Once you join Parts VIII, IX and X

Alright, kids. I started this thing almost a year ago, and with some of you graduating, I thought I would finish it. I'm not going to drag this on forever, I'm going to give it all to you right here and now. All your questions will be answered. You're about to find out how this ends.

I have been juggling three different outlines, I finally settled on one... enjoy... I guess.

Part VIII

Liz couldn't stop crying. It was impossible. Kate didn't know what to do, she tried consoling her friend, but all she wanted to do was cry herself. Pam was drained. She didn't think she had any more emotion left in her.

"Let's clean her," Liz said. "Please."

Kelly looked grotesque and the rest agreed. They carried her upstairs into the bathroom. Kate, delicately, removed each of the knitting needles from Kelly's body. After they were done cleaning her they put fresh clothes on her, taken from Pam, and laid her body on top of Pam's bed.

"We should say something," said Pam. "Like a prayer. Something."

All three girls took turns playing priest. They gave their dead friend the best make-shift funeral they could. They covered her in a blanket and said goodbye.

Kate picked up the phone.

"Who are you calling?" asked Liz.

"I told you we couldn't do this alone, so I'm calling the only person I think can actually protect us in this situation. I'm calling Stephan."

"Is it because Stephan is Black?" asked Pam.

"Yes," responded Kate.

Stephan agreed to meet the girls in the theater. He wasn't entirely sure what was happening, but the tone of Kate's voice said he would be an asshole for not going. He was watching a movie with Allison, but he could do that anytime. He kissed Allison goodbye.

"I'll see you soon," Stephan said as he walked out the door.

Stephan was right outside the Union. He wanted to call Kate, to see what was up, but couldn't fine his phone. Someone walked up behind him.

"Jesus, you scared the shit out of me," said Stephan.

"Sorry. You dropped your phone back there," Slater apologized. "It rang. I answered it. Hope that's okay."

"Yea, sure. Who was it?" Stephan asked.

"It was Allison. She just said to call her when you get a chance."

Stephan called Allison back and wasn't at all prepared for what answered. No one said "hello," the phone just picked up. He could hear crying. Allison was screaming Stephan's name. Someone picked up the phone on the other end and said only one word into the receiver, "decide."

"Listen to me, Stephan," Slater started. "I don't want to kill her. I really don't. She's not a part of this. And you weren't supposed to be either. But as fate would have it, here you are. I need you to do something. You're not going to like it, and you don't have to do it. But understand. To every choice, there is a consequence."

Stephan could only stare at Slater.

"In the theater are three girls. All of them need to die. I'm not asking for you to kill all of them. I'm only asking for you to kill one of them. I'll tell you how to do it, and who to kill."

"If I don't?" asked Stephan.

"I kill Allison. Someone is going to die in the next twenty minutes. It's your decision who dies. And I will promise you this. Allison's death will be far more painful than anything you are being asked to do."

"Just tell me who and how."

***

"Where is he?" asked Pam

"He said he would be here as soon as he could," responded Kate. "Just be patient."

"I can't take this anymore!" screamed Liz. "I can't. This waiting. This fucking horrible waiting. I'm not going to sit here and just wait to die. I can't accept what I don't know! So, fuck him. He's not going to kill me. I'm going to beat the son-of-a-bitch to it."

"Liz, calm down," said Pam

"No! I won't calm down. Kelly died mercilessly and painfully. So did Greg, and Amanda, and Megan. I'm not going to do that. I'm going to die on my terms, God damnit!"

"Liz, just wait until Stephan gets here. He'll help us." reasoned Kate.

***

"Go through the green room. I'll distract them. Make sure she's the only one that sees you. She'll follow, don't worry. She's inquisitive. Once you have her downstairs..." Slater explained the rest of the plan to Stephan. He seemed apprehensive, but Slater didn't care. Just as long as he did what he had to do.

Slater walked upstairs into the cats. He put the spot light on the three remaining girls.

"Find me if you want me!" Slater yelled, "Three against one, I promise a fair fight."

None of the girls moved.

"I give you the chance to avenge your friends, and you just stand there like three little mice?! You're going to let your friends die in vain?!"

That's all Pam needed to hear. Tears, of anger, sadness and revenge, strolled down her cheeks. She ran for the ladder. She wasn't thinking. She could barely see, blinded by the light and rage. She practically jumped up the ladder, eager to at least fight for those who had died. She didn't care if she won, as long as she went down swinging.

"Pam, no!" Kate cried. And ran after Pam.

Liz wasn't far behind them, but there was Stephan, standing on the stairs into the greenroom. He was calling her over.

"Around back. Let them take the bastard from the front. We'll take the back," Stephan explained.

Not quite having her bearings, Liz followed Stephan into the greenroom. Stephan was sweating. He didn't want to kill anyone. Liz was running; Stephan was walking. Liz ran into the greenroom and turned to see Stephan just standing there. The door was closed behind Stephan. He was holding the cinder block that keeps the door open. Liz looked confused.

"I don't..." Liz started.

"I'm sorry. I just, I'm sorry."

That's all that Stephan could say. He swung the cinder block into Liz's stomach. She curled in pure pain, panting for air. Stephan hit her on the back of her skull with the cinder block. Liz fell, unresponsive.

***

Kate could barely keep up. She was out of breath. By the time she reached Pam, Pam was already into the hallway of the union.

"You promised!" she screamed. "A fair fight! That's all I want!"

Slater was running, also out of breath. But laughing just loud enough to be heard. The girls followed the sound. They couldn't see Slater, but they were persistent. Up and down the union stairs. They were taken on a gruesome tour of the union. White Christmas was still playing in the Ballroom.

All of a sudden the laughter stopped. They had no idea where Slater was anymore. They were chasing nothing. By the time they realized this they were halfway to the Townhouses. They turned around and realized the one thing the rage had forced them to forget.

***

"Your boyfriend thinks I'm merciful. I'm much more cut-throat than people give me credit for. Ha! No pun intended."

Allison's blood was trickling onto the floor. From ear to ear she was cut, resembling a gruesome smile.

***

Liz awakened. Her head was pounding. She couldn't see quite straight. She could feel her wrists chafing. She knew she was tied to a chair, but she didn't know in what room. She could see two figures in front of her. She knew one was Stephan. She couldn't make out the other one.

"Stephan?" whispered Liz, "you... you're Slater."

"I'm sorry, Liz."

"You don't have to do this, Stephan. Please, you don't."

"No, I do," cried Stephan. "I have to!"

"Stephan, please. You aren't bad. You aren't evil."

Liz was begging. She was sobbing. Slater could see Stephan weakening. Stephan was backing away.

"I, I don't want anyone to be hurt. I just..."

"DO IT!" screamed Slater. "Do it or she dies! Whose blood is worth more to you?! Whose body do you desire more?!"

Stephan screamed as he lifted the cinder block over his head. He closed his eyes and brought it down hard. It hit Liz in the shoulder. The crack of her shoulder shattering was audible. Stephan opened his eyes. Liz's chair had fallen backwards. She had vomited on herself - out of fright or pain, he wasn't sure. He hadn't done it. He hadn't killed her. He turned around. Slater was gone.

"Wait!" yelled Stephan. "Don't hurt her! Please, the job is done. I'll finish it!"

Stephan raised the block above his head once more. Liz vomited again. He dropped the block with as much force as he could muster. The sound was deafening - skull cracking, concrete hitting concrete - it sounded like someone diving off a building, so loud the girls could hear it as they ran back into the theater.

Stephan immediately threw up in the girls' dressing room sink. The sight was horrible, and he couldn't belive he'd done it. He ran upstairs to the stage. He was screaming, "I did it! I did what you told me! Leave her alone!"

"Leave who alone?!" Kate screamed. "Leave who alone? Stephan, answer me!"

Stephan's cell phone rang. Pam ran past him into the green room. Stephan picked up his phone.

"Allison?!"

It wasn't a phone call. It was a text message. Stephan looked at the photo and collapsed. Allison was propped up on the toilet, her head tilted back, blood all over herself and the walls. The message only read one thing. "Too late."

Stephan just layed there, not saying anything. Kate picked up the phone and gasped. Kate looked back at Stephan when Pam screamed. Kate looked up in pure fear.

***

Pam couldn't believe it. She too threw up, because of both the sight and the smell. Liz was lying there. Pam only knew it was Liz, because the body was wearing Liz's clothes. Her face though. It wasn't there. There was splatter everywhere. She couldn't stand being in the room anymore. She backed out, stumbling over different objects. Once in the greenroom she just surveyed it and noticed the note on the girls' dressing room door.

Trying to find me, you acted like fools
Disobeying every one of my rules.
Manipulating him like a puppet on string.
She's now dead too, poor little thing.
Trying to save his one true love,
He brough his rock down, with force from above.
She begged and she pleaded to retain her life.
A process, honestly, I'm finding quite rife.
So mourn your mistake, and your dear fallen friend
Deeper and deeper you'll have to descend.
Only two of you left, who can you trust?
Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.
-Slater

Pam stared at the letter. She did the only thing she could do. She let out a deranged scream of pure anger

***

Kate looked toward the greenroom. She grabbed Stephan by the shirt and looked straight into his tear filled eyes.

"What did you do?!"

