PART 3! Now don't kill me, mmkay?
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3: The Reunion
T.W.? Stephen thought. I don’t know anyone by those initials.
He stared at the note for some time before setting it down and sweeping into his neighbour’s office. The office belonged to a good friend of his, Alison Keyennes.
“Hey Ali, did you see anyone come into my office this morning, or yesterday after I left?”
She thought for a moment.
“No, I don’t think so. Although I think I remember Debbie telling me about some guy looking for you really early a few days ago. She didn’t get his name.”
“Do you know anyone by the initials T.W.?” he asked.
“Yeah, my cousin, Trevor Williams,” she offered in a hopeful voice. Stephen internally rolled his eyes. “Why do you ask?”
Caught off guard, he spurted, “Oh, no reason. I received a letter signed T.W. and was wondering if you happened to see anyone out of the ordinary.”
She shook her head, and plunged into her next order of business.
“Any more leads on that serial killer?” she asked, rifling through some papers on her desk.
He shook his head. Alison was working closely with him to crack this case. “None that we haven’t already dismissed. Oh, and get this; some kid came in claiming his brother was the killer. The problem with that theory? His brother was one of the victims last week.”
“Oh jeez,” Alison sighed. “How many deaths does that bring us to?”
“I have no clue. Some ridiculously big number.” After a pause, he said, “Let me know if you find anything.”
Stephen sat down heavily in his desk chair, back in his own office. He leaned his head back and counted the ceiling tiles, a favourite hobby of his when he had no idea what came next. He mentally scrolled through every name he could remember, scanning for the initials T.W., and their motive for leaving a mysterious note on his desk.
“Good Lord, Stephen McLane, think!” he shouted in frustration. A laugh from somewhere in his office made him jump right out of his skin.
“Yes, Stephen McLane, think,” the owner of the laugh said in a rough voice laced with steel. “Think of all the people you’ve met- and a few you’ve forgotten.”
A man stepped forward from a corner of Stephen’s office. He distinctly heard the clank of metal as the man’s long black trench coat shifted with the man’s motion. Stephen took in the man’s short black hair, pale white skin, black clothes, and- the crown on his “creepy” factor- burning, fire-red eyes. His lips pulled back in a smile that sent shivers down the politician’s spine.
“Think, McLane, think,” the man repeated. “Who in the world could have the initials T.W., I wonder?”
“Who the hell are you?” Stephen choked out.
“Oh, my apologies, where are my manners? My appearance has certainly changed since I saw you last.” The man bowed with a flourish. Stephen picked up on the heavy Australian accent in his voice, and his heart froze.
“Tyson? Tyson Whetlander?”
“Oh goodo, you remember me now!” said Tyson, sarcastic joy dripping off his lips. “Well, now that’s more the way I planned this. I never expected you to forget me, oh no. But hang on, that’s right. Raidon told you to.”
“Oh my goodness, Tyson! What happened to you?”
“I should ask you the same thing,” Tyson spat. “Why did you ever listen to what Raidon told you to do? You let him steal me from my home, my family. You stood by and watched my life fall to pieces. And you never thought about the repercussions, did you?” He was borderline whispering, his words more venomous that the bite of a diamondback rattler. Stephen could see the pure rage he was holding back, in spite of himself.
“I… I don’t know, Tyson,” he said shakily. “I wish I had something better to offer than that, but that’s the honest truth.”
This time, Tyson really did spit. “Lies. And you know it.”
Only when Tyson pointed it right between his eyes did Stephen notice the sharp, shimmering dagger Tyson held. “You’re lucking out right now,” Tyson hissed. “If I hadn’t promised my soldiers a good fight, you’d be a pile of blood and bones on the floor right now. And trust me, I like blood. I like it a lot. In fact, it’s the only thing keeping me sane right now. But no worries. I’m not going to let you off free.”
Lightning quick, Tyson rammed the dagger through the side of Stephen’s stomach. Not enough to mortally injure him, but enough to spill plenty of blood. The wounded man cried out and collapsed to the floor.
“That was only a taste,” Tyson said, before vanishing into nothingness.
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