(18+ for language and violence. Also, sexuality, I guess, because the word penis is in there somewhere)
This is the last part. Again any feedback at all will be appreciated, even if this is the only part of the story you've read.
Seriously you guys. ANY comments at all would be appreciated
The boy and the doctor came to a stop at a brownstone building across the street from Stevie’s Diner. The building was rather new compared to the surrounding structures, making oddly out of place. It was little more than a large brown cube with rows of perfectly square windows, each with bars across them. When Doctor Mysterion asked what this wretched place was William informed him that the building was his home.
“Do not insult my intelligence you delinquent imbecile! This is not my Fortress of Retribution!”
“You don’t live there anymore; this is your home now.”
Will thought it best not to tell the doctor that his secret lair had been converted into a Halloween themed amusement park for young children. Mysterion studied the building for a moment, stroking his goatee with his skeletal fingers as his eyes darted across the rows of identical windows.
“Well, I don’t think I care for this place very much at all.”
William led the doctor through the sliding double-doors of the building’s entrance. In the lobby two men in hospital scrubs guided an elderly woman in padded shackles down the hallway. A morbidly obese Latino man was sitting on two chairs watching a soap opera on the wall mounted television. His walker was resting next to the chair. William recognized the obese man as the former professional wrestler, El Torro. The boy remembered watching his antics on Monday evenings with his father when he was six years old. El Torro was well known for using the ringside folding chairs to subdue his opponents.
“Mister Barrier!” cried the red haired nurse at the front desk, “Where have you been, we’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Doctor Mysterion’s eyes widened. He demanded that the woman tell him how she knew his real name, “right this instant!” The nurse took the doctor’s hand from William and led him toward the front desk.
She turned and thanked William for returning Mr. Barrier to the hospital. “This is the third time he’s run off this month, isn’t that right Eric?”
“That’s Doctor Mysterion to you, you vile dugong!”
The nurse rubbed his wrinkled hand gingerly. “Yes, yes, I know.”
She whispered to William that Mysterion was in need of his medicine.
The doctor shouted, “I’ll have you know, my dear lady, that I’ve acquired PhDs in no less than five scientific disciplines!”
The nurse thanked William once more. Just before the boy was about to leave Mysterion pried his bony hands from the nurse and ran to William’s side. He grabbed the boy by his shoulder and leaned in close to whisper in his ear.
If a thought-bubble were to appear above young William’s head this is what it would likely say:!
“If you see Madame Cobra,” said Doctor Mysterion, “you must tell her that the rabbit’s head is beneath the patio. She’ll know what that means.”
“Um,” said William, “Yes Doctor, I’ll be sure to tell her if I see her.”
The nurse guided Mysterion back to the front desk just as El Torro began screaming the Mexican National Anthem. No one but William seemed to notice.
Outside the mental hospital the air was cool with a brackish scent to it. Somewhere a dog was barking. A black man wearing a hospital gown was sitting with his back against the wall, petting an imaginary kitty. William looked at his digital watch; it was just past nine pm, still early but the boy didn’t feel much like fighting any more crime that evening. He removed his skateboard from his backpack and made his way down the sidewalk. Will stopped at the drugstore beneath the spaghetti junction. Inside a dark-skinned Sikh wearing a black turban was standing behind the register, eyeing a pair of African American gentlemen browsing the snack food aisle. His fingers were caressing the ten-gauge shotgun concealed beneath the counter.
There was a wall filled with post office boxes next to the door of the drugstore. William used his keys to open one of the boxes from which he removed a handful of letters. Will found three envelopes addressed to his mother, all apparently sent from banks or credit card companies. William stuffed his mother’s mail into his backpack and began opening his own letters.
The first envelope contained a formal invitation to the Mayoral Ball where young William was to receive the “Acre City Award for Above Adequate Samaritans.” The next letter was written by an anonymous author, warning young William that he and his family would be dead within the week. William found this second letter to be quite unimaginative and threw it into the garbage can. The next letter was written by an elderly woman, thanking William for locating her late husband’s missing femur and for apprehending the hoodlums responsible for its disappearance. William was pleased with this letter but he saw little need to keep it and discarded it as well. The next letter simply read, “Dear, William Griffin,” followed by the crudely drawn cartoon penis sketched in permanent marker. William discarded this letter immediately. The next letter was written by another anonymous author in nearly indecipherable cursive. Careful study revealed that the author intended to disembowel young William and strangle him to death with his own intestines. William found the language of this letter to be strangely poetic despite its dark subject matter. Nevertheless he was unmoved by the threat and discarded this note as well.
