No One Cares About My Name.

Depressed and Anguished
2003-11-01 08:31:28 (UTC)

To Die

It had been a long day. All Domnick Richardson wanted was to
sleep. However, there was no time. He had a paper due, and
he was only on the fifth page. He sighed, then ran a hand
through his disheveled dark russet hair.

He raised his fingers above the keyboard again, thinking a
moment, then typing rapidly. There was a knock on his door,
loud and repetitive. ?Great,? he muttered to himself. He
stood slowly as he moved to the door, yanking it open
impatiently. It was his friend, Darren Walters.

?Hey, Man. There?s a party goin? on. You should go.?
Darren flashed him a mischievous smile.

?No. I have a paper,? Domnick replied shortly, moving back
to his computer. He resumed his typing even as his friend
still stood there.

Darren moved further into the room, merely leaving the door
open. ?C?mon, Dom. It?s Saturday. You can do it tomorrow.
Besides, it isn?t due until Tuesday. You still have time.?

He simply shrugged. ?If I drink tonight, I?ll be too hung
over tomorrow to type.? He did want to go, but he did not
have time. There was definitely too much to do without the
interference.

?Whatever. See you,? Darren said, his voice icy. He then
turned and left without another word, the door slamming
behind him.

Domnick cursed under his breath, and paused a moment,
thinking. ?No, I have too much stuff to do,? he thought,
then promptly went back to work, his mind occasionally
straying back to his desire to go out.

* * *

Jenny Campbell smiled as she adjusted a few strands of honey
blonde hair that was being uncooperative. She was excited
about going to the party, where she was going to meet her
boyfriend, Eric Jones. There was a light thumping noise
behind her. She expected it to be her roommate, but when
she turned, no one was there.
Jenny merely turned back to check her make-up. Still, she
heard the same light thumping, seemingly endless. She
whirled, trying to catch whoever it was by surprise.
However, she again found the room empty.

?Hello?? She called, angry someone might be laughing at her
from somewhere just beyond her line of vision. She could
see no one in the dimness of her room, and she let out a
long sigh before again turning back to the mirror.

She began to feel the sick feeling she got in her stomach
every time something bad was about to happen. A long chill
ran down her spine and her hair stood up on end. Even her
scalp tingled with the misunderstood fear that gripped her.
She did not turn the next time she heard the sound. Her
nerves were shot as it was. She bolted, unknowing as to why.

She threw open her door, and screamed when she looked down
at her feet. Her boyfriend, Eric Jones lay there,
convulsing slightly, a large knife handle protruding
grotesquely from his chest. Blood seeped thickly from
around the handle and out his nose and the corners of his
mouth. His head had been hitting against the door, causing
the thumping noise she had heard.

Jenny raised a hand to her mouth to stifle the next
horrifying scream. She slammed the door, the sound of her
boyfriend?s head slamming against it one final time. She
ran to the telephone, picking it up and dialing 911.
?Nine-one-one, what?s your emergency, please,? the
dispatcher said. She had a flat, unemotional tone, as if
she were quite bored.

Jenny began screeching incoherently, the dispatch woman
trying desperately to get her to calm down and make sense.
She soon went from sobbing to crying hysterically. Finally,
the dispatcher decided to send someone, told her so, and
kept her on the line to try to make some sense from her
words. The woman no longer sounded bored.

Jenny heard a scraping sound across the room, when she had
become calmer. She dropped the telephone, and the sick
feeling came back. A long chill ran down her spine and her
hair stood up on end. Even her scalp tingled with the
misunderstood fear that gripped her. Her emerald eyes wild
with fear, darting back and forth.

She moved as quietly as she could toward her front door
again, still sobbing as she did. Her honey blonde hair
carelessly fell into her tear-stroked eyes as she crawled on
her hands and knees like some sort of dog slinking into the
unknown.

Suddenly, the door shot open, and a very tall, dark figure
filled the frame. It was very still and she could make no
features out, even in what little light was provided from
the desktop lamp. Jenny fell backwards, then covered her
eyes with her hands. She let out on cry, sad and pathetic,
before the dark thing covered her.

* * *

For the second time that evening, a knock interrupted Domnick.
He sighed again, swore again, and flung open the door
again. However, it was the police, not Darren, which stood
there.

?Yeah?? He asked warily, trying to at least act alert.

?I?m Detective Stevens,? one man said, flashing his badge,
?Homicide.?

