Claire’s death was a necessary twist. If I had allowed James and Roger to find Mark’s dwelling, the story quickly would have provided the solution of the investigation.
Mark admitted the responsibility for Claire’s death, but modality and motivation remained unknown. Why did Mark decide to get rid of her? What happened in that house that day? The following short story tells us why Claire decided to go to Heisemberg’s house, what happened in there, and how Mark killed her. Claire was worried; she hadn’t shared her feelings and thoughts with Tiffany, but she couldn’t help of thinking about doctor Heisemberg. He hadn’t replied the myriad of emails she had sent to him; he hadn’t pick the phone up when she had called. The only voice she had heard from the other end was the mechanical recording of the voicemail asking to leave a message after the beep. Claire still had the image of the doctor lying on the hospital bed and wrapped in white bandages in her eyes. Heisemberg’s facial expression hadn’t been happy and relaxed as it used to be, but full of sadness. She hadn’t met him since that day. Tiffany was totally sure that they had nothing to be worried about; even though Heisemberg hadn’t replied her emails and messages, she was confident he was fine. Surely, he was recovering, and, to heal properly, he needed quietness and rest. Exactly what his professions - university professor and psychologist - couldn’t provide him. Unfortunately, Claire wasn’t as optimistic as Tiffany had been. She wanted to hear his voice. She wanted to have the sheen of his irises lightening hers. She wanted to get lost in his infinite psychological knowledge. Claire has known since the first moment she met him that what she wanted was him. Although Heisemberg had kept the relationship between them professional, a deep feeling which went beyond the mere work collaboration had grown inside her day after day. Without him, Clare felt incomplete and useless; she missed him; she definitely loved him. Why had he disappeared? Why hadn’t he replied? Had she done something wrong without even realising it? Had she offended him somehow? Perhaps, Heisemberg felt precisely the same for her and, in order not to compromise their career, he had decided to cut any contact between them off. With these thoughts and interrogatives buzzing unstoppably in her mind, Claire inhaled and knocked on Hesemberg’s door. The thump of her knuckles on the wooden surface echoed inside the house. She waited full of hope to see his mentor appearing on the threshold, but nobody opened the door. The curtains on the ground floor were drawn close. “It seems nobody is at home.” Claire sighed. “I’ll knock again. If nobody opens, I’ll go home.” A knot formed in Claire’s throat; she hardly inhaled and knocked again. The door screeched and slowly swung open; Claire expected to see the doctor’s smile materialising behind the door. Instead, a black-haired man with intense grey eyes and a charming smile appeared. “Hello?” Mark said. “Hello, I’m Claire O’Connor. I attended doctor Heisemberg’s course at the university.” Claire introduced herself. The man had something familiar, she thought. “I’d like to talk with him about professional matters. Is he at home?” “The doctor momentarily is resting. He had a long day, and he needed to lie down.” Mark smiled. “The recovery is tiring him more than what he thought. If it’s not a trouble for you, you can come by another day. I suggest contacting him and arranging an appointment, so he can manage to receive you.” “I seriously need to talk to him.” Claire insisted; her voice trembled. “It’s very important. Do you mind if I wait for him to wake up?” “I don’t mind, but, as you can guess, I have no clue when doctor Heisemberg will be available. By the way, I’m Mark Newtsdon, doctor Heisemberg’s assistant.” Mark stretched his hand. “I’m taking care of Heisemberg’s business. If it’s urgent, as you claimed, you can speak to me.” “I personally would speak to him face to face. It’s a complicated matter.” Claire said. “I’d rather wait for him.” The tone of Claire’s voice was anxious with a hint of