Young Writers Society

A.N.: I wrote this as a rough draft in one sitting three months ago, but never got around to finishing it, so it's not very polished. I don't plan on doing any edits, but feel free to read it regardless. It's sort of long at 3800 words, heheheh.

Vito Manchez solemnly grabbed the walkie-talkie from his waistband, staring at Bert Colene kneeled over the body. “Yeah, Frankie…I’ll need you to secure the area, and get paramedics over here as soon as you can. I’ve got a man here, late seventies, deceased.”

“I’m not dead you idiot,” Michael Timberg said in a weak voice; lying in a pool of blood on the ground, quickly losing consciousness.

“M-Mike…” Bert started, finally opening his eyes. “Are you going to be…are you going to be ok?”

“I don’t know, Bertie, don’t you see the bullet hole in my stomach?” Michael asked, before letting out a loud grunt. “S-she went…she went out the back door. I think…I think I hurt her…you…you should be able to get…get…”

“Mike…Mike! …Vito! Get him a doctor! I’m …I’m going after her!” Bert yelled, rising to his feet and hurrying towards the back of the hut.

“You sure you should go alone?” one of the officers asked; Kenny Simons, a rookie cop freshly badged.

“Yeah,” Vito started, still holding the walkie-talkie up to his ear, now sweating profusely. “…You, Simons and Chester, too; go look for her. If you see her, kill her. I just have the gut feeling that we’re about to face down the worst serial killer the state of Texas has seen since Joe Ball.”

Bert nodded; the detective and two cops all grabbing their pistols.

***

Behind the hut was a grassy hill; a trail of fresh blood led all the way to the top, and then vanished. “What, did she disappear off the hill or something?” Ryan Chester asked, pointing the nuzzle of his gun towards the blood-stained grass.

Suddenly, the three men heard a loud noise – as if a helicopter was swirling in the distance, and drawing nearer, and drawing nearer. Their eyes examined the blue sky carefully, finally spotting a black object in the distant clouds. “Is that…is that a…helicopter?” Kenny asked.

“It’s drawing nearer…who…who is that?”

The helicopter drew nearer and nearer. Bert Colene squinted his eyes, carefully attempting to make out the driver. There were two women in there; one was a woman in her mid-twenties with long brown hair, large green eyes and a very dark complexion. The other…

That’s her, Bert realized, finally coming to the conclusion that this nightmare was reality.

“They’ve got guns!” Kenny yelled, seeing the two women raise what appeared to be military-grade assault rifles. “We need back-up out here!”

The three men raised their pistols, Kenny and Ryan exchanging fire with the two women. Bert raised his pistol, and then froze as bullets pelted his two associates, dropping them to the ground in pools of blood.

One of the women dropped a brown bag out of the helicopter, before the aircraft sped off into the clouds.

Vito Manchez and the last remaining Texas officer ran out, the officer’s pistol and Vito’s shotgun readied for immediate fire. They quickly noticed the bodies and sheathed their weapons, ambulance and police sirens nearing the hut.

Bert sheathed his pistol, swooping down to angrily pick up the brown paper bag. He quickly opened it up, slight tears forming near the opening. Inside was a hand-written letter, handwriting that seemed all too familiar.

Dear officer,

That pathetic old man deserves to die for what he did - as did those two so called “men” with you; Kenny Simons and Ryan Chester. I bet you didn’t know what I know about them. That they’re scum – they beat up a thirteen-year-old girl just a couple months ago and it was swept under the rug. I know things you guys don’t know. I knew exactly how to manipulate everything so that they would be right in our line of fire. We’re smarter than you guys. We even know that the old man isn’t dead…yet. I suggest you make your way to the hospital. We have a nice surprise waiting for you there.

Emily Burns

The name seemed all too familiar to Bert Colene; and then it hit him. He stuffed the letter back into the bag, placing it in his boss’s hands. “Here,” he said, before directing his attention to the other officer. “I need you to drive me to the other hospital.”

***

“You just get yourself some rest,” Emily said to Catalina, keeping her stomach over her stomach wounds. Those navy dogs don’t know what they’re doing, Emily thought to herself, feeling arrogantly proud of having nursed the twenty-year-old back to health. Any other doctor, they would just let her die. Hmph.

