Present day…
The apartment wasn’t his favorite place to live, not compared to his mansion in New York or his castle in Scotland. But Frederic felt like it grounded him, made him sympathetic to human life, so to speak.
The good thing was that it was spotless. Because it was practically empty. Though, he did like having things neat and in their proper place. That’s probably because of his brother, but we’ll get to that.
The sun had just started its shift for the day.
Frederic sat on his couch watching the news on a 32-inch tv that was mounted to the wall. His messy hair and dirty clothes suggested he had been lazing around for a couple days.
Gorging a heaping bowl of Admiral Munch.
The news screamed, as it always does, of the corruption, the murders, the disease…of course topping it all off with a bit of good news about how the city is holding events like the upcoming Valentine’s Day parade.
He chuckled. “It’s funny,” he thought.
How easily they could go from a mass shooting to a fun holiday activity for families and friends.
Humans.
A pounding at the door interrupted his morning.
Frederic scowled. “Who is it?” he whispered.
To whom the people outside the door heard him shout it.
It was the police.
“BPD!” an officer shouted. “Open the door now, sir!”
Crawford glanced at the door. He set down his bowl of sugar and the tv shut off.
He blew a raspberry and stood up.
He looked at the door. He could control it, just as he did the tv—without a single touch.
The door unlocked and opened.
He saw three officers.
They didn’t waste any time entering.
“Frederic Crawford,” the lead officer said. Turn around, hands behind your back. You’re under arrest for the murder of Kenneth Schwartz.”
He could see the badge name, Harris, on her chest. She kept walking closer with her hand on her pistol.
Crawford smiled and looked into her eyes. The door slammed shut behind them. “I’m gonna stop you right there.” He put his hand up.
The officers stopped frozen in place, stuck in their stances, keeping their eyes on his. They could only breathe, swallow, and look.
But they felt everything that he would make them do.
Harris’s eyes spasmed as she tried to control her body. Her stare bounced around Crawford’s face. Her chest widened and shrunk faster and faster as she tried to catch her breath in sheer panic.
Terror entered her soul.
She could not move, she could not speak.
She was simply a bystander in her own flesh and bone.
The same could be said for the other two officers.
“First of all, Kenneth Schwartz was a rapist fuck, who the justice system let out and he repeated multiple assaults. He’s better off dead. Secondly, you couldn’t arrest me even if you tried.”
The officers stood in the exact same position.
He Puppeted all three of them—one of the oldest tricks up his sleeve.
“See?” Crawford mocked. “You can’t even try.” He smiled.
He got right in Harris’s face. “Harris!” he shouted.
“Yes, sir!” Harris shouted and stood up straight as an arrow.
“Ten thousand push-ups! Now!”
Harris obeyed.
Crawford watched her drop immediately and go hard. One push-up each faster than a second.
He looked at the other officers’ badges.
Green and Anderson.
Green the youngest, what a happy coincidence.
Anderson, the oldest of all three.
“Green!” Crawford yelled.
“Yes, sir!” Green shouted and stood up broad as a statue.
“Hold your breath! Now!”
Green immediately obeyed, taking a huge breath in and holding it still. His eyes never left Crawford.
Crawford looked at Anderson, happy for his last trick.
“Anderson!” he screamed.
“Yes, sir!” Anderson shouted and stood sharp as a knife.
“Kill them! But do not let them die!”
Anderson trembled. His eye twitched and his head seemingly started to swivel. “Uh!…uh!” He didn’t know what to do.
“ANDERSON!” Crawford roared.
“Yes, sir!” Anderson, with tears flooding his eyes, thought of the only thing he could do. His body shook in horror.
He pulled out his gun but tried so hard to fight it.
Anderson shot himself in the head.
Harris started crying as she passed the 50 mark.
Anderson collapsed away from them with the gear on his person loudly clanking against the wooden floor.
Crawford looked at Green, who held his chest puffed out, Anderson’s brains sprayed him.
Green held his own, now going on two minutes.
Crawford walked back over with his bowl of Admiral Munch.
Harris at 110.
Crawford got down in Harris’s face again. “Faster!” he yelled at her.
Harris obeyed, wincing in terror.
120.
130.
Crawford chomped a spoonful.
140.
150.
Green dropped on his purple face, sending vibrations through the floor into Harris’s hands as he slammed into it.
“Faster!” Crawford demanded into Harris’s ear, spitting cereal. “Do not stop!”
The door unlocked and opened.
He saw three officers.
They remained outside of his doorway.
Staring at him in fear.
“Come in,” Crawford said.
The three officers walked inside.
He looked at each of them, satisfied with his Puppeting. “Frederic Crawford is not here. He never was. Tell your superiors you found nothing and will continue to look.”
They remembered nothing.
They obeyed.
Harris nodded in agreement. “Sorry for bothering you, sir. Have a great rest of your day.”
Frederic smiled. “You as well, thank you, officers.” He waved at them.