Part IX

Pam stood up from the couch. She grabbed the closest thing she could find.

Slater watched from the cats as the scene on stage unfolded. Pam was screaming. Not words, but just gutteral screams. She was something unlike herself. She was holding a shovel like a baseball bat.

"Who are you?!" Pam screamed.

"I'm Stephan." Stephan sounded confused.

"Who's Slater?!"

Pam dropped the shovel when she heard the answer. Kate just started laughing.

"Liar!" screeched Pam. "You're lying! It can't be true!"

"Why can't it be? You're asking me who I saw and I'm telling you!"

"Why did you kill Liz?!"

"Because Slater told me to. He told me he'd kill Allison if I didn't."

"He was going to kill her either way!!"

"I didn't know that!" Stephan started crying again.

"No. Don't you cry, do you hear me? Don't you fucking cry!"

"Pam! Calm down," Kate argued. "Just calm down. We're not going to get anywhere like this."

***

Up in the cats, Slater was getting impatient.

One of them has to complete it.

One of them will. Be patient.

It doesn't work if they don't do it.

One of them will.

You don't know anything. She'll do it. She knows she'll do it.

***

"Shut up, Kate! Just shut up. Go downstairs. See what he did."

"I don't want to."

"GO!"

Kate was scared. For the first time tonight she wasn't scared for her life, but for Stephan's. She walked downstairs slowly. She really wasn't going to look at the room. She couldn't bring herself to do it. She sat down outside the boy's dressing room. She could smell the other room from where she was. She didn't want to, but she had to. She had to see what happened to Liz. She slowly walked down the through the greenroom. She turned the corner and couldn't believe it. She wanted blood. She wanted someone dead. She just turned and screamed,

"How dare you?!"

"I'm sorry," yelled Stephan. And then softer, to himself, "I'm so sorry."

"We're all sorry at one time or another," Pam retorted.

Pam lifted the shovel and swung it into the side of Stephan's head. Every hit was accented with a different feeling.

"This is for Liz, who you killed for nothing!"

"This is Kate, who has suffered the most!"

"This is for me, who is no better than Slater!!"

Pam hit Stephan repeatedly with the shovel. Kate ran upstairs and grabbed Pam's arms.

"Pam. Pam! That's enough. He's dead."

Pam and Kate stared at Stephan, who at that moment looked no better than Liz.

Slater walked out of the cats and down the union steps. Slater opened the door to the theater and stepped into the back of the house. They looked at each other, smiled, and just began laughing and clapping.

Pam and Kate spun around, Kate fell to her knees; Pam felt dizzy.

"But how?" wondered Kate.

"Why?" asked Pam

"It's simple," said Chris, "because we could."

"I mean think about it. What else were we supposed to do with our time?" laughed Amy.

"But you've killed all your friends!" exclaimed Pam.

"Friends?!" yelled Chris. "What friends? Which of you have come visited us at our house? Which of you have made the trek to see how we're doing?"

"You all call us. Asking us to come down here. Well here we are. In all our glory, here we are," said Amy.

"But you died," said Kate. "I watched you die. I saw you both dead?"

"No, you saw me hanging from tree. You didn't see me dead; you didn't check a pulse. You simply saw me hanging there," expained Amy.

"Me?" said Chris. "That was all Amy. The hayride did her well. She has a lot of mighty good tricks up her sleeve. And again, you never checked for a pulse, you just saw me stop breathing."

"Why 'Slater?'" asked Pam. "I don't get the name."

"Oh, that's the gay part. You can't have theater with out homosexuality," expounded Amy. "Slater. A.C. Slater. A and C. You following me? Amy and Chris. It's funny when you think about it. Come on. Laugh. It's funny for fuck's sake."

"So what now?" wondered Kate. "What happens now? Are you two going to kill us?"

"No," said Amy. "We're going to take one of you with us. One of you has to die. We've thought about this long and hard..."

"That's what she said," joked Chris

"We've thought about this long and hard," continued Amy, "and we decided it's up to you. Whichever one of you wants to live will kill the other. The choice is yours."

Chris handed both of them a knife.

Pam looked at Kate, "I'm not going to kill you. I can't. I won't." She looked back at Chris and Amy, "Kill me then. I'm not killing her."

"Well then you both die," said Chris.

"Wait!" yelled Kate. "Please..."

"Please what?" Amy asked.

"Pam, please forgive me."

Kate slowly pushed the knife into Pam's side. Kate never stabbed anyone before. It was just like pushing a knife through butter. She automatically felt a rush like nothing else before. Pam fell to her knees. Kate pushed the knife to the hilt and left it inside her. Pam fell to her back and stared at the three of them.

"Papa?" Pam looked at Chris.

"I'm sorry, kiddo. I was really pulling for you at the end there. I thought you had the killer instinct"

Amy looked at Kate. She put her arm around her shoulders, "that's my girl."

Pam watched them all stand there. Kate was shaking. She felt more and more distant. She died.

Chris and Amy took Kate out of the theater. Kate couldn't stop shaking. She couldn't stop crying. She fell and couldn't move. For the first time that night, she wasn't happy to be alive.

Part X

~One year later~

Kate was never blamed for any death. She was never sentenced to anything, never convicted. She spends her time mostly alone now. Her parents put her into an institution. They don't visit her much, if at all. She does get some visitors. Two to be exact. And she talks to one other person via mail. A pen-pal. Her name is Kit.

It's a Wednesday. About noon. Her visitors should be arriving soon.

"You're friends are here, sweetie," the nurse cooed.

Kate didn't respond. Amy and Chris walked in as if they were her parents. Amy had cookies. She knelt next to Kate.

"Kiddo," Amy said as she pulled back Kate's hair. "You know you're not to blame. You had to do it. Kill or be killed. It's Darwinism."

"You know, Kate, we can always teach you how. You can do it alone. It's fun; to know you're in control," Chris continued.

"Please, stop," Kate whispered. "No more killing."

"Well, we brought you cookies," Amy smiled. "No sense in you not enjoying the life you secured. If you ever do change your mind. Find us. We'll be around."

Chris and Amy got up and left. As they walked out they had a short conversation with Kate's nurse. Kate picked up a pen and began writing.

Dear Kit,

They come every Wednesday. It's like they're taunting me. I want them to go away. They still want me to begin a new game. I couldn't. I won't. Right?

Respond quickly,
Kate

She sealed the envelope, handed it to her nurse and went to sleep.

***

She wasn't sure how long she slept for. She hadn't had a good sleep for what seemed like forever. It was a Thursday. One year to the day of the beginning. The nurse walked into Kate's room.

"You have a visitor today, Kate."

Kate looked confused. It wasn't a Wednesday. Why would they be back.

"Who is it?" Kate asked.

"A girl," the nurse responded. "She says her name is Kit."

Kate shot right up. Kit? Here?

"Send her in!"

Kit walked into Kate's room. Kate just smiled and cried.

"Pam?! I thought..."

"I know," Pam said, "You did good. You left the knife in me, just like you should have. I have a nasty scar, but I'm fine. And I don't blame you at all."

"Oh, Pam. Thank you. Thank you for being alive. Thank you for everything."

"Stop thanking me. You can thank me by helping me."

"Of course. Anything!"

Pam smiled, "Well then lets get you out of here."

***

Chris and Amy were sitting in her Pocono's house watching DVD episodes of The Office. They had just finished talking about how they could resurface considering anyone who saw them "die" was dead themselves. They had just finished an episode when there was a knock at the door.

Kate stood there looking great. She wasn't haggard like they were used to seeing her. She stood there for a while.

"Come in!" Amy said excitedly.

"I figured you were right," Kate said, "there's no point in me wasting the life I chose."

"Finally," Chris sighed.

"I just don't know how to do it"

Chris, Amy and Kate spent all night talking about who, how and in what order. It was two a.m. before they decided to go to bed. It was nice, thought Amy, that there were only three people there. Each could have their own rooms.

Kate wasn't tired. She just sat in bed watching the clock. It was 3:30 before she moved again. She quietly went to the front door and let Pam in.

"I'm taking Chris," said Pam. "It only seems fair we kill our own."

"I'm having second thoughts about this," Kate confessed.

"Look, this isn't supposed to be pretty. It isn't supposed to be nice. It is, however, necessary."

Pam opened the door to Chris' room. He was snoring, as per usual. She bent down to his ear, "Papa, do you love me?"

Chris stirred awake. He just stared at Pam speechless, his mouth agape.

"Slow or quick," Pam asked.

Chris didn't really have a response, "It's your choice, kiddo. It's fun to have the power isn't it?"

Pam took her knife and stuck it in to Chris' abdomen, right above his crotch. All Chris did was sigh. She then slowly dragged her knife upward and didn't stop until she reached his neck. Chris died about midway through this amateur disection. Pam didn't care. Pam watched his eyes become glassy, kissed him on the forehead, and slit his throat for good measure.

Kate opened Amy's door after watching Pam kill Chris. Amy was sitting up in bed.

"I knew this was coming," Amy offered quietly. "I'm not going to fight you. I just ask it be quick."

Kate stared at Amy. Her eyes were blank and emotionless.

