Dark Journal

Dear Journal,

It’s me, obviously. I visited Judy. She’s taken very well to her new medication. We carried on an entire conversation. Granted, I could not break character, and she was Faust. Strange how she cast me as the antagonist of the play. Perhaps she is still upset.

Yancey’s journal entry was interrupted by a phone call. Retrieving the offending device from his vest pocket, he noted the number. The only light in the small room was his desk light, illuminating the hardback journal, a sketchbook underneath, and the fountain pen used by the writer. The cell phone in hand cast Yancey’s dispassionate face in inhuman, blue light. After brief consideration, he answered.

“Mr. Valentine,” he sighed.

“H-have you s-s-seen the p-pap-per!?” yelped his frantic acquaintance.

“Of course,” Yancey said with a touch of pride in his voice.

The well dressed young man bent down and retrieved the Weekly Honker, and smiled down at the headline. Dead Student found in Diner Walk-In. Yancey’s normally cool demeanor changed. The frantic babblings of “Skeeter” Valentine were lost. A heady breath escaped Yancey as he read how the body of Roger M. Holtz was found inside a Walk-In Cooler. The picture was not of the body, but a painting of a bird in the victim’s blood.

“Stop,” Yancey suddenly snapped, “Repeat what you just said.”

Something the addict had rambled caught Yancey’s attention.

“Thecopsaskedmewhat’supwith--”

“Slow down. Breathe, Mr. Valentine. Breathe.”

“Right. Breathe. Breathe in. Breathe out. Right.”

“Don’t hyperventilate,” Yancey sighed, becoming more irritated by the millisecond, “Just tell me what the police asked you.”

“Th-they wanted t-to know if-if-if I knew of any new p-players in t-town.”

“What did you tell them, Mr. Valentine?” Yancey asked, debating Skeeter’s usefulness.

“I told ‘em I didn’t know nothin’!” Skeeter babbled, managing not to stutter an entire sentence.

Yancey recognized this as a tell, of course. Mr. Valentine could only keep himself from stuttering when he’d recently had a fix. And, if he’d have gotten a fix, the addict would have passed out. Yancey was beginning to regret supplying his informant with quality product.

“Good,” Yancey soothed over the phone, “Very good.”

“G-good?”

“Yes, Mr. Valentine. You’ve done well.”

Yancey absently reached out and stroked an item just out of the lamp’s light. It was a bleached white canine skull. It was a calming gesture, something Yancey did only when he was calming himself.   Plans were blooming in his mind. Yancey had his own addiction that he needed to satisfy.  But, he had to be patient for his next fix.  He would have to make do with sketches, for now.

“But,” Skeeter mumbled, “this crazy b-bird guy is k-killing d-dealers.”

Yancey’s hand paused upon the skull. All emotion bled out of his expression.

Crazy.

Bird.

Guy.

“You needn’t worry, Mr. Valentine,” Yancey said, still in the same calming, friendly tone, “I’ll take care of you.”

“Y-you will?”

“Of course! I take very good care of my friends, Mr. Valentine. Let me handle this ‘Serial Killer Issue,’ alright?”

“You’ll t-take c-care of him?”

“Let’s just say he’s become incorporated into my long term plans,” Yancey cryptically admitted, “I’ll see an advantage out of this, yet.”

“That’s g-good,” Skeeter sighed in abject relief.

“If there is nothing else?” Yancey asked.

“Huh?”

The fingers on Yancey’s free hand slipped into the eye sockets of the dog skull on his desk. He had to take a calming breath to cool his murderous anger.  But, he mentally berated himself, as well. One gets what one pays for, especially if the currency is drugs.

“Is there anything else you want to tell me, Mr. Valentine?” Yancey asked, much more calmly than he felt.

“N-no. I don’t th-think so.”

“Then, I bid you goodnight.”

“Oh, hey, b-boss,” Skeeter was asking as Yancey hung up on him, “c-can I--”

The young man barely had time to remove his fingers from the skull before his phone vibrated, again. This time, he saw a text message. It was from a particularly interesting young woman, one Yancey had to leave alone, for now. This was especially true, given the nature of the text message.

Bluff: We’re in.

Sighing in satisfaction, Yancey pocketed his phone, and returned to his journal entry.

On a side note, obstacles are falling away. I just secured access to a prominent investor. Personal interest in the Heiress aside, she shall be a longtime business partner. Her interest in certain individuals shall be a great ally over time.

-Douglass Yancey Funnie.

Finished with his journal entry, Yancey closed his journal, and retrieved the skull from atop his desk. Turning it to face him, he smiled up into its empty sockets. No longer would it destructively run about the house or spill his ink.  But, it had always been faithfully at his side.  So shall it remain, forever, just like Holtz, and Patti.  The only way he could truly rely on anyone was if they were dead. Otherwise, Deception was the only Truth.

“Bluffington shall be mine, Porkchop,” he said to the pet he’d murdered, “It’s no longer a question of ‘if.’ But, when.”