She was right. “Ok, Emily,” Catalina faintly muttered. “B-but…we were going to kill that guy at the home…the creep who kidnapped a ten-year-old…”

The gorgeous mixed brunette smiled, having not forgotten about their next planned victim. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll take care of it.”

Catalina nodded and shut her eyes.

***

The Michael Wright Memorial Hospital; staffed by over five-hundred members, visited by more than a thousand people each day. The building was a massive complex spanning three buildings, the largest of which stretching twelve stories. On the eleventh story, Bert Colene sat alone on a bench outside of room 11D, the officer previously with him called back to the station. It was there he patiently waited for two hours; only understanding that Michael Timberg underwent emergency abdomen surgery to prepare a gunshot wound.

Finally, a redheaded nurse stepped out of the room. “Excuse me,” she said quietly, not noticing that the hallway was completely empty. “I’ve been told to grant you permission to see him?”

“Is he…is Michael?”

“Michael Timberg will be just fine,” Kim Vessel assured him.

Bert Colene nearly smiled, a giant knot in his stomach untangling itself. Finally…good news, he thought.

***

“Ah, you must be…” the tall, lanky surgeon started, his mouth-guard lowered to his chin.

“Bert Colene,” the bald detective said, shaking hands with the gloved doctor. “Can I…can I speak with him?”

“Yes,” the surgeon said. “My name is Dr. Miles, by the way. He should make a full recovery, there was only one bullet wound and it wasn’t at all fatal. Just...try not to rouse him up, alright?”

Dr. James Miles cleared the room of everyone except Bert Colene and the old, wounded author, carefully shutting the door behind him. Bert Colene sighed, looking carefully at Michael Timberg.

The gruff, buff former cop opened one eye and cracked a smile. “I thought Texas would be nice to move to all those years ago. Thought I’d avoid getting shot at.”

“What happened? Do you…do you still remember?” Bert asked after a long pause, having so many questions that he had no idea where to begin. “…Who shot you, Mike?”

“Course I remember,” Michael assertively said. “It was…that girl. I know it was. She told me. Ellie’s daughter. I didn’t want to shoot back at her but she left me no choice. She missed three times; I shot her once in the stomach. Then…there was someone else.”

“Who was that other person?”

“Can’t tell you. Didn’t get a good look at her; she got me completely by surprise.”

“The great Michael Timberg…taken down by two teenage girls.”

The bald men both snickered, Bert stopping once it came back to his mind.

“Oh…yeah. I think I know who that second woman is, Mike. Her name…the name on the letter. It was Emily Burns. Does that ring a name to you?”

“Emily Burns…oh. Yeah. I know that name,” Michael Timberg said, before someone knocked on the door to the room. “It’s not locked…anyway, yep. That’s Sophia’s sister.”

“The…that Sophia?”

“Yep. That Sophia.” Just then, someone knocked on the door once more.

Bert took a long pause, sighed and rolled his eyes. “Coming!” he shouted, walking over to the door and pulling it open. The rotten stench of fresh blood again filled his nostrils. Slowly, steadily, he looked to the floor.

James Miles, as well as two other men who was with the surgeon just minutes earlier, as well as one other man lie on the floor; dead bodies, soaked in blood, all piled on top of one another.

“Oh…oh my fucking god,” Bert Colene said, before proceeding to faint in front of the bodies.

***

“Why do you look so upset?” Emily Burns asked concertedly, looking at Catalina in the backseat sigh quietly to herself.

Catalina looked at the girl’s magazine to her left and rolled her body, facing away from the thirty-year-old brunette. “You killed the surgeon,” she told her with a certain meticulous sadness. “James Miles.”

Emily scoffed, nearly missing her turn. “Who cares, Catalina?”

“I thought you said we were only going after child abusers. The monsters that deserve to die. That’s what we agreed when I met up with you.”

“Emily, need I remind you that he’s a man? I’m sure he’s done something wrong at one point or another. Don’t get so stressed about it.”

“Where are we going now?” Catalina asked, adjusting her white ski mask.

“Don’t take that off!” Emily shouted after spotting her in the mirror, nearly driving right off the road. “They know you. They know who you are.”