"Quick?" asked Kate. "Quick?! What part of Amanda's death was quick, or Kelly's or Megan?! What part of any of them were compassionate? Quick." Kate began to laugh and cry at the same time. She walked up to Amy. Amy laid down in the bed. Kate grasped the lamp that she took from the living room. The lamp was high above her head. Amy stared at the lamp, never once did she look at Kate. Kate slammed the lamp down hard on Amy's skull. She repeated this. Not once, not twice, but ten times. Making sure that each blow was more defined and succinct. Amy was dead by the fourth blow, but Kate wasn't there to just kill her. She was there to release frustration. The frustration of a very long year.

***

It was another successful closing for The Masque. No one knew the complete story of Slater and what happened that night. They knew nothing, actually. All they knew is that they lost many very involved and very good Masque members. But The Masque will go on. It will survive.

Carolyn just finished closing the theater. She looked around at the actors and techies all excited to go to the cast party. There was just one thing she couldn't get out of her mind. It was the dumb letter she found on her light board. It didn't make any sense. She was wondering who else got one. She'd make it if she could.

At the party, everyone was drinking and having a good time. Everyone except for ten anxious Masque members. You could tell which ones they were if you looked hard enough. At ten of midnight ten Masque members left the party. They didn't know they had each gotten a letter, but curiosity got the better of them.

"So what's this about?" Mary Marg asked.

"Who knows," John Di Pompeo said, "It's probably some gay Masque thing as always."

"What do think that letter even means," Liz Pagenkopf inquired

"If liquor isn't there I'm going to be pissed," Drew laughed.

"Some one re-read it," said Brianna

Dear ---,
You have been cordially invited to a rather entertaining social gathering.
It is promised to be an unforgettable event.
Make sure to tell no one else.
The rules are simple: play the game, do it wisely, and time matters.
You're surely in for a treat. Report to the theater greenroom at midnight.
Come alone, and remember do not tell a soul.

Sincerely,
Dorothy Rose

"Who's Dorothy Rose?" asked Eddie.

"I have no idea," said Julia.

"What do you think she wants?" asked Kelly.

"How about we stop asking questions and just get there and find out," retorted Pam Morris

The ten of them: Carolyn, Kelly, Liz, Mary Marg, Eddie, John, Julia, Pam, Brianna and Drew all walked into the theater. Not sure of what was going to happen. But Dorothy Rose knew. None of them would make it to see tomorrow.


Well four hours later and three re-writes and there you have it. The End. Enjoy.

-Chris

Bored with Shakespeare...

1. Pick your favourite 15 movies
2. Go to IMDb and find a quote from each movie.
3. Post them here for everyone to guess.
4. Fill in the film title once it's guessed.
5. No Googling/using IMDb search functions.

1. When I was at camp, my favorite activity was always arts and crafts. Or, as we used to call it: arts and *farts* and crafts. We used to make drawings... cave drawings! Which is my way of saying we were cave men. I went to camp so long ago, that I can remember saying "sticks and stones may break my bones" and meaning it! I went to camp so long ago that fucking Jesus Christ was my counselor! And my best friend hadn't fully evolved yet! His name was Ug and he walked on all fours! There were two epidemics when I went to camp: head lice, and the plague - the Bubonic plague!

2. A: Can I say something to you, Henry?
B: Okay.
A: I've always been considered an asshole for about as long as I can remember. Uh, that's just my style. But I'd really feel blue if I didn't think you were going to forgive me.
B: I don't think you're an asshole, Royal, I just think you're kind of a son of a bitch.
A: Well, I really appreciate that.

3. Don't give me that. I don't believe in fate. And I won't say it.
[pauses]
All right, you win. You win. I give. I'll say it. I'll say it. I'll say it. DESTINY! DESTINY! NO ESCAPING THAT FOR ME! DESTINY! DESTINY! NO ESCAPING THAT FOR ME!

4. You know what you look like to me, with your good bag and your cheap shoes? You look like a rube. A well scrubbed, hustling rube with a little taste. Good nutrition's given you some length of bone, but you're not more than one generation from poor white trash, are you, Agent Starling? And that accent you've tried so desperately to shed: pure West Virginia. What is your father, dear? Is he a coal miner? Does he stink of the lamp? You know how quickly the boys found you... all those tedious sticky fumblings in the back seats of cars... while you could only dream of getting out... getting anywhere... getting all the way to the FBI.

5. And maybe one day, years from now, long after I'm dead and gone, reunited with your dear mother, you gather your whole family together and tell them the truth, who you are, where you come from. You tell them the whole story. And then you ask them if they know how lucky they are to be there.

6. I'm over here in my unit, isolated and alone, eating my terrible tasting food, and I have to look over at that. That looks like the most fun I've ever seen in my entire life, and it's B.S. - excuse my language. I'm just saying that I wash and dry; I'm like a single mother. Look, we all know home-ec is a joke - no offense - it's just that everyone takes this class to get an A, and it's bullshit - and I'm sorry. I'm not putting down your profession, but it's just the way I feel. I don't want to sit here, all by myself, cooking this shitty food - no offense - and I just think that I don't need to cook tiramisu. Am I going to be a chef? No. There's three weeks left of school, give me a fuckin' break! I'm sorry for cursing.

7. A dream is a wish your heart makes when you're fast asleep. In dreams you will lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for, you keep. Have faith in your dreams, and someday, your rainbow will come smiling through. No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dreams that you wish will come true.

8. You've got red on you.

9. A: I can't go out.
[coughs softly]
I'm sick.
B: Boo, you whore!

10. Whatever happened to Fay Wray? That delicate satin-draped frame; as it clung to her thigh How I started to cry. 'Cause I wanted to be dressed just the same.

11. I'm somebody now, Harry. Everybody likes me. Soon, millions of people will see me and they'll all like me. I'll tell them about you, and your father, how good he was to us. Remember? It's a reason to get up in the morning. It's a reason to lose weight, to fit in the red dress. It's a reason to smile. It makes tomorrow all right. What have I got Harry, hm? Why should I even make the bed, or wash the dishes? I do them, but why should I? I'm alone. Your father's gone, you're gone. I got no one to care for. What have I got, Harry? I'm lonely. I'm old.

12. A: Now, did you bring the mirror?
B: Check!
A: Did you bring the rope?
B: Check!
A: Did you bring the buttfor?
B: What's a buttfor?
A: For pooping, silly.

13. A: Everybody be cool this is a robbery!
B: Any of you fucking pricks move, and I'll execute every mother-fucking last one of you.

14. Hand me the fucking keys, you cocksucker, what the fuck?

15. That cheap little tramp. So she's been two-timing me, huh? Well I'm through protecting her; she can swing for all I care! Boy, I'm down at the garage working my butt off 14 hours a day and she's out there munching on bon-bons and tramping around like some Goddamn floozy! Thought she could pull the wool over my eyes? Well, I wasn't born yesterday. I tell ya there are some things a man just can't take, and this time she pushed me too far. That little chiseler. Boy what a sap I was!

...Guess away and fill the boredom...

I don't know if I'm Echo or Narcisus.

I know I still have to update that story, I've let it fall by the wayside...part VIII will come for those who care...

On December 31st, 2007, I vowed that 2008 would not suck. That I could (strike that/reverse: would) not let it suck.

It's January 15th. And in the past two weeks of 2008 I have had a lot of time to think; thanks to the gaping wound I have in my right hand - that is a story for later.

Wanna know what I learned in two weeks? I'm an asshole. Yep, that's what I learned. Now, calm down children, I'm not looking for you to respond with how I'm not an asshole. Because some (well, hopefully most) of you like me. But don't be decieved, I'm an asshole.

I am a horrible friend. I never call anyone. This doesn't mean I don't care. But if I cared so much why don't I look for ways to see the people I love? And no matter what you do, I will question you. This makes me a dick. I'll question if you care, if you love me as much as I do you or if you even like me...

I mean normal people don't do this. Normal people don't exploit the people they adore...

Example: For almost one whole year I ripped on Kate relentlessly. Ask me why. Go ahead. Ask me why... I DON'T KNOW! I mean I adore her. She is amazingly sweet, and she always has been to me. But what do I do? I bring her almost to the point of tears... To reiterate: I'm an asshole. How the girl still talks to me is beyond me. Why do people put up with me?

Example 2: I treat Amy like shit. All I do is joke with her. I mean I can't think of the last time we've had a heart to heart. There is no reason that her and I shouldn't be on the phone every day - even if it's just to bullshit. And I question us all of the time. And I don't know why I do it... Reasoning: I'm an insecure asshole.


Why am I saying all this? Why am I going on and on about how I'm an asshole? Because I need to make a change. I'll still be me. I'll still be the monkey that dances for your amusement with all the Mall Madness stories, or how everyone will be when they have children...

I vowed that 2008 would not suck, and I'm not going to let it. I need to try harder, because if I don't those I care about and love will fall away. And it's those people that make me who I am.

***
side note: if I don't call you, or try to contact you, it means I don't like you and that I don't care about you. Okay, Doug? So, don't sit by your phone...

--See. I'm still the same old Chris--

Europe ain't got shit...