The very last letter had a return address located within the same borough as William. The boy could tell by the abhorrent grammar, as well as the use of crayon as a writing utensil, that the author was either a child or severely mentally challenged. The letter berated William, calling him mean and stupid. The author spelled the word stupid as “stoopit.” It was signed at the bottom by Jocelyn Van Mason.
This is the basic summary of what young William thought upon reading the author’s name:?
The name Van Mason seemed oddly familiar to young William. He scanned his memories for anyone, a criminal, a victim or some obscure witness who might belong to the Van Mason name. He came up with a gentleman named Richard Van Mason whom he had personally arrested for the illegal sale of gold coins from a fifteenth century shipwreck. He remembered that the man responsible had a little girl who was about four years old at the time. Jocelyn must have been Richard’s daughter. Young William did not throw this last letter away.
William folded Jocelyn Van Mason’s letter and placed it carefully into the front pouch of his backpack. He left the store just as the two men in the snack food aisle were about to make their purchase. William skated down the sidewalk until he turned on a street shrouded in the perpetual shadow of the elevated train rails. William stopped in front of a three story tenement building. Across the street was a group of Black teenagers loitering in front of a convenience store. Each of them was clothed in either black or green colors. Some of them had their shirts off, exposing the grips of the firearms tucked in their waistbands. One boy, who was not much older than young William, was smoking a cigarillo. On his chest was a tattoo of a cross with a flaming skull in the center, the grip of a sawed off shotgun was tucked into his belt. The boy looked at Will and nodded in his direction. William ignored the group of hoodlums and carried his skateboard inside the building.
The young men across the street were members the Five-Nine or “Nickel Nine Crew,” so called because their set was composed of all the area between Fifth and Ninth boulevard. William had a silent agreement with the Five-Nines. The boy was not to make any arrests or assist the police in any investigations within their turf. In return William and his mother were not to be harassed by any member of the gang. But secretly William had vowed to one day eradicate all the members of the Five-Nine crew as well as all other forms of organized crime within the city. He would wipe away their filth from all six boroughs of Acre City just as one would scrub the grouts between the tiles on the kitchen floor.
The television was on inside the living room of William’s third floor apartment. The kitchen, living room and dining room were all one in the same, separated by only the small counter and the line between the tiles and the living room carpet. William found his mother asleep in the recliner next to the window. She was still wearing her blue apron which she always wore to work. Some tangled strands of hair had escaped from the bun on the back of her head. William’s mother had a frown on her face; she always frowned when she slept.
The news anchor on the television was reporting on about recent acts of cyber-terrorism attributed to a masked villain known only as “The Notum.” William took the remote from his sleeping mother’s hand and turned off the television just before a photograph of The Notum appeared on the screen. He removed a blanket from the hallway closet and covered his mother with it. The frown on her face seemed to fade when William kissed her on the forehead. Young William turned off all the lights in the living room/dining room/kitchen, all except for the stove light in case his mother should wake up in the middle of the night.
Young William did not own any pajamas, but instead slept in his undershirt and a pair of old basketball shorts in which the elastic waistband had become worn out. In the bathroom William removed his eye patch and stared himself in the mirror. His left eye was milky white, terrifying even for the famous kid detective to look at. He thought about what Doctor Mysterion had said about the nature of evil. Even children commit evil acts, thought young William, what a cold and uninviting place the world truly is.
William read Jocelyn’s letter one last time before he went to sleep. He wondered how many other Jocelyn Van Mason’s were out there, no mothers or fathers to take care of them thanks to the famous kid detective of Acre City. The boy lay on his back on top of his bed. He always slept above the covers because he hated the feeling of his limbs being constricted by the sheets. The el-train passed by just outside his window, causing the ceiling to shake and dust to rain downward like snow. Young William drifted off to sleep, dreaming of electrical storms, long dark hallways, luxurious timepieces, shipwrecks filled with gold coins, and crowds, lots and lots of crowds:
…?
Part 4: There isn't one
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