They all left as quickly as they once entered.
They closed the door behind them.
Frederic made the door lock and looked at the tv, taking another bite of cereal.
It turned on, returning to the news.
He sat back down, comfy on the couch, letting out a relaxed sigh.
Pounding on the door interrupted him again.
Crawford raised his eyebrows and groaned. “For Pete’s sake,” he complained, raising his hands. He stood up, leaving his empty bowl on the coffee table. He looked at the door.
“Who is it?” he asked in a high-pitched voice, turning his head.
“FBI,” an agent on the other side answered. “Open up, Crawford. Let’s talk.”
Crawford scoffed, rubbing his face. “Of course it’s you,” he muttered. He went and unlocked and opened the door. “Hanes.”
Hanes, a man in his forties, and a Special Agent, smirked at him as the door opened. “Frederic.”
Frederic shook his body. “Well, come in,” he said impatiently.
Hanes entered with his hands hanging on his vest. “How are you, Frederic?”
Frederic shook his head, closing the door. “Just trying to enjoy my morning, with no help from you, I might add.”
Hanes scoffed. “What did you do to those officers?”
“No harm,” Frederic answered nonchalantly. “What do you want?”
“Every time we talk,” Hanes said. “We never seem to get anywhere.”
“No shit,” Frederic replied, looking into his eyes. “I’m just not sure how you keep remembering me. Tell me, do you have a hidden stash of dirt on me somewhere? Some…private eye shit?”
“I do,” Hanes answered involuntarily like he had been given a truth serum. “A journal and pictures.” He cleared his throat.
“Hmm,” Frederic sounded. “Then burn it, all of it. Forget me. Forever.”
Hanes, a man who has been pursuing Frederic for years, nodded, being Puppeted. “Sure. As soon as I get home, I will.”
Frederic smiled. “Well, I wish I could say it’s been fun, Hanes. Bye-bye, no—.”
“But it’s not just me,” Hanes cut him off. “You are wanted, Frederic. The department knows you. My unit is here. Right outside.”
Frederic looked at him, regretful he let things get this out of hand. “Yippee,” he mocked. He sighed, looking away. “You know, even if I did let you take me and throw my ass in prison, dissect me, or abuse me, whatever it is you people would do. I could leave at any time. I certainly wouldn’t rot in a cell for a hundred years.” He rubbed his head and groaned angrily. “You fucked things up, Hanes…and I screwed the pooch.” He looked down.
Hanes shrugged and made a face of agreement.
“It’s fine, it’s fine. I have an idea,” Frederic said. He touched his temples and pointed at Hanes. “And now you have it, too.”
Hanes nodded.
“I said get out! Pig!” Frederic yelled.
“Put your hands up, now!” Hanes commanded seriously, pulling out his pistol and aiming.
“Fuck you!” Frederic yelled, a bit humorously. “I’m grabbing my knife!” He made the biggest knife fly into his hand from the kitchen. He motioned towards Hanes.
Hanes pulled the trigger.
The bullet went right into Frederic’s forehead.
He dropped to the floor like a rag doll. Blood splattered on the wall.
“Shots fired! Shots fired!” Hanes could hear other agents running to the door.
They busted in.
Hanes stood over Frederic still aiming his gun. “He’s down,” he said aloud.
“What the hell happened?” his supervisor asked. “You were supposed to apprehend him, Hanes, not kill him.”
Hanes holstered his pistol. He shook his head. “He came at me with a knife, I had no choice.”
His supervisor smacked his lips and shook his head.” God damnit…” He looked at Hanes. “Years of fucking tailing this guy. Years…” He shook his head with a deep sigh. “Well, are you alright?”
Hanes nodded. “Someone get a coroner,” he said to another agent. “And call his brother, I have his contact info in the subject file. Get him down to the station.”
His supervisor looked at Frederic’s lifeless body. “Christ on a cracker.” He looked at Hanes, who was staring at Frederic. “Hey. You win some, you lose some.” He put his hand on Hanes’ shoulder. “Make sure this gets wrapped up neatly.” He left the scene.
Hanes stayed, watching over the limp body.
Soon enough, the coroner came and they bagged Frederic.
All of the neighbors had been looking out of their doors, watching and recording everything that they could.
Hanes looked at them regretfully as he left the apartment.
He didn’t expect to start the day this way.
He looked at his smartwatch.
8:16 a.m.
It was too early for death to be making its rounds.
Hanes stood outside of the police station’s morgue after the body was rolled in.
He waited.
A man who looked to be in his early thirties entered the hall from the station. The lights almost seemed to dim as he walked through the doors. He had long black hair, dark stoic eyes, and pale skin. Wearing a black suit under a black overcoat.
Hanes watched him, unsure how to feel.
The man stared right at him walking slowly closer and closer, as ominously as anyone could like he was floating. “Special Agent Hanes?” he asked kindly, in a prominent English accent.
