Paul sighed as I fidgeted nervously with the seek button, jumping from station to station listening to the news reports. Every station was focused on the news. Even the local rap station had a quick solemn silence today.
All of Flank County, as well as parts of the surrounding counties, had suffered several dozen grisly murders over the past three weeks. No survivors, no trace of the culprit, or more likely, culprits.
Growing up, I never thought Pittown would be the center of anyone's attention. It was a quiet little settlement of about five thousand-or-so people. It wasn't until last year that we had our own Wal-Mart.
It was so odd. Seeing the town in such a silent panic. People just weren't the same anymore. Everyone was afraid to leave their homes, even in the city limits.
Paul seethed, “It's high time somebody puts a stop to this crap.”
I scoffed, “Like who, us?” Paul's lips pursed angrily for a moment.
“Well... yeah! They killed Rick, remember?”
“Yes, Paul, of course I remember. I haven't forgotten. And there's no way in hell I'm going to try and play hero.”
“So you're going to, what? Wimp out? After your best friend was butchered?”
I sighed angrily as I pulled into our driveway. Paul and Rick and I were roommates. But we were also best friends. We always had each others back. Or so we thought.
“What do you suggest, Paul?” I snarled.
“I... don't know yet. Maybe there's some kind of neighborhood watch going on.”
Paul wasn't much known for his intellect. In school, he was practically the god of athletics, with students and teachers alike worshiping him as such. I, on the other hand, was the bookworm of the school. Quiz bowl, chess team, and science club were my colors. Ever since elementary school, there was an understanding between us: I'd help him with his homework if he'd keep the jocks off my case.
It started out as more of a business arrangement, but quickly became an unbreakable bond.
Rick was sort of in the middle. We didn't meet him until our freshman year. His family moved to Pittown from St. Louis. Whether it was for financial reasons, or because they just wanted to “get away from it all,” I'll never know. His parents never spoke about St. Louis, no matter how many times Paul and I brought it up.
One thing was for certain, though. Rick was not like the other kids. He was almost twice as intelligent as I was, but he was always being bullied by the other students for having Down syndrome.
At first, Paul was part of the bandwagon, making fun of Rick with every opportunity he had. It took a while, but I finally convinced him to stop. Eventually, Rick became a mutual best friend. The three of us went just about everywhere together, and did just about everything together.
It puzzled me. He never went anywhere without one of us coming along. And yet he was completely alone, lying on the courthouse steps when the police found him.
“Paul,” I said quietly, “You do realize that Rick never left without us, right?”
“Yeah, I remember. So what?”
I hesitated for a moment, trying to find the correct words.
“So... why would he leave all of a sudden? No bags, no notice. No means of transportation.”
“Maybe he was pissed off at us,” Paul sighed, throwing his hands in the air.
I rolled my eyes, “No. We'd know if he was angry enough to run away.”
“Just get to the point already, James!”
I paused for a moment, and then sighed, “I don't know."
Paul turned his head towards the window and seethed, "I'll make whoever did this pay. They don't know what pain is. Not yet at least."
"Paul, we have to be reasonable. Before we start waving our guns around, we need to have a plan. We need to know what to do, where to go. That kind of thing. If we get our asses mauled like Rick, then he'll never have justice! Do you understand?"
Paul rolled his eyes and growled, "What do you think we should do?"
"Here's what I think... You want to get even? We start out on Farm Road K. The one that leads to the courthouse. We look for any signs of the killer, or maybe even killers. Once we get to the abandoned courthouse, we go inside. Anyone inside is as good as dead. Sound good?"
Paul thoughtfully closed his eyes for a few moments, as if he was trying to imagine the outcome in his head.
"You got it," Paul started, "I've got my dad's old .357 mag."
"All I have is a little .22 pistol."
"That'll have to do. Just aim well, I guess. We head out at midnight."
