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February 18, 2013 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Twins in Death: Chapter Five – Part Six

Twins in Death

A Tale of The Weirdo

By Brett N. Lashuay



Chapter Five: The Home Life




October 23rd, 2002

7:31 p.m.


            Mrs. Pendleton was English, that is to say she came from England, which is a small island just northwest of Europe. She wasn’t just English though, she was well bred English. Her parents, grandparents, and apparently most of her lineage had been butlers, maids, and other assorted servants to the best families in Britain since there was a Britain. At least, that is the feeling one would get from first meeting her. The feeling one would get from being in the house with her and The Weirdo was a bit different. As a housekeeper the elderly woman was second to none.


            The reason she could still keep a house where three bachelors, a married couple and two delightful children lived clean was a simple one. Mrs. Pendleton ruled by terror, absolute terror. She was very conscious to clean up, as was her job, she was also very conscious to let people know that if they cleaned up after themselves she could get on with proper housekeeping. It’s not as if she were lazy, no one in the house could remember seeing Mrs. Pendleton sleeping and seldom ever sitting to rest. Mrs. Pendleton was simply one of those universal mothers, who always let people know that they should stand up straight and clean up their rooms.


            The problem was, The Weirdo wasn’t afraid of anything, not anything. In a world where even the gods would eventually be proven to be frightened of Mrs. Pendleton, The Weirdo never seemed to me. He was as amused by her as she tried to pretend not to be of him. They might have once been lovers. It was possible, though no one ever had the courage to ask. There was something of Nick and Nora about them, though it was sometimes hard to see the banter for the play it was. Sometimes one of them might swipe a little too hard, but generally it was all fun.


            “My God!” Mrs. Pendleton yelled as she came into the room. “What in the name of the good lord is wrong with you?”


            The Weirdo looked up at her after a moment and squinted in her direction. This displays the kind of strength The Weirdo possessed. When faced with the wrath of Mrs. Pendleton, most people turned and ran. Not our hero though, he looked at her with an almost bored expression.


            “Are you addressing me?” The Weirdo asked.


            “What is that?” She said pointing at red and silver can that the coca cola company has used for quite some time now.


            “A can of cola.” He said. “It’s a thin aluminum shell which holds a mixture of water and corn syrup. For flavoring, artificial colors and flavors have been added.”


            “And what is under it?” She asked.


            There was a titanic struggle of wills going on, thought perhaps the average person might not see it. Mrs. Pendleton, the housekeeper, had the sort of demeanor only school principals and prison wardens can generally manage. You wanted her not to glare, you wanted her not to yell, and you wanted her not to be angry. It wasn’t that she ever actually did anything, but people live in fear more of yelling than actually getting hit most the time. The Weirdo was unperturbed though, and he looked at the can and the table. He then considered the greater implications of that question and went for what might be the most annoying answer.


            “A table?” He asked.


            “Why only a table?” She asked, and then he decided to get cute.


            “Well in the greater sense it’s not just a table. Under the table is the floor under that the ground, if we are talking in even greater senses than that the whole of the planet Earth is below the can. If we are as Einstein suggested, in a universe with enough matter to cause space to close in on itself and we have finite space in an unbound reality, then all things are below it. If we were to follow an ever-expanding cone from the can, after long enough the cone would encompass the top of the can. From that we can say everything in all of space and time is below the can.”


            “Why is there nothing between the can and table?”


            “There is.” He said, smiling and pushing very close to the edge. “No matter how close two things may appear, unless they are connected and actually one object there is always a tiny even if imperceptible layer of molecules between them. Other wise I would not be able to get the can off the table because they would be connected.”


            There was no talking to him when he was like this, she reached for a small carrier and pulled a single wooden coaster from it and began to hit him in the head with it. She didn’t hit hard and was possibly the only person left on earth who could or at least would, hit him in the head with a coaster. She was tapping him in the head with the coaster when Tommy, Judy and Sheila came to the room’s door.


            “Do we know what this is mister clever dick?”


            “A coaster?” The Weirdo asked.