NO! This isn't the post you're looking for, shut up, move on, it'll come, be patient. This is inspired by Val's blog. I kind of like the idea of being cryptic, but I hate it at the same time. Therefore, I am going to forgo the "rules." I am going to write to fifteen people, they will remain anonymous to everyone, with one exception. If you feel you're on here, and you truly want to know, ask. I'm not about lying to people. You don't need to know who number 7 is, but you should have the right to know when it's you. Alas, read on...if you'd like.

1. I find myself being completely and constantly wrong about you. I feel that at every turn with you I have made a mistake. These mistakes have hurt myself and you, and I am truly sorry. You've also changed. Maybe for the better. We're friends, I know this, and I wouldn't trade it for the world, but I sometimes wonder if you would.

2. We are like a roller coaster. There are times we so up with each other, and times where, I feel, we are so down. I know you call me a friend, I know you really do. But sometimes I wonder if you've chosen sides. I know it's just your human nature to feel like you have to be objective, but objectivity is the truth, not telling everyone what they want to hear. I want to believe that everything you've said to me is the truth, but I would be a liar if I said I didn't wonder sometimes. Nonetheless, I care for you more than I think you know. I would go to the ends for you. And it really does make me happy knowing that you have my back if I need you.

3. I can't believe you still talk to me. I have screwed you over more times that I'd like to admit. But still you come back. Is it my award winning (2002 & 2005) smile? Is it my personality? Or is it that we were just always destined to horrid compatibility. I could literally move away tomorrow, never talk to you for four years, come back in shambles, and we'd pick up right where it was left off. I've had you scream at me, laugh at me, cry at me and swing at me. There are things I would change, but I wouldn't call them regrets. What amazes me about you is your patience and loyalty. No matter what I do, I know I can call on you - and that my friend means everything.

4. Christ almighty you need to die. I truly can't tell if you're being fake straight to my face, or if you're sincere. Part of me would like to think that if you were being sincere I wouldn't care anyway. I know there is a part of me that either does like you or wants to like you. You have people wrapped around your fingers, and I wonder how. But then again, sometimes I think that you feel the same way about me; considering you were once wrapped around mine.

5. I don't get you sometimes. I know we are incredible friends, and I really do love you so much. But I just don't get you sometimes. We can have heart to hearts. We can do that. And we can laugh about the stupidest things. But I want to know what it is holding you back from being one of my best friends. I think of you and smile, I wonder if you do the same when you hear my name.

6. I adore you so much more than you think. It hurts me so much when I know you think I don't care. I just told someone that I can wrap people around my fingers, well you've got me wrapped around yours. Maybe that's why I act the way I do, because I don't want others to think that they matter less. You are beautiful on the inside and out. There was a point in time where I thought you hated me. And I am so glad that I was wrong. You are so very important to me, and I need to express that as much as possible.

7. You could shoot another human being and I would help you clean the smoking gun. You can do no wrong in my eyes, and that is probably a fault of my own. I have placed you on a pedestal, and I know that I need to take you down, but I like you up there. I love to watch you succeed. I love it because I know you will, and you go on and on with your uncertainties, but I konw you'll succeed. So, when you do you're so happy and I knew that you'd be all along. I feel that we just click, that we were supposed to be in each others lives. I don't believe in fate all that much, but I know I was supposed to meet you.

8. I miss you. I want good things for you. I want you to be happy. I want to see you smile again. I wish I could carry you away from the negative in your life to a more positive place. You get so much shit that you don't deserve. I want you to call me. I want to hang out. I want you to know that I'm here and you can use me. I want you to know that I support you. I want you to know that you're loved.

9. I tell you that I don't like you, but you've grown on me. The fact that I'm even talking about you right now astounds even me. Don't get me wrong, there was a time where you rubbed me the wrong way. You were just plain annoying. Now, either I have grown or you have. Maybe a bit of both. You're certainly not my favorite human being, but I can enjoy you sometimes.

10. I need more of you in my life. I don't know why, but when I'm with you I just feel calm. There are times where there are silences, but I don't feel awkward. I see you often, but like I said, I'd like to see more of you.

11. You are a bitch. But I love you for it. Never once have I felt that you have lied to me. Never once have I felt that you have led me in the wrong way. I miss you a lot. You tell me the truth, whether I want to hear it or not, and I respect that tremendously. I feel that everytime we're together we will fight, but everytime I hug you goodbye it's with true sincerity - from both ends.

12. You play both sides of the field, and enjoy it. I like you, but I really sometimes wonder if I respect you. I know you respect me, and I thank you for that because garnering your respect is not an easy task. But there are decisions in your life that I just can't stand you for. But I like you, I really do. Sometimes you cross the line, and I wonder if you realize it. That's how I know, that above all else, you matter to me. Because you can piss me off more than anyone else. You're the only person I know that can offend me. And when I talk about you behind you're back, I don't mind, because I know that you'd talk about me. Not maliciously, in a "I hate him" sort of way, but just matter-of-factly. I also know that anything you'd say behind my back, you'd say to my face. And that I respect.

13. You think you are perfect, but you're not. You're bad at your job - I don't really know what you're doing with it. You did one big thing, for yourself. It wasn't for anyone else. Get off your high horse and stop riding on that one thing. You're like the president. He's doing a shitty job, but he'll just remind everything about 9/11, and everyone will go "oh, yea. That's right. He helped then." That doesn't matter when you're not doing anything. I like you, I do. But stop with the perfect act.

14. The four of you are backstabbing sons-of-bitches. You are the mean girls. You are the people that everyone likes because they think they have to. You four have talked more shit on me than anyone. And that hurt - for about 10 seconds. It hurt because I thought at least three of you actually cared for me. I was wrong. I wish three of you happiness, because I don't hate you. However, that one that's left. If you were on fire, and I had a bucket of water I wouldn't put you out. If you were starving, and I had food, I'd watch you whither away. They say that hate is more energy. I can't not hate you. You are the fakest person I've ever met, and I hope you die alone.

15. To two of you. You are the most beautiful people I have met. You are generally good. There isn't a bad thing about you. I just hope you die before me, so when I get to the gates, you can put in a good word for me. I may give you shit, but I do it because I think that's what's expected of me. I wish we were closer, because either of you truly makes me a better person. I really feel that when I hug either of you I'm in some way becoming better.

There you have it...mostly good I think. Like I said, if you really want to know if you're on here. Ask. I'm not a liar. I just don't go around saying this shit all the time. Oh, and to all those people I've just spoken good things too... You're ugly and I hate you. Phew, that feels better.

Once You Join Part VII

Well, well, well; it's been more than a month since I updated, so I think you guys deserve an update. The reason it took so long is I changed the story around a little bit, and wanted to outline the rest of the installments before I started writing. There are only four parts left...

Only "The Golden Girls" were left. It now just seemed all too real for the girls. They kept having hope, and then having it ripped from them. Pam wouldn't let go of Valerie's hand, and Valerie's head was still resting on Kate's lap. Kelly and Liz were leaning on each other. No one was speaking. The girls all wanted to sleep, but no one wanted to deal with the nightmares. None of them, however, could discern the worse nightmare - their imagination or their reality.

"Oh, Val. I'm so sorry," said Pam.

"We're all sorry," said Liz. "But what are we going to do? We can't just stay here, Slater knows how to get in!"

"He knew how to get in," said Kelly. "This was laying in the hallway."

Kelly threw an ID into the middle of the floor. It was a little bloody, but the face on the ID was clear. Somewhere out there was Megan Henderson, possibly dead, but definitely hurt. No sooner than the ID had landed on the floor there was a knock at the door. The room froze. Everyone just stared at the door. The knock came again. And again.

"Please, just open the door," said the voice from outside.

"I'm opening it," declared Liz, defiant of everyone's look.

Liz opened the door and Megan Henderson fell into the room. She was dirty. Her hands were cut up and bloody. There was dried blood on the side of her mouth. Her shirt was ripped. She looked as if she'd been mugged. She was crying; her face was still wet with tears and sweat. Her left eye was puffy and black.

"Where's Valerie?" asked Megan.

"She's dead." said Kelly.

"What?!" screamed Megan. "How?!"

"She was suffocated," said Pam. "We're all dying, or going to at least."

"Tell me this," interrupted Kate. "What happened to you, and how did you lose your ID?"

"I was attacked," said Megan.

"By who?" asked Liz.

"I don't know," explained Megan. "All I know is I was walking home from North Dorms. I was right near the baseball fields, and someone came from behind me and told me that if I screamed I would die. It was a woman's voice. She asked for my ID. I told her that I left it in my room, and she punched me in the back. She held a knife up to my throat - a pocket knife. She asked for it again, and I handed it to her. When she punched me I fell to the ground. My hands were all cut up, and I couldn't defend myself. She asked me a question. "Murdered or unconscious?" I begged her not to kill me. She punched me in the face a couple of times, and kicked me in the stomach. And that's all I remember."

The group didn't know whether to believe her or not.

"So Slater is a woman?" asked Kate aloud.

"Who is Slater?" asked Megan

"Look, Megan. You're not safe," said Kelly. "You need to leave. You were spared, be thankful, but just get out of here. Go somewhere. Go home, go back to North Dorms, go to another room, but for God's sake, get the fuck out of here!"

Kelly had cursed, and everyone had taken notice. Chris would have relished in this fact, and they all knew it.

