The aftermath of my dad's murder was somber and grim. My mother never spoke, only responding in quiet noises and head nods. It wasn't a particularly pleasant year for us. But then after that year, my mom seemed to be happier and more responsive. This change in character came out of nowhere, and I didn't know why, until she spoke her first words since that dreadful day.
"I have a boyfriend now, Rhys. I'd like you to meet him later today."
What? A new boyfriend? And so soon? Had she completely forgotten about dad? I tried asking her questions, but I didn't get any answers from her. She wouldn't even nod. And it wasn't because she was unresponsive. She seemed to be entranced in her own little world, one where it was only her and this new boyfriend of hers. And then came the doorbell. She gestured for me to go and answer the door. I opened it to see a tall, muscular figure. He wore a tight polo shirt and a small, humble gold chain around his neck. Seeing his arm leaning on the edge of the door frame, I saw a mid-range watch glint in the sunlight. I looked down past his acid-wash jeans and saw a new pair of Vans, seemingly fresh out of the box. He spoke in a low tone. Low enough to be calming, but for whatever reason, it felt unnerving.
"Hey, you must be Rhys! Nice to meet ya, man."
I didn't trust it. Especially because he looked exactly like my dad.
"Roger! I'm so glad you could get here!" My mother exclaimed, "Rhys, this is Roger, Roger, this is my son, Rhys."
"Your mother has told me so much about you." He reached out his hand. Reluctantly, I took and shook it. The rest of the afternoon was uneventful. We sat and talked about mundane things like school and clubs, had dinner, cooked by Roger, and watched a movie. I went upstairs to my room, and I could hear them drinking and laughing together. How could my mother be so happy with another man? I can't put the blame on her, and I have no idea why I feel so much distrust towards Roger. It might just be a weird gut feeling. That's what I thought at the time. Usually, you would move past these feelings and acknowledge that someone you love is happy, but not me. I was weirdly opposed to Roger and his presence. Every time he was with my mom, I would make sure I was out of the house. I often would take refuge in Felix's house, and we'd do the usual, like just talk and play on his Atari.
For weeks, Roger would drive up to my house every morning and offer to drive me to school, because my mother would always have to leave earlier than me. Every time, he would stand in the doorway in his signature stance: arm on the door frame, hand on his side, leaning. My mind raced, telling me that he was trying to make sure I wouldn't run away or escape. It was weird. But I still had to get in his car and be driven to school every morning for about a month and a half, maybe two months. He always knew what music to have on, like he knew all of my tastes. Roger was a creepily nice person. That's all I thought of him. He even took me to my martial arts every week, instead of Felix and his mom taking me. Those evenings were meant to be time with Felix, but instead I had to spend it with Roger. It felt almost wrong. Ah well. I just had to suck it up and cherish what I had with with Felix while it lasted.
But then I couldn't help myself.
One day, during a lunch period, I went to the school library to do some research. I took out my notepad and pen to write down my findings, and saw a packed lunch at the bottom of my bag. It's something that Roger made for me earlier. I could barely look at it. I put my backpack under the table and opened the first of five books I found. They were all about the history of crime and criminals in the area. One was even an encyclopedia of people who have been or are on an F.B.I watch list. I scanned through the first book, looking for anyone called Roger Jackson. Nothing. No one with that name appeared anywhere in the book. I went to the second one. Again, nothing. On the third book, I found it! Roger Jackson! Except this Roger Jackson was white, and also in prison. No luck there. The fourth book came up dry as well. I almost didn't even want to look in the F.B.I watch list book. But then I flicked through it. And I saw him.
Roger Jackson. My mom's boyfriend. Wanted criminal for heinous and terrible crimes including, but not limited to, homicide, fratricide, matricide, racketeering, drug consumption and dealing, torturing and vehicular manslaughter.
I have to get to my mom! Get her away from this psychopath! I need to get our things together and leave so he can never find us! Grabbing my bag, my thoughts were still doing somersaults in my head. It was the most haunting realization I had ever had in my whole life, even up until now in 2020. My tears flow even now, just like they did as I sprinted out the front doors of the school and towards my house. People turned and looked at me, and my teachers didn't even try to stop me. I think they could tell that I had so much determination that it would be hopeless even attempting to call after me. And so I ran. I ran with intense determination. I ran so much that I thought my legs were going to break. Finally I reached my house. I kicked down the front door.
Roger was standing over my mothers dead body.
He took one look, and pointed a cleaver at me. He threw.
It barely missed me, hitting the door frame to my right, exactly where he usually leans when I open the door from him. Glancing back, I could see him stride towards me menacingly. I ran out of the door and slammed it shut. Fear took over, and I started running again. Back towards school, but not in it. I just kept running past it. I had no idea where I would go. I had no idea who I could turn to. Not Felix. I can't involve him in something as horrific as this. The police wouldn't believe a thirteen year old either. They'd just pass it off as some random murder, not a boyfriend killing his girlfriend. I know now that I should've gone to some form of local authority, but even they couldn't have handled a maniac such as Roger. I never could have gone back without being killed by him. Which is why I didn't stop. Eventually I collapsed on the side of the road, legs worn out from sprinting for the last six minutes. That determination I had when I learnt Roger's true identity was still there, however, and that persistence told me to steal a car. I don't know why it told me that, but my initiative was the only thing that I could listen to. I scanned the sides of the road for any available cars. I walked to the other side and saw one with the keys still in the ignition. The doors would still be open! I pulled the handle and sat in the drivers seat. I had no experience driving, but the amount of times I've been sat in Roger's car in the last week, alone with the music and my thoughts, the only thing that I could concentrate on was him and his driving. And by God, I hope I picked something up from watching him. Putting my foot on the clutch pedal, I turned the keys in the ignition. The engine started! Slowly shifting into first gear, I pulled away from the sidewalk and just drove. And I now had an idea of where I was headed to.
