Young Writers Society

July 24, 1987

Patsy stormed into Mr. Hamstring's office, gripping a newspaper clip in her left hand. She pushed opened the swinging metal doors and continued forward, hearing the slam echoing through the desolated hallway. There was an unfiltered rage that swept over Patsy's body as she reached the last door of the hallway. She swung it open and stepped through, walking into a hushed conversation being held between Mr. Hamstring and another male, who had greased down brown hair.

"Mr. Hamstring," Patsy said lowly, "Can I have a moment with you?" Mr. Hamstring looked up, ready to say 'could you give us a moment?' before realizing, just from the residing scowl on Patsy's face, that wouldn't be the right answer. He bided his goodbyes to the man and the man stepped around Patsy, shutting the door behind him.

Mr. Hamstring coughed, raising a meaty hand to cover his mouth. "What can I help you with, Patsy?"

Patsy then took two steps forward and threw the newspaper onto the desk. In the moments after, she then pressed her two hands onto the desk and harshly asked, "Why the hell is Fredrick Damon dead?"

Mr. Hamstring knotted his eyebrows together and grabbed at the newspaper. He then, after adjusting some glasses onto his face, started reading the front page of the paper. As the words continued to swirl around before his eyes, his expression started deforming from a casual grin to a knitted frown. Patsy sat down in one of the red velvet chairs while Mr. Hamstring read.

After reading, he then set the newspaper down and formed his lips into a thin line. "I have no answers for you no-"

"You sure as hell better have some, Mr. Hamstring," Patsy suddenly snapped forward, fuming. "You knew Fredrick Damon. He was the one hosting the party that Benjamin Marcos was murdered at. Where he suddenly just disappeared like that, like mist or whatever. You know something that the others don't and I want you to tell me, right now, why he was fried like chicken." A silence followed after Patsy's outburst, settling in an awkward space for not knowing what to say.

"Miss Storkhill, you have to understand, I know nothing about why Mr. Damon was killed or if his murder was linked to that of Mr. Marcos. The police reports of the newspaper do state-"

"I know what the damn newspaper says, Edward," Patsy coldly interjects, frowning. "I read the newspaper five times. I've had my own loose theories as to why this happened. I know for a good reason that his death wasn't an accident or a suicide. Or, an act of protest against the police being lazy in solving the Marcos case."

She then gets up and moves around the room, waving her hands about while Mr. Hamstring watches, a faint smile brushed across his face. "And for once in my life, I thought that everything would be better of if Damon was dead because then the Marcos case could be forgotten or something. Now, his death has blown up the Marcos case and I am fearing for my life, Edward." Patsy then runs a hand through her blonde hair. "I can't sleep at night knowing I killed someone. What if the police force comes for me? I can't live my life in jail."

Mr. Hamstring sighed, standing up from his chair. His stomach proturded out, rounding out into a perfect half sphere. The shirt he was wearing nearly didn't fit and looked almost like weak floodgates. He moved around the table and towards Patsy, waddling like a penguin.

"Miss Storkhill, if you didn't want to do this job, you should've just spoken up to your friend. Chloe is very-"

"Chloe started this whole thing" Patsy snapped, glaring at Mr. Hamstring. "The only thing Chloe is very much like is manuplative. You don't see that because you're behind the camera. She puts on this little act and, and I can't do that anymore!" She then started waving her hands about and pacing, her volume increasing. "No one can see this because they are under her little spell of pretending everything is fine, that's all this is. I was one of her 'many puppets' and I can't fight back because she'll just loop me into her trick again."

Patsy took a deep breath, resting her hands at her side and glaring at Mr. Hamstring. "I don't think I can continue doing this, Edward. I know that there was things we signed and it is important stuff, but I fear that if I continue doing this job then I'll lose it and I want to cut that string before it gets too long."

Mr. Hamstring then frowned, turning his hands into meaty fists. "I'm afraid you can't do that, Miss Storkhill."

"And why's that?" Patsy snapped, crossing her arms across her chest.

"There are people who have left and never returned back to their families or friends," Mr. Hamstring simply said. He then sighed and went back to his desk, sitting down in his chair. He then gestured to the velvet seats. "Take a seat, I'd like to explain some things to you."

Patsy rolled her eyes. "I don't want you to explain anything. I want you to answer my question of why I can't leave this club in peace."

Hamstring rested his hands on the table and hummed while his mouth twitched. "Sit down, please."

Patsy shook her head and walked towards the desk, pointing a finger at Mr. Hamstring. "I'm leaving this club, Edward. I don't want to be apart of a club that allows murdering people as some sort of initation. You need to get a better life perspective than just killing people, Hamstring." Patsy then turned around and left the room, slamming the doors.

Mr. Hamstring sighed, rubbing his forehead. He then reached over to his desk phone and dialed in a number. There was a long beep before a sultry voice picked up and said, "Hello?"

"Hey, Patsy decided that the club isn't for her. Could you do something to change her mind?"

A pregnant pause filtered over the phone before the voice came back. "We can't have that. I'll do my best to change her mind."

"Thanks, love."

"No problem."

The phone then beeped and Hamstring placed the reciever back on the stand.

---

Patsy got home and laid on her bed, face down. She had spent an hour crying into her pillows, whining about how complicated her life was and why she decided to join the lousy murder club. It was a lot to take in and even now, the entire murder plot of Benjamin Marcos confused Patsy.

She stopped crying now and laid looking up at the ceiling. As she was thinking about what she was going to do, the doorbell echoed throughout the house. Patsy sat up, wiping her eyes and asked herself, who could this be? She skipped down the steps as the person knocked on the door vigorously.

"I'm coming!" Patsy yelled, nearing the door. She unlocked and opened it coming face to face with her best friend, Chloe Robertson. Patsy sighed and went to close the door, but Chloe pushed a hand on the wooden door.

She then smiled and said cheerfully, "Hello to you too, Patsy. Can we talk?"