"No!" screamed Megan. "Someone beat me up. Someone killed my friend. I'm not just sitting around like a coward."

"Cowardice has nothing to do with it, Megan," said Pam. "None of us would think you're a coward. We'd think you're smart."

"Fine, I'll go. But you guys come with me."

"No," explained Liz. "Where ever we go, Slater follows."

"Does she have anymore IDs?" asked Megan.

"I don't know," said Liz. "Probably, maybe...I don't know"

"But we can't stay here," said Kate. "Slater will just get in again, and we'll never hear her. We need to go somewhere where we can hear her coming."

"The townhouses?" suggested Pam. "I mean, we could go there. Have someone sit watch outside. We could rotate the duty. We could hear the code being entered. It's where we need to go."

"It's too risky. Walking there would put us straight out into the open, Pam," said Liz. "We're not going anywhere."

"But we have to, Liz. This place has already been compromised," said Kelly.

"Slater is unarmed," said Kate.

"And all we have is this little pocket knife?" asked Liz, incredulously. "What are we going to do with this? Open his wine bottles?"

"Knitting!" yelled Megan.

They all looked at Megan with inquisitive looks.

"Um, not the time, Megan," said Pam.

"No. Knitting needles. I have tons of them. We can each take a couple. Those will be our weapons," said Megan.

"Fine," said Liz. "We'll go. We'll leave right now."

"Can we bring Chris in here first?" asked Kelly.

"Yes," said Pam.

"Of course we can," said Kate.

They each grabbed a limb. Chris was not a light person alive, let alone dead. The laid him on the bed next to Valerie. His eyes were still open. Pam went to Chris and closed his eyes. She apologized and began to sob. Kate and Kelly each put a hand on Pam's shoulders. They turned and left for the townhouses.

***

"Idiots."

No. You're wrong. You're the idiot. They're getting smarter.

But how smart could they be? If they only looked up they would see me. They would see, with out reservation the cause of their death.

Slater was on the third floor balcony of the Union building.

They're moving, and now they're armed.

Oh fuck that. I've dealt with them armed before. Stupid little Greg Allen. It's with his knife I killed the fat one.

The fat one almost won.

The fat one wouldn't have won!!

Slater was back in the theater. Slater was twirling on stage.

They think I'm crazy...

Aren't you?

No. I'm sane. They asked for this. They asked for me to come.

Slater walked downstairs into the greenroom. And just laughed. Slater walked to the paint closet and turned on the sink. She washed her hands. She dried them, but didn't shut the sink off.

I've worked diligently for this night. And I won't have their "intelligence" ruin it. They don't know anything...

***

The group arrived at the townhouses. They settled on Pam's. They each went inside and the order of who would keep watch was decided. Pam would be first. Followed by Kate. Followed by Kelly, and then Liz. Megan said she would like to help keep watch, but the others agreed that it would be best if she didn't.

Pam's watch was uneventful. It was nothing but drunk sorostitutes. Some of them snickered at a girl sitting alone on her front stoop. Pam wished these girls understood what was happening tonight. Left alone with her thoughts, Pam began to cry. It seemed that was a common theme when all your friends are dying...

Kate was next on watch. She found she didn't have feelings anymore. She didn't want the rest of her friends to die or suffer, but she no longer cared about her own fate. She kind of wished she would be next, but one thing was for sure, she didn't want it to be painful. She didn't want to hang there like Amanda, knowing she was going to die; she didn't want to be hunted like Greg. She thought she was going to die hours ago, but when she awakened from her stupor, she felt disappointed. She knew that if she were the last one left she would probably just end it herself and not give Slater the satisfaction. She also liked to believe that she could do that. But she couldn't.

Kate's watch was up. Pam had just gotten out of the shower. Kate was getting food out of the fridge. Megan Henderson was curled in a ball on the couch sleeping. For the time being, things felt normal, and none of the girls wanted to talk in fear of breaking the facade. Kelly was next on watch. She was wondering how long this rotation was going to last. She was wondering if Slater was watching them right now. She sat there for thirty minutes. It was getting colder, and she was getting more tired by the minute. She sat there with a knitting needle in one hand and Greg's Leatherman in the other. She, like the rest, was questioning herself. Did she have it in her to kill someone if necessary? She liked to think she did in this circumstance.

***

Inside the house, the sentiments were no different. The girls were telling stories about those who had died. They were smiling when they remembered Amanda's awkward grace, or Greg's drunken tendencies, or Dave's sarcastic superiority. They cried too because they realized they would never have those things again (they were okay without Dave's sarcastic superiority). Megan had awoken. She said she was going to spend the last fifteen minutes of Kelly's watch with her.

Megan opened the door and threw up.

***

Kelly had only twenty minutes to go, and then it would be her turn in the shower. She needed one. She needed time to herself, under the hot water. Where she was allowed to cry in peace. Where she was allowed to pray in silence. She was getting restless. She stood up and began to pace. She was about to punch in the code to let them know it was all okay and someone behind her said, "Kelly."

Kelly knew that voice, but due to previous circumstances all she could say was, "Oh God, no."

"Kelly turn around."

"Please. Don't. You don't have to."

"I know what I have to do."

Slater placed a hand on Kelly's shoulder. Kelly began to sob wildly. She couldn't catch her breath. She was saying her last confession. Slater took a knitting needle and rammed in hard into her right side. Kelly fell to her left knee. Slater stabbed her with a second needle in her left shoulder blade. And again with a third right above her belly button. Kelly wasn't screaming. Slater didn't care. Kelly took a large breath in. Slater stabbed her in the throat with a fourth needle. Kelly began to cough up blood. Her eyes were bloodshot. A fifth needle went into Kelly's left breast, through her chest, a sixth into her left arm, a seventh into above her right knee. Kelly was bleeding profusely.

"Would you like to read your poem before you die?"

Kelly spit into Slater's face. Slater held the poem above Kelly's face to read. She was gasping for breath, choking on her own blood, trying to scream. She read her poem. Tears streamed down her cheeks and mixed with her blood. Slater let the paper fall onto Kelly's face and secured it with a hard stab of a knitting needle through Kelly's left eye. Kelly's body spasmed and went limp. Slater took out the rest of the knitting needles and inserted the rest of them into Kelly's body.

***

Megan's scream awakened Liz. Kate grabbed Megan by the shoulders.

"Stop screaming," Kate yelled. "We don't need anyone else coming by."

"This is my fault!" screamed Megan. "I was the one who handed over the ID. I'm the reason we had to come here. I'm the reason Val is dead. And now I'm the reason Kelly's dead!"

The girls, before this sentence, didn't comprehend that Kelly was dead. Pam slapped Megan.

"Listen, just calm down. We can't think if we're hysterical."

"I just...I don't...I hate this!" screamed Megan.

Megan ran out of the townhouse toward "E" block.

"Megan wait!" yelled Kate. She was stopped in her tracks though by the grisly scene in front of her. Kate covered her mouth. She thought she was going to be sick. Kelly lied dead in a large pool of her own blood. Knitting needles were sticking out from all over her body. That God-forsaken poem was sticking on a needle of which was protruding from her eye. After the girls carefully removed the note the scene wasn't any better. Kelly's face was frozen in the fear of which she died. Her mouth was agape and filled with blood. Her right eye was half closed. The deaths until now had not been this grousome. They all felt sick.

***

Megan ran as hard as she can. She turned the corner connecting "C" block to "E" block. She was stopped dead in her tracks.

"Oh thank God. You need to help me. Help them." Megan was crying hysterically.

"Calm down, Megan," said Slater. "Tell me what's going on."

Megan told Slater everything Slater already knew. Slater listened intently, laughing on the inside at this naive little girl who had no idea she was talking to the person who's responsible.

"I'm going straight to security," said Megan. "I don't know what else to do."

"Well why didn't the girls go there first?" asked Slater.

"I don't know. They're convinced that even if they went to security that this stupid Slater person would find them anyway."

"That's a very good point," laughed Slater. "And I wouldn't generally call Slater stupid..."

Megan's countenance changed dramatically, "I can't believe it. So..."

Slater put a cold, hard hand against Megan's neck and pushed her hard against a tree.

"You're knitting needles came in handy. Thanks." Slater lifted something larger than a knitting needle, though. It looked as if it were some kind of ground spike. Megan screamed as loud as she could. Slater drove the spike through Megan and into the tree behind her. There Megan hung, writhing in pain. Her stomach felt warm. Her white shirt was crimson. The wind was out of her. She couldn't catch breath, but she was alive.

"Oh look," laughed Slater. "I have one needle left."

Megan writhed harder but was pinned to this tree. Slater walked up to Megan and whispered something in her ear.

"I'm not the only one..."

Slater placed the knitting needle's point inside Megan's left ear, placed a hard grip on the right side of her head, and rammed the needle inside Megan ear.

***

The girls just stood there. Staring back and forth from the letter to Kelly. Liz had thrown up as well. Pam and Kate were simply frozen.

"Well what does it say?!" Liz yelled as she grabbed the note from Kate's limp hand and read it aloud.