            “Do we know what it’s for?” She asked, still whacking him in the head.


            “To put below drinks in order to prevent small circles of water forming due to condensation from damaging the wood work?”


            “Very good.” She said still whacking his fore head. “So put the item to its purpose.”


            “Yes Mrs. Pendleton.” He said, snatching it out of her hand and putting it under the can. He let her see that he wiped the small circle of condensed water up with his sleeve.


            “You kids need to use a coaster, too.” Mrs. Pendleton said in a voice that should have been saying “Wait a moment, I’ve got a sweetie somewhere here.”


            “Yes, Mrs. Pendleton.” The children said together and they quickly got up and put coasters under their drinks.


            “And don’t go getting any crumbs on the couch, you.” She said directing this at The Weirdo.


            “Right.” The Weirdo said and gave her a thumbs up, and then muttering very quietly. “My damn couch, you weren’t even born when I bought it. Get crumbs in it if I wanna.”


            “What was that?” She asked.


            “Nothing dear.” He said.


            “That’s what I thought.”


            “So who works for who exactly here?” Max asked as he came in the other door.


            “Shut up Max.” The Weirdo said pretending to sulk.



October 23rd, 2002

7:35 p.m.


            Kestrel McLeary was resting on her couch. She wasn’t watching TV, what she was doing is a lost art in many parts of the world. Well, it’s a lost art in America anyway, she was reading. She was simply sitting on her over stuffed couch, reading a book. There is little or no reason to explain this besides the fact that Miss McLeary will later be instrumental in this story and it’s important to introduce instrumental characters slowly or they come as a bit of a shock.


            No really, there’s no reason for this, you might as well skip ahead.


            Her golden eyes caught at phrases as they went by, her hands rested on the book to keep the pages from flipping up at her. The book was, while not a perennial favorite, a book that she had read before and had enjoyed. She had decided to reread the book because it was better than trying to watch whatever garbage was on the television.


            To add a few facts to the tale it should be mentioned that Miss McLeary owned the house she was sitting in, which was on Long Island. There was a nine millimeter pistol was in a drawer in hall table, and that she was an accomplished thief but at least one with a heart of gold which is apparently a necessary in tales of this sort. You always have to have the scoundrel or the hooker with a heart of gold. These are requirements. We were required to have, besides our brooding hero, a knight in armor, a wizard in blue, a young squire and a disreputable person with a heart of gold. She either had to be a thief or a hooker and I have been informed that she could NOT be a hooker so a thief it was.


            It’s interesting really, if one fully understands her later role, to consider that at the beginning she had just been a thief. To begin there, even as an accomplished and well to do thief, and to ascend to the spot where she did is really quite remarkable. After all the events transpired, and the tales, which to tell them requires the telling of this one, it’s interesting. Of course we must not be allowed to get ahead of ourselves, and so your humble narrator must rein the story back to the place where we are currently at.



October 23rd, 2002

8:38 p.m.


            Jorgaes took his cigarette case out of his jacket, opened it and pulled a cigarette out. He did all of this without actually looking at the case, because his eyes were occupied. They were not occupied with a pleasant sight, quite the opposite. It was a thoroughly disgusting thing to look at, but he had a problem looking away. He put the cigarette in his lips and reached for his lighter. He wanted to have the smoke in his lungs, just to block the smell of the bodies. He reconsidered though, best not to muck up the scene any more than he had already done.


            He was supposed to come for drinks after dinner, and found the door was open. He had been cautious, and found them around the table. There was a lot of blood, but he knew how to walk around blood. He had learned after some time about blood and about moving around it carefully. The worst of it was that whoever had done this had clearly thought themselves to be quite funny.


            Carol had been decapitated, and her head was on the table. The person who had done this thing has then stuck the carving fork and knife into her head and taped Steve’s dead hands around the handles. Little Jimmy’s face had been taped to mimic a smile, and he was placed as if asking to receive the best cut of his mother’s brains. There wasn’t enough left of Suzi’s face to do anything with, it had been so slashed to pieces. There was something on the plate though, strips of her flesh had been arranged to make a symbol. The symbol told him plain and simple that this whole escapade had been a message to him. Jorgaes knew he was breaking all kinds of laws doing it, but he hit the plate with his cigarette case and sent the plate flying.