desperation. “If I send her away, she’ll get suspicious; but if I let her in, I’ll have to find a way to dispose of.” Mark noticed. “In that case, if it doesn’t bother you, you can come in and wait, but I don’t know when the professor will be available.” “That’s perfect for me. I can wait.” They reached the stylish and well-furnished sitting room. “This guy is very familiar. Where did I see him?” Claire thought. “His eyes, especially. I can’t remember.” “I’m sorry, what’s your name again?” “Mark Newtsdon, but you can call me Mark.” “You said that you were Heisemberg’s assistant, didn’t you?” Claire stared at him. “Precisely!” Mark smiled. “Please, take a seat. Would you fancy anything to drink? Perhaps, a cup of tea?” “I’d actually love a cuppa.” Mark went to the kitchen and started fumbling with kettle and cups. Claire looked around; the house looked disordered. She stroked the arm of the sofa which she had sat on, and a thin layer of dust dyed her finger grey. “There’s something wrong. I can’t believe Heisemberg lives in such a mess. He’s never been such a…” Mark got back to the room, bringing a tray with two cups and a teapot. “How long have you been Heisemberg’s assistant?” Claire asked. “More than one year, just before the accident.” Claire’s heart raced. “That’s not possible!” She thought. “Oh! I see. I presume it’s quite difficult to assist a man as busy as the professor. Numerous conferences and students’ requests make your job pretty hard.” Mark laid the tray on the table, smiling. “Well, I’m a quite well-organised person. I’m not saying that it’s easier than what you presumed, but my methodical organisation helps me a lot.” “This bitch is jeopardising my plan!” Mark thought. “Why did she come over here? What does she really want?” Mark poured some tea and handed the cup to Claire who added a dash of milk. They silently sipped their drinks. Mark brooded on a way for dismissing Claire; Claire tried to figure out where she had ever seen the man in front of her. “Being a university professor is a tough job, I guess.” Claire broke the embarrassing silence. “I attended Heisemberg’s course, and I remember he has always been in rush. The UCL didn’t leave him at peace for a moment.” “It’s exactly the same. The University of London pretends a huge effort from doctor Heisemberg. It’s not that easy to find such a competent and professional professor.” Claire’s eyes fixed on Mark’s. “You, tricky bugger! You have not idea of what you’re saying. Heisemberg didn’t work for the UCL!” “Filthy bitch!” Mark thought. “You’re framing me!” “How did the university react to the terrible accident involving Heisemberg?” Claire asked. “I guess it was a serious loss for the institution.” “Unfortunately, it was, but doctor Heisemberg is now ready to get back to work. The recovery was…” “Astounding.” Claire interrupted with a smile. “Exactly! It was stunning how he got over it.” “I remember when I went to the hospital to visit him there was another person involved in the accident. Do you know anything about him?” Mark put down the cup and stared at the floor. “I now remember where I met this annoying girl! She came to visit the doctor!” He lifted his head, beaming as serene as he could manage to be. “We, unfortunately, don’t know what happened to him, but doctor Heisemberg is confident that…” Mark stopped; he realised he had made a huge mistake. “I’m fucked!” Mark thought. “Why am I being such a bloody idiot?” Claire kept staring at him; she narrowed her eyes and cleared her throat. “If you don’t mind. I’ll take the cups and tea pot back to the kitchen.” Mark quickly switched the conversation. “Heisemberg might wake up shortly.” “What’s going on?” Claire thought while Mark was heading to the kitchen. Her heart pounded so strongly that she could feel it as though it was in her throat. “He’s lying! He doesn’t know the university where the professor used to work. He doesn’t know the guy taken to the hospital with Heisemberg died. Besides, he claimed he started working for the doctor about one year ago, but I don’t remember any assistant! I would have met him!” She heard Mark