?Good for you,? Domnick said sarcastically, sighing. ?What
do you want??

The detective gave him a scornful look. ?Son, did you know
Jennifer Campbell and Eric Jones??

?Vaguely.?

?Did you hear any noises earlier tonight??

?No.?

?Are you sure??

?Look, I know you?re just trying to do your job and
everything, but there was a party going on just down the
hall. That makes it kind of hard to hear yourself think,
much less any other noises.? Domnick had been typing for
the last few hours and he was tired and irritated.

?Yeah? And, there are two dead bodies just down the hall.
We need to know.?

Domnick felt a little remorse for her. ?I didn?t know them
too well,? he said quietly. ?Sorry. I can?t help you; I?ve
been typing my paper all night.?

The detective shook his head and pulled out a card. ?That?s
my number. If you remember anything, call me. We may be
back, so don?t go anywhere.?

Domnick shook his head. ?I?ll be here, working.?

?Good.?

He shut the door, and tossed the card aside, moving back to
his computer. The detective?s words kept ringing in his ears.

?Son, did you know Jennifer Campbell and Eric Jones? There
are two dead bodies just down the hall. We need to know.?
They needed to know. He did not have the answers. Jenny
was dead, and they did not know who did it. It was
obviously a murder, or they would not have gone asking.

Domnick sighed. He had not heard a thing. He suddenly
wished, more than he had previously, that he had gone to
that party. However, going would not have changed what was
going to happen. Nothing likely would have.

* * *

Darren, who had just returned from the party that had been
broken up, sighed. He stumbled over to his bed, failing
miserably to be quiet, and managed to climb in. He closed
his eyes, but he was just a little too excited to go to bed.

The fact that there had been a murder was enough to give him
an adrenaline rush. He, though still a little light-headed,
sat up. He wanted to know more. Then, he remembered that
Domnick had been in his room, which was just down the hall
from where the murder happened.

He considered going down to talk to him, then remembered
that he was supposed to be mad at him, and opted not to.
Domnick was a good guy, but sometimes he was just a trifle
single-minded about school. He had gotten a good
scholarship to a good college, and he did not want to waste it.

Darren rolled his eyes, chuckling to himself. The party had
been a blast while it had lasted ? then the police broke it
up. He didn?t blame them, and they didn?t tell anyone that
there had been murders. However, they had spoken to some
others earlier about it, and exciting news tended to spread
quickly.

He smiled, his thoughts clouded over by the drinks he had
drunk. He stood up, then was knocked back by something
huge. He couldn?t see around it, and it was unmoving with
the strength of a brick wall. ?What the?? The walls must
be shrinking on me,? he said with a short laugh.

He tried standing again with the same results. A large hand
moved out, clutching his neck. Fear suddenly struck him
like a hard blow. A long chill ran down his spine and his
hair stood up on end. Even his scalp tingled with the
misunderstood fear that gripped him.

He could barely breath as the fist clamped him around the
throat. Things turned red then got fuzzy. What little air
was being pulled in and expelled sounded odd to him, like an
old wheezing man. He took one final ragged breath before
everything went away?

* * *

Again, there was a knock on Domnick?s door. He roused
himself from the restless sleep he had been engaged in. He
scrambled to get up, flipped on the light, and hurriedly
opened the door. ?Yeah?? He asked groggily.

?Do you ever use a more polite response when you answer the
door?? It was Detective Stevens. His tone was reprimanding
and his look was contemptuous.

?Yeah,? he replied wryly. ?What did you need this time,
Detective??

?Have you heard any other peculiar noises this evening
following our prior meeting??

Domnick shook his head. ?Why??

?As I?ve heard, you were acquainted fairly well to Darren
Walters??

?Yeah. What?s wrong??

?He?s dead.?

Domnick was shocked. ?From what??

Detective Stevens looked a bit uncomfortable. ?Well, Son, I
am not allowed to disclose any information regarding
anything that?s happened this evening.?

?That?s a cop-out. It?s obvious there?s a murderer and you
can?t keep anyone here safe.?

The detective narrowed his eyes. ?Just what are you
instigating??

?That you can?t do your job,? Domnick said bluntly, slamming
the door. He sat down numbly on his bed. Jenny, Eric, and
Darren all killed just doors away. He couldn?t help but
wonder if he would be the next to be killed. However, it
was not that awareness that upset him so much. He had been
close to all of them, regardless of what he had told the
detective. He had three less friends than he had woken up to.

