So it all ends with me dying. Not literally, of course. Not figuratively either. Philosophically maybe? How did we get here? How does a simple home video lead to such violence,death, and the utter dismantlement of my perceived reality? I guess that’s what you’re here to find out.
Justin kept trying to call me, kept sending me messages, but I was still in no condition to respond. I’m not sure if you’ve caught on to this, but my mental state can sometimes be described as rather flimsy. When facing distress, I have this slight tendency to fall into bottomless pits of anxiety, and there’s really not much I can do about it. Except petting Dave, that is.
So that’s what I did, for half an hour straight. Just kept stroking his silky feline exterior, the shiny orange fur soon enough stained with crimson patches of blood. I still hadn’t found time to clean up. Where could I clean up? My bathtub, and by extension my shower, was filled with what remained of my “mom”, mom, and I felt no inclination toward dealing with that mess.
New texts from Justin kept pouring in, and at some point they became too frequent for me to ignore. I scrolled down the near endless list of capitalized profanity and hatefulness, focusing on the latter five, of which seemed a fair bit more level headed, albeit infinitely more disturbing.
Justin: Come see me at grandpa’s cabin, Jeffy.
Justin: Come alone if you want the boy to live.
Justin: You don’t want it to happen again, do you?
Justin: You don’t want more blood on your hands.
Justin: Be seeing you.
There was a lot I didn’t understand, and there was a lot I didn’t want to understand. I could feel them, locked away deep in my mind; a resurgence of memories pushing ever onwards. I couldn’t let them free, though. No chance in hell. There was just no way I was going back to that place. Padded cells, padded mind.
I hadn’t been to the cabin for ages, probably even before grandpa died, but it was quite a ways out, and I knew I didn’t have the time or energy to dare the journey on foot. Luckily my neighbors kid had an old moped parked haphazardly in the middle of the street, and those suckers can be hotwired with the single turn of a screwdriver, so without hesitation I stuffed Dave under my jacket, and off we went.
We were on the road for three-four hours maybe, and I had to stop to refill the ridiculously small tank three times over. Dave kept his calm about him as per usual, but I could tell that he was getting antsy by the time we turned off the main road, heading up the bumpy road to the Quintessential Point, where grandpa’s old cabin could be found. I had to ditch the moped about halfway up, so I let Dave run free as we hiked the last couple of miles by foot.
The cabin was an eyesore. It had always been an eyesore. Grandpa had fought tooth and nails to keep the property after certain incidents of federal nature forced him into hiding for a couple of years. It was situated on the very edge of the Quintessential Point, dangerously so, and there was a vertical drop of maybe thirty feet just on the other side of the ramshackle railings of the balcony. I felt a cold chill run down my spine as I spotted the silhouette of Justin in the window. I had no plan, and no idea what to expect. The Justin I knew was gone, replaced by a violent psychopath harboring unknown motives.
I picked up the loitering Dave, and knocked exactly three times on the front door.
“Jeffy,” Justin said, smiling warmly as he opened the door. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
He seemed flustered, but otherwise in fine shape. A warm glow pulsated from the stove behind him, illuminating worn-down furniture and faded walls, and as he beckoned for me to enter, I heard a soft, muffled cry.
“Uhm,” I said. “Is that Jenna’s, uhm, baby?”
“Indeed,” he grinned. “He’s all right, don’t worry. Fed him some formula just now, so he’s happy as a stiff at a funeral. Come in, Jeffy. Sit down. We have much to discuss.”
I sauntered into the living room, nervously scanning the interior. Nothing had changed really. It was still the same tacky craphole, moldy old animal hides and broken antlers decorating the dead wooden walls. I sat down in grandpa’s old rocking chair, placing Dave in my lap, desperately trying to identify where he kept the baby. Justin gave me a brutal pat on the back, and sat down in the couch opposite of me.
“Jeffy, Jeffy, Jeffy,” he sighed. “What are we going to do with you, Jeffy?”
“I don’t even know what I’m doing here, Justin,” I said, gaze wandering around the room. “But I suppose you’re about to tell me.”
He threw his head back and laughed heartily. “Sure you do, Jeffy. Sure you do,” he said. “You know I killed mom, and I know you killed dad. We’re the same now, Jeffy. Matricide and patricide aside, we used to be so close, remember?”
I did remember. Justin always looked after me, kept me safe. I guess that’s what made all this so hard to understand. I’d never seen this side of him before, and I was convinced I knew him intricately.
“But you don’t remember why, do you?” he leaned forward, eyes flickering left to right erratically. “Why I had to be nice to you?”
“What do you, uhm, mean?” I muttered.
“Oh boy, I knew they did a number on you over at the institution, but I never realised it was this bad,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You’re the reason they stopped, you know. Poor Jeffy couldn’t handle it. But they never considered what I could handle or not, did they? No, they messed me up good, Jeffy, and they didn’t even care.”
“I don’t, uh-understand, how did they mess you up? What couldn’t I handle?”
“Why, all the murdering, of course!” he laughed, slapping his thigh. “Oh, they enjoyed their depravity, didn’t they? The fuckier, the better. Put poor Jeffy in a bathtub full of blood, make Justin cut out all the organs, force feed them both pieces of the victims. What a family, eh? No wonder you lost it eventually.”
The memories came flooding back to me. Screams, rivers of blood, the leathery texture of an undercooked kidney. A knife in my hand, and an old, ugly, heinous face.
“Grandpa was the worst of the lot. Truth be told, I think they were happy when you slaughtered him. That’s when they stopped, you know. That’s when they sent you to that place.”
“I, uh, I don’t remember…”
“No, you don’t, do you?” he said coldly. “They couldn’t get you talk for months, and when you finally did, you couldn’t remember anything. Just kept mumbling the same name, over and over. Dave, Dave, Dave.”
