The Future Diary 2: Blood Of The Past

Mistakes Are Made

"Do you wanna see a magic trick, Mr. Mayor?"

"No, David, I really don't," Strat replied. The office was hot, as the town hall was cranking their heat up extremely high. Sweat rolled down Strat's forehead.

"Dan called me earlier," David said. "He's working on it."

"Why can't people work faster?" Strat asked, disgruntled.

"Maybe it's because they have to work for you."

Strat crumpled a piece of paper in his hand, then hurled it at David, who sarcastically moaned an "Ow". "Justin, what are you doing?"

Justin looked up from his work in the corner of the room. "I'm going over my notes. I'm trying to piece this whole thing together."

"You need to stop obsessing over that Calico killer case," David said. "It's gonna get you killed."

Justin shrugged. "A little bit of obsession has never hurt anybody. Besides, it's like a huge puzzle."

"Explain how the brutal slaughter of ten people is like a puzzle," Strat said.

"Don't get him started..." David groaned.

Justin stood up. "Over the first two months, we had eight victims. The killings started on Halloween, as we all know, when a couple was sliced up in an alleyway outside of a nightclub. It was almost a morbid image, a sick, twisted sign of what was to come."

"Jesus Christ, could you be any more boring?" David pondered aloud.

Justin ignored him. "The next attack was two weeks later, same scenario, one victim. Now, a serial killer needs to kill at least three victims for he or she to earn the title. I guess they were gunning for that when the next victim was killed only two days after. Then, after the next four victims fell, we had our attack on Mrs. Hess. The breaking of the pattern... The deliberate targeting of one victim... And then they killed that kid, Mason Cromwell. It just doesn't make sense."

"It does make sense," Strat explained. "We know the Calico killer is in the game. And I trust both of you enough to help me with that. We need to find out who it is, and why they are targeting this one girl."

"I still have no idea what this game is about," Justin said. "But if the stakes are as high as you say they are, we could be in some deep trouble."

"Anybody could be anybody," David said. "You don't know who your enemy is, even if they're right under your noses."

"Now you're starting to creep me out, David," Strat said.

"That's what the girls in high school used to say. But look at me now!"

"Still a loser," commented Strat.

Justin put his notes away. "I've got a meeting to catch. I'll be back. I'll try to get you more information."

"Be back as soon as possible, I've got a gala to host tomorrow."

"Why are you hosting that, anyways?" David asked.

"Don't you see?" said Strat in a very matter-of-fact voice. "The best way to find the identities of others is to make them meet, face to face. That way there is nothing in between them. It's just person to person, and it's much harder to hide when you're staring them directly in the face."

"I thought Justin was supposed to be the guy who did creepy monologues," David replied.
"I thought you were supposed to be happy all the time."

David pressed the corners of his lips into a face smile as Justin left the room, shutting the door behind him. The hallway was oddly quiet, and he could hear his own breathing as his footsteps echoed off the tile floor.

He felt bad about lying to them. About extorting them for their information in the game. He looked in his notebook, on the front page. There sat the little brown parchment letter, with the gold embroidering and the solid typeface print. He shut the cover as he walked out into the main lobby.

He scanned the crowds, just as he always did. Collected and analytical, that's how he had been taught. It was a simple technique, and always kept you ahead of everybody else.

He hated the uptight regime of the town hall. All of the suits, all the same. It had no identity, no passion, no color. Everybody looked the same, did the same things, and had to endure the same shitty job every day.

Somebody caught his eye, sitting on a bench outside, in front of the massive wall of windows. She wore a blue tanktop, and had her hair draped out against the window. The meeting could wait.

He stepped outside, walking over to her. "Hello, Dalton," he said.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I'm Justin Haines, I'm a reporter for the New York Times-"

"I'm not going to do an interview with you. I'm done with all that stuff, now leave me alone."

Justin sat down. "I'm not here for that. That's just how I introduce myself."

"Then what do you want? I'm taken."

"You're married, or, well, used to be. Divorced earlier this year. You have a son, just about ten months old, get lots of child support money, but no family to spend it on-"

"Awful conversation starter. I'll be leaving now."

"Don't leave," Justin pleaded. "We have to talk."

"No we don't, please leave me alone now," Dalton said.

Justin stood up and jogged up to her. "I know your secret. About the game."

Dalton looked at him. "How do you know about that?"

He opened up his notebook, pulling out the brown sheet of paper. "I'm in this with you. Your name has been all over the news, and trust me, anybody with a brain could figure it out."
"How's that supposed to make me feel better?"

"It's not," Justin said, ushering her back to the bench. "I'm just here to let you know I'm with you."

"How the fuck can I trust you?" Dalton asked. "And why are we talking about this? Can't people hear us?"

"They don't care, we're just faces in a crowd to them," Justin explained. "And I showed you my identity. We're in this together now, and you can trust me as much as I can trust you."

"You know, I've come to learn over my time of living that trust doesn't exactly mean much to certain people. I don't think that the word of somebody I've never met before has any weight to it."

Justin shook his head. He scribbled something on a scrap of paper. "Trust can be won over. I can help you." He handed her a note with his phone number on it. "I have a meeting now, but I'm a reporter. I know things, and I've been listening. I can tell you the names of at least three other people in the game, and even help you find the identity of your attacker-"

"What's going on here?" Dawson asked, standing in the doorway, looking at them.

Dalton scoffed. "This fuck is trying to interview me."

"No I wasn't..." Justin squeaked.

Dawson rolled his eyes. "Just get the fuck out of here, you reporter scum. I better not see you near my wife ever again."

"Yes sir, Mr. Ashton," Justin said, scampering back into the building. Dawson showed Dalton something, a paper, then the two of them walked back down the steps together.

Justin sighed. He had no way of knowing if she would trust him or not. He just had to hope as he made his way to his boring meeting, with the boring people who all looked the same.