Rodger drove to work wondering what to expect. He was the last person who saw Billy alive, and Billy was beloved by all who knew him. Even Rodger wasn't immune to his good character. However, not everyone looked at Rodger as a welcome part of the team, although after this long they had learned to hold their tongue and get over it. But now, would they suspect that Rodger had something to do with his death? Rodger's heart gave a mournful pang. Billy didn't deserve death. He belonged to life, embodied it really.
"I had to." Rodger muttered under his breath, hoping that voicing the fact would override the guilt. "I had no choice."
Unfortunately, that didn't silence the other voice, the one that hissed to him that killing Billy had been a horrible mistake. Perhaps he could have talked Billy out of his suspicion. 'Oh, my paint must have spilled' he could have said. Enough persuasion could convince people the oddest lies, as he knew so well. Then he and Billy could have laughed, and he wouldn't be in this mess. But no, he had to pull a fucking gun on the poor bastard. He had to panic and shoot the guy. He had to go to Dawn's afterwards, and ruin everything between them. Now he could never drift in that condemned hope that he and Dawn could stay together, that nothing would rip them apart. Cancer. It was so normal. People died of it all the time. But why her of all people? She was so young. So tender and lovely. Why did she have to fall victim to death? But then again if it wasn't for her cancer she would have never contacted him. She might have even reported him instead. Rodger's thoughts were running him in circles again. Analyzing every moment wasn't going to help anything. Dawn had cancer. Billy was dead because he shot him. He was a murderer. Houston was probably going to finally find that piece of evidence to link him directly to the murders over all these years. Those were facts, and Rodger had to deal with them. He couldn't spend time wishing they were something else, or wondering what would happen if his situation magically changed.
Rodger pulled up to the construction site. This was it. He had no idea how his coworkers would react to Billy's death, and as he knew, it was sometimes-often-anger. At least initially. Rodger walked towards the site, looking over the people working. One of them saw him, and began to walk toward him. Rodger's thinking paused for a moment, though his steps continued, then he wondered what he had to say. Rodger couldn't read his expression from this far away. Hopefully it wasn't an aggressive look. As he drew closer, Rodger could read a somewhat mournful expression. What was his name again? Todd? Ted? Tom? Tyler! That was it.
"Have you heard about Billy?" Tyler asked, his face prepared for whatever response Rodger would give.
Rodger nodded wordlessly.
"The boss is giving us the day off. You know, for psychological reasons."
"I see."
"Are you going to Billy's funeral?"
"When is it?"
"Today."
"I don't know if I should." Was it really proper for someone's murderer to attend their victim's funeral? Was it considered a sign of remorse, or did it seem more like some twisted joke?
"Billy would want you to come."
Rodger wasn't sure if he agreed with that statement. But how else could he respond to that? "Okay." Rodger agreed. "I'll go."
Tyler handed Rodger a slip of paper. "That's the address." He explained. "It starts at one."
Rodger nodded, and Tyler strolled away. Rodger watched, and looked around, somewhat confused. He was unsure what to do. He felt lost somehow. What was he living for? What was he doing here? Rodger looked at his watch. The funeral would be starting in a couple of hours. Luckily he had something decent to change into.
Rodger drove home while his mind was blank. He didn't feel like himself. It seemed as though he was watching himself, outside of his body. It was strange. Rodger couldn't grasp the exact feeling. He didn't know what he was supposed to feel. Remorse maybe? But should he even feel remorse?
Rodger pulled up to the curb of the graveyard in a black suit. He eyes fell upon the group of people that sat or stood before a fresh grave. Rodger strolled in their direction, his hands in his pockets. He wasn't family. He wasn't anything to Billy. And Billy was nothing to him. So why was he here? He murdered Billy! If these people knew what he had done, they would throw him into that grave! Yet Rodger couldn't stop his feet from moving forward. He couldn't stop himself from joining that group of people. He settled in the back, out of sight, though he highly doubted they would throw him out. Rodger didn't listen to the people that spoke. They weren't the reason he was here.