Domnick lay down and rested uncomfortably. He knew he
wouldn?t get any sleep, so he didn?t bother to turn off the
light. He merely rested there, staring up at the ceiling
and remembering his lost friends. He did not know what had
caused such a thing to happen, why whoever was doing it,
felt the need.

* * *

Detective Mark Stevens opened the door to his office to find
his partner, John Brown waiting for him. He closed the door
and set the three case profiles in front of him.

?First one,? he said as John picked up the file and opened
it. ?Eric Jones, stabbed with a three-inch knife and left.
The girlfriend opens the door, sees him there, calls 911
hysterically. By the time paramedics got there, it was too
late. She was also dead, suffocated. All her ribs were
crushed inward, so it says. No one heard anything because
of the music. Less than an hour later, Darren Walters, guy
was strangled to death. No fingerprints, no evidence.?

?Three dead bodies isn?t evidence enough for you?? John
demanded, his loud voice booming in the small space.

?With no suspect.?

He shrugged. ?What about the Richardson kid??

Mark shook his head. ?It isn?t likely.?

?What we have is a flipping conspiracy,? John said sourly.

?I know.?

?This doesn?t make sense. We can?t find one clue. You?d
think there?d be something, with the way they were carried
out ? the victims and him could?ve had a scuffle. Tissue or
something could?ve been expelled. I don?t believe there was
no evidence.?

?Believe it.? There was a knock on the door. ?Who could
that be?? Mark muttered under his breath, glancing down at
his watch. ?So early,? he added.

He pulled the door open, but did not know what had hit him.
The blow knocked him back several feet, and a large man
stepped into the doorway, filling the frame. None of his
features could be seen, even in the fluorescent-lighted room.

The unidentified man moved slowly forward, like a giant
zombie. John moved for his gun, moved too slowly, and was
caught unguarded by a fist roughly the size of his own head.
The body of what one had been a detective flew across the
room, hitting the wall with a dead thud. His head had been
collapsed from the massive blow, and blood ran instantly
from his head and mouth, then stopped when his heart stopped
pumping.

Mark, who was sobbing like a frightened child, had himself
backed into a corner. The relentless figure lifted him
easily from the ground and threw him through the window,
shattering the glass. Mark let out one shrill scream, which
sounded also like a frightened child, which was abruptly cut
off by a soft thud on the pavement below.

* * *

Three hours later, Domnick stood up, feeling sorry for
himself. He decided he would take his paper to a friend?s
house, which was on the college?s paper. As he was leaving,
he heard a muffled scream down the hall. He moved quietly
to the door where it was coming from.

The scream had stopped by the time he realized where it was,
and the doorknob was turning. Domnick merely stood there in
shock, frozen in place like a statue. The man that exited
was very large. However, that was all he could see. None
of the man?s features were seen. Finally, Domnick?s legs
took over and he ran.

He came upon a door that led to the tunnels of the college.
He flung open the door and plunged into the darkness.
However, his eyes soon adjusted and he could see where he
was going. He ducked under a low beam and kept going,
attempting to be quiet. He could not hear anything behind
him, but he did not want to take the chance that the man was
right behind him.

He tripped over a piece of wood that had been carelessly
tossed on the floor, and quickened his pace. He came to a
set of metal stairs and quickly ran up them. He glanced
back, for a second only, and saw the featureless man behind
him still. He opened the door in front of him, and
clambered up another flight of stairs.

He opened the door at the top and ran inside blindly. He
found himself at the top of the school, in the solar
collector room. There were low pipes and beams in every
direction. He could only hope that he would not hit his
head on something as he moved along silently. He hid behind
a large black drum filled with water and looked around
briefly.

Another set of stairs was off to his left, and a door on his
right. There was not much farther up he could go, but he
would risk running into a dead end if he went through the
door. The stairs, he thought, would probably lead him to
the roof. He let out a short gasp as his eyes found the
mysterious man again.

Domnick ran wildly for the stairs, and burst through the door
at the top, breathing in the crisp night air as he found
himself on the rooftop. It was about then that he realized
he was still clutching his prized paper. He ran blindly on
the roof, trying to find somewhere to go. He turned when he
reached the edge, threw his twelve-page paper at his
assailant, and jumped for the roof of the next building.





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