“Like they don’t know who you are…bet the old man told them all about you. Should have just killed him.”

“You were the one who went and got yourself shot!” Emily snapped, her green eyes burrowing with anger. “Now I have to go and do all the killings. Including the next part.”

Catalina looked out the window, noticing the nearby medical center, several ambulances and police cars surrounding the area. “Emily…what…what are you doing?”

“Got a nice treat lined up for our dearest friend. Help me open the trunk.”

***

Bert Colene slowly opened his eyes, seeing an overweight man in the corner, knocking on the door. I’m in a hospital…damnit, he thought, feeling the pain seep through the back of his neck.

“Hey! Got you something,” Vito Manchez said, handing Bert Colene a small black card.

“Vito…what is thi-?”

“Mr. Manchez.”

“Mr. Manchez,” Bert corrected himself, squinting his eyes to read the plastic. “…A gift card for Red Lobster?”

“I mean…I just had to stop at the store to get something for the manhunt, and I know you saw a pretty gruesome sight, and you had to transport hospitals because the other one went in lockdown…it’s nothing. Really. H-hey! I got you something else!”

Bert watched as Vito reached into his pocket, pulling out a letter and tossing it to the detective. “Mr. Manchez…what…?”

“Read it. We found it at the crime scene,” the lieutenant explained.

Dear officer,

Did you like our little surprise? Don’t worry – there’s even more still to come.

Emily Burns

Confused, Bert turned the letter around, examining the back. “…There’s something written here,” he said.

“Let me see that,” Vito Manchez said, leaning over to examine the letter. “It says…”

Open the door.

The lieutenant scratched his head, looked at Bert and then paused. “I’ll get it,” Bert said, beating Vito Manchez to the door.

As soon as Bert stumbled to the entryway, it opened itself. A slightly obese desk clerk appeared; his arms and tongue rolled out like a zombie, blood all over his face.

“I…I’ve been shot,” he said. Moments later, he collapsed at Bert’s feet, dead.

Bert and Vito hurried into the hallway. “Help! We need help!” Vito yelled, before getting a glimpse of the gruesome sight in front of him. “H-holy…holy shit,” he said.

There were four bodies out in the hallway, all soaked in blood, and shot dead execution style. On one of the corpses was a blood-soaked letter.

Rage stormed through Bert Colene like a tornado rummaging a valley; he stormed over to the body and grabbed the letter. “This has gone too far,” he said, unfolding the letter. “Where are the police? Get someone over here.”

As Vito Manchez grabbed his walkie-talkie to make contact with associates, Bert Colene began to read the blood-drenched piece of paper.

Dear officer,

Four more disgusting animals bite the dust. But we know we can’t do this forever – even with the most incompetent of fools hunting us down, our faces are known. That and, the state borders are locked down. I suppose it’s time for the grand finale. I suggest you return to your room. Turn on the TV and watch the news.

Emily Burns

“Damnit!” Bert shouted, dropping the paper to the ground. “It’s over! This…this Emily girl! She’s beaten us!”

“Maybe not,” Vito said, returning his walkie-talkie to his side; all his associates pre-occupied. “Come on, Bert. You can’t just give up on me.”

“I’m not giving up on you Bert, I’m giving up on…I’m giving up on life! All these lives…all these people. Mike, that surgeon, all those men laying on the floor…when there are all these bodies, it’s so easy to act like they don’t mean anything. All the bodies I’ve found over the years, I try to tell myself they’re make believe, like out of a video game or a movie, they’ll get up when it’s over. But then I go and look into them, and they have history. Each dead body has its own history – at one point, it was alive, just like you or me. How many more bodies, Vito? What are they going to do next? …I don’t care. I’m done living. When I get home from this, I’m telling my doctor that I’m not taking any more of that chemotherapy. Forget it.”

“Bert! You can’t just give up on this!”

“Well that’s just what I’m doing,” Bert said, returning to his bedroom.

“We have one shot!” an old, gruff voice called out.