New York.
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Four hours! Four whole tiring hours! That's how long it took to drive to New York! I was so damn tired that I could barely lift my feet off of the pedals. They were practically stuck to each other by this point. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that I had escaped Roger, the homicidal maniac that killed my mom, and may have also killed my dad. He won't be killing me anytime soon. It was that confidence that got me to New York, and it's that confidence that would help me survive. I exited the vehicle and took my first steps in the Big Apple. Immediately, I was grabbed and knocked down by some older guy.
"What's some dumb-ass kid like you doin' drivin' in New York by yerself?" He spat in my face in anger. I could barely stand up before the attention of other people was caught by this madman's crazed outburst. "Yer not gonna answer me? Huh? You think yer too good for some bum like me?" With no idea what he was talking about or why he was so angry at me, I attempted to stand up. I felt a foot slam into my ribs. "Stay down, you mon-" Before he could finish his potentially racist statement, I slammed my foot into his knee, knocking him down to my level.
"What the hell do you want from me?" Starting to walk away, I heard him get up and stomp towards me. Would this be the moment where my martial arts is put into practice? I wished it wouldn't be like this. But there wasn't a choice in that matter. He reached out to grab my shoulder. Turning me around, he had the immediate shock of being struck in the jaw by my elbow. He caught a tooth that was knocked out and threw it on the ground out of frustration.
"You're dead, kid!" He threw a slow punch, which I stepped out of the way of, then tripped him up as he ran at me. The man sprawled across the ground in an embarrassing fashion, and the crowd surrounding us started laughing at him. Two other men broke from the group to the initial aggressors aid, lifting him up onto his feet, into a shoddy fighting stance. The three charged at once, all shouting. Staying calm, I moved out of the way of their attacks, but they were prepared for that, and I had to endure three simultaneous kicks to the torso. Scrambling away, I stood and held my fists in front of my face, prepared for attacks. One went for a punch. I stepped out of the way and hit him with a strong left hook. He went down hard, and couldn't get up after that. A second opponent tried to kick my in the diaphragm, so I caught his leg. Whilst he was trying to hit me, I grabbed his other leg and threw him to the ground. The first attacker shouted at me, but I punched him across the chin, giving him his just desserts. Scared out of my mind, and with more and more people watching, I broke into a sprint and out through the crowd. I could barely make out some racial slurs my opponents were slinging, and I was running with all my might. I think that on that day alone, I had done more running than I have done in my entire life up until now. I can't remember much of that last run, but I do remember turning into an alleyway, almost passing out. Through hazy vision, I remember seeing piles of black garbage bags and crawling into them to rest. I was way too tired to carry on. No on cared that a teenage boy was just lying in trash, barely conscious. I even saw the guys who attacked me run past the entrance to the alley. That made me chuckle.
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"-ys!" My eyes slowly flickered open. A large, suited figure stood over me. They took off some form of eyewear. "Rhys!"
"Huh? Who the-" I said, with fatigue in my voice. I could see now that it was nighttime, the shy and streets being lit up by a multitude of lights.
"Is your name Rhys?" asked he suited man.
"Yeah it is." I answered, slowly trying to back away, discreetly. "And who are you?" He pulled a badge from his jacket. It was an F.B.I I.D.
"My name is Agent Ashfield. I hear that your mother was killed, correct?"
"Yeah, she was. I watched it happen."
"Would the killers name happen to be Roger?"
"He is, yeah." A sudden realization came over me, "Wait a minute! Your name is Ashfield?"
"My son is Felix, who I know you are good friends with."
"How did you know to find me?"
"I actually followed you here. Roger killed my wife, too."
"He did? What's happening with Felix? Where is he?"
"He's safe. He's actually where you are gonna be taken. I'll explain more on the way. If you'd like to follow me." He opened the door to his car, and I got in. Starting up the engine, he pulled away, and continued to talk. "I came home from work, along with my partner because he was coming to have lunch with me and the wife, and saw our front door wide open. When I went in, I could see Felix crying over my wife's dead body. I dropped to my knees and we shared what you would call a 'tearful embrace'." He paused to take a deep breath, slightly choking up as he did, "Felix said that he saw what looked like your new stepdad, Roger. I instantly recognized that name as the serial killer that's in our database. I left the house, told my partner to take Felix to HQ, and I drove on over to your house. I parked my car, saw you run in then immediately run away. I was about to follow you, but then I saw him climb out of a window then run in the opposite direction."
"But why would he kill my mom? And Felix's mom? And my dad, too?"
"I have my suspicions on why he went for my wife, but I have no idea why he did what he did to your parents."
"What's your suspicion?"
"I fired him."
"You WHAT?"
"He was an ex-agent. He threatened to leak data about a top-secret project, and was showing increasing signs of violence. So it was agreed that he would be fired. He did go on an explosive rant, mostly aimed at me. I think it would only be logical to think he'd kill my wife." I saw him take a hand off the wheel to pinch the top of his nose, letting out a deep sigh. "Get some rest, Rhys. It'll be a while before we get to safety."
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