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Chapter 1: Final Destination
"I don't, but I guess your going to tell me aren't you?"
Ari found herself asking, as she continued to slowly climb up the ladder. Her bad feeling was growing, and for some reason she couldn't shake that she was about to die in this cellar all alone with nobody around. The start of every horror film started out with a victim screaming, right?
The Voice chuckled, "It did whatever the hell it wanted."
And the lid of the crate was kicked open, revealing a very familiar figure in a very familiar costume, reposing like the risen dead.
The killer wastes no time, seizing the longest length of freshly severed chain and belting Arianne across the face with it.
The scream came from her before she knew it, and she felt her head twist to the side as the warm blood trickled across her face.
Ari turned towards the figure, shaking her head as she turned and started to climb as quickly as she could up the ladder. She had dropped both phone and bolt cutter, and she found herself running and screaming in terror.
Well running to the door of the shed that was, and her face bleeding and welting already.
The killer is absurdly patient, flipping through (Gemma's?) phone even as Ari struggles to reach the ladder.
Eventually, the killer suggests something they seem to approve of, and music fills the cramped cellar, surely enough to drown out any human sounds that might escape.
'Listen to the wind blow/Watch the sun rise...'
The killer approaches behind Ari, still holding the bloodied length of chain.
"Run in the shadows/Damn your love/Damn your lies..."
In one fluid motion, the killer lifts the chain and pulls it taught around Arianne's neck, yanking her back.
"And if you don't love me now/You will never love me again...'
The killer tightens the grip, closing off Arianne's windpipe and never relenting.
"I can still hear you saying/You would never break the chain."
Arianne grasped at the chain around her neck, her eyes wide as she struggled to breathe.
She could feel it, the life slipping out of her fingertips, the way she would never listen to music or sing again, and of all the songs, she felt her heart hurting more at the killers ironic choice in music for her own death.
Her body slid backwards, slowly going down as she felt herself struggling more and more.
That was until the chain dug in so far into her neck, that blood slid down her throat and down her chest.
She felt herself die at that point.
MEANWHILE IN THE DEPTHS OF THE CRAWFORD REHAB AND PENITENTIARY SOME MILES AWAY...
"I am sorry. And I'm not just repeating that to get out on good behavior. We both know that's impossible. I am truly, genuinely, honest-to-God sorry for what I've done.
"But I don't think I'm wrong. Like, you can have good intentions but it's all in the execution, I guess.
"Heh. Execution...I'm sorry, I shouldn't find that funny. I-I never was good at social skills, I guess. Like, I try really hard to give my best self to people, you know. I work out, I'm open-minded, I express myself. But...I don't know. None of that ever seemed like my real self. I was always posing as somebody else, playing a role. That's what I was doing with Piper, that's what I did when I put on the mask, that's what I did when I looked the people I loved in the eye. Here, though, I feel real. No hiding, you know? No pressure to be something I'm not. I've had less outbursts b-because there's no expectation for me to be good...
"But then I think about it more. That doesn't feel right. That's stagnation. I don't wanna be stagnant. I think I'm realizing why I was playing those roles. Lover, brother, son, killer--I was given purpose. Here, I have no purpose. But...I also feel real. Maybe the truth is I...I really have no purpose."
Kieran Wilcox wiped at his eye, bowing his head. His other hand was clenching and unclenching his fist to the rhythm of his breathing, trying to quell the frustration he felt, the futility he was facing. "But to answer your question, Doc, I guess I'd rate my pain a 7/10."
Nicodemus Langley clapped his hands, proud of his patient. "That's right, man! Open the floodgates of your heart and unleash the raw sewage that is your baggage onto us both so we can bathe in its healing power." He waved through the wind chimes to his right for ambiance.
Kieran hated the wind chimes. "Make that a 7.5"
Nicodemus frowned. "Kier-Anne, my man. Being sour and dower negates your true power." He adjusted his rounded Lennon shades and looked at his clipboard. "That was a good round of the self-expression game, my friend. We've made a lot of progress since our first session. When you first came into my office, you were a lost soul, unresponsive to the good vibes I am permeating."
"Yeah, I punched you in the face, if I recall."
"But look, my brother! Just as my broken nose has healed, so has your soul."
"But...I still feel shitty."
"WHOA WHOA WHOA, MAN!" Nicodemus held his hands up and put his clipboard down. "Why do ya gotta taint the energy we're producing with the conversational mannerisms of men at sea?"
"...what?"
"I think this calls for a little song you might be familiar with by now." Nicodemus took his guitar from under his desk.
"Oh, no, not the..."
