|Note that this article is still under construction.|
The events of the morning stupefied John. He had always put the extra effort to hide his real name, and yet here he is, insecure over the fact that someone else knows his game. He skipped breakfast, and only had coffee for lunch.
The time was 5 PM, and the television was turned on, playing the twentieth season of CNT's Z Games. He just wondered how someone could get to know his real name. His school, college and work records all show him as 'John Alexander Weiss'. What if it could be one of the former employees of the hospital he was born in? 'Unlikely', he thought.
At that moment, he received a text. He wasn't bothered to read to it, but still checked. It was a forward message from Bryce. Knowing Bryce wasn't the kind of man who'd forward crappy jokes, he opened his text message.
Your middle name is John, isn't it, Jerrex?
Come and play.
"Play, eh? Well, bastard. You will see me play." John said to himself, and sprinted out of the house to his Vigero and drove to Elgin Avenue. He knew Bryce would be there.
As he drove through Occupation Avenue to join Elgin, he saw Bryce's civilian car parked in the side. John pulled up next to him, and jumped off to greet his cop buddy.
"Got the text, officer?" John asked.
"Yup. Number not recognized though. Whoever it's from, knows a lot about you, John."
"Fucking hell, Bry. Any murders around here?"
"Not yet, but since he's called, there has to be one." Bryce replied.
At that moment, Bryce's phone rang. "It's Sienna..." he said.
"Sienna, I'm busy at this.... WHAT? YOU HAVE TO BE F**KING KIDDING ME. I'LL BE THERE. YES, HE'S HERE WITH ME. Cheers."
John was puzzled, but got an answer before he could ask.
"Ever been to the Unicorn, John?" Bryce asked. John knew he was talking about the strip club, Vanilla Unicorn, the place where the town's losers hang around. "Six strippers found dead in a minivan, along with a middle aged car salesman. Your name was spray painted along the sides. Come, let's go check it out!"
The duo drove their cars to the corner of Elgin Avenue in Strawberry, and surprisingly, the LSPD were already there. They were directed to a bunch of disused parking spaces behind the strip club, and saw a dark yellow Vapid Minivan, with it's doors open and seven bodies outside; six of lean thin women while the other, unmatchingly of a fat middle aged man.
But that's what mattered to John. The side of the car was clearly painted, with the words 'Alex written, and striked over and replaced with John.'
'He knows my middle name.' John said to himself, and moved to examine. Two strippers had their throats slit, while the other 4 were poisoned, proved by the evident discolouration of eyes and skin. There were large bullet entry and exit holes in the man's neck, suggesting he was executed by a high power pistol. John then noticed Sienna approaching him, with an e-cigarette in her hand, and a book in other.
"Fat chap is a Greg Hopkins, a car salesman working at Premium Deluxe, you know, the illegitimate car dealership. 42, divorced thrice, no custody of kids. No involvement in crime. The strippers..."
"The strippers don't matter. Even this Greg whatever doesn't. Has your team checked the car?"
"Half way there. We found this in the dash. Forensics went through this, and the finerprints matched Greg's. You have to take a look for yourself." Sienna handed John a large diary. The first page said that the diary belonged to 'Jerry Smith Bienvent'. "Nobody under that kind of a name lives in America. We can understand why." She sniggered, but John didn't respond.
John went through the diary, it was mostly empty, with some random gibberish scribbled into some pages. Until he reached August 29, John's birthday.
The thing scribbled made some sense.
SHE- DJENAN; ARE LONGS AXE
"Djenan" John thought to himself. "It can't be."
At that moment, Sienna's iFruit began to ring. She answered the call, and hung up after a brief conversation. "Umm, John. This minivan...."
"This minivan is registered under John A. Weiss, born August 29, 1988. That's you." Sienna said it, her facial expressions easily gave away her cluelessness.
"But I clearly..." John attempted to speak. "I know. This shitty minivan isn't your taste." Sienna said, throwing away her e-cigarette. "Anyway, did you read the diary?"
"Nope. Anything interesting?"
"It belongs to you."
"No, it doesn't."
"Check the last page". She said sternly.
John did, and surprisingly, it listed the owner as John A. Weiss. It also also listed John's house address, and listed John's S/O as 'Peyton Smith', and John's occupation as former cop and taxi driver.
"Sure it isn't yours?" Sienna asked, with an air of confidence in her face.
"I don't write diaries."
"So you are suggesting that the murderer wrote this?"
"Probably. He knows more about me. This is just a threat, indicating that he knows where I live, and who my weak points are. This guy, or girl, is dangerous. Dangerous, Sienna, dangerous."
"I think you're just exaggerating. That guy's probably a nut job. Speaking of nut jobs, where's Walker?" Sienna asked.
John looked around. No sight of Bryce Walker. Shocking, since Bryce did come to the spot with John. John was about to say that Bryce was probably hanging around with the strippers, like every loser in town, but instead, had to read a text message from an unknown number.
The text read:
John, it's Bryce.
I've been reading a lot lately, and I would like recommend:-
Kidnapped, by Robert Louis Stevenson.
Held, by Alex Mason
Under the Bridge, by Rupert Coin
Innocence, by Maryl Groanback.
"Bryce's been kidnapped." John announced to Sienna.