climbing the stair to the upper floor. “Who is this man?” Claire strolled to the front door; it was locked. A pang of fear made her body shiver. “What do I have to do?” “Miss Claire, the doctor is awake. Would you like to come up?” Mark’s voice sounded in the house. It was difficult to ponder what to do; Claire was taken aback. What if she had said that she preferred to go home and visit him another day Heisemberg? “That would be suspicious. He could wonder why I waited for so long before leaving.” Claire’s storm of thoughts was impossible to control; she couldn’t think rationally, then she shook her head. “What if I’ve been too suspicious? Even though I haven’t ever met him, it doesn’t mean that the professor couldn’t have an assistant. It’s true that assistants frequently change or are changed. After all, if they want to pursue the academic career, they have to catch any good opportunity.” Mark called her again and appeared on the top of the stair. “Claire, the doctor is waiting for you.” His tone had a seductive sound. “He’s utterly delighted you came by.” “Maybe, I’m just exaggerating.” Claire thought. “Probably, I’ve just never met him, or I might have met him, but I don’t recall his face.” She got on the first step. “I don’t know. His grey eyes have something known. Where did I see them?” Claire had quickly reached the landing; everything was strange, but, in her heart, Claire craved to see his mentor. She couldn’t wait. Heisemberg was just beyond that door. Mark stood next to the entrance. “I’ve probably over-reacted.” Claire felt an unstoppable urge of running inside the room. “How long have I desired to meet him again for?” The chamber was in total dimness; a thin ray of light penetrated the closed curtain. While she was getting through the door, she met Mark’s grey irises. “Was that a sneer? Why did he sneer?” Claire thought, but the view of what seemed a body beneath the duvet sent her doubts and fears away. “Heisemberg! You have no idea how long I dreamt to see you again for!” “Desire is the biggest flaw of human beings.” Mark thought and followed the girl; his left hand held a syringe, containing a white solution. “Human beings are so easy to manipulate. I simply have been pretending, but she didn’t realise at all.” “Good afternoon, professor!” Claire whispered to the bundle lying on the bed. The body didn’t move; Claire waited for an answer, then she stepped closer. Even though the darkness blurred the view, she could barely see what seemed the doctor’s head. When she was at Heisemberg’s side, her mouth gaped, and a hysterical trembling invaded her hands. “That isn’t his head!” She now could see properly where the head was supposed to be. “That’s…that’s just a bloody pillow!” Claire wasn’t fast enough to turn; she felt a painful sting at the base of her neck. Immediately, a cold liquid penetrated her flesh. “What’s that?” She screamed terrified. “What did you do? Where is the doctor?” The solution started itching; Claire turned towards the door, but her sight blurred, and her head had started pounding. She could see Mark’s outline on the threshold. “What did you do?” She screamed again. A sense of dizziness possessed her; she swayed in the door direction, then, suddenly she felt fainting and fell on the floor. Mark watched Claire’s body contorting and wriggling uncontrollably, then instantly it stopped. She was cold dead. “I can’t leave anybody behind who can blow up my triumphal plan. Nobody must identify me.” Mark thought and stepped towards the body. “Claire, I don’t know if somebody will ever find your body, but if somebody will, I safely will be far away from this house.” “Claire” is the third instalment of short stories dedicated to “The fear eater”. If you liked it, and you want to read the novella, you can find it on Wattpad for free. CLICK HERE. Take care and see you the next week with the short story revealing how Gimmy tracked Don back. Cheers!
0 Comments
I haven’t talked about her during the novella, but she slowly gained more and more attention and became a fundamental support for James and Roger. Who am I referring to?