            What to do, that was the question. It wasn’t a question he thought needed a very long answer, Stephen worked for a consulate, this was defiantly a United Nations issue. That being the case he could call his own people in and get them working on it before anyone else. The symbol on the plate had disturbed him as well, and he thought he knew whom it was from.


            Well it wouldn’t actually be from them, it would be an agent. Still an agent had killed friends of his, and left him an undeniable sign that was meant for him to find. He walked slowly away and went out the door, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. He flipped it open and searched through the saved numbers for the one he needed.


            He wasn’t sure if he should dial though, considering what it would mean if his suspicion was right. If he was right, he would open a shit storm by getting the two of them near each other. They would probably destroy each other, and possibly the rest of the city. It was possible that this could jeopardize everything. He looked at the phone, long enough for the phones light to automatically switch itself off. The effect had made him at one moment demon like in the hard white glow and a moment later, nearly gone from sight, as he tried to decide what to do.



October 23rd, 2002

8:40 p.m.


            The Weirdo was sitting in an overstuffed chair, one of the many that had been here when they had gotten here. It was hard to say when they had actually begun, he couldn’t quite remember. He knew he must have met Jack and Tommy at sometime, but he couldn’t remember quite when. This was particularly disturbing since The Weirdo remembered everything.


            This didn’t mean he could come up with detailed descriptions at any moment, but he would remember. His memory had two unfortunate habits, one was keeping needed information just out of reach, and the other was bringing unhelpful things up at bad times. He had tried to go to sleep so many times and yet the faces of those people he had failed to save would come swimming up as he closed his eyes. He would remember an argument he had with someone that happened fifty years ago and still felt bad about it, so he would feel bad again.


            Yet the memory of how he met Tommy and Jack were kept out of his grasp, like trying to grab a cloud of colored dye in the water. The more he tired to get it, the more it evaded his grip until it diluted in the water and colored everything. He was looking out the dark windows at the trees, which were becoming leafless. There were still a few orange leaves, though they were black in the silhouette of light between the window and him.


            He didn’t want to think about Shannon, but the afore mentioned troublesome memory wouldn’t let him go. It made him think of her hair, of her fingers, of the way her voice sounded in his ear. He wanted not to think of her arms resting against him, but he couldn’t help it.


            It was for this reason that the phone ringing was actually something of a relief to him. The trill of a scale and the buzz of the phone vibrating broke him from his decline into self recrimination and brought him back to the real world. He picked the phone up and pressed the answer button.


            “Yes Jorgaes?” The Weirdo asked.


            The phone call was a fairly short one, which resulted in The Weirdo drawing the pen shaped device from his pocket.


            “Pig Pen you got a copy on me c’mon?”

            “Ten four Rubber Duck, what’s the word?”


            “We’ve got work to do. Find Sod Buster and Lost Boy tell them to saddle up.”


            “Ten four Rubber Duck. I’m clear.” Tommy said and the connection broke.


            The Weirdo got up out of the chair and began to move across the room in the dark. His mind had been wiped for the moment of the terrors that would undoubtedly come back to haunt him when he tried to sleep.


            “What’s going on?” Judy asked as he walked out of the darkened room.


            “Just business.” He said. “Some friend of Jorgaes’ got killed.”


            “Will you be gone long?” She asked.


            “I’m not sure.” He said. “Why?”


            “I just get worried sometimes.” She said. “You guys… it just worries me.”


            “Well I’ll keep Tommy safe.”   


            “Who’s going to keep you safe though?” She asked. “Who is going to watch over the watchman?”


            “If I get in trouble I’ll use Tommy as a human shield.” He said with a wink.


            “That wasn’t exactly what I meant.” She said.


            “I know, but I’m being evasive.” He said.


© 2012 Autumn Knight Productions

February 18, 2013 Posted by | Fiction | , | Leave a comment