Kill Your Darlings

Chapter 2 - Wrong answer.

You can’t help but laugh again, but there’s a hint of nervousness in it that can’t be hidden. You keep at it for a few minutes, hoping that if the laughter holds up, Spencer will finally clue you in on the joke. But the boy says nothing remotely funny, and the sound of the rain on his end drowns out your forced laughter.

“Humans are pathetic things,” he finally says after a while. “Like what the fuck are you laughing for? Is the knowledge of your lover and child held hostage really that funny?”

It is your turn to cough. “Well it has to be a joke. How could a teenage guy hold hostages?”

“How could a teenage guy create bombs? Mass shootings? My generation is capable of a lot of things, doc. Never underestimate us.”

“Spencer, you know this is a criminal offense, right? You could get arrested for just joking—”

“I don’t take light of things I’m passionate about. That’s the first thing you should know about me.”

His words finally hit you. That’s the first thing you should know about me. Have you known anything about him in the first place?

“I-I’m not saying I believe you, but how did you find them? I never told you anything about where they lived or—”

“Ah, but you did. People like me remember the small things. During conversations, there are bits and pieces people slip about their lives that can make up their entire story. And trust me, I know yours.”

A sense of sickness rests in your stomach, the panic rising slowly like cake in an oven. “Where are they?” you whisper, but it’s more to yourself than to Spencer.

Spencer laughs at the question anyway; a trilling sound that seems to merge with the falling rain and manages to send a chill straight down your spine. “I can’t tell you where they are, doc. That’ll ruin the whole purpose of the game. I’ll tell you what, though: it wasn’t hard getting them to do what I said. People seem to listen to you a hell of a lot better when you have a gun.”

“T-this isn’t funny anymore, Spencer. I’m calling the police. I mean it.”

“You won’t do that, doc,” he says. His voice hits a dramatic low, the type you’ve only heard in movies and television shows. “Because if you do, there’ll be a bullet between the eyes of the people you love the most. They’ll be dead before the police can even break down the damn door, you hear? This new philosophy is important to me. If you screw it up, I’ll bring you down with it.”

You open your mouth, but sudden fear swallows up your ability to speak. Rain can no longer be heard on the other line.

“I don’t mean to show this side of myself to you, doc. I like you; I really do. We connect well, but I think that after this, we’ll finally be inseparable. You just need to see what I see. I’m only helping you; you’ve got to remember that.” There is a ding on the other end—it sounds like an elevator. “I can practically see the thoughts running through you head right now. Why the hell did I let him into my office? Why didn’t I find out more about him? Compassion’s a bitch, doc. People with compassion are the ones that get screwed over.”

“You should’ve never come back. I want you to leave me alone now, Spencer. Don’t call me, don’t see me, just…leave.”

“You’ve got to play my game first, then.”

“What the hell is this game, anyway?!”

“Nice of you to finally ask,” he says. His voice has gotten lighter, the same tempo it was when he first met you. “Smart people like me get bored easily. I bet you know that. My mom gave me riddles and shit when I was a kid to keep me busy. I’d spend all day on them, I swear. By the time I turned thirteen, I could solve them in my sleep.”