Violent Kisses and Violent Minds
Chapter Fifty Four
Chapter Fifty Four:
“Sonny, you have to see this,” Travis proclaimed, bursting into Matt’s bedroom where Sonny was now. Sonny sat casually upright from his lying position on Matt’s bed, noticing that Travis clutched a newspaper in his right hand. He threw the newspaper down on the foot of the bed. Sonny reached a hand out to grab it, curious.
“Page seven,” Travis directed.
Sonny proceeded to flick through the pages of the newspaper until he arrived on page seven. If he had been eating or drinking anything while reading the contents of page seven he would have most certainly choked on them in utter shock. It read:
TRIPLE MURDER ON SUBURBAN STREET by Wilhelmina Dawson.
The residents of Farmore Street were in for quite a shock when two days ago the bodies of three victims were found slaughtered. The body of one Police Officer Jeremy Pritchard was the first body to be found out the front of 18 Farmore Street, lying carelessly on the sidewalk. Coroner Harold Harnby claims that the cause of death was either shock or loss of blood, caused by a sharp, non-serrated knife wound to the chest cavity. As horrible as the death of Jeremy Pritchard was, that was not where it ended.
When police officers endeavoured to question some of the neighbouring residents, no reply came from the doors of number 18. Upon further investigation, police discovered that the bodies of John Moore and his wife Sally were found in the kitchen. One police officer - who wishes his name to be concealed - said when asked about their state: “They had been all shot up. These murders weren’t as fresh as the one of Officer Pritchard, and the flies were terrible. You see that sometimes… it’s truly horrible…”
After an increased investigation of the neighbourhood, the police discovered that Mr and Mrs Moore did in fact have an adopted son, named Sonny Moore. When asked about this, chief of the homicide department said: “Mr and Mrs Moore do have a son who they adopted. His name is Sonny Moore. His apparent disappearance is a point of interest to us. If anyone knows anything about where we may be able to find Sonny Moore, we encourage you to come forth and tell us, as this could potentially be a crucial point to this case. Of course, he could just be holidaying with friends, but we do find it very strange that none of the neighbourhood’s residents have seen Sonny come to the house since around the time of Mr and Mrs Moore’s death. We’re not jumping to any conclusions here, but this is, at this point, suspicious activity that we will most definitely be looking into. If you have any information on this said Sonny Moore, please contact the police hotline…”’
Accompanying the article was a picture of the late Mr and Mrs Moore, the late Officer Pritchard, and - gasp - Sonny Moore, captioned by his name and the police hotline phone number.
Through his shock, after reading the article, all Sonny could manage to say to Travis - who was pacing uneasily across Matt’s room - was, “This is bad.”
“Bad? That doesn’t even begin to cover it!” Travis said, frustrated.
“Is it just me, or do they kinda make me sound like a suspect?” Sonny asked timidly.
“It’s not just you, buddy.”
“Jesus!” Sonny shouted. “They think I killed my own parents? And that other dude? The police guy? They’re insane!”
“Fuck, Sonny. You realise this means you won’t be able to go out? Someone could recognise you and report you. You can’t be seen. You can’t talk to the cops now, it’s too late. This son of a gun could be watching us at any time. I assure you he’ll know it if you go to the cops. Or if they come to you. We can’t let that happen. Fuck! I’ll call Matt at the hospital.
“He’s in the hospital, he’ll have his phone turned off,” Sonny said dejectedly.
“Oh come on!” Travis swiped furiously at the air with his fist. “I’ll try Derek and Jess then.”
Travis stormed off, muttering unintelligibly, to make some phone calls, leaving Sonny to sit on Matt’s bed and take in what he had just read. He was still shocked about all of it.
-Meanwhile, in a near silent, small room in the bowels of the hospital…-
“J-J-Joseph, I s-s-still don’t kn-know if this is s-such a g-g-good id-dea…” Dr Rumble stuttered nervously, looking uncertainly upwards at his much taller colleague.
“Jeff, how many times do I have to tell you that I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING?” Dr Joseph Smith yelled, losing his patience with the stuttering, stumbling Dr Rumble.
“I j-just d-don’t kn-know if this is w-w-what w-we sh-should be d-doing,” Dr Rumble said, more timidly than before.
“Don’t back out on me, Jeff. Think of what I’m doing. Don’t think I won’t have the courage to do it again if an annoying little lump of a man won’t shut his trap,” Dr Smith said, showing more calm tranquillity than before, despite the subject of his conversation.
Dr Rumble waited in the room for about an hour while Dr Smith hunched over a bench, working intricately, delicately, letting out an evil laugh every now and then. Dr Rumble never knew what Dr Smith was about to prove he was capable of.