But it was too late, as Nicodemus was strumming out-of-tune and with no rhythm whatsoever, crooning, "Words are expressions/of ourselves/They are first impressions/in which the other delves..."
Kieran buried his face in his hands.
"If the words are bad/then other people will think we are bad..."
Enraged, Kieran threw his hands in the air and shouted, "THAT'S THE SAME WORD. YOU CAN'T RHYME THE SAME WORD!"
"Instead of relying on anger to express your distaste with my musical talents," Nicodemus advised, one Confucian finger in the air, "Express your suffering like you just did a minute ago. Open the floodgates, man. Bathe in the sewage. Tell me how ya feel..."
Kieran sighed, honestly thinking hard of what to say. After some great contemplation, he mustered, "My pain level is actually at 7.6, Doc."
Nicodemus nodded, attentively writing this down. Then, for clarification, he held up the diagram of smiley and frowny faces. "So between this orange and red-orange one?"
"Closer to the redder one, yeah."
"Hmmm. Interesting." Nicodemus stroked his goatee, observing his analysis. "Alright, Kieran. I'm gonna give you a little exercise to do until we meet again." He searched his desk for the worksheet. "Now you said you didn't feel you had purpose?"
Kieran leaned forward, curious as to whether or not this man was inciting real progress. "Yeah."
"Well, you're not alone in the cosmic cauldron that is the universe," Nicodemus said, now searching through a specific folder. "We're all bits of celery and noodle, wandering aimlessly in the broth, not sure where we're goin' or why. We just know the soup gets hotter, and we get more cooked and closer to death. But what we need to realize is that each ingredient of a soup provides a little pizazz no other food item can bring."
"So...I'm like...chicken noodle soup?"
"Yeah, man! Here, dig this," Nicodemus handed Kieran the paper, to which the reforming killer narrowed his eyes.
"This is just a connect-the-dots!" Kieran looked closer. "But the dots don't make anything! You just made them yourself!"
"I made the dots, but I did not make any predetermined object, my man," Nicodemus explained. "The purpose of this treatment is to give the dots. You gotta connect them into something that has meaning for you. Dig?"
Kieran bit his lip, nodding. "Yeah. Dig." He got up and headed out of the office.
"See you on the flip side, Kieran." Nicodemus then stood from his seat and called after him, "And remember! Don't let negativity ruin your positivity, man! There's only one right side of a magnet and that's the one that connects!" He sat down and said, perhaps to affirm himself, "Yeah."
***
Kieran hadn't touched his gruel. He had done what he usually did at lunchtime. Stare off into the distance, and think about why he was alive. He had never done a selfish thing in his life. For Piper. for Deanna, for Emma--Kieran did what he did for others and they were either dead or unappreciative. Yeah, his methods were unconventional and harmful, but only harmful to the select few who deserved it. And if the others thought Kieran did deserve to be harmed, that he was in the wrong...why did they leave him alive?
That was cruel. Killing provides an end, closure. Kieran was kind enough to provide his victims closure, his victims who were usually bad people who were better off dead for their sakes.
Except for that cop he killed. He seemed like a nice guy.
Regardless, he was left with nothing to do but to think. Unless...
Fuck it. Kieran took out the worksheet and pencil Nicodemus gave him and got to work surprisingly quickly connecting one dot to the next without a whim.
"Hey, pretty boy, whatchya got there? Aw, you're drawing? How ad..."
Kieran stabbed the inmate behind him in the leg with the pencil without looking, took it out and seamlessly got back to work.
"Aw, shit! Fuck!" The inmate was reeling on the floor in pain, but Kieran was too focused on his work to care, his worksheet stained with blood. Finally, the picture was closed, the dots were connected, it was...
A screaming face. A very crudely drawn screaming face.
Frustrated, Kieran crumpled up the paper and threw it away, accidentally hitting the guard who came to check on the inmate. "Hey!" The guard leaned over Kieran, towering over him. "You do this?"
Kieran didn't return eye contact. "Yep."
"Again?"
"Yep."
"You know that'll put you in solitary, right?"
"Yep. I'll be on my way there now, sir." Kieran stood up, ready to suffer a day or two in the hole when the guard stopped him.
"Wait. I got news for ya." The guard said, as his buddy dragged the inmate away, bleeding. "You got a visitor."
Kieran finally looked up in surprise. "I do?"
"Yeah, I'm just as surprised as you." The guard gestured to follow him.
"But...don't I have to go to solitary?"
"Any other visitor, I would cancel the visit and throw you in the hole, Wilcox, but..." He bit his lip as his expression darkened. "I wouldn't want to let down this woman."
"Why?"
