The echo of Synthia's words serves as a concomitant tune while Raven is driving back home. An unexplainable urge to rejoice knocks hardly on his parched mind, so he caves in and just stares at the invisible air with a steadfast head and smiles while the bright headlights of the cars coming from the opposite side illuminate these emerald eyes of his, which have been drenched in lightlessness for days. He gets to his favorite bar enchanted, but without being aware of the fact that Matthew is dedicatedly on the tail.
Raven walks into the bar in steps of utter liveliness. He pulls a stool to sit on and then softly calls the bartender who is just another decorative friend of his: "Eddy…"
"Hey…so, you're still alive!" Eddy says with a cynical, merry voice.
"I guess I am." Raven responds with less merriness.
"Where have you been all these days, man? I haven’t seen you since the three Bloody Mary's you had three weeks ago."
"I had a fortuitous quandary that kept me away."
Eddy smiles generously and then says: "I'm glad you're back. So, what would you like to start the night with?"
"A vodka martini."
"And the same for me." Matthew says, as his engrossing eyes eerily eyeing Raven's.
"That's an excellent choice, detective." Raven, who is struggling to conceal his daze, says with a not-so-consistent rhythm of voice.
"Really? Then I guess I'm lucky. I've never tried this drink before." Matthew says and then pulls the stool to Raven's right and sits on it.
"You'll develop a declamatory predilection for it." Raven says, as he begins to revert to his usual self. Matthew looks at Raven, but remains quiet.
Uncomfortable with a wordless response, Raven prompts his unwelcome, sudden, unsettling companion to engage in a conversation by asking him: "Any luck with your nightclub case?"
"Big-time!" Matthew says before he lights up a cigarette, cuddles it with his lips, takes a lengthy drag and then places it back between the sturdy fingers of his left hand. He then asks: "Wanna smoke?" with his pack of cigarettes extended towards Raven.
"No, thanks...I don’t smoke. So, have you found a major lead?"
"Even better than that – I found the killer."
"Really?"
"Ah-huh, and I'm talking to him right now."
An uncontrollable smile wraps Raven's face, contrasting the trembling within, and then he says: "That's an acutely awry assumption, detective."
"Are you good at visualizing things?" Matthew raises an unforeseen question.
"Yes, I am, to a certain extent." Raven says and puts out his smile.
Eddy brings the two drinks. Raven ambivalently takes a sip.
"Great…" Matthew says, pauses and leans sideways, placing his right elbow above the bar to form a prop that ends with a fist supporting his right temple while his left hand is holding the cigarette whose whirling smoke is tangling the explicit looks exchanged between the two. After a few seconds of speechless ganders, Matthew begins to talk tranquilly:
"Now visualize this: a seven-year-old boy wakes up at two o'clock after midnight to the muffled screams of his mamma. He jumps out of bed, tightly holding his teddy bear, and then innately hides under the bed.
But guess what? He did recover! And he grew up to become a detective, vowing to take out every piece of human trash and make the world a cleaner place; a place where kids get to grow up with their dads and moms.
Matthew adjusts his posture, sitting upright, and then grabs the glass with his right hand and takes a sip. He then daringly looks at Raven and says in a daunting tone: "I don't know about you; but personally, I believe that someone like him was born to put an end to psychotic, heartless, barbarous, murdering motherfuckers such as yourself."
Raven walks into the bar in steps of utter liveliness. He pulls a stool to sit on and then softly calls the bartender who is just another decorative friend of his: "Eddy…"
"Hey…so, you're still alive!" Eddy says with a cynical, merry voice.
"I guess I am." Raven responds with less merriness.
"Where have you been all these days, man? I haven’t seen you since the three Bloody Mary's you had three weeks ago."
"I had a fortuitous quandary that kept me away."
Eddy smiles generously and then says: "I'm glad you're back. So, what would you like to start the night with?"
"A vodka martini."
"And the same for me." Matthew says, as his engrossing eyes eerily eyeing Raven's.
"That's an excellent choice, detective." Raven, who is struggling to conceal his daze, says with a not-so-consistent rhythm of voice.
"Really? Then I guess I'm lucky. I've never tried this drink before." Matthew says and then pulls the stool to Raven's right and sits on it.
"You'll develop a declamatory predilection for it." Raven says, as he begins to revert to his usual self. Matthew looks at Raven, but remains quiet.
Uncomfortable with a wordless response, Raven prompts his unwelcome, sudden, unsettling companion to engage in a conversation by asking him: "Any luck with your nightclub case?"
"Big-time!" Matthew says before he lights up a cigarette, cuddles it with his lips, takes a lengthy drag and then places it back between the sturdy fingers of his left hand. He then asks: "Wanna smoke?" with his pack of cigarettes extended towards Raven.
"No, thanks...I don’t smoke. So, have you found a major lead?"
"Even better than that – I found the killer."
"Really?"
"Ah-huh, and I'm talking to him right now."
An uncontrollable smile wraps Raven's face, contrasting the trembling within, and then he says: "That's an acutely awry assumption, detective."
"Are you good at visualizing things?" Matthew raises an unforeseen question.
"Yes, I am, to a certain extent." Raven says and puts out his smile.
