The Future Diary 2: Blood Of The Past

The Game of Identity

Dalton stared out at the river, her mind racing. Night was falling, and the sun was dipping below the horizon behind the clouds, turning them a bright orange.

Could she believe Dawson? The same person who said he loved her, but yet lied to her the entire time? Why would he know about the letter she got? How would he know it was true? It made no sense. She needed to get things cleared up. She turned, her hair flying behind her in the wind. She walked down the boardwalk, found a payphone and dug through her wallet for a coin. After three rings, Mason picked up.

"Hello?"

"Mason, it's me, Dalton."

"I know that, what's up?"

"I'm really distraught right now. I need your help."

Mason sounded worried. "Oh geez, what's going on?"

"Nothing serious, I'm just scared."

"Do you want me to come over?"

"No. I... Do you remember those letters we got a few days ago?"

"Yeah... I threw it out. Why?"

Dalton sighed. "Can you find it for me and read it?"

There was a pause. "I'll try my best."

The line demanded for more quarters, and Dalton stuffed them in very unenthusiastically. She listened in.

"I found it."

"Read it to me."

Mason cleared his throat. "You have been selected to play a game. A game of deception, of secrecy, and of identity. Your actions over the next month will determine your fate. You cannot leave the city. You cannot hide. If you do, you will be smited. There are twelve recipients of this letter. If you are able to remain anonymous, you will win the game. The prize is unimaginable power. Best regards."

"Thank you, Mason."

"That whole letter thing is stupid, do you really believe it?"

Dalton swallowed. "I'm not sure if I do. I think I might."

"You're crazy, Dalton. Are you sure you don't want me to come over?"

"No, it's fine. I'm down on the docks just clearing my head."

"You're not home?" Mason exclaimed.

"Is that a problem?"

"That's impossible! I just saw you go into your apartment like five minutes ago!"

Dalton dropped the phone receiver. She could hear Mason calling for her, then curse. She turned, looking down the street that lead to her house, as she started to run. The wind choked in her lungs, burning her insides as she ran. She felt everything hurt her as she ran down the empty street, the shops around her all closed.

"We advise everybody to stay indoors while this killer is still at large," a news report on a TV monitor buzzed. "Remember to lock your doors when you aren't at home, shut all of your windows, and don't approach strangers on the street. The killer is known to wear a mask..."

Dalton arrived at her apartment building, threw open the door, and climbed up the stairs. She could feel her heart racing as she reached the top, where her apartment door was wide open.

Lying on the living room floor was Mason. He lay in a pool of his own blood, writhing as coughed, sputtering the maroon liquid all over the floor.

"Mason!" Dalton screeched, dropping to her knees as tears streaked down her face. She grabbed his bloody hand, whimpering as he quivered.

"Gahghht..." he muttered, belching blood through the slash in his throat.

Dalton was crying hysterically. "It's okay... I'm gonna get help..."

"Clagghht..." Mason bubbled.

Dalton ran into her bedroom, looking for her child. She saw him, swaddled in his blanket, sound asleep, next to the closet.

"Clasghaat..."

Dalton groped for the phone that was on her nightstand. She grabbed the receiver shakily, staining it in blood.

"Claaast..."

"What?" Dalton questioned.

Mason held his throat down, wincing in pain. "Closet..."

The closet door flung open, and a black flash flew across the room. The crib was knocked over as Dalton wailed, diving to the floor.

The figure landed, grabbing Dalton's hair. She squealed as the figure threw her across the room. She slammed into a lamp, knocking it over and shattering the bulb.

She looked up in terror at the hooded person. They donned a black cloak, and a pitch white mask that was contorted into an anguished look. In their hands they held a knife. It was the killer on the news, she knew it. She was going to die.

Mason stumbled into the room, fork in hand. He jousted it at the figure, who grunted and stabbed Mason in the stomach. Mason keeled over as blood gushed from his new wound. Dalton screamed as she shot up.

The killer dragged Mason up to the wall, pressing his throat against it. Dalton stood in the doorway in fear as the knife plunged into Mason's back again, and again, and again.

The killer turned, eyeing Dalton with a wicked gleam from behind the mask as Mason's body was pressed up against the wall, dead. Dalton backed up slowly as the killer advanced on her, brandishing the bloody knife. She sobbed, looking behind the killer as her child crawled across the floor, wailing in pain from the fall. She was choking on her own tears.

The killer lunged at her, and Dalton fell backwards. She hit her head on the edge of a coffee table as the knife arched downwards, slamming into the floorboard next to her. She kicked up, sending her attacker sprawling. She tried to stand up, but she couldn't muster the strength.

The figure stood now, knife gripped tightly in hand and above Dalton. She crawled away towards the door as the killer walked closer.

An earsplitting bang erupted from the doorway, and Dalton flinched. The figure dropped to the ground. Through her tears, she looked up, and saw Dawson holding a revolver in the doorway.

"It's okay, I'm here to protect you-"

The knife spiralled into the doorframe beside him, making Dalton jump. The figure now stood at their full height, black cloak shadowing on the floor. They quickly jumped towards the window as Dawson regained his aim and fired.

The window shattered as the killer fell two stories to the concrete below.

Dawson ran over to Dalton, grabbing her hand. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, get my son," she said through tears.

Dawson propped her up against the couch and ran into the bedroom. He tossed the gun down and emerged a few moments later, holding their child in his hands.

"Did you call the police?" Dawson asked, and was met with Dalton shaking her head. She was now pacing around the wrecked room, her head reeling. She walked over to the broken window as the night air melted in.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't help you sooner," Dawson said with a brooding expression.

Dalton was too distraught to care. She looked down at the sidewalk below. There was a pile of broken glass. No killer to be seen.

"Why..." Dalton sobbed. She felt Dawson's hand touch her shoulder.

"I'll explain everything," Dawson said. She could hear police sirens in the distance.