"Well, er…" Scratching the back of his head, looking for a word, the guard replied, "Well, she's, um, er...special."
***
Kieran stepped into the visitors' room, glass panels separating prisoner from their loved ones. But the face Kieran saw didn't really incite much love.
Taking a seat, he said, "Of all the people who I would even consider visiting me, I never thought you would go through all the trouble of coming here."
-Kieran and Nicodemus
She knew he was coming before he was there. She could feel the dog tense by her feet, hear the growl begin low in his throat, slowly rise in pitch, reverbrating through the concrete block, off the glass divider.
She reached down and pet the animal between the ears to sooth it. But she was unsoothed herself, so the effort did little.
The footsteps continued down the way, slow and deliberate. Didn't he still want to see her? Briefly she entertained the thought that this had been a poor idea and a dangerous one, that she ought to have left well enough alone and gone on, carving out some new life of her own.
But she had made a promise. Several, and broken many.
But this was one she intended to keep. Whatever the consequences.
She leaned forward in her seat, unable to see him, but knowing he was there. Besides the usual tells...footsteps, the creaking of a seat being sat in...he'd always had a way about him, a sort of aura that could not be ignored.
It was this ineffable charisma, she assumed, that made him so easy to trust. And had made it so easy for him to kill.
"Hello, Kieran," she greeted him, "Bet you thought you'd seen the last of me."
"You among others, yeah." Kieran leaned forward and looked at his own reflection in those black lenses. "Why are you here, Nat? Just checking up on me? Maybe give a loaf of bread packed with power tools? Or maybe a conjugal visit?" He smirked, sitting back in his chair, astonished he was here even speaking with Natalia Ramos of all people.
Nat pressed her lips into a tight line, "Don't play dumb. You made me an offer I couldn't refuse, remember? Granted, I almost did."
And that night, a boy she'd never met had been stabbed to death in a park, by someone wearing the same mask Kieran had not long ago used to terrorize his girlfriend and her friends.
"You said you wanted my help. I'm here to give it."
Kieran raised his eyebrows. "Really? You're..." He did a double-take before leaning in, lowering his voice. "You're going to help me..." Another double-take, Kieran mouthed, "...get out of here?"
He grinned, chuckling. "What swayed ya?"
"Let's call it personal responsibility," Nat allowed a smile.
"When you called me in here last month and threatened to expose me, I'll admit...I wasn't very happy about it. But then I thought for a little and realized... I'd do the same thing if I were you.
"And I owe you one."
"About that..." Kieran sighed. "I was desperate then and I'm desperate now. In my therapy, I've been learning about the three Ps, my doc calls them. Personal private peace. And I guess I kind of violated that." To be safe, he quickly added, "And still can. It might be cliché...but prison sucks. I'd do anything to get out of here." Smacking his lips, he asked, "Gotta admit, bit of a risk on your part. Kieran Wilcox has only so many blind friends."
Nat tittered, "You only have so many friends, period."
She drummed her fingers against the table, the clacking noise loudly magnified, especially for her, "I've dealt with worse men in uglier situations," she cocked her head, "We had some good times, didn't we?"
Clearing her throat, she added, "What do you need me to do? Or are we just making this up as we go?"
"Would you believe you caught me at a bad time?" Kieran joked dryly. "I just got myself some time in solitary. The only reason I'm here talking to you is a guard had pity for the crippled. Right after this, I'm heading to the hole." He sighed, thinking of some way to make this work. He had to leave tonight. No more worksheets, no more prison-shanks, no more Nicodemus.
Nat was his one opportunity.
"Unless..." Kieran looked around to see if any guards cared enough to linger around to listen. He knocked on the glass to get her attention to come closer. This would be a slipshod plan, but it would well enough.
"Crippled? Real nice, Kieran."
Though, she had to admit, he maintained his niceties, serial killer stuff notwithstanding.
But she bade his silent signal anyway, "Well?"
"Hang around the front of the prison for a while," Kieran kept it obscure. "Make yourself scarce and wait for a call from me. The rest will be clear then."
"Alright, you're done here." A guard grabbed him by the shoulder and advised to the visitor, "Make your goodbyes now, sweetheart. Your boyfriend got himself in detention."
Nat scowled, and she could feel Lunar tensing beside her at the guard's casual dismissal. But Lunar was as well-trained as she was, and remained still.
She nodded at Kieran to show she understood, while at the same time her mind was a roil with thoughts of How? Why? and What?
"Goodbye," she told him in a cloying tone, if only to satisfy the guard's suspicions, "Beloved."
Perhaps Kieran would remember the last time, their last goodbye, before prison and Piper and penance, when he had leaned over her, still burnt and reeling and half on the cusp of death and whispered his goodbye as if they were the only people in the world.