The one thing you learn
Is life is not fair.
It's ironic and cold
and filled with despair.
One day you roam
With a future so bright
Tonight you die
your hearts full of fright.
She dedicated her life
To needle and thread,
And now your friend Kelly
Lies punctured and dead.
You thought you could hide,
But you were dead wrong.
If you come out and play
It wouldn't be long
Before I killed you all
The final conclusion.
Not unlike your dear friend Kelly
The human pincushion.

The girls had barely finished the poem before they heard a terrifying scream.

"Megan!" screamed Liz.

The girls ran as hard as they could, but were too late. Megan hung grimly from a tree, a ground spike rammed through her midsection. In all her writhing she had kicked off one shoe. She looked pathetic hanging there. Just one more pawn in Slater's sick game.

"Fuck me," said Pam. "What do we do now?"

"Die," said Liz.

"We fight," said Kate. "We fight 'til the end. But I'll tell you this. We can't do it alone."

Okay, kiddies. Here is your update. I'm sorry it took so long. I hope you enjoyed it. I am continuously reworking this story, but I have an almost finished product. Check back in a week or so for Part VIII. Who will die next? Who's the next pawn? If they can't do it alone, who will be their next "savior"? Who the hell is Slater? Do I really have a concrete ending? Stay tuned...

Once you join Part VI

Here's the deal, I feel bad that I haven't updated that recently. So, here's your next installment. Be forewarned, I am incredibly tired right now, so there may be some typos. Deal with it! From what I've gathered most of you like this story. And hopefully one particular Black SOB has kept his mouth shut. Anywho, there are only five players left - Kelly, Liz, Pam, Valerie and Kate. Let's see what happens...it'll be a journey...we'll take it together.

Cicala was out of breath. He was holding his chest; there was a massive stitch in his side. He had only one thing on his mind. He needed to get the kids to safety.

"Okay...look...stay calm," panted Cicala. "We're all going to be okay. My car is just outside. Let's go. Now!"

The six of them moved toward the side door. They didn't know where Slater was. Slater could still be in the theatre, or outside by now; no one knew. Cicala's white Ford was the white steed they were waiting for since midnight. Cicala had come through. They were safe. They were going home.

It was when the cell phone rang that terror shot back into their hearts. It was a familiar ring, a noticable ring. It was a ringtone that only one person would have.

"Hello Moto." Followed by the incessant and annoying chimes.

"That's...that's Chris's phone," stammered Valerie.

The phone sat on the ground next to Cicala's car. So many questions filled the group's minds: "Why was Chris's phone here?", "Wasn't Chris at work?", "Is Chris dead?"

The group started for the cell phone, but Cicala stopped them. Cicala was terrified, but didn't dare admit it. He bent down, and the face of the phone said who the caller was.

"But" was the only word Cicala got out before the rear passenger door flew open and struck Cicala in the head. Cicala was dazed, but enraged. Slater stepped out of the car, purposefully, and advanced on Cicala. Cicala stood up and regained his footing. He turned to the group, and for the first time the fear could be heard in his voice.

"Just run," he said. "Run as fast as you can and don't look back."

Cicala took focus on the advancing Slater. Slater was in long black cloak.

"Where did you get that?" asked Cicala. "How did you dare get his God damn inductions robe?!"

Across Slater's right breast was written "Daniel 'Slater' Rodden." The hood was up, and the face was obscured, by a fine piece of black muslin.

Slater just began to rub Rodden's name across the robe's chest. It wasn't in admiration though, it was mocking; as if Rodden was Slater's pet.

Cicala advanced. The group had not moved. Cicala walked right up to Slater and gave a hard right hook to the chin. Slater stood ground. Slater didn't move. Slater just continued to stroke the name of Dan Rodden. Cicala pounded Slater, and after about five minutes Slater had started. Cicala was tired, he wasn't as young as when he stopped Daniel Franken. He kept pounding at Slater who was now blocking each punch and giving an equal blow to Cicala's face. Slater grabbed Cicala by the neck of his shirt. Slater brought up Cicala's head, and whispered in his ear: "'The Destroyer' has weakened. 'The Destroyer' will die."

"Fuck you!" yelled Cicala, as he pushed Slater into his own car. Cicala and Slater were in a battle now. It was impossible to tell whom was hitting whom. It couldn't be seen who was winning. Cicala was yelling, screaming for Slater to die. Slater had lost footing and fell. Cicala pounced on top of Slater, repeatedly punching Slater in the face. With each punch came another word.

"You...know...nothing...of what...I'm...capable. Me die? Rot...in...hell!!"

"Dr. C, stop it. He's done. Slater's done." whimpered Kate.

Cicala had gotten up off of Slater, who was lying on the ground - the muslin mask sticking to a bloody face. Cicala's face was bloody. There was a cut above his left eyebrow; it ran pretty deep. Cicala's nose was clearly broken, and his mouth was bleeding steadily.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, kids," said Cicala. "But 'The Destroyer' won't die by his God damn hands."

"He said something to you though," said Kelly. "Do you know the voice? Do you know who it is?"

"No," said Cicala. "But I'm going to find out."

Cicala limped back toward the lifeless body of Slater. He didn't like that he had just killed another man. Cicala kicked the body for good measure. It didn't move.

Cicala knelt next to the dead Slater, and put a hand on the sticky muslin mask.

"You know, guys. The phone. Chris's phone. The person calling. The phone said it was..."

Slater had lifted the only weapon left in the arsenal. Slater had stolen Greg's Leatherman. And now Slater had buried the knife into Cicala's neck. Cicala fell back and grabbed at his neck. Blood was spurting all over the white Ford; all over the groups beautiful white steed. Cicala got back on his knees and crawled over Slater, who was trying to regain fallen bearings. Slater was calm. Slater lifted Cicala's left arm and plunged the knife into Cicala's stomach. Cicala gave out a groan not unlike someone violently vomiting. Slater bent down and repeated what was said before: "'The Destroyer' has weakened. 'The Destroyer' will die!" With that Slater drug the knife up Cicala's torso tearing the thin skin from his chest. Slater rose, pointed at Kate and then drug this gloved, elongated finger across the masked neck.

Kate fainted. The group looked down to make sure she was okay, and when they had looked up again Slater was gone.

Cicala was dying. His insides were slowly making their way outside of his body. The starch white collar of his shirt was now crimson. His eyes looks watery and almost empty.

"I'm sorry," Cicala whispered, he looked at Pam, his voice mixed with his own blood. "Find Chris."

Cicala had let out a long, raspy, wet exhale. "The Destroyer," the group's salvation, had just died.

***

The group ran back inside the side door of the theatre. Nina Simone's "Feelin' Good" was now playing. They all knew Slater was laughing at them. They knew Slater was back inside the theatre watching them.

"We have to find Chris," said Pam.

"How do we do that?" asked Liz. "We have his cell phone, he could be anywhere. He could be dead."

"Let's hope he's not," said Kate. "We'll take Cicala's body back to his office and figure things out. Besides, I'm not staying in this theatre for one more second. I'm not dying here. I want to die on my terms, not Slater's."

The five girls went and retrieved Cicala's body. They had wrapped him in white muslin and carried him into his own office. Valerie was lagging behind. She was tired, and everyone could see that.

"Okay," said Kelly. "We need to make a game plan."

"Hey guys," said Valerie, who had just entered the office. "I found Chris."

"What?!" all exclaimed simultaneously. "Where?"

Valerie pointed toward the television lounge.

There sat Chris, watching t.v., eating a slice of union pizza.

"What are you doing here?" asked Kate.

"It's good to see you too, Kate. How's life? Anything interesting happened? Me? I'm doing fine, thank you so much for asking."

"Seriously. Why are you here?" asked Kate again.

"I thought I'd drop in," said Chris. "See what was up. Amy called me and told me I needed to get here. Then Cicala called me and asked me some suspicious questions. Aside from those two reasons, I thought I'd come and get attitude from you. Looks like I can check that off..."

"Papa," said Valerie. "I'm tired." Her eyes were watering.

"Okay, kiddo. Well we'll go get some sleep then."

"Fuck sleep," said Kelly.

The group turned quickly toward Kelly. Most were in shock. Chris was confused. Kelly Lazarowski had cursed. Jesus was crying.

"Whoa, Kelly. Calm down," said Chris. "Why doesn't someone tell me what's going on."

"Why don't you start by telling us where you've been all night," said Kate.

Chris explained that he was at work most of the night, and that his phone had rang a couple of times. Once it had been Amy, who sounded flustered, and was saying things about Valerie being in trouble. Another time it had been Cicala, asking about the story. Chris told them how he came here after work and his first stop was the theatre. When he had gotten there, music was playing but no one was there, so he went into the T.V. lounge and decided to wait. He hadn't noticed his phone was missing. They checked the missed calls. The last call was from a La Salle number. He called his boss to verify where he had been. The group then told him what was going on. Chris started to laugh at first, not believing them. They brought him into Cicala's office. Chris was beside himself to say the least.

"Okay. People have died. A lot of people," Chris was talking, but it was clear his mind was just full of horror. "I need to call Steve. And Marianne. Make sure they're not in danger. Then we'll go to Basil's. It's not safe here. Valerie can get some sleep, you all can. You'll get through this."

"You aren't going to leave us?" asked Liz.

"No. You're scared, tired and confused. I'm here. I always told you girls that if anyone fucked with you, or bothered you that they'd deal with me. I'll die first before they get to any of you."