I’m referring to Rita, our exhibit officer! I initially thought of her as a secondary character. I then changed my mind, and thought: why shouldn’t James and Roger have another partner? Why shouldn’t this partner be a woman? Rita was perfect; I like to think of her as a gentle, shy girl with a serene and quiet attitude who prolifically passes her days of work collecting, examining, cataloguing, and archiving exhibits found on the crime scenes. A pretty boring job, isn’t it? But not for her; Rita is an observer. She feels totally comfortable with operations which involve analysing and pondering details that might seem insignificant, but – as she has demonstrated for the entire story – they, instead, are full of meaning and importance. Have you ever wondered how a day at work looks like for her? This was a special day. A day in which Rita discovered something very important for the intricate investigation James and Roger were dealing with. The alarm went off for the third time. An arm slowly emerged from the red and white stripes duvet and stretched towards the mobile on the bedside table. “Five minutes more, please.” Rita whispered, and turned her back to the source of the annoying noise. The alarm rang again, and Rita lifted her head. Her eyes were half-closed, and her hair unkempt. She grabbed the mobile. “I hate you!” She said, turning off the noise. “Why do you have to do this to me? I need to sleep! After all, it’s only…” Rita swore and jumped off the bed as though a savage animal had bitten her. “It’s eight o’clock! I’m gonna be late!” The thud of her paces stopped in the bathroom; the top part of the pyjama flew on the bed, shortly followed by the trousers. She frantically got out the restroom in underwear brushing hysterically her dishevelled hair. The brush rolled next to the sleeping clothes. She grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt which were folded on a chair. Rita jumped along the corridor trying to don the trousers as fast as possible. When she reached the small kitchen, she filled the kettle with water, and turned it on, struggling to wear the shirt. “Come on, bloody sleeve!” She mumbled and glanced at the hanging clock. “It’s too late! I’ll have a coffee at work!” The kettle clicked off when Rita returned from the bedroom. She had donned a purple sweater on the shirt and opted for a dark grey wool coat jacket. Her inseparable brown leather bag slung over her right shoulder. “Why am I always in a rush?” Rita sighed, and closed the door leaving the room in a peaceful silent; a white cloud of steam puffed up from the kettle. The reader beeped, and the wee light on top of it flashed green. Rita put her ID badge in the bag and entered the long corridor to her office. “Exactly nine!” She smirked. “It’s been such a run, but I made. I hate Mondays.” The office was a medium-size open-space room with two four-persons desks arranged in the central area of the chamber. The screens of the computers cast their flickering blue light on the brown surfaces. A huge window running along the wall on the opposite side let the shining rays of the sun get in. “This case is giving enormous headaches.” Rita sat at her table and started scrolling down the list of exhibits on the screen. “James and Roger want to know when I find something that might be of interest for them, but, so far, I’ve found nothing.” The list contained the most interesting, and, hopefully, enlightening exhibits they had found at Ivonne and Justin’s house. Rita perused those catalogues for the umpteenth time, but nothing caught her attention. “I don’t know what to look for exactly.” She disappointingly sighed. “They have normal lives. Nothing eccentric or unusual. I... wait a sec!” Rita scrolled up, and read again. “Ivonne collected tube tickets. This is quite strange.” She opened the drawer and took out a plastic bag with the tickets inside. “According to James and Roger’s profile, Ivonne had regular habits.” She took a sheet of paper and checked it. “So was Justin. Two ordinary persons.” Her eyes grew wide-open as she glanced at the list of Justin’s objects. “Uh-uh.” Rita bit her lip. “It seems that an Oyster card was found in Justin’s room.” Her mind was a train of thoughts. “What if, I mean, I might be wrong, but what if this might be the common connection we’ve been looking for?” Without brooding on that too much, Rita grabbed the phone and rang up Transport of London “It will take a few minutes, madam.” The clerk said. “Hold the line, please.” A melodic tune started, and Rita observed the last sample James and Roger had found: a battered business card. Rita had hardly composed the name on it, Doctor Heisemberg, but the address remained a mystery. “The card is too damaged.” She sighed. “There are only two identifiable figures of the postcode.” The two figures were a number, 1, and a letter, H. Rita was still pondering those contact details when the music stopped, and the voice of the clerk