I stared at Dave. He stared back, purring contently. “What do you mean? What Dave? Did I know a Dave back then? Is that why I instantly named my cat Dave?”
“There is no cat, Jeffy!” he yelled. “Think about it, for god's sake. How long have you had him now? Thirty years? That’s some old ass cat you got there, buddy.”
“N-nuh-no,” I stammered. “You’re wrong Justin. He’s right here. I can see him. I can feel him.”
“For fucks sake, I don’t care,” Justin stood up, and calmly walked toward the kitchen cabinet. “Keep your imaginary friend, it really doesn’t fucking matter. In fact, it will make this whole thing a lot easier to sell.”
He opened one of the cabinets, the one at the very top, and suddenly the muffled cries became louder. “You see, I want to start my own family,” he said, carefully lifting down the baby boy. “But I need a demon in the hurricane.”
“Wh-whu-what does that mean?!” I said. “I don’t uh-understand!”
“Oh, surely you remember. It was grandpa’s family mantra. We cannot move lest we leave a demon behind in the hurricane. It’s an overly pompous way of saying that we always need a scapegoat. I mean, think about it; how do you suppose they got away with all those murders, hmm? The only reason they did, is because they consistently set up some poor schmuck to take the fall.”
“An-uh-and, uhm, I’m your, uhm, demon?”
“Look, I didn’t plan for it to end this way. I just wanted you dead, Jeffy. That’s all. That’s why I switched out mom’s birthday present with those tapes; I was so sure they were gonna kill you for that.”
He gently rocked the baby back and forth, humming a beautiful tune. “But here’s the kicker, Jeffy; they weren’t even gonna hurt you. Not initially, anyway. Mom just wanted dad to bring you here, to keep you safe, to calm you down. So, you know, I lost it. Fucking killed her.”
“Wh-uh-why did you want me dead? What have I, uhm, ever done to you?” I said, tears rapidly forming in my eyes. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I really thought I’d reached the bottom of the rabbit hole, but there was obviously more.
“Nothing personal, buddy,” he smiled. “Just wanted them to feel pain. They really loved you, Jeffy. Can’t for the life of me understand why, but they did. Me? Not so much. I guess I reminded them too much of grandpa, or perhaps themselves. Jenna’s baby changed my mind though. When mom brought her over to try to convince you to come back home, I instantly knew what I’d wanted all these years. Someone to love. Someone to love me back unconditionally. Someone to shape. Someone to mold into a better, more capable me.”
I let my fingers run through Dave’s soft fur. I needed his calming guidance now. Dave’s always been there for me. Always had my back. Always kept me on the straight and narrow.
“So, uhm, what now?” I asked, eyeing the open window just behind the couch.
“Oh, you know,” he said, placing the baby back in the cabinet, and closing the door. “You still have to die, Jeffy. Just need to make it look, you know, suicidy. That’s all I need from my demon.”
He grabbed a knife from the kitchen counter, and edged closer to me. There was this look on his face, a very familiar expression I’d seen before, once that I could remember, but probably countless times over. A look of hate and murderous violence. The exact look I saw on my mother’s face when she butchered those poor people in the video.
“Give me your wrist, Jeffy,” he snarled. “No reason to make this more painful than it has to be.”
I got up from the rocking chair, backing up slowly, Dave firmly in my grasp. I knew I had only one shot at this, so I needed to position myself just right. When Justin edged past the rocking chair, back turned to the couch, I made my move.
I quickly put Dave on the ground, pointing at Justin. “Get him, Dave!” I yelled. “Fuck him up!”
We rushed at Justin in unison, and when he, wide-eyed with surprise and shock, stuck the knife brutally into my shoulder, I quickly jerked sideways, breaking the blade off at the grip. Sure, there was pain involved, but I’ve been through worse. With a continuous motion I elbowed him in the groin, and watched in awe as Dave fucked up his face. That cat had some unreal moves, let me tell you.
Justin stumbled back, and when he clumsily hit the couch, I charged at him with what little was left of my stamina, sending him tumbling through the open window. There was shattering of glass, a whole lot of blood, and horrible screams, as Justin and Dave rolled around, slipping under the ramshackle railing, suddenly freefalling the thirty feet down to the jagged rock foundation below.
I heard a sound I can’t accurately describe, but I’m often reminded of it when I hear a butcher working with raw meat. Squishy, meaty sounds. I collapsed on the floor, desperately heaving for my breath. I would have passed out on the spot if it wasn’t for the muffled crying coming from the cabinet. I stumbled to my feet, staggering towards it, gently lifting him down. He felt a lot like Dave. Same weight, different texture though. I sat down in the couch, momentarily lost in those bright blue peepers of his. Maybe I wanted my own family too? Maybe Justin could be my demon in the hurricane?
But no. I wasn’t them. I wasn’t grandpa, or mom, or dad, or even Justin. So I called the police, this time more than able to string together the correct words, describing in vivid detail everything from start to finish. From home videos to the shattered remains of Justin. I felt good. I felt free. But there was also a sadness, I suppose. A loss of sorts. Poor, poor Dave.
So you see, it all ends with my death. Not philosophical either. Mental, perhaps. Personal. A new me. The police came to believe me eventually, although it took a few days of long, strenuous interrogations to get it sorted. A lot of details to be uncovered, things from my childhood I just couldn’t remember. They mentioned something, though. Something you lot might find comforting. On the second day of the interview, the lead detective asked me about Justin, about the struggle, about his remains.
“There were some marks, wounds, we can’t account for,” he said. “On the suspect's face. Looks a hell of a lot like someone, something, clawed him, scratched him up real good.
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