Eddy brings the two drinks. Raven ambivalently takes a sip.
"Great…" Matthew says, pauses and leans sideways, placing his right elbow above the bar to form a prop that ends with a fist supporting his right temple while his left hand is holding the cigarette whose whirling smoke is tangling the explicit looks exchanged between the two. After a few seconds of speechless ganders, Matthew begins to talk tranquilly:
"Now visualize this: a seven-year-old boy wakes up at two o'clock after midnight to the muffled screams of his mamma. He jumps out of bed, tightly holding his teddy bear, and then innately hides under the bed.
He can hear something...someone is coming.
The sound of the incoming footsteps is growing louder, and it's certainly neither his mother nor his father who's approaching his room. His parents' walks were quite distinguished. His mom would walk lightsomely with barely any noticeable sound, while his father's walk was more impactful; with steps that strike the floor with fullness. Those footsteps, however, sound like an intimidating, strange, never-heard-before mixture of the two.
The door opens while the boy's heart is racing. He grabs the teddy bear violently against his chest, hoping it would buffer the heartbeat. The man with the bizarre footsteps' sound gets closer to the bed. The boy holds his breath while he's examining the man's boots with wide-open eyes. A couple of minutes pass by, and then the man is convinced that no one else is in the house; so he leaves.
The boy eagerly, but with utter caution, crawls from under the bed, stands on his barely shivering feet and then goes to his parents' bedroom. They're both lying lifelessly in their bed whose sheets have tuned into crimson. The blood is still cascading, gushing out of their slit throats while their dilated eyes are gazing at each other, bidding farewell.
Any kid at his age put in that position would burst into tears and probably scream hysterically, but that boy does neither. He slowly walks around the bed; as if his eyes are savoring that scene of his freshly slaughtered parents. He's finally saturated, and then he goes to the phone and dials 911. The operator asks about the emergency and the kid says: 'my parents just got killed with an extremely sharp knife by a lefty, fairly tall, blond man wearing dark-blue jeans and brown boots with black laces,' and then he gives the address.
A few days later, the seven-year-old managed to identify the killer from a lineup. All what the kid needed was to watch and listen to each one of the suspects walk. Unsurprisingly, the killer was lefty; as the boy had deduced it from the mother's defensive wounds. He was also blond, matching a fallen hair the kid saw in bed. The police also found those boots with the unmatched laces when they searched the killer's place. There was still some blood on them, which led to his indictment.
During the trial, when the guy was asked why he did it, he simply said that there wasn't anything interesting enough on TV that night, so he decided to kill his boredom by killing someone. A couple of months later, he got executed, and only after that, the little boy finally cried over the death of his parents. He somehow was able to postpone his grief until the murderer was found. He cried retroactively, and he surely shed a lot of hoarded tears. Some said that he had developed a mental condition from which he'd never recover.
The door opens while the boy's heart is racing. He grabs the teddy bear violently against his chest, hoping it would buffer the heartbeat. The man with the bizarre footsteps' sound gets closer to the bed. The boy holds his breath while he's examining the man's boots with wide-open eyes. A couple of minutes pass by, and then the man is convinced that no one else is in the house; so he leaves.
The boy eagerly, but with utter caution, crawls from under the bed, stands on his barely shivering feet and then goes to his parents' bedroom. They're both lying lifelessly in their bed whose sheets have tuned into crimson. The blood is still cascading, gushing out of their slit throats while their dilated eyes are gazing at each other, bidding farewell.
Any kid at his age put in that position would burst into tears and probably scream hysterically, but that boy does neither. He slowly walks around the bed; as if his eyes are savoring that scene of his freshly slaughtered parents. He's finally saturated, and then he goes to the phone and dials 911. The operator asks about the emergency and the kid says: 'my parents just got killed with an extremely sharp knife by a lefty, fairly tall, blond man wearing dark-blue jeans and brown boots with black laces,' and then he gives the address.
A few days later, the seven-year-old managed to identify the killer from a lineup. All what the kid needed was to watch and listen to each one of the suspects walk. Unsurprisingly, the killer was lefty; as the boy had deduced it from the mother's defensive wounds. He was also blond, matching a fallen hair the kid saw in bed. The police also found those boots with the unmatched laces when they searched the killer's place. There was still some blood on them, which led to his indictment.
During the trial, when the guy was asked why he did it, he simply said that there wasn't anything interesting enough on TV that night, so he decided to kill his boredom by killing someone. A couple of months later, he got executed, and only after that, the little boy finally cried over the death of his parents. He somehow was able to postpone his grief until the murderer was found. He cried retroactively, and he surely shed a lot of hoarded tears. Some said that he had developed a mental condition from which he'd never recover.
But guess what? He did recover! And he grew up to become a detective, vowing to take out every piece of human trash and make the world a cleaner place; a place where kids get to grow up with their dads and moms.
Till this day, he's still having dreams of that night. In the dreams, however, instead of being calm and investigative, he cries instantly…"
Matthew adjusts his posture, sitting upright, and then grabs the glass with his right hand and takes a sip. He then daringly looks at Raven and says in a daunting tone: "I don't know about you; but personally, I believe that someone like him was born to put an end to psychotic, heartless, barbarous, murdering motherfuckers such as yourself."
