"I'm sorry you felt so uncomfortable," CJ said, kissing Pyrus' head. They were sitting on CJ's bed next to each other with Pyrus resting his head on CJ's shoulder.
"It's not your fault," Pyrus said. "I just don't know how to act around him. I'm not going to act like nothing happened, but..."
"I think you should tell Andy," CJ said. "She deserves to know."
"I don't want her to hate him any more than she does."
"Py, you are never going to get over it if you don't face it."
"Can we talk about something else?" Pyrus snuggled closer to CJ's side. CJ put his arm around him, comforting him.
"Okay," CJ said. "Let's talk about something we won't fight over: politics."
"Good idea."
"Good thing we're both a part of the Green Party."
They talked about good old politics for a good amount of time until Pyrus made the conversation serious again.
"I've been thinking about it and I've decided that I want to tell Andy and Walter about us."
"Okay. Whenever you are ready." They returned to their conversation about politics. World War 1 and 3/4 was a fun topic.
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"Hey Tamber," Andy said.
"What's up? What to watch a documentary on mudskippers?" Tamber asked.
"You know it!"
They proceeded to binge-watch a series of documentaries, each with worse camera work than the prior. After this, they decided to make their own documentary. They walked into the Andy Sack, a potato sack Andy loved to hang out in making art, trying to decide what to make it on.
"So... documentaries. What should it be about? How crayons are linked to cancer?" Tamber asked.
"Wait, crayons are linked to cancer?" Andy questioned, shocked. As an infant, she loved to eat crayons as well as stick them in her ear.
"Nah. But it doesn't need to be true, doesn't? It can be a Mockumentary." Tamber stated.
Andy sighed with relief. She'd live to see another day.
"Nah. I don't want to particularly," Andy said.
"How about bocce ball? Duffy plays that, right?" Tamber asked.
"Yeah, but I heard she didn't make it. Apparently the captain of the team is of part of the Sexism Fandom."
Tamber sighed. She hated Fandoms, but nothing did she hate more than Fanfiction. A bunch of creepy people ducked around a computer writing their own freaky versions of characters other people made up? No thank you. She prayed that for as long as she lived, she would never be a part of Fanfiction.
"I don't really care about what we do. As long as we do it together, Andy."
Andy giggled. Tamber was always so nice to her. The truth was, she wanted to spend time with Tamber doing stupid stuff, but she couldn't get her mind off of Jona. Had he really accused her of murdering some kid? She was mad at him, but she would never go that far...
But then again, what if it happened to her? What would she think? Would she accuse him? She realized right then and there she had no right to be mad at Jona. After all, there must be nothing fun about having a severed head show up at your doorstep, and it would probably make him think irrationally. She was the one wrong, not him.
She turned around to tell Tamber that she was going to go talk to Jona, but she wasn't there. She looked at the clock. It was 5 in the morning? Andy then realized she needed to realize how to make decisions quicker. She stood up and set off to go fix her relation with Jona.
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Johnathan Law sat his desk, fed up with the news reports. Six other kids murdered? What was going on? He looked at the photos of the heads. Sliced clean off the bodies of children? He read over their names.
Edith. Gary. Agnes. Fanny. Ethel. Alfred. Jeeves. What did they have in common? He rubbed his temples, frustrated (though not the temples on his head. He had two temples set up to Richard Nixon and George W. Bush, his two favorite presidents, in his office. He rubbed the temples for good luck). What did they have in common? It was then it hit him. The ceiling fan. He stood up and got hit by the ceiling fan. Darn, that blasted fan! he thought, cursing himself for building a four-foot ceiling. But then the answer to his question hit him. All the kids had old people names! He jumped in joy but accidentally hit his head on the ceiling multiple times. He scrambled out of his office and turned to his partner, Tom Foolery.
"Wake up, Tom!" he cried out, smacking him in the back of his head. "We have a serial killer to catch. And also a movie. Want to see a movie?"
"Of course!" said Tom, jumping up. I've waiting to get a chance to see Hotel Transylvania 3!"
Tom was 40. Tom is a loser.
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Splash! The water balloon hit Jona in the face. He squealed with laughter, falling to the ground.
"Aaaaah! You got me!" he cried out as Walter walked over to him.
"It's your fault for not running away!" he laughed, helping his best friend up.
Jona and Walter had started a tradition of having a water balloon fight every week. It started out fun, but now it was just kind of strange, considering it was mid-November.