The group traveled back to Basil. The girls walked in front of Chris while he watched. Valerie offered her room since Megan Henderson was gone for the weekend. They sat around Val's room and just stared at each other. No one really had anything to say. Valerie laid down on her bed and was asleep in no time. Kate was pacing around the room. Liz and Pam were resting on one another. Kelly was talking to Chris.

"You know, I'm not afraid of dying," said Kelly.

"I didn't think you were," said Chris.

"I just don't want it to be painful, ya know?"

"Stop talking as if your death certificate has already been issued."

"But it has," said Kelly. She was beginning to cry, "we're all going to die tonight. Cicala's death was painful. I don't want that. I'd like to go like Greg. His neck was just broken, he died instantly."

"Kelly, you could live."

"No I can't. People like me don't live in these situations. Chris, I'm scared. I don't want my friends to feel anymore pain. I wish it could stop. I don't want anymore death. I don't want you to die either."

Chris took Kelly's hand. "Listen, let's not worry about me. I told you girls before. You're the reason I come back to this place. And I'm going to keep on coming back."

Kelly nodded. "For an asshole, you've always been kind to me."

Chris smiled. "Well," he announced to the group. "Fat ass here is going to get some food for us. Keep this door closed behind me. No one without an ID can get in. If someone other than me knocks, don't open it. Do you understand?"

They all nodded.

"Good," said Chris. "Sit tight. I hear the sweet call of Famous Amos."

Chris left the room and Pam closed the door behind him. Valerie was still fast asleep. For the first time tonight, the girls actually felt safe. They wished Amanda was still around to keep them smiling. They started reminiscing about the fallen. Pam noticed that Chris was gone longer than expected.

"Should we go look for him?" asked Pam.

"I'm sure he's fine," said Liz.

"No, we should go look for him," said Kelly.

"But we can't leave Valerie alone in the room," said Kate.

"We could bring her ID with us, and close the door," said Kelly. "Chris even said it, 'anyone without an ID can't get into the room'"

"Fine," said Kate, "we'll go look for him."

Pam took Valerie's ID and they all left the room. They were in the hallway for only a second, before they heard Chris's voice:

"Fuck off."

Chris rounded the corner into the hallway. Bags of cookies were still in his hands. Slater was behind him. Stalking him like a snake would a mouse. Chris would step only a couple of inches before Slater would shove Greg's Leatherman into his back. Chris fell to one knee.

"No!" screamed Liz.

"Papa!" screamed Pam.

"Stop, please!" begged Kelly.

"Girls. Don't. Look."

It seemed as if Chris was being stabbed with every word. Chris turned around to face his attacker. The back of his shirt was drenched with blood. Chris started to laugh.

"You think this is enough to stop me?" He turned back toward the girls. "Girls, please, go back into the room. You're safe there."

Chris put a cookie in his mouth. He laughed and spit it out. He turned around to Slater,

"You made my cookie taste like blood. Dick."

He turned back around to look at the girls. Slater put one hand on Chris's shoulder and with the other hand drove the knife far into his back. Chris fell to his knees. Slater turned around and walked away.

The girls ran to him. He fell into Kelly's arms. He handed a bag of cookies to Kate.

"I hope oatmeal rasin is okay," Chris laughed.

The girls were crying.

"How many times?" cried Pam. "How many times did he stab you?"

"I lost count after twenty." Chris laughed again.

"Are you going to be okay?" asked Liz.

"No," said Chris. "But that's okay. As long as you girls are."

"I'm sorry," said Kelly.

"Don't apologize. Just make sure everyone knows that smoking didn't kill me."

The girls laughed even through the tears.

"You know," said Chris, "after a while, the pain stops. But you do feel unnaturally cold."

"Papa, no" said Pam.

"Shh. Make sure you take the knife out of my back," laughed Chris. "You'll have a weapon this way."

"Stop making jokes," said Kate.

Chris stopped laughing. He was trying to catch breath that wasn't there. "You're unsafe here. Go back. Check on Val." Chris shrugged. "I was tired anyway." He laughed again, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he died.

Twice tonight they felt safe. And twice tonight that feeling was jerked from underneath them.

***

The girls had just left the room. The closed the door shut. Slater didn't care. Slater swiped the ID and entered the tiny hallway. Slater took all the time in the world. Slater entered Valerie's bedroom. It was dark. Valerie sat up in bed. She rubbed her eyes.

"Papa?" she asked quietly. "Papa, I'm scared."

"Shh," said Slater.

"Sit with me?"

Slater sat down next to Valerie and slowly stroked her hair. Valerie stared to cry.

"Shh," Slater said.

Valerie hugged Slater tight. "Papa?"

"Hmm?" said Slater.

"I don't want to die. I like that you're here. I feel safe."

Slater picked up Valerie's favorite stuffed animal. Her plush red Elmo. It was so soft and it reminded her of all the good times in her life. Slater placed this on Valerie's chest, and Valerie hugged it. Slater took it back and slowly placed in over her face. He pressed hard on the suffed anima.. Valerie started to scream, but they were too muffled. She started clawing at Slater's face. She was gasping for breath. She wasn't screaming anymore, but crying. She was begging. She was asking for her papa. She was asking for Kate and Pam. She tried to fight back but was too weak. She started bucking her body in effort to throw Slater off. Slater sat on her chest, making her breaths even shorter.

Under the stuffed animal Valerie was gasping. She was taking full breaths of red fur. Her lungs hurt. She just wanted air. She wanted air that wasn't there to get. She was seeing spots. Her brain wasn't getting any oxygen. She was crying so hard. She was dying and she knew it.

"Shh," Slater said.

Valerie, out of fear and lack of oxygen vomited in her own mouth. Slater laughed. Valerie started choking. Slater pressed the stuffed animal harder down on her face. And pressed harder on her chest. Her breaths were getting shorter. After three minutes Valerie was still. Slater stood and stared at her. Slater wiped trace vomit off Valerie's face, smiled and left the room.

***

The girls stood up. Kelly's hands and legs were covered in blood. She was in shock, hysterically crying. They just walked her back to the room. Halfway there they noticed the door was ajar. All but Kelly ran back to the room. Kate was there first. They all stepped over the ID laying in the hallway.

"Valerie!" she screamed.

Taped to Valerie's bedroom door was the poem.

Sleeping just to dull the pain
Valerie lies dead, like all, in vain,
Gasping for air until she turned blue.
And who's to blame? All of you!
You left her alone here only to die.
Begging for breath through muffled cry.
As you grow tired, so your mind grows weak.
Fuck this earth! Death inherits the meek!
Preoccupied, as a group, you were in the hall.
One of you can stop me. Who'll answer the call?
Liz - the adventerous or Kelly - pure of heart
Pam - the accused; Kate - the forever smart?
Alone, cold and dead you all will be
Lik your helpless friend - poor Valerie.

-Slater

Kelly had just entered the room. Pam was stroking Val's arm, while Kate was stroking her hair.

"Oh, God, help us," Kelly said and fell to her knees.

"I'm sorry, Valerie" said Kate.

"I'm sorry."

Well there's your part six. Lot's of death in this one. I'm hoping this is to your, the reader's, approval. I had a lot of fun writing this one, so hopefully you'll enjoy reading it. Keep letting me know what you think. I like/need the feedback. Oh, and to all of you who think Stephan knows everything...nothing is writting in stone. I changed some of this story, and I'll be bound to change other things. Stay tuned for Part VII...

Once you join Part V

Hello all. I wanted this post to come quicker, but things got in the way. Here's part five, hopefully it's better than part IV, which a lot of you assholes told me "could have been better." Look if you don't like it, don't read it...but I digress.

"Before I start," said Cicala, "we need to take down the bodies. There's no sense in leaving them for everyone to see."

The group, just as before, mechanically worked to clean up Slater's deadly trail. They stored the bodies, wrapped in sheets, in the Union Boardroom. The room seemed fitting - its elegance teeming. They all walked downstairs and entered Cicala's office.

"I have to tell you before I begin, that this is a copycat. Whoever Slater is they are following the same pattern the old Slater did," said Cicala.

"The old Slater?" asked Kate.

"I'm getting to that," continued Cicala. "One choking, an electrocution, and two hangings..."

"But Dr. C," started Greg. "There were others. Sara, and Doug, and Amy."

"They're pawns," explained Cicala. "They don't count in the grand scheme. You ten are the only ones concerned, no matter how much cry-baby Doug complains. Got it?"

"Totally undertstood," said everyone in unison.

"Almost thirty years ago this very same thing happened at La Salle. There were ten of us. We each got a letter. We didn't know what to expect. To this day I wish we hadn't have shown up to the theatre. We found someone, Claire Davis, tied up and center stage. We rushed to help her, but she refused to be helped. She told us to leave, and forget about what we saw. Steve thought it was just Claire being kinky. When Randy rushed back in to save her he was killed. Daniel had shoved a golf ball in his throat. Randy played golf. Are you getting the pattern?"

All nodded.