Nat had never loved anyone in her entire life. But she might've loved him then.
Kieran smirked at that as he got to his feet, guard guiding him along. Before he got out of Nat's sight, he shot her a wink signifying it would be alright soon.
Freedom was on the horizon.
FIVE MINUTES LATER
"You know how this works, Wilcox," the guard gestured towards the Hannibal Lector containment contraption they locked their psychos up in. "Hop in."
Kieran sighed, looking from the guard behind him to the one showcasing his mini-prison on wheels. He stayed put.
"C'mon, already," the guard urged. "What? Your old lady got you worked up?"
Kieran didn't look up.
"Alright, it's one of those days. Denny, get him over here."
Kieran heard Denny step behind him. He moved just slightly, but reconsidered and allowed Denny to guide him to the guard.
"Get the lead out of your feet and get going."
Kieran looked up, the guard just inches away from him, Denny not far behind.
"Now get on the damn thing."
Kieran placed his foot on the device, looked to the guard, smiled, and kicked it towards the wall. He broke free from Denny's grasp and moved out of the way to the left.
"The hell?" Denny didn't have much time to react as containment device ricocheted off the wall and into him.
The guard motioned for his walkie but Kieran grabbed his arm, tightly clenching it. He'd have to stay quiet so as to not alert anybody. So Kieran punched him in the throat. The guard gasped for air, Kieran relentlessly slammed his head against the wall, far past the point he was dead. It felt good. He was finally doing something again.
Denny was still a problem, getting himself up from under the device. Kieran strode over to him, pinned the idiot to the floor and placed his hands around his neck. Soon enough, Denny had died.
That was the easy part. Now for the finesse.
Kieran searched the guard's body for the pencil he'd confiscated earlier. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, assuring this was going to be worth it in the end.
***
Limping down the corridor, Kieran held to his bleeding thigh, wincing in pain. Ducking around corners, biding his time, he soon made his way to his destination, knocking on the door.
Nicodemus opened it, astounded as to what he saw. "My cool cat Kieran! What happened to you, man?"
Through the pain, Kieran lied, "Incident at lunch. Some guy stabbed me in the leg. He's in solitary now but...still hurts."
"I see. Come in, come in," Nicodemus motioned.
"Actually," Kieran stopped him. "I was wondering if...you can play a tune...on your guitar."
Nicodemus looked surprised. "Really? But I thought your vibes didn't mesh with my..."
"Well, vibes change after a guy stabs you."
"Alright, alright. Cool it, my friend," Nicodemus assured, smiling. "Lemme just get my guitar..."
"And I was hoping we can do it outside."
Nicodemus turned to face him, confused.
"You know. The acoustics are much better there."
"A-coo-sticks," Nicodemus annunciated the word. "That's why you don't like my tunes. They don't sound right to the discombobulated mind if the setting ain't right. I been asking the administration for an outdoor session anyways. Don't know why they been sayin' no. C'mon, now."
And so, with the help of a band-aid on Kieran's wound, Nicodemus guided Kieran through the halls, waving him past every guard, achieving every clearance level needed.
***
The prison walls loomed over the two as they left the back-exit into the perimeter surrounding the prison.
"Alright, my dude," Nicodemus took out his guitar and began to tune it, not paying Kieran much mind. "Whatchya wanna hear? The grief song? The anger ditty? The panic attack tune? The..."
As Nicodemus went through the options, Kieran took a rock, ready to bash his brains in when...something came over him. This hippie-dippy guy in a sunflower hat and moccasins tuning his guitar listing his greatest hits...he wasn't worth the trouble. In fact, Kieran figured he should be grateful. The guy was half the incentive for his getting out of here.
So as an act of thanks, Kieran threw the rock to the wall behind him.
"Yo, what's that?" Nicodemus looked behind him. Kieran slapped him in the back of the head, easily knocking him out.
OK. Kieran thought to himself. Finesse done. Now to degrade myself.
***
Dressed as Nicodemus, Kieran took out the doctor's phone and dialed the number for the next phase of his plan.
And now for the cavalry.
-Kieran and Nicodemus
Nat slowed down her progress around the edge of the CRaP institute, retrieving her phone when she heard the automated voice repeating: 'Incoming call. Incoming call. Incoming..."
Nat had cut off every tie with every one in her old life. Unless one of those nabobs at GWH had decided to wonder where the blind 'transfer student' had gone (and then, the only candidates would've been the mild-mannered animal lover and his girlfriend, Kieran's own sister).
She answered the phone, "Hello?"
