much to learn.”
Kyle then let out a wry
chuckle.
“Hey listen,” he said.
“I didn't mean to not pass you the ball...I just thought I had some good
shots.”
Falcao chuckled,
walking over and putting his arm around Kyle.
“Kyle,” he said. “It's
OK. When I was your age, I wanted to do it all myself too. It's natural...but
this game...it has a way of humbling you and reminding you that no matter how
good you are, you are never better than the game. There is always something you
can do to get better, and you can always learn something from your
teammates...and there's no shame in asking them for help. You have to
remember...we're all in this together. Whether we win or we lose...we do it as
a team. Never forget that.”
Kyle smiled, really
appreciating the advice the veteran forward gave him. The two then spent some
time together practising moves and running drills on the field, which caught
the eye of Carey. Like an appreciative surrogate mother, she looked, her heart
swelling at seeing her players bond so well. She eventually came down herself
and agreed to help out with the drills, a necessity given that she had to close
the stadium but she didn't want to cut her players' practice short.
In the distance, a
woman peered into the stadium through the gaps in the chain-link gate that
closed the fence around the stadium. She was malnourished, slender and badly
beaten, her scars and her bruises available for all to see as she was naked.
This was not the most striking feature about her- what was most striking was
the bunny ears on her head and the mouse's tail on her behind, both part of her
anatomy.
She was a strange
human, one that would ultimately have an important story to tell.
November 2, 2019,
01:42 local time,
The Friedman Manor,
City of Marian,
Marian Capitol Region, Republic of Marian
“Honey, I'm home,” said
John Freidman as he entered his home and turned on the lights. The investor
locked the door behind him and walked forward, smiling with the anticipation
that he'd finally get to see his wife, Gemma, after such a long day.
Something didn't feel
right, though. John called for Gemma again and didn't hear an answer, which he
found odd. Usually Gemma sprung from bed and raced to greet him as soon as he
came home- failing that, she would at least call out to him and acknowledge his
presence.
No matter, John thought, contenting himself with the
thought that Gemma may simply be asleep. She works hard too, John
thought, I forget that sometimes.
John then decided to go
to his entertainment suite and watch some TV. He thought he heard some
rumblings inside the house but talked himself out of those thoughts by
rationalizing that it must be a mouse or the wind rustling outside, even
thought today wasn't particularly windy.
When he entered the
suite, he found his armchair arranged in a way he didn't recognize, as well as
his movie collection in a disorganized mess.
I don't remember
leaving my suite like this,
John thought. Gemma isn't this messy either.
This is when he clued
in that something wasn't right, as John openly wondered if the intruder was
still inside his house.
He grabbed a gun that
was underneath the seat cushion and began walking slowly around the house. He
tried his best not to make noise as he walked as well as to do it slowly and
methodically, but he was no police officer, as he walked too quickly and still
made noise as he walked simply because he had no way to control his heart rate.
Still, he saw no
evidence of the intruder the more he looked around. He eventually found himself
at the door to his large refrigeration room, where there was a note telling him
to go inside.
No, no, John, he thought. Don't fall for that...it's a
trap.
He then read the note
further and noticed it was signed by Gemma...in her own handwriting.
Maybe it's not as
bad as it seems, thought John,
who carefully opened the door.
Inside, he found a
large layered cheesecake, one that said “Congratulations” on top with its
icing. She must have found out about my success tonight, thought John,
who was relieved and instantly smiled at what he saw before him. Wow...I
always knew she cared, but this...THIS...this is another level.
He then stowed away the
gun in another hiding spot in the refrigerator and left the room to get some
cutlery so he could enjoy his cake.
When he did get to the
preparation room, there was a picture of a person seemingly dressed as Harley
Quinn- the world famous sex doll that was turned into a successful comic
series- right above the area with the knives and the forks. This Harley,
though, was dressed just like John's version of the doll, with a blue bikini
top with hearts in the centre of both breasts, a crimson red bikini bottom,
thigh-high dark blue laced stockings (with a red ribbon), a blue vestment with
a red heart pattern that was simply sleeves over her arms, a necklace with a
rose in the forefront, high heels, her face painted white with black points
extending from the top and bottom of both eyes, deep red lipstick, small heart
tattoos on her cheeks and her hair in pigtails, coloured a mixture of blonde
and blue highlights. Over her eyes and the bridge of her nose was a mask, with
a ribbon-style headband, both of which appeared to have a blue and red pattern
on it, with a blue bow in the centre of the headband.
That's an amazing
picture of Harley Quinn,
thought John. He then picked up the picture and noticed another message behind
it.
“I have a present for
you in the dining room,” read the message, in Gemma's handwriting.
By now, John didn't
care about his cake. He put down the fork and knife and walked into the dining
room, his mouth salivating like Pavlov's dog.
When he got to the
centre of the room, he didn't see anything- just the tables arranged like they
always were.
It would prove to be
the last thing he'd see, as sneaking up behind him was Gemma, who knocked him
out cold with a sledgehammer to the head. She then continued to beat him to
death, doing it some more to beat his face beyond recognition.
Gemma then called the
police, simply telling them that “Harley set me free”. Then she waited...and
waited...and waited some more.
“A peacefulness
follows every decision, even if it's the wrong one.”- Rita Mae Brown, “Sudden
Death” (1983)
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