Snatching the towel from Zach, I start to apply a little pressure on it, hoping to stop the bleeding for now at least, and that’s when the image on the TV changes, transforming into a text.
She was a genius with the perfect life.
Living in her fairytale world with no care.
Until I broke it all apart,: Made her a murderer who everyone wanted to rip to shreds.
The phoenix burned in flames.
I couldn’t stand watching it.
So I uncovered the truth and helped her to be reborn from her ashes.
Did you really think I would give you up, Phoenix?
Compared to everyone else in your life, I always stood by your side, but even I had to use you.
And everything I do now will be for you.
It’s one last dangerous game: Only one inevitable outcome.
Do you want to play it with me anyway?
“Oh, dear God,” I whisper, reading between the lines of this message, reminding me of how obsessively we used to study serial killers in one of our classes, because our professor used to work as a profiler.
The unsub, the one who he wants to find so much?
Created a connection with me a long time ago, and somehow it soothed the pain inside him to a point where I became a constant in his life, keeping him sane and in line.
But it also awakened the desire to kill that he must have kept in check for decades, judging by the language he uses.
When a grown serial killer wants to play with you and addresses you like you’re his best friend, it means he never had friends in his life… or a childhood, not a happy one anyway.
And if he has done such horrendous things?
It means his past is so bad one might not want to hear about it.
Which brings only one conclusion.
He doesn’t have a conscience, as no one taught him the concept of compassion toward others, a sociopath who seeks the power he was stripped of when he was a child.
In this twisted game he’s playing, he plans to die victoriously.
And take his best friend with him to the pits of hell.
Chapter Eleven
“Peace is a mythical word that doesn’t exist in real life.
They say a person should rest in peace when he or she dies.
But what should those who lost them do?
There is no such explanation for suffering in peace.
For there cannot be pain in peace.
Only dead people can truly understand or feel it, and isn’t that ironic? Or is the word I’m looking for ‘tragic’?”
Zachary
From Phoenix and Zach’s letters history…
Dear Zach,
I wasn’t sure if I should write this letter to you or not, since you weren’t exactly my favorite person after the last one. I found it rude, and… well, to be frank, you acted like a fucking asshole.
I thought you weren’t fair. Just because you experienced pain, it doesn’t define doctors as a whole.
Every profession has risks, and granted, yes, not in every profession lives depend on you every day… at least on the surface.
But even an architect has to design the best, most solid structure that has the ability to withstand harsh weather and not crumble. Or else he risks the safety of whoever lives or works in his buildings.
Anyway, all philosophical musings aside, I’m happy to inform you I got into an Ivy League university with a top score and a scholarship that covers all expenses.
Take that, rich boy!
I’m getting out of this hellhole with a big wave and hope to never, ever come back to New York.
New state, new me, or that’s what I’m hoping for anyway. One can dream, although I heard we can’t outrun our problems.
Oddly enough, I don’t have them anymore.
You should be graduating too, right? So, congratulations, and I guess you got wherever you wanted. Not sure if it’s here or once again abroad, but anyhow, school is over.
And the fun begins, or so all freshman students claim.
Enjoy all the sex (I assume that’s the thing you discovered based on your last letter) and have fun.
In the envelope, you will have a business card of my university and email, should you ever want to contact me. I figured in this age of technology, it’s time for us to move to a more… let’s say faster way of living?
Besides, no need to waste the paper; it’s not good for the planet.
Although you are a jerk and an asshole of epic proportions, and probably all our conversations were nothing but amusement to you… I figured we can keep the spark alive.
Wishing you the best in case this is our last letter,
P
P.S.: Still haven’t decided on my specialty, but I have eight years for that, right?
Two weeks later
P,
Ah, you got offended. And I wondered why I didn’t get your usual ramblings. (Insert me laughing and not regretting that, although I do find it interesting. You’re a breath of fresh air among all the other conversations I have in my life.)
So you settled on being a doctor, huh? That’s good and congrats on getting into the Ivy League. Always knew you were smart, excluding your mouth that won’t shut up even on paper.
Well I can’t say much besides good luck, right? Anyhow, it would have been a shame if my bitterness had kept you away from your dream.
I can’t complain about the sex. A guy has to find pleasure where he can, so if you expected my blushing apologies, you won’t get them.
That’s the thing really about apologies; I never make them. I consider them useless and a waste of air. If you do something and you regret it, don’t do it again. What’s the point of begging for forgiveness?
The person can see you have changed by your actions, surely not with your words. Or maybe I’m judging it all through my perspective?
I don’t give a flying fuck for apologies; people lie all the time, but if they work toward fixing the mistake, so to speak?
I might just forget about it. (Probably not, because I’m not that generous. Usually if you betray me or cross me, you are written off. Don’t see it changing in the future.)
Email sounds like a good idea, but I figured why not write one last letter for the sake of memories?
I’m studying business administration in London for the time being, but I plan to go back to the US in three years. Thankfully, Dad doesn’t have any prospects from his new kids, or he’d probably never allow me to touch the family business.
Which is laughable. I’m the only one who can expand it, but then again, he never wanted to see how smart I am.
In the box the letter is attached to, you will find a platinum necklace. That’s if no one steals it on the way, and in that case, too bad for you.
Consider it my graduation gift.
Best,
Zach
Phoenix
Somebody drops a blanket over me. I tighten my hold on the hot mug of tea in my hands and raise my eyes to see Zachary looming above me and adjusting the thing so it covers me entirely, almost blanketing me away from the world. “Thanks,” I whisper, relieved that at least my voice has stopped trembling, even though my hands still shake.
Pressing my lips to the rim of the mug, I inhale the minty scent to let it calm my nerves, but it fails especially with the countless red and blue flashing lights shining in front of me as police cars surround the place, searching for the killer who would be long gone.