sounded in her ear. “Hello? Madam?” “Yeah, yeah, hello.” “I checked the routes of those tickets you asked for. The owner of Oyster card regularly travelled from East London, Canning Town to be specific, to Central London, Marble Arch.” “Excellent! What about the other tickets?” Rita narrowed her eyes. “Well, they instead started from West London, Holland Park, to Marble Arch, too.” The clerk said, and, before Rita could ask questions, he added. “Quite curiously, the travellers use to get off in Marble Arch on the same days; every Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.” Rita frowned. “Coincidence? Or something more?” She thought. “Could you do a last favour to me?” She kindly asked. “Could you verify what time they used to travel to or get off in Marble Arch?” “That’s what I wanted to say.” The man said. “They used to travel in the late afternoon, and the difference of time is approximately half an hour. Same difference any other day they caught the tube.” “Same time, same day, same route.” Rita thought. “These are the only routes they travelled. The Oyster card record doesn’t show any other journey.” “Same time, same day, same route.” Rita thought again. “Is there anything else I can do for you, madam?” The clerk’s voice brought Rita back to the reality. “No, thank you. You’re being very helpful.” She hung up. “Marble Arch.” Rita pondered. “What’s Marble Arch area postcode?” Rita googled ‘Marble Arch postcode’; a huge smile grew on her face. “Gotcha!” Then she typed ‘Doctor Heisemberg W1H’. Rita burst into a satisfied laugh, and happily clapped her hands; she then wrote down her discoveries. “I presume James and Roger will find this information very helpful.” Rita mumbled to herself. “Well, done Rita.” This is the second short story dedicated to ‘The fear eater’ novella. If you liked it, and you want to read the novella, you can find it on Wattpad for free. CLICK HERE. Take care and see you the next week with the story of Claire’s death. Cheers! ‘The fear eater’ was a long, and incredible journey. It was a journey into Mark’s mind, a clever and dangerous criminal; a journey with James and Roger - two relentless detectives - and Rita -a phenomenal and efficient exhibit officer; a journey into deep and unbreakable friendships – between Don and Ivonne, and between Don and Gimmy.
Although the story has recently finished, there are some situations which I didn’t write about. ‘The fear eater’ was originally born as a short story (the transformation into a novella came afterwards). I had to cut and put on the side some parts for focusing on the main plot I had chosen. Doing so, I avoided making the story too much massive and slow. For example, a fact that I overlooked was the finding of the plastic bottle containing those strange tablets at Ivonne’s house. What happened when James found it and took to the laboratory? The blue lights lit the entire length of the white marble corridor. James and Roger walked along it, then turned at the corner, and followed another lobby. At the end, there was a white door with a security panel on its right. James typed the code, and the screen flickered; the red light turned green. The door clacked, and James pushed it open. “Are you sure the laboratory is in this way?” Roger asked. “The last time I’ve been here, I went through…” “You went through the main corridor to the reception, then, I presume, you asked for doctor Elijah.” James grinned. “I know the procedure, but, this time, we need somebody who can give us direct and immediate answers.” The huge room they entered smelled of disinfectant, and chemicals. “What’s this smell?” Roger exclaimed. Three metallic counters were horizontally arranged in the middle of the room; microscopes, Bunsen burners, and other scientific equipment were on top of them. A huge whiteboard hung on the wall at the end of the room, and incomprehensible formulas and number were written on it. “It’s the smell of a place where analysis is carried out, detective.” The voice came from a man hunched on the last counter. He sighed and didn’t lift his head from the microscope. “We have something which may interest you, Philip.” James said. “Oh, Detective Murphy.” The man looked up. “I haven’t seen you for ages. How are you doing?” Philip stretched his back, and slowly walked towards the two detectives. He was bald and very thin. His back had a huge hump which made him bent forward; his long arms swung along his body making him look like a monkey. He wore two, small and round golden spectacles which he kept on the tip of his nose. Roger intensely stared at him baffled: the man was barefoot. “I presume you have something for me.” Philip smiled; his teeth were an unhealthy yellow colour. “I have, but you have to promise me.” “Uh-uh.” Philip clapped his hands and switched from one foot to the other. “You’ve got something interesting! You’ve got something interesting! What’s that?” Philip jumped by the happiness like a