“Yes,” Hanes answered, finally seeing the man’s face, he recognized him from Frederic’s file. He stood up straight. “You must be Josiah.”
The man, Josiah, nodded. “I believe you have my brother.”
Hanes nodded. “I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances, Mr. Bluhd.”
Josiah remained silent, looking through the window into the morgue.
Hanes wasn’t used to awkward silences. “So, we’re just gonna have you verify Frederic’s identity. Then the pathologist will perform an autopsy, write a report, and fill out a death certificate. Ideally, sometime tomorrow we can have Frederic transported to a funeral home of your choosing.” He nodded kindly.
“How did he die?” Josiah asked, looking into Hanes’ eyes.
Hanes had the memory burned in his mind, shooting Frederic in the head.
“It was a gunshot wound,” Hanes answered.
Josiah raised his head, seeing Hanes’ memory. He saw the flash of gunpowder and the blood that Frederic made everyone think they saw.
“If you’re ready,” Hanes said, inclining it was time to enter the morgue.
Josiah nodded. “Yes.”
They both entered.
The pathologist, a woman in her late thirties, watched them come in. “Hello,” she said softly. She looked at the cold lockers on the other side of the morgue. “This way.”
She opened locker seven and carefully pulled out the table where Frederic lay under a cloth. She looked at them both kindly and went into her office. She always allowed the family to have their space.
Hanes moved the cloth, revealing Frederic’s pale face and the hole in his forehead.
Josiah took a deep breath. “Yes,” he stated. “That’s Frederic.” He looked at Hanes. “Do you mind giving me a moment alone with him?”
Hanes nodded sympathetically. “Not at all. Take your time.” He walked away to talk to the pathologist in her office.
Josiah moved to the head of the table where you couldn’t see Frederic anymore.
He stood directly over his head.
Then, he inhaled through his sinuses, gathering as much mucus as he could. Him being a smoker, the snot wasn’t hard to find.
He hocked a loogie.
Frederic’s eyes shot open, knowing the heinous act his brother was about to commit. “Don’t you dare,” he whispered.
Josiah smiled and slapped him in the face.
Hard.
“What the fuck!” Frederic mouthed with wide eyes.
“What have you done, Frederic?” Josiah questioned him. “Have you any idea how much exposure you’ve brought on yourself? And now you’re bringing me into it.”
“Look, I fixed it,” Frederic argued. “I was on their shit list. Now, I’m dead to them.”
Josiah shook his head.
“How are you, brother?” Frederic asked.
“Well, I was busy when they called. You know you’ll never be able to come back to Maryland again.”
Frederic raised his eyebrows. “Meh,” he noised. “Busy with what?”
“I would very much like to talk to you about that,” Josiah said. He looked around. “But in a more appropriate setting, perhaps?”
Frederic nodded. “Good call. I’ll play dead, you get me out.” He smiled and closed his eyes, fading back to a fake corpse.
Josiah smirked. “It’s good to see you, too.”
He walked away, over to Hanes and the pathologist.
Hanes looked at him.
“May I talk with you for a moment?” Josiah asked him.
“Of course,” Hanes answered.
They both left her office.
“Everything okay?” Hanes asked.
Josiah looked into his eyes. “Don’t move, don’t speak.”
Hanes stood as still as he could.
Josiah went back into the office and got close to the pathologist, looking into her eyes. “Good evenin’, miss. You will forget me when I leave. As for my brother, forge the formalities and fake a cremation for him. Make sure everyone believes that he is nothing but a pile of ashes.”
The pathologist nodded. “Consider it done,” she said kindly. She immediately started filling out an autopsy report, stating everything she would have guessed in his case. Healthy organs and their weight. With the obvious gunshot wound to the head as the cause of death.
Josiah smiled. “That’ll work. Thank you, miss.”
He returned to Hanes.
“You seem like a respectable man, Mr. Hanes, so I shan’t fuck with you for shooting my brother in the head,” he said calmly. “The case of Frederic Crawford is closed. Congratulations.” He shook Hanes’ hand. “Now, you will leave. Move on, and destroy any undocumented evidence you have on Frederic’s shenanigans. Once you’ve done that, forget us.” He let his hand go. “Best of luck.”
Hanes seemed to pause for a moment like he didn’t want to finish the case that easily. He looked over at Frederic who lay still on the table. Then, he looked down and nodded. “Thank you for coming in, Mr. Bluhd. You have my condolences.” He turned and left the morgue.
Josiah watched him leave and returned to Frederic. “Okay, buffoon, I’m closing you back in. Rift to my lake house. Shower and put on a suit. I’ll be there soon.”
Frederic looked at him with the hole in his forehead disappearing. “What, do I stink?”
Josiah nodded. “Like a corpse.” He slid him back into the cold locker.
“TTFN,” Frederic said quickly.
The locker door swung shut, enclosing him in darkness.
Crawford 