Bert turned around, and there he stood; dressed in a black leather jacket, clutching his wounded midsection. “Michael, shouldn’t you be resti-”

Michael shook his head. “Nope. Believe it or not, Bernie…Tyrone Burgess called me a few weeks before his murder. He told me everything he had done, he begged me for forgiveness. Told me he found God, asked him forgiveness and I told him so had I. He asked me if he thought he was going to heaven, to meet up with Ellie and forgive her. I told him, yes.”

“Michael, I appreciate the religious sermon, but what are you getting at?” Vito asked, he himself not a religious man in the slightest.

Michael looked at the bodies down below him, and then back at Bert and Vito, before putting up a sly grin. “I think it’s time for Catalina to become re-united with her mother.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an orange flier.

It read:

"Sex Offenders Anonymous

4:00 P.M. Tuesdays

***

Fifty-seven sex offenders filed into the Texas library, recently evacuated by all children and most other parents. “Everyone, everyone,” Bob Jenkins, a fifty-nine-year-old sex offender himself said, adjusting his microphone from the stage. “Mary Loffins will be here shortly, I’m afraid she’s running la-”

“Sorry, everybody!” A woman in a frilly pink and white dress appeared on stage, before whispering something to Bob Jenkins. She took the microphone for him as he rushed backstage. “I was on my way to our meeting, but I ran into a homeless man who needed a ride to renew his health insurance before they cut him off from getting his anxiety medication. Should we begin today with open mic-”

“I’ll take the mic!” a dark-skinned, attractive brunette tepidly hopped to the stage, brandishing two assault rifles. “Come on Catty, don’t be shy.”

“You two look awfully familiar,” Mary said, watching as a petite redhead stumbled on stage behind her friend.

The brunette snatched the microphone, shoving her with her free arm. “Watch it lady. Guess you don’t see what’s on my back.”

Mary observed the red backpack. “What is…?”

“Why don’t you open it up?” the girl asked.

Mary nodded and unzipped the backpack, her jaw dropping upon seeing the contents. “B-bomb!” she shouted in sheer terror. “She has a bomb!”

The fifty-seven sex offenders emerged in a mass panic, all rising from their chairs in unison.

“Sit down or I blow up the fucking building!” the brunette yelled, every man and woman obeying her demands. “You there!” she exclaimed, pointing to a scrawny old man sitting in the front row.

The pathetic looking man looked around, then at the smiling brunette. “M-me?”

“Get up on the stage,” she said. “Come on, don’t be shy.”

The old man shook his head. “I’m not…I’m not..”

He couldn’t finish his sentence, before the brunette fired one of her weapons, shooting him dead. Blood spurted from his head onto the surrounding sex offenders. “You there!” she exclaimed, pointing to the man to the left of the corpse; an auburn-haired man seemingly in his late thirties.

The man didn’t take his chances, quickly throwing his arms in the air, before standing from his chair and wiping the blood off his face. “No need,I’m…I’m coming,” he said, hurrying to the stage with his arms still raised.

“On your knees,” the brunette said, as the man complied and she smiled. “What’s your story?”

“I raped my daughter six years ago,” the man told her. “I’ve been praying to god for forgiveness bu-”

“Disgusting,” the girl said. “Now…do you know who we are?”

The man nodded. “Y-yes! I know who you are! You’re the girl from the news!”

“Say my name.”

“I…I’m trying to remember…no…wait…y-you’re Emily Burns!”

Emily snickered, looking over at the redheaded girl beside her. “Can you tell me who she is?”

“I…I don’t know. I’m so sorry,” the man said, cuffing his palms together in an effortful beg.

“Coward,” Emily scoffed, handing one of her assault rifles to Catalina. “She’s the girl who is about to murder you.”

“Police! Drop all your weapons!” a man cried out.

Everyone in the auditorium turned their heads; watching as three men entered the room with their weapons raised.

“Well, looky here,” Emily jested. “Ex-cop Michael Timberg, current cop named Bert, and then…well now. Not too sure what his name is.”

“Put the weapon down, Emily,” Michael said. “You know this isn’t what Sophie would have wanted.”

“Shut up. You have zero right to say anything about what Sophie would want,” Emily said, pointing her assault rifle at the three men. “You abandoned her! And you abandoned her mother, too! You’re a monster!”

“Yeah, I am a monster. But the difference between you and me is, I realized that years ago – you still haven’t!”