kid whom is given a present to; when he calmed down, James took out of his pocket the exhibit bag with an orange bottle inside. “Promise!” He said, and waved it before the mesmerised eyes of Philip. “Is it some illegal substance?” Philip’s stare was fixed on the container. “Philip, you have to promise.” The man sighed, then brought his hand to his heart, straightened up as much as he could, and started reciting a well-known oath. “I do solemnly promise that I won’t cheat you, I won’t lie to you, and I will tell you whatever I can discover about the subject of my analysis. By doing this, I promise that I will do my best for helping the investigation in course.” He smiled. “And you will record, and archive everything as the law states, won’t you?” “That’s not part of the pledge, James! I just have to…” “You will record, and archive everything as the law states, won’t you?” James said decisively. “Yeah.” Philip replied, and heaved a deep sigh. “Yeah, I will.” “Good man! Good man! We found this bottle during a search. What do you think it contains?” James handed the container to Philip. His hands cravingly grabbed it; Philip started observing and examining it. Firstly, he looked at the hand-written label on the side, then turned and turned again for seeing if it had something strange. “A usual bottle for medicine.” He mumbled. “You can find numerous on general sales websites. The person who had it used a half, which means she felt it was enough. Probably, the woman is dead.” “How do you know it was a woman?” Roger burst out. “How can you say she’s dead?” “The fingerprints on its sides!” Philip replied abruptly. “They’re graciously small. About the deduction she is dead, well, if she were alive, you wouldn’t be here.” James grinned; Roger breathed deeply on the verge of a wrathful reaction. “Who told you that if she…” “James, could you kindly let your colleague know that he can speak only when it’s asked, please?” Philip interrupted without lifting his head from the exhibit. Roger reddened by fury, and was about to protest, when James, smiling, put a hand on his shoulder, and shook his head. Roger snorted, and kept observing at the analyst. “I presume it’s a kind of drug, and the colour of the tablets confirm it might be…” Philip unscrewed the lid and took out a tablet without using gloves or tools. He sniffed one, then broke in a half. “Good staff, too.” Philip beamed. “This is good staff. From the texture and colour, I would say it’s a hallucinogen. I’m completely sure. Where did you find it?” “In a house.” James answered. “We were searching the house of a victim.” “A victim? As I said, the owner is dead!” Philip sarcastically grinned at Roger. “This is seriously good stuff!” In front of a smiling James and a fuming Roger, Philip unexpectedly threw the tablet in his mouth. Roger’s mouth gaped. Philip chewed the substance, and a grin grew on his face. “Wow! This product is strong!” He swallowed the other half. “Oh, yes! This is serious stuff!” Roger was shocked; he turned to James, but he was just observing Philip. “What can you tell us about it?” He asked. “I can tell that this stuff is very popular, especially at raves. It makes you feel indestructible, but it has strong hallucinogenic effects. Wow!” Philip’s eyes glittered happily. “It’s PCP, for sure, but cut with a delicious paint remover, and a little bit of cyanide. Yummy!” “Could you figure out where it comes from?” “Well, when I was operating on the market - and I proudly was one of the best - the laboratories which made this product used to be in peripheral areas where nobody could find them. You know, the making is quite smelling; you have no idea of the stench of chemicals filling your nostrils!” He chuckled. “When he was on the market?” Roger whispered to James, frowning. “I’ll explain you later.” Philip swaggered to the closest counter to him, and unorthodoxly took out another tablet with his hands, then plunged it into a conical beaker and shook it. “What a shame to waste such a good product!” He mumbled, then chuckled, mumbled again. The transparent liquid changed colour, and turned into an intense blue. “Don’t you listen the voice of ladies singing and giggling?” Philip said. “This stuff is good, very good!” “Philip, what did you find out?” James asked. “I found out what I thought. The laboratory probably is in East London; it turned blue which means it contains a sleeping chemical typically used by the cookers in that area. The time goes by, but they don’t lose the old habits.” Philip chuckled. “I would say an isolated area between zone five and six. It was well-known when I worked in that sector. You haven’t shut this laboratory down yet, have you, detectives? Oh, detectives, do you see the birds?” Philip giggled, and stretched his arms as though he wanted to grab something in the air. “Only one question more, Philip.” The giggling stopped, and Philip looked at him blankly. “How many tablets does a person have to