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Twins in Death: Chapter Two – Part Three

Twins in Death

A Tale of The Weirdo

By Brett N. Lashuay



Chapter Two: Love Lost





March 27th, 2001

11:01 p.m.


            Shannon and The Weirdo had been sitting in their bed, she now thought of it as theirs. He was sitting up, as she lay on the bed with him, trying not to feel foolish. He never seemed to feel or look foolish, but she felt foolish with him. He was so graceful, intelligent and powerful, she could never tell why he stayed with her here. There was something worshipful about her attitude with him, though she spent most her time trying to take him down a peg or two.


            “You know I love you.” She said.


            “Do I?” He asked, his bare back braced against the wind. “You’ve never said it before.”


            “I know.” She had said. “But I do. I love you.”


            “I love you to.” He said, his hand reaching out to touch her.


            “Will you love me forever?” She asked.


            “I will love you beyond death and rebirth.” He said.


            “But what about forever.”


            “Isn’t that forever?”


            “You tell me.”


            “Forever.” He said. “Always and forever.”



March 27th, 2002

9:29 a.m.


            Under the bush, the child wiped her eyes with her tissue and tried not to totally loose it. She knew that she had to see this to understand, these things had to be. She didn’t like it any better for knowing that but there were things to do about it now. She had a job to do, and she felt she was too little to do it. She wanted not to blubber though. She wanted to be a Big Girl. Big Girls didn’t blubber, that’s what she had been told. The tears still rolled down from her eyes though, because they knew. Her tears, traitors that they were, knew she wasn’t a Big Girl and she let out another sob. She could have done something, but she had just stood there, doing nothing. The tears, they knew better than she did, she had let a light go out of the world. Next time she would not be so lax though. Next time she would do something about it.



March 27th, 2002

11:45 p.m.


            His real name was unknown, but he was called Doctor Crazy. He lived in an underground laboratory that The Weirdo maintained for him. Little else is known about him, as traces of his history were obliterated years ago.


            The Weirdo had helped him during an extremely bad time in his life. At that time he had labs all over the city, researching one kind of science after another and using a complex criminal syndicate to fund the experiments. The Weirdo had seen something useful in the mad man and instead of killing him had captured him and placed him in the underground complex. These are really all the things you need to know of him. Every great leader of men and every great adventurer needs a man to make interesting toys. Doctor Crazy was that man for The Weirdo and his company.


            He didn’t have any clocks any where in his lab, he had many timing devices, but no actual clocks that kept a regular record of what time it was. He lived without the hours and days that constrain most people. He made things without the constraint of cost analysis or requisitions. He simply made things and gave them to The Weirdo when they were ready. There was no science that was unknown to him, and there were no constraints on his genius, save sanity. He had been known as Doctor Crazy after all.


            Currently, he was performing not so much an autopsy as he was performing the job that an undertaker might perform. He was cleaning the body, wiping away blood, stitching closed the wounds that hadn’t already been sealed by The Weirdo’s magic. He had been taking his time applying make up very gently and carefully. She had to look natural, and so he wanted her to look. He had been doing this for some time now and was nearly finished.


            Now he was performing a job, to make this beautiful young woman presentable for whatever funeral The Weirdo had planned. He looked at some readouts he had prepared for her only the other day. She had been so happy about the results that she had actually kissed him on the cheek when she learned the news. She had been so happy and lovely at that moment and now, less than forty hours later, she was dead.


            He looked at the body of this lovely young woman, the lost potential of it all and then, for the first time in nearly ten years, he sat down, held her hand and cried. He cried for her, and for the family that he once had. He cried for the wife and the child that he used to have. The world had done what they had done to him, and now they had done it to someone else as well. There should have been love and justice in the world, but there wasn’t room for such frivolities in this world of pain and misery.


            For that he wept.



March 29th, 2002

1:25 a.m.


            The cabin was only called a cabin in that it was a house in the country, with a lake behind it. In truth it was the sort of place that would keep a rich family of ten in comfort. It was designed by a student of Frank Lloyd Wright, and looked like a series of blocks stacked together. The place had a modern feel to it, but also the empty feeling of a place one went to in order to get away. No one actually lived here, but you could stay here for a while. There always seemed to be food, spare clothes and all the other things you might need. The land that surrounded the cabin was wholly owned by The Weirdo for nearly five miles in any direction. You could look around and know you were totally alone.


            It was the lake that was receiving the attention at this moment. The lake was a mile and a half both ways. It was also very cold and deep. It had the sort of forbodding feeling that a dark cellar might have, and the same sort of view. It was a lake of dark silty water, always clouded, always dark. There didn’t ever seem to be any life in the lake, even insects seemed to avoid it. No one ever swam the dark waters and no one ever rowed out on it for pleasant Sunday jaunts.