“It doesn’t have to come to this,” Bert Colene told Emily. “Drop the gun, Emily.”

“No…I spent the past twenty years planning this! Ever…ever since sister was murdered, I’ve waited. Planned and planned, I won-”

Blood spurted out of Emily’s head; she fell to the ground, dead. Catalina looked in horror, her mouth still wide open in shock, her finger still on the trigger.

“Catalina…” Michael muttered. “…Come on. Get off the stage.”

The pale redhead shook her head, a venomous glow in her eyes. “All these people…they’re all monsters,” she said.

Bert shook his head. “These people are monsters who are trying to become better people. You have it all wrong, Catalina.”

“How many of these people only came here because the courts forced them to?” Catalina asked in return, looking down at the slain Emily’s backpack.

“I don’t know about that bu-” Vito started.

Catalina shook her head. “All I wanted to do was rid the world of monsters…monsters who hurt me like my father hurt me and my mother…now look at me. Nobody cares about me. Everybody hates me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Bert said. “This old guy right here? He was the first person to yell for 9-1-1 when you were hurt, five years ago. I bet you remember that.”

Catalina snickered, staring back down at Emily’s cold body. “…I’m not sure why, but I’m so happy…”

“What’s with this chick?” Vito asked, his eyes glancing around the building.

“It doesn’t matter. None of this does. Emily had this planned since the very start. She never cared about me, or even about ridding the world of monster. She was the real monster. She never cared about justice; all she wanted to do was mindlessly slaughter a bunch of men. And I was just her stupid pawn. But do you know why none of this matters? She already readied the bomb. And we’re all about to die.”

“…”

“…”

“EVERYBODY RUN!!!” Vito Manchez shouted at the top of his lungs.

before Catalina began firing her assault rifle towards the three men, the array of sex offenders beginning to storm out of the building in the evasion of sure death.

The three men returned fire, before they all heard a loud rumbling noise. “The bomb! It’s about to blow!” Michael yelled.

“Come on! Get out of here!” Vito yelled, dropping his pistol and grabbing Bert and Michael, sprinting for the door.

No…I was wrong. Sophia’s not ready to meet her yet. Michael escaped their grasp and ran towards the stage.

There was a loud explosion; everything went up in a large puff of smoke.

***

Bert awoke in a pile of smoke and rubble, coughing the phlegm that filled his lungs. “You made it,” Vito Manchez said, extending his hand to the detective.

“What about the rest of them…?” Bert asked, painfully rising to his feet and examining the scene.

“Some of them made it. Most of them didn’t,” Vito responded.

“Over here!” the brown-haired man from before shouted, still sitting on the ground.

There he lay; Michael Timberg, covered in blood and soot. “Michael!” Bert yelled, hurrying over to the dying old man.

Michael coughed once more, clearing his lungs before taking a hard, deep breath. “Bert…t-there’s…there’s one thing,” he said.

“What is it, friend?” Bert asked, kneeling over towards the old man.

“My…my forgiveness…all the deaths…all the people who died today…I shouldn’t have ran away from myself…I should have been there for…Emily…and…and Catalina…”

“It’s ok,” Vito said. “We’ll get you help first. You’ll be ok”

“Don’t kid yourself – I’m dying,” Michael said. “I see a bright light up ahead. There’s a man up there. He’s looking right at me. Do you see him? Guess not. But I think he’s calling for me to go with him. Maybe I got what I always wanted. Bye Bertie. Try to beat your cancer so I don’t have to see your ugly face again so soon.”

He faded to death with a smile on his face.

Bert got to his feet, feeling Vito tap him on his left shoulder. He turned around and saw her approaching them. Yet she ignored them, and walked up to the old man.

“I forgive you,” she said to Michael Timberg, closing her eyes and bowing her head, before turning to face Bert and Vito. “I forgave him…but he never forgave me. Neither will you two, I imagine…neither will my father, neither will anyone in this state. I suppose where I’m headed next, I’ll have plenty of time to think about it.”

Her shirt began to become visibly soaked in blood. She looked down at her bullet wound and smiled. “Thank you for freeing me,” she said, walking away to quietly face her death.