"Hypothermia is rad!" said Jona, high-fiving Walter, shaking from the cold. Or was it more than the cold... Jona pushed away this thought.
"Hey, we should get you a towel, dude. You look cold. Come on, let's go inside," Walter responded to Jona's uncontrollable spasms of coldness. He helped Jona up the stairs to the house.
Inside Walter's house, Jona sat down on the couch, in dry clothes Walter lent him, right next to Walter.
"Wanna watch something pal?" asked Walter. Jona smiled back.
"Sure. But only if we watch our favorite show."
"Fine, fine," Walter chuckled. Walter turned on PAW Patrol and the two both grinned. After all, it was their favorite show. But was that the real reason Jona was smiling?...
Stop it, said Jona's brain. Stop it right now. You and Walter are just friends. That's all that's there. And your cold. That's it.
"Man, it is chilly in here," thought Walter out loud. He grabbed a blanket from next to the couch.
"Here," he said, tossing it to Jona.
"Thanks." He's being strangely nice to me. Why is that? Unless...
"Unless what?" asked Walter. Man said Jona. I have to stop thinking out loud.
"You're fine. I usually block it out half the time."
What? Can everybody hear my thoughts?
"We've just gotten used to it by now."
Ok, this is getting weird.
"You're fine. I've seen weirder."
Jona was generally confused. He went to go think something important to the plot, but he realized that if Walter could hear it, the audience probably could, and he didn't want to spoil anything. He tried to think of something more generic.
The weather is nice today, thought Jona.
"Eh. I've seen better," responded Walter.
Jona decided to relax and just focus on the show. He laughed when the fireman dog knocked something over and cried when the police officer dog gave an inspiring speech. He was a hardcore fan to boot.
Once the show was over, Walter looked at the clock.
"Hey, man, it's getting kind of late. Maybe you should go. My dad's going to be home any minute," he said to Jona, nervously rubbing his neck.
"Why?" Jona sat up. "Why can't I be here when your father's here?"
"Just, go, okay?" Walter answered back forcefully. "Just git! Git, boy!"
Git? Jona thought. I've never been told to git before. And why was Walter acting so weird?
"Git is a common term, Jona!" At this point, Walter was practically yelling. Jona stood up, scared of how his best friend was acting.
"Okay, okay!" he said, inching towards the door. He went to leave but gave one last look at Walter on his way out. Was he crying?
"No, you're crying!" shouted Walter, slamming the door in Jona's face, leaving Jona as confused as he was in the previous chapter (See: Confused Feelings).
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It was midnight. Frasier was sitting at home, eating his favorite snack, muesli. The seven-year-old swung his feet back and forth but soon cried out in pain.
"Are you serious? I threw my back out again?" With one hand clutching his spine, he hobbled towards the bathroom to get his pain medications: Baby Aspirin.
After taking half a pill, he sat down in his recliner. "It's too dang cold in here!" he shouted to nobody, angry clicking the "recline" button. His parents were out for date night, leaving the whole house to himself. He peered through the blinds on the window next to him, where he saw five kids- dancing?
He practically choked on his dinner, Farina. He opened the window, screaming at the teens.
"Get out of here, you rotten kids! Leave before I call the police!" He pointed to his landline.
The kids sneered at him and ran off into the night. "Rapscallion kids!" he yelled at them, his upper lip curling in anger.
He settled back into his chair, turning on his favorite show, The Honeymooners. He chuckled at the jokes, laughing whenever Ralph Kramden (his favorite character) threatened somebody physically. That never got old. He laughed so much he didn't even hear the sound of somebody running around behind him.
The landline began to ring. He grumbled as he got out of his chair, muttering to himself about those youngsters and taxes. He picked up the phone. Nobody spoke. Just the sound of heavy breathing.
"Hello? Anybody?" he asked the phone, turning up the volume on his hearing aid. Still just heavy breathing.
"Oh, I bet you kids think you are so funny, with your prank calls? Huh? Just wait!" He slammed the phone on the wall, then picked it back up, dialing the police. If only he could remember their number. 9...1... what was that last one? His memory was getting worse and worse these days. He suspected Dementia.
He sat back in his recliner, turning his show back on. It was then the lights went off. But, because of his severe cataracts, he didn't notice.
Until it was too late.
30 seconds later, Frasier let out a blood-curdling scream. 10 seconds later, the lights came on. And two hours later, his parents came home and found the seven-year-old beheaded in the den.
The Old Kid Killer had struck again.