A black coffin was lowered into the ground, and Rodger observed that it wasn't viewable. For a good reason. Rodger had already seen what horrors the bullet had done to his face. Now that he looked back on it, he must have shot Billy several times without realizing it. He couldn't have done that much damage from just one bullet. Funny. He couldn't remember shooting the gun more than once, or even once. It the sound hadn't accompanied the shots, Rodger would have never realized until looking down that he had killed Billy.
The fact that he couldn't remember such an important fact unnerved Rodger. He wondered if there were other little details that his mind had tucked away from him. But there was nothing he could do about it. What was he supposed to do, go to a hypnotist? Oh well. Maybe it was best he didn't remember. The memories he could see were disturbing enough.
Rodger froze. Disturbing? Did he really just describe his memories as disturbing? Did he see death as disturbing as well? Death? What he had loved all his life, his reason for living? Did he regret killing all those people as well?
Rodger whimpered, soft enough as to not draw attention to himself. What had he become? What had happened to him? Why? He didn't want this. He was a killer that loved death. He was...he was...who was he? Who was he really? He always thought he knew. But now...damn it. He didn't want this!
Rodger backed away from the crowd, and automatically began walking through the graveyard. He needed to get ahold of himself and figure this out. To his horror, nothing came to mind. He didn't know what he felt about all of this. He knew he loved Dawn. He knew he wished he hadn't of killed Billy. But for what reasons? Because now he was in Houston's radar? Or because he felt sincere remorse? He didn't know anymore. He felt so confused.
The grave he saw in front of him, however, made him realize something. He always regretted killing his parents. They were the only ones that he never felt that sick satisfaction when he looked back. He wished every day that he hadn't given into temptation. Rodger felt ashamed of himself.
"Mom." He whispered. "Dad." Rodger doubted that they could hear him. But he had to get some things off his chest regardless. "I'm sorry." He chuckled to himself. "If you are listening, I doubt you want to hear from me. You're probably better off not hearing from me. But here I am. And I am sorry. I'm sorry that I'm such a piece of shit, and that if you were still alive you'd be ashamed and afraid of me. I'm sorry I'm such a twisted, warped, horrible person. I'm not fit to lick a normal person's boots. But I know that now. I know I'm a bad person. I know I'm an example of the worst type of evil in the world. But Mom, Dad, I met this girl. She's not really that sane either. But she's made me realize some important things. She's made me realize, after all this, that under all of these dark cravings, I'm still human. She made me touch my humanity again, something I haven't felt since I killed you both. Something I haven't felt since I first felt that compulsion to kill people. And I love this girl. I can't even believe a wicked person like me is capable of this much love, let alone love at all, but I do. But she wants me to kill her. She's in pain, and she's going to die whether I kill her or not. I just don't know what to do. I've just discovered that I might somehow redeem myself, yet she wants me to go back. I don't know what to do. Is it wrong to want her to live even though she doesn't want to? Is it sadistic of me to keep that relief from her? I just...I don't know who to turn to. I don't know what to do. I'm so lost." Rodger sighed, and listened to the wind that whispered in his ear. Obviously, there was no-one to answer him. Tears leaked from his eyes and traced lines across his cheek. They fell to the grass and soaked into the earth. Rodger grabbed a chunk of grass and squeezed, pulling it from the ground. He was in so much agony. He didn't know how to deal with himself. Night fell around him, but he was still on his knees, head lowered, tears running down his face.
"Mom." He whispered again. "Dad. I love you. I love you both. Even if you hate me."
He couldn't blame them for that hate. For everyone's hate that radiated toward him like some sort of missile. Part of him hated himself for who he was.
Rodger is my most confusing character. Ever. I think it's because he doesn't know himself, so it's difficult for me to know him. He ALWAYS has these conflicting thoughts running through his head, and they change rapidly. He can turn from cold blooded murderer to sniveling coward in a heartbeat. I'm not really sure what's happening right now. I keep on trying to get Rodger into Dawn's apartment again, but he won't go. He'd rather just hang out and feel sorry for himself. So hopefully in the next part he'll suck it up and move the story along haha.