            Yet there was a dock on the lake, a tongue of old pale wood on the dark lake. It stretched nearly forty feet out onto the water with its pale wood contrasting the dark water. Today there was a boat on the lake and a party stood together on the dock. A party that had stood together many times before, but now had one less member. The Weirdo stood on the dock and looked at the rest of them. He wanted their support, but just at that moment he didn’t want them around.


            Tommy was standing with him on the long dock. In deference to the moment he was not wearing his usual blue suit, but a somber charcoal shirt and pants. When he had been at the home, it had always been his funeral suit. He looked at The Weirdo with the same color eyes that had looked at The Weirdo when she said she’d marry him. The two of them had carried her out to this point. They had been the only family that she had, which made them the only ones who could see her off like this. They had laid her out on the boat and were the only ones with her now. They looked at her, wrapped in the cloth that she had asked for in her will. The Weirdo had been angry about that, why did a twenty three year old need a will?


            He had a will, but he also kept a small supply of food and water in his car for emergencies, because he was that kind of person. He couldn’t see what reason she had for a will, besides the very obvious point that it had come in useful because now that she was dead they had to read it and follow the instructions she had carefully laid out. That had added to his anger, that something so dumb had actually had a use.


            “I should do this part alone.” He said to them.


            “You sure?” Tommy asked.


            “Yes.” The Weirdo said. “If nothing else, let me claim the safety issue.”


            “Okay.” Tommy said.


            Tommy’s feet tapped against the wood of the dock as he walked back to the congregation. They stood in the small group, watching him shake his head at them. The Weirdo hadn’t wanted them to come out like this. They had understood the small headshake. He had wanted to be alone, but he had understood they wanted to see her off. He thought it more important to let them come than to fight for his privacy.


            The Weirdo held up the length of wood, a broken quarterstaff with a piece of once bloody cloth on it. Her robe had been cleaned, and then soaked in oil and wrapped around the piece of staff she had broken over his head by accident when he had tried to teach her how to fight. The fight training had otherwise gone well, but there would be no more.  The Weirdo looked at the boat before him, solemn and quiet.  Shannon had been lain in a beautiful dress in the boat and had wood piled around her.  There was a lot of cotton batting as well.  She had looked more beautiful than this, but she looked as beautiful as she could under the circumstances.


            The Weirdo reached into his pocket and produced his lighter. It was an old silver Zippo lighter with a crest etched on the side. Military researchers among you might be interested to note that it was the crest of the lost 104th infantry division who vanished during the battle for Berlin when American forces took the city. He opened the top and struck the spark wheel, the flint made half a dozen sparks, one caught.  The fire came to life on the first turn of the wheel and a small flame dance at the end of the wick. He looked at the fire for a moment and then touched the flame to the oiled cloth, closing the lighter as the cloth slowly gained an aura of fire. He pushed the boat away from the dock with his foot with some force.


            The front end of the boat lifted as he pushed on it, and it sailed out into the lake. He watched the ripples, which moved listlessly and ceased long before they should have. The water let the boat move through it, and probably helped it along, but it didn’t let ripples, wake or tide form behind it. There was almost no sign that the boat had been there a moment after it had passed. It moved on an endless journey towards the other side of the lake. When it got far enough, he began to think about distances. He looked at the boat, then the flame, judging distance. With a strong over arm throw he tossed the lighted wood at the boat as it moved away.


            The spike of flaming wood turned over in the air, the flame staying oddly in the center and the wood stick orbiting around it like the tail of a bright comet. It landed on the boat, and the cotton batting caught immediately. The fire spread around the carefully constructed firebox of wood that they had made. The chambers of air allowed for the flames to spread quickly and build a lot of heat in a short time. The fire had engulfed the entire boat in a little over a minute. The flame would last until the boat itself began to burn, which could take hours. The fire leapt up over the lake and lit it with an orange glow.


            Just this once, the lake wasn’t dark, but a glowing orange. The fire seemed not to reflect on the surface, but to be reaching down from under the boat. It looked as if the fire were both reaching for the stars and trying to get to the lakebed. The unnaturally flat water reflected every detail perfectly, as the black smoke began to ride up along with the flames, and fall down beneath the boat.


            After a few minuets, The Weirdo turned away from the great bonfire that lay on the water and began to walk back towards the dock. He looked at them as he came towards the congregation made up of his friends. It wasn’t an easy thing to approach.


            “Is there anything we should say?” Jack asked.


            “I can’t even begin to find words.” The Weirdo answered, still looking at the lake.


            “I think we should just go home.” Marla said.


            “Perhaps so.” The Weirdo nodded.




© 2012 Autumn Knight Productions


May 24, 2012 - Posted by | Fiction | ,

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