A rock bounced against the water. Then another one.
And another one...
And another one....
((Michael Crowe continued from Haunted House))
Michael had reached some sort of tranquility in this. Throwing pebbles into the ocean. He didn't know why, he'd never done it before until he reached the island. Hell he thought there was a specific way to throw it to make it bounce like that. Nope... He just tossed them, and there they were, hopping three or four times before sinking. Maybe it was a metaphor for something?
Michael done something right today. Jerry had wanted to find his friend, Scarlett. Michael helped him find her. He turned his head to the two of them. There they were, a few yards away, just sitting by each other, talking. There was nothing he could really complain about. This island wasn't so bad. The asylum was creepy as fuck, but to be honest? He had no complaints. Shit happened, sure, but he fulfilled his promise. Jerry and Scarlett were together now, he did it.
Jerry got up and started walking towards Michael's direction. Michael continued to toss rocks at the water. He felt great to finally do something right for once. To achieve a goal like this. Didn't need to start talking shit, or swinging his dick at anybody... He could relax now for once, his fear of the island gone. He helped people, and he couldn't just help but to feel good about it.
Jerry sat beside Michael.
Michael turned to face Jerry.
"You know that's not how any of this happened right?"
A pit of dread filled Michael's chest as he looked away, and stared at the sun.
He blinked, and the world faded away into a dark grey. The warm beach was replaced with a cold cell, with a coppery, rustic smell. The tree he was leaning against melted into a cold concrete wall.
Michael turned his head back to Jerry, who was laying beside Scarlett, both dead... Michael sighed and looked at the ground he was sitting on.
"No Jerry, I suppose none of that happened after all..."
He had a habit of doing that, dreaming of things that were never meant to be. Some days, he dreamed about going to Hollywood, getting into acting, letting the 80's make a comeback. He dreamed that he'd be the next Arnold Schwarzenegger, or the next Bruce Campbell. Sometimes, they were more mundane, but way more powerful. Like the one where he could be with Jonathan, without worrying what his parents or anyone thought of it.
A weird one that was quite common was that'd he'd become a... Well superhero wasn't the word, he didn't liken himself to Spiderman, or Batman, it was more along the lines of The Driver, or Travis Bickle, maybe even Roddy Piper from They Live. Michael'd have guessed Vigilante would be the word. Yeah, Vigilante, he liked the sound of that. Had a real good ring to it. Superheros, while they look cool, they don't do shit. Superman never got rid of Lex Luther, and The Joker always broke out of Arkham.
Vigilantes, well that was a whole different story. They got shit done. The Driver died putting the mob that backstabbed him down, Bickle died saving a child prostitute, Roddy died to show the world how shit it had become. They all had two things in common. They did their jobs was one of them. The other was... Well, Michael knew he wasn't gonna make it off this island if he followed their footsteps...
Michael rolled his right foot, it made an audible pop, but he could put weight on it, he could walk it it, run if he had to. It wasn't broken. He got himself to his feet without the any sort of help, despite the protesting shakes of his right leg. He wasn't weak, he didn't need a crutch. Once he was on two legs, he laid his axe on his shoulder and looked at the two bodies on the bed.
He knew the answer before he looked at the bodies. Sure, Jerry and Scarlett were together, but they'd never rest until their killers were brought to justice. Placing their bodies by each other didn't relieve their suffering, it only eased it. He knew what had to be done. Sure, he wanted to just find Jonathan, live his last days in peace, but what would they think if he gave up like that? Michael was sure that Jon would understand.
"Jerry... I uhh, I apologize for what I got you into..."
He was to blame for what happened. He got cocky, he didn't just walk in and get it over with. Had to brag, he had to boast. Of course, the kill was Jerry's, but had he just shut up, Jerry could've walked in, done the deed, the two would've left, with maybe a scrap from Brendan, he wouldn't have fought if their backs weren't turned. The rat bastard...
"I... I don't really know what to say, I've never had to do an eulogy before. I just wanna say, I'm sorry I got you killed. You deserved a better friend than what you got."
Michael messed up, he knew it, but he could fix things. Not to the extent of them still being alive, but at the very least, he could allow their souls to rest. To allow everyone who's been murdered's soul to rest.
"But your killers? They gonna pay, they're gonna pay, and they're gonna hurt, I can promise you that. Brendan, Nancy, all of 'em."
Michael knew how his story was gonna end.
A thought hit Michael. He was being over-dramatic again. Not in the sense in he was overreacting over people dying, but in the sense that he'd coincidentally become some walking bringer of karma. He wasn't gonna find and kill every single murderer on this island. He wasn't gonna have some last breath shootout with Golden Earring's Twilight Zone playing in the background, as he ignores bullets and pops mooks left and right. He wasn't gonna fight for the entire island, only to coincidentally bleed out once the last murderer is dead. He wasn't gonna fight until the coincidentally only innocent person on the island puts a bullet into him so they could go home...
He'd kill two, maybe three, then bite the dust on the next attempt. Maybe not even that. He wasn't Judge Dredd. He was getting cocky again. Hell, he may not kill even one of them.
If he did give up and find Jonathan, he could find some peace, maybe give a decent farewell to everyone.
Then again, what could he say if he didn't try?
'Sorry I got you killed, but I'd figure I'll just give up, it wasn't working anyways.'
Fuck that scene.
If he dies early, so fuckin' be it, but he isn't going to die a quitter. He hasn't gave up before, he won't give up now.
All he's got to do is think. He can't rush in anymore, he has to play it cool. If he did that, and just dealt with it while it happened, maybe, just maybe, he might even surprise himself.
"I guess I'll give you two some privacy now..."
Michael exited the room, and closed the door behind him.
((Michael Crowe continued elsewhere))