"We didn't know who Slater was, or what he had against us. We all suspected Daniel, because, well, that was his nickname. He was so distraught over Dan's death. Dan was his mentor and friend. But Daniel was one of us. He was one of us ten. He died sixth. He was suffocated. We put his body with the others. Marianne was supposed to be next. We just sat in the theatre, we thought if we didn't move then we couldn't be caught. But things happen. People need to use the bathroom, or smoke a cigarette, in my case. Marianne went into the greenroom. We heard a scream, I ran downstairs and there was Daniel, trying to shove a pair of scissors into Marianne's chest. I tackled him. And I killed him. I was in a blind rage, I didn't want to kill him, but I didn't have a choice. He had taken five people's lives. It needed to end."

"Steve? Marianne? Who are these people?" asked Liz.

"You know them. We were the only ones to survive. Me, Steve Sharp, and Marianne Gauss. We vowed never to talk about it again. To just let it go away in unversity lore. But some things just keep coming back. There aren't any records of that night. The collegians had been destroyed. The only people that knew the true story were Steve, Marianne, and myself. Until last year."

"What happened last year?" asked Val.

"We told the story. We had to. It haunted us so badly. Steve still had nightmares. Marianne never could step inside the theatre again. So we told the story, and now it's seems it's coming back." Cicala sounded as if he wanted to cry. "Marianne told Amy. She had gotten to know her, and they won each other's trust. Amy went to Marianne for advice, and sometimes vice versa. Amy never knew others were told. And I don't think Amy told anyone. Me? I told Chris. Again, we just won each others trust. He had such a knack for understanding. I don't believe he told anyone. And Steve? Steve told the one person in this organization that he held above all others. He told Pam. Pam didn't know what to do with that information then. But she knows now."

"You knew?!" screamed Kelly. The fact that her voice was even raised was frightening.

"I couldn't tell anyone. Mr. Sharp made me promise! You heard him. We promised. All of us did!" pleaded Pam. "When I saw all this happening...what did you want me to do? Break the biggest promise I've ever made?"

"Yes!" screamed Kate.

"You don't understand. I couldn't. I wouldn't."

"And I thank you for that," said Cicala. "However, I do believe the killer is one of you three. Amy is dead. And Pam you're here. And I believe I may have given my trust in error."

"But you said your Slater was in the group," said Liz.

Pam began to cry.

"I'm not Slater. How could I be? I've been with you the whole time!"

"I don't remember you there when George ran back to get Sara," said Kelly. "You weren't trying to get the door open with the rest of us. You could have easily ran around the stairs and killed George."

"But...Davey..."

"That is true," said Greg. "She was in the office with you guys."

"We thought she was in the TTA office with you!" yelled Val.

"Where were you, Pam?" asked Greg.

Pam was in tears. "I was in the bathroom, crying. I...I didn't know what to do. I wanted to run away. I wanted George back. I wanted this to be a dream."

"And when Amanda died?" said Kate. "You were in the greenroom with Kelly."

"But we weren't together," Kelly said. "We were apart, searching different rooms. Searching the hallway."

"Dr. Cicala?" pleaded Pam. "Do you think I'm capable of this?"

"No, Pam, I don't," said Cicala. "But I didn't think Daniel was capable of this either. I'm sorry. You're just not accounted for."

Pam, in tears and face red, stood up. She looked at each of the people in the room. She was crying. None of them were. None of them had sympathy for her. She looked at Dr. Cicala and he just looked away. "Fine," she said in a whisper. "I understand." She turned slowly, and walked out of the room.

"Group," said Cicala. "I don't know if Pam is, in fact, Slater. But we still should contact Chris. We should find out where he is."

"What about your nickname?" asked Val.

"I am the destroyer," said Cicala. "I destroyed everything after the murders. They call them "the dark ages" for a reason. There was no Masque, only a bunch of kid who put on shows. There were no parties, or gatherings, or inductions. I figured if there wasn't a Masque, there couldn't be a repeat of murders. I destroyed Slater, I destroyed the Masque, and even now I'm destroying your friendships. But mark these words: I will destroy this current murderer. These are my God damed kids, and I'll be damned if anymore harm comes to you."

***
Pam was tired and cold. She was tired of being the odd man out. She just wanted to be in people's minds. She was so easily forgotten. She wanted to run back in there and tell them all off. She didn't deserve this. She wouldn't have turned on them like that. She would be understanding. She understood now. She needed to stop. She needed to finish this.

***
Cicala had just finished dialing the phone. He just needed to make sure.

"Hello?"

"Chris," said Cicala, "I have two very important questions."

"Okay, fire away."

"First, where are you?" asked Cicala.

"I'm at work. Why? What's up?"

"Are you sure you're at work?"

"If I'm not at work then I have one stupid hobby," said Chris.

"Look, Chris, do you remember that story I told you closing night of The Drawer Boy?"

Chris had gotten very quiet. "Yes, I remember."

"Have you told anyone?"

"No," said Chris, matter-of-factly. "Look, Dr. C, I don't know why you're bringing this up, but no, I never told anyone. That's your story, and your business." Chris was getting angry. "I would never tell a soul..."

"Chris. There's no need to get worked up. I just needed to know. Thanks Chris. Be safe."

"You too, Dr. C."

"So if Chris is at work, it must be Pam?" askd Val.

"It appears so. I wish I could have gotten here sooner. Look, we're going to leave La Salle. We're going to go to my house. My wife knows we're coming. If you aren't on La Salle's campus, you can't be hurt. We're just going to move the bodies into the theatre and head out of here," Cicala explained.

They all carried one of their fallen friends into the theatre. Cicala sent Greg into the cats to finish closing up shop. The rest were putting their friends to rest in their home. Cicala made a phone call to Steve Sharp to keep him abreast. They were all set on their task. The sooner the tasks completed, the sooner they could rest. And that's all they really wanted - rest.

Kate was laughing. They all wondered what she was laughing at. Greg was talking to himself.

"I wish I could laugh with you," Greg was saying. Greg was crying. Again.

The others began to laugh too. It felt good to laugh. Cicala was even smiling. It felt over somehow. It was ending soon. Soon they'll all be safe in Cicala's house.

A song began to play.

Hey, Jude, don't make it bad.
Take a sad song and make it better...

Cicala looked up. He wasn't smiling anymore. They all looked at Cicala.

"Jude Weegraf. He was fifth. He was in the greenroom. His neck was broken."

"But we're all up here," said Kate.

"Where's Liz?" asked Cicala.

The group ran into the greenroom.

***
Pam walked into the theare. A song was playing.

Hey, Jude, don't be afraid...

No one was there. She was alone in the theatre and for the first time she was afraid. She looked up into the cats.

"Greg?" she called. "Greg, where is everyone? Greg?!"

***
Liz was sitting on the couch in the greenroom. Her mouth was open. She was asleep. The group pushed her awake.

"We thought you were dead!" screamed Kelly.

"I'm sorry," said Liz. "I came down here becuase I couldn't take it. Can we leave now?"

They could still here the song.

Any time you feel the pain, hey, Jude...

"Greg is in the cats," said Cicala. Cicala ran out of the greenroom into the hallway. The man had never moved so fast. He ran as fast as he could to the second floor. He needed to know Greg was safe. His heart pouned in his chest, it felt as if it was going to explode. He searched for the keys to the cats. He unlocked the door and ran it.

The other five ran upstairs to find Pam.

"What have you done?!" screamed Kate.

"What? Nothing! I came here to talk sense..."

The music stopped.

"Is Greg down there?" asked Cicala. "He's not here."

The group stood frozen. They waited for Greg to appear. Above them they heard footsteps. They saw Greg. He waved to them. He smiled. And then he fell. He fell fast and hit the stage hard. His neck had been broken before he was pushed. The bone was sticking through the skin of his neck. He was still twitching. His legs wouldn't stop moving. Pam screamed,

"I told you this wasn't me! I was down here. With you!" She ran to Greg's body. She was searching for the poem. "Where is it?! The poem? Where is it?"

"It's here," yelled Cicala from the cats. "It's an audio file."

They looked up toward the cats. They weren't ready to hear Slater's voice. Cicala played the file. It wasn't Slater's voice. It was Greg's. Slater made him read his own death note before he was killed. He knew he was going to die. He knew how. But he didn't know why.

Lore tells us that all old men are wise
But tonight you're in for a little surprise.
All of you, in turn blamed poor Pam,
who now it seems has gon on the lam.
I beg you all no to make another blunder
for Slater, here will tear us assunder.
I die now in vain to prove Slater's power
Is greater than yours, as you dwindle by the hour.
I'm saying goodbye, scared and alone
My light growing dim, from whence it once shone.
Remember me as your friend - the idiot savant.
Loyal, and courteous, and your confidant.
I wish I could laugh with you as I sit here and cry.
There's nothing to do now, but die. Goodbye.

The group stared at Greg's lifeless body. He just wanted to go home. From the very beginning, he wanted to go home and go to sleep. Well he was now at rest, and they wanted him back. His leg was still twitching, but he wasn't breathing. Cicala spoke first from the cats,

"Slater is still in this theatre! We need to leave now!" And Cicala ran out of the cats.

Well I hope you enjoyed Part V. Will Slater follow them to Cicala's house? Is Pam really innocent? Is Chris innocent and really at work? How did Slater get out of the cats? Who is Slater?! Am I still following a logical path? Stay involved kids, part VI is around the corner, where one more person may perish...