“Sonny, you have to see this,” Travis proclaimed, bursting into Matt’s bedroom where Sonny was now. Sonny sat casually upright from his lying position on Matt’s bed, noticing that Travis clutched a newspaper in his right hand. He threw the newspaper down on the foot of the bed. Sonny reached a hand out to grab it, curious.
“Page seven,” Travis directed.
Sonny proceeded to flick through the pages of the newspaper until he arrived on page seven. If he had been eating or drinking anything while reading the contents of page seven he would have most certainly choked on them in utter shock. It read:
TRIPLE MURDER ON SUBURBAN STREET by Wilhelmina Dawson.
The residents of Farmore Street were in for quite a shock when two days ago the bodies of three victims were found slaughtered. The body of one Police Officer Jeremy Pritchard was the first body to be found out the front of 18 Farmore Street, lying carelessly on the sidewalk. Coroner Harold Harnby claims that the cause of death was either shock or loss of blood, caused by a sharp, non-serrated knife wound to the chest cavity. As horrible as the death of Jeremy Pritchard was, that was not where it ended.
When police officers endeavoured to question some of the neighbouring residents, no reply came from the doors of number 18. Upon further investigation, police discovered that the bodies of John Moore and his wife Sally were found in the kitchen. One police officer - who wishes his name to be concealed - said when asked about their state: “They had been all shot up. These murders weren’t as fresh as the one of Officer Pritchard, and the flies were terrible. You see that sometimes… it’s truly horrible…”
After an increased investigation of the neighbourhood, the police discovered that Mr and Mrs Moore did in fact have an adopted son, named Sonny Moore. When asked about this, chief of the homicide department said: “Mr and Mrs Moore do have a son who they adopted. His name is Sonny Moore. His apparent disappearance is a point of interest to us. If anyone knows anything about where we may be able to find Sonny Moore, we encourage you to come forth and tell us, as this could potentially be a crucial point to this case. Of course, he could just be holidaying with friends, but we do find it very strange that none of the neighbourhood’s residents have seen Sonny come to the house since around the time of Mr and Mrs Moore’s death. We’re not jumping to any conclusions here, but this is, at this point, suspicious activity that we will most definitely be looking into. If you have any information on this said Sonny Moore, please contact the police hotline…”’
Accompanying the article was a picture of the late Mr and Mrs Moore, the late Officer Pritchard, and - gasp - Sonny Moore, captioned by his name and the police hotline phone number.
Through his shock, after reading the article, all Sonny could manage to say to Travis - who was pacing uneasily across Matt’s room - was, “This is bad.”
“Bad? That doesn’t even begin to cover it!” Travis said, frustrated.
“Is it just me, or do they kinda make me sound like a suspect?” Sonny asked timidly.
“It’s not just you, buddy.”
“Jesus!” Sonny shouted. “They think I killed my own parents? And that other dude? The police guy? They’re insane!”
“Fuck, Sonny. You realise this means you won’t be able to go out? Someone could recognise you and report you. You can’t be seen. You can’t talk to the cops now, it’s too late. This son of a gun could be watching us at any time. I assure you he’ll know it if you go to the cops. Or if they come to you. We can’t let that happen. Fuck! I’ll call Matt at the hospital.
“He’s in the hospital, he’ll have his phone turned off,” Sonny said dejectedly.
“Oh come on!” Travis swiped furiously at the air with his fist. “I’ll try Derek and Jess then.”
Travis stormed off, muttering unintelligibly, to make some phone calls, leaving Sonny to sit on Matt’s bed and take in what he had just read. He was still shocked about all of it.
-Meanwhile, in a near silent, small room in the bowels of the hospital…-
“J-J-Joseph, I s-s-still don’t kn-know if this is s-such a g-g-good id-dea…” Dr Rumble stuttered nervously, looking uncertainly upwards at his much taller colleague.
“Jeff, how many times do I have to tell you that I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING?” Dr Joseph Smith yelled, losing his patience with the stuttering, stumbling Dr Rumble.
“I j-just d-don’t kn-know if this is w-w-what w-we sh-should be d-doing,” Dr Rumble said, more timidly than before.
“Don’t back out on me, Jeff. Think of what I’m doing. Don’t think I won’t have the courage to do it again if an annoying little lump of a man won’t shut his trap,” Dr Smith said, showing more calm tranquillity than before, despite the subject of his conversation.
Dr Rumble waited in the room for about an hour while Dr Smith hunched over a bench, working intricately, delicately, letting out an evil laugh every now and then. Dr Rumble never knew what Dr Smith was about to prove he was capable of.