take to go totally mad?” “Overdose, you mean?” Philip neared them swinging from a leg to the other. “The birds are flying! The birds are flying!” “Philip, answer the question!” James said gently. “Well, I would say that if the person who took it is not used to, I presume that two or three entire tablets might be enough for driving insane.” He giggled, and started humming. “Thanks, Philip! You’ve been helpful as usual.” James and Roger walked to the door; when they went through, James turned. “Philip, the bottle.” “What bottle?” Philip leant on the counter with a stupid smile on his face. “Don’t take the piss on me, mate! The bottle I gave to you! Give it back!” “James, I have no bottle, and I don’t know…” “You don’t want me to talk to your mum, do you?” As soon as James mentioned his mum, Philip took magically out the bottle, and threw it to the detective. “Thanks!” The door slid closed, and the only noise coming from inside was Philip’s complaining whine. “James, you didn’t seriously mean to talk to his mum, did you?” A bewildered Roger started. “I actually meant exactly what you heard, Roger.” James laughed. “But, was he in this business? I mean, he seriously had a laboratory?” “Philip was arrested a couple of years ago, but keeping him in prison was a trouble. He could create any substance from everything! I’ve never ever met such a born drug-maker!” “But was he pardoned? Or, maybe, for sure they decided to…” “No, Roger.” James chuckled. “They just decided to keep him in a laboratory tailored for him, and use his ability! He happily agreed.” “I think it’s totally…” Roger began, then shook his head, and followed James out of the building. This is the first short story dedicated to ‘The fear eater’ novella. If you liked it, and you want to read the novella, you can find it on Wattpad for free. CLICK HERE. Take care and see you the next week with a short story regarding our Rita. Cheers! I’m sorry. I’m very sorry.
Even though I usually use posts for talking about my novella, this time I want to write an apology to you, readers. Why - you’re probably thinking - do I want to apologise? Because I eliminated Don. I did. I regret it. I don’t regret it. I don’t know. There were a few options buzzing in my mind about how to continue the story and how to evolve the part of Don. I largely talked about him in a previous post as a champion of friendship, love, sincere values and honesty. And, at the end, I sacrificed him. Don could have been a useful, active help for the police; he would have teamed up with James and Roger for catching the real culprit. This would have turned the story into a civilian-detective who helps the police. (A plot already seen in numerous works, isn’t?) Don could have escaped from Mark’s basement. (This would have done things more thrilling and appealing, perhaps.) I might have turned Don into a prey for two hunters – on one side Mark, on the other the detectives – that wanted him for their personal tasks. (I have to be honest, this is an exciting idea, actually. Might I use it in the future for another story?) Last, but not least, a romantic plot which would have praised Don as the pure hero of this story: Don kills Mark, and he avenges his beloved Ivonne. (I totally am afraid, lads, but, nope, this is not a fairy tale!) Thinking and thinking again about what to do, I finally thought that Mark had to carry out his insane habit without any troubles. His anonymity and multiple-identity were the priority. So, I thought on a cold and rainy day in front of the window of my room, why shouldn’t I unite our two sweet and nice sincere lovers? Don’s death is a ceremony of Ivonne’s friendship and love; even though they hadn’t planned to end up so badly by the hand of a psychopathic murderer, they, finally, bound them together forever. Don’t you see their souls walking hand in hand towards the endless horizon in the clear and cloudless evening? I do! And I love the idea of imaging them together in a place where their troubled and difficult pasts can’t come back and annoy them again. (Tears and sobs.) After this sensitive moment, let’s get back to our main story. The conclusion of “The fear eater” has come! We know Mark’s real identity; we know he deeply craves to feel others’ fears; we also know that he steals identities. What we don’t know is where James and Roger can find him. They literally have no clue of where he’s living up. The detectives, fortunately, have supposed that the killer may reside close to the park. This is not only an assumption; do not forget that they retrieved Heisemberg notebook which helped them to profile Mark. But…What about Ivonne’s disappeared journal? “Wednesday” is the last chapter and it contains the answers to the entire story. The last part of “The fear eater” is now available on Wattpad. If you want to read it or you are curious about the entire novella, CLICK HERE. See you soon, mates! Take care! |
Archives
November 2020
Follow me on: |