"Hello, Natalia," Kieran mimicked the voice for old times' sake before getting down to brass tacks. "I'm in disguise and on the other side of the wall. But there's no way I'm getting through without some guard seeing through it all. So I just need to get over without anybody noticing. That's where you come in." Looking at the spotlights sprawling the front of the prison. "So I want you to get all eyes on yourself. Distract them with...I dunno. An attack of blindness."
"Attack of blindness?" Nat repeated flatly, "You're a pretty son of a bitch, Kieran."
She looked up and down the prison yard, seeing without her eyes. There were guards in the watchtowers, of course, guards moving up and down the inside of the wire fence.
You've embarrassed yourself worse, she told herself.
"Give me two minutes," she told Kieran, hanging up the phone and pocketing it.
Now, taking a deep breath for fortitude, she bent down beside Lunar, whispering in his ear, "Run!"
Lunar whimpered, and she knew he was looking at her doubtfully.
"Lo siento," she told him, undoing the leash.
He was reluctant. He'd been trained never to leave her side, trained more strictly than even most dogs of his kind. But she'd taught him other things as well...
"Muerdeme!" she practically screamed.
And he obeyed her, biting her on the arm, sinking his teeth into her flesh. She howled in pain, falling back as she felt hot blood on her flesh. She could hear Lunar running off and silently prayed to whatever God was listening that he made it to safety, that they might meet again.
"Help!" she cried and, deciding ignorant white men in uniform might be more inclined to help (and suspect) a brown woman speaking a foreign tongue, slipped into Catalan, "Ayuadame!"
She staggered about, one hand in front of her. She'd dropped her staff, which hindered her progress severely, though she knew where she was going. She could hear the buzzing of the giant searchlight nearest the gate, feel the slight electrical heat of the bright white beam.
"Look over there!" someone cried, "A Mexican!"
Cuban, but sure, who's keeping score?
"Jim, she's blind!" she could hear someone rushing to her side, "Ma'am, are you okay?"
Kieran hung up and began scaling the wall. It was a slow and methodical process of digging his fingernails between the bricks and constantly searching for footholds. Eventually he got to the top, where he was met with a long drop.
How to get down there?
"Hey, doc? What are you doin' up here?"
A guard! Kieran had to get away but he also had to incapacitate this guy before he alerted the others! But the distraction would only last so long.
Killing birds with one stone. Wouldn't be the first time, you sick fuck.
Kieran placed his hand over the guard's mouth propelled him off the edge of the wall, falling towards the ground. The poor sap broke the fall, and Kieran rolled off of him. He was alive. No bones broken. Only problem was the guy exploded over him when he hit the ground.
"Shit..." He looked to Nat's attack of blindness. She was doing a good job but not a sustainable one. Kieran rushed over to her, and put on his best Nicodemus impression. "My cool fool! I got her! She's with me."
Jim looked up to find a bloodied doofus in a sunflower hat and petticoat. "The hell happened to you?"
"Um..." Kieran was at a loss for words, truly trapped.
Nat sat up at the arrival of Kieran, who was for whatever reason was putting on an act out of a Carol Burnett skit.
Clearly, this performance had not anticipated the arrival of extra guards.
"Wait a minute..." this man Jim was saying, "You're not a doctor! You're the Ghostface Kill..."
A wild howl as Lunar descended on them. Nat could hear him barking and snarling, hear Jim's frenzied cries and wails, the tearing of teeth into flesh, hot blood flying everywhere.
"Go!" she cried, hauling herself to her feet on his shoulder, "Run!"
Kieran took the cue from his blind friend and her crazy dog to run towards Nicodemus's Prius, searching the jacket for his keys. "There!" He unlocked it and opened the door. "Hop in! Hop in!" Lunar hopped into through the driver's side into the backseat as Kieran guided Nat through to the passenger's seat. In this instant, sunflower hat and all, he was glad she was blind. Getting himself at the wheel, the put the keys into ignition and drove as a fast an environmentally conscious luxury car could take them.
Nat followed Kieran, first making sure she'd claimed Jim's gun from his belt. She didn't like firearms, but she knew very well how to use them. Her father had seen to that.
And this one would come in handy.
"Lunar, come on!" she urged the dog, seeing that he hopped into the backseat of the car, she herself taking Kieran's lead and sitting beside him.
She scowled at him, "You smell like incense and patchouli."
Kieran turned to Nat and stared at her for a few seconds before cracking a grin. He laughed, his cackles getting louder and louder. They were home free.
In celebration he turned on the radio as a comforting tune played.
"Country roads/Take me home/To the place/I belong..."
Kieran Wilcox was coming home.