‹ Prequel: When Three Becomes Two
Requiem of Revenge
Chapter 3
Billie’s PoV
“Do you have a tape player, Estelle?”
She nodded, and said, “Wait here. I’ll go get it.”
After she left the room, I sat on the couch pondering what I should do next, toying with the tape in my hands. I couldn’t confirm what the recording said yet, but I had a pretty good idea of what it would say. If Mike really had been kidnapped by Marcus, the obvious thing to do would be to find him.
It’s also the stupid thing to do, a voice said from the back of my head. You’ll never find him. It’s hopeless, get out while you can…
No, I couldn’t. I had to find Mike. I wouldn’t let some murder torture my friend or whatever other grisly things he was doing to him right now.
You idiot, Billie Joe, that cold, calculating part of me nagged again. Far too selfless, even to the point of recklessness. Billie Joe Armstrong, always the hero, the star…it’s going to bite you in the ass soon, very soon…
Estelle returned with a dusty metal box in her hands. It was very old—the mildew covered it thickly, and she blew on it as she walked towards the table and set it down.
Quickly I placed the tape inside. Before I started it, I turned to face the girl beside me, who was looking at the recorder curiously.
“Er, Estelle, could you...?”
“You want privacy?” she guessed.
“Yeah. I’ll call you back inside in a minute.”
She strode quickly out of the room, still somber. Once the door snapped shut, I clicked ‘Play.’
There was a lot of static on the message—clearly it had been poorly recorded—but I could still understand it.
“Billie Joe,” That awful, self-assured voice scratched.
“I am holding Mike hostage in New York City. You have a week to find him. No exceptions. If you’re too late, you can guess what will happen.”
My eyes widened as I stared at the tape, with its circuits spinning madly, as though it was driven by the wild thoughts racing through my head.
“Don’t think I haven’t forgotten my sweet revenge I promised you when we last met. Mike’s release will come with a price.
“You will give me everything, everything you stole from me all those years ago. You shall give me your children and wife, as repayment for being the cause of my family's deaths. Every object you own will belong to me. Your house deeds will be signed with my name.
“Don’t forget. New York City. One week. Give me everything you have. Or Mike dies.”
Oh, no. Oh, no…
I don’t know how long I sat there in the half-darkness, gazing numbly at the little black box that had brought me such horrifying realizations.
The tape had stopped whirring a long time ago, but I could still hear the words echoing hauntingly in my mind.
“Or Mike dies.”
“Do you have a tape player, Estelle?”
She nodded, and said, “Wait here. I’ll go get it.”
After she left the room, I sat on the couch pondering what I should do next, toying with the tape in my hands. I couldn’t confirm what the recording said yet, but I had a pretty good idea of what it would say. If Mike really had been kidnapped by Marcus, the obvious thing to do would be to find him.
It’s also the stupid thing to do, a voice said from the back of my head. You’ll never find him. It’s hopeless, get out while you can…
No, I couldn’t. I had to find Mike. I wouldn’t let some murder torture my friend or whatever other grisly things he was doing to him right now.
You idiot, Billie Joe, that cold, calculating part of me nagged again. Far too selfless, even to the point of recklessness. Billie Joe Armstrong, always the hero, the star…it’s going to bite you in the ass soon, very soon…
Estelle returned with a dusty metal box in her hands. It was very old—the mildew covered it thickly, and she blew on it as she walked towards the table and set it down.
Quickly I placed the tape inside. Before I started it, I turned to face the girl beside me, who was looking at the recorder curiously.
“Er, Estelle, could you...?”
“You want privacy?” she guessed.
“Yeah. I’ll call you back inside in a minute.”
She strode quickly out of the room, still somber. Once the door snapped shut, I clicked ‘Play.’
There was a lot of static on the message—clearly it had been poorly recorded—but I could still understand it.
“Billie Joe,” That awful, self-assured voice scratched.
“I am holding Mike hostage in New York City. You have a week to find him. No exceptions. If you’re too late, you can guess what will happen.”
My eyes widened as I stared at the tape, with its circuits spinning madly, as though it was driven by the wild thoughts racing through my head.
“Don’t think I haven’t forgotten my sweet revenge I promised you when we last met. Mike’s release will come with a price.
“You will give me everything, everything you stole from me all those years ago. You shall give me your children and wife, as repayment for being the cause of my family's deaths. Every object you own will belong to me. Your house deeds will be signed with my name.
“Don’t forget. New York City. One week. Give me everything you have. Or Mike dies.”
Oh, no. Oh, no…
I don’t know how long I sat there in the half-darkness, gazing numbly at the little black box that had brought me such horrifying realizations.
The tape had stopped whirring a long time ago, but I could still hear the words echoing hauntingly in my mind.
“Or Mike dies.”