Around 5 AM, someone driving in Agape's neighbourhood saw a black-haired woman walking out of Agape's house and onto the sidewalk. The dress she was wearing looked familiar.
"That's one of Carrie's dresses, isn't it?" the driver said.
When the woman had walked far away enough not to notice the car, the driver parked in front of Agape's house, got out of the car, and went over to the side of the house.
The sun was just starting to come up, allowing only a slight hint of light. The driver looked through the window of the side door, which led into the kitchen. The dim light allowed the sight of only a pool of blood on the floor, and a hand lying palm up in the blood. The naked eye wouldn't have even seen if the hand was a man's or a woman's, it was so dark; but the driver knew who was lying there.
Walking quickly back to the sidewalk to see where the black-haired woman was going, the driver took out a cell-phone and dialled a number. The woman was walking towards that tall apartment building where, in one particular room neighbouring that of a fat young man, there had been much lesbian lovemaking, as well as a lot of heroin use.
"Hello, police?" the driver said into the phone.
*****************
Patrick, piss drunk, had arrived home at about 3 AM. He'd turned on his computer and sent an e-mail to all of his family and friends. This is what it said:
I can't live with what I've done. My selfishness has resulted in death, undeserved death. I, however, do deserve to die. Sorry, but I can't take the pain anymore. Something inside me, in my blood, has made me inhuman, a monster. The pain I feel weighs down on me; I can't breathe. Sorry, and goodbye.
Patrick
He'd left the house ten minutes after sending the e-mail, having left the computer on so Camilla could see the message when she came back.
*****************
The black-haired woman went into the apartment building with her hair hanging down over her face, covering it almost completely. She pressed the elevator button and waited.
How could everything have gone so wrong?
she thought. The elevator opened, and she got in.
*****************
At about 5:30 AM, Mr. Berman's housemates forced their way into his bedroom after he hadn't answered their repeated knocking; they found him hanging by the neck from a sturdy light on the ceiling. A chair was lying on its side by his dangling feet.
"What the fuck?" one of them said, almost falling on the floor in shock.
The other housemate, with his hand over his mouth in case he threw up, went over to Berman's computer, moving the mouse and noticing, on the monitor, a draft of an e-mail, sent to Berman's family, friends, and boss. This is what it said:
I've done many bad things in my life, some real, and some imagined by slanderers. But the worst thing I ever did was fall in love with one of my former students. She made me do things that I, in my right mind, would never have done. I hate myself for being weak enough to get mixed up with a girl half my age. My family despises me, I've lost my self-respect as a former teacher, and I've degraded myself beyond redemption.
This self-hate has pulled me down so low in depression that I literally can't even move, except with great effort. Something...alien...is inside me, making me feel even more ashamed that can be put into words. I can't bear this agony anymore. Sorry, but goodbye.
Adam Berman
*****************
As the driver, frowning, waited for the police to arrive, he psychically scanned the bullet that had been shot, to ensure that the ballistic fingerprinting would match the bullet to the gun. Sensing different markings, and concentrating with closed eyes, he mentally adjusted the markings to ensure accuracy.
It's a perfect match now,
he thought;
I'm ready.
He saw a police car coming down the road, and rushed to his car to get something.
*****************
As the elevator went up to the right floor, the black-haired girl went over in her mind what had happened three hours before.
I put my gloved hands on the doorknob of the front door,
she thought,
then I psychically scanned for the locking mechanism and the burglar alarm, assuming they'd be set. But bizarrely, the burglar alarm wasn't on, and the door was unlocked! Had someone already come in to do the job? It didn't feel that way. Anyway, I obviously didn't need Nigrovum to help me get in. I opened the door carefully and quietly, and I walked in, removing my coat and high heels and leaving them by the door. I crept over to the kitchen; then I sensed someone coming down the stairs from the bedroom. But who was it? Was I being psychically blocked? As I heard the person coming towards the kitchen, I hid behind the fridge, waiting to fire...
*****************
At about 5:45 AM, a police car drove by the scene of a car crash. Patrick's car was smashed against the side of a building. Patrick's bloody, lifeless body was leaning against the steering wheel, his mouth kissing the ever-beeping horn.
*****************
Two police officers, one male, the other female, got out of their car and walked up the driveway to Agape's house, where the driver, sobbing, was sitting on the porch with the gym bag on his lap.
"You reported a murder, sir?" the policewoman asked.
"Yes," the driver said, wiping tears from his eyes. "My name is Don Josiah, and three hours ago, I shot and killed Agape Mennon."
*****************
The elevator doors opened, and the black-haired girl got out and went down the hall. The fat neighbour opened his door slightly to ogle her. She gave him a look that would have made the evil eye seem friendly; he quickly shrank back and closed his door.
She got out a key and unlocked the door to the room across the hall from the fat man's. She went in, still thinking about what had happened in Agape's kitchen.
I felt that urge swelling up inside me,
she thought;
Kill! Kill! Kill! My hate and lust for violence was distorting my thinking, and though I couldn't psychically focus on who was entering the kitchen, I knew I wanted to shoot that person, whoever he--or she--was. I took off my gloves and got ready to aim.
She went over to the bedroom, about to open the door; still, she went over in her mind what had gone awry in Agape's kitchen.
I aimed as my victim came in the kitchen and turned on the light,
she thought;
I
saw
Carrie. "Ca--?" she began to say.
The black-haired girl opened the bedroom door, turned on the light, and looked at a pile of blankets on the bed, covering most of the motionless body of a pale-skinned girl with black fingernails. Walking closer to the body on the bed, she barely seemed to notice the disturbing sight, for she simply couldn't stop obsessing about the tragedy that had occurred in that kitchen.
I fired
, she thought;
as soon as the bullet hit 'Carrie' in the chest, 'she' suddenly changed into
Daddy
! He'd been using Nigrovum to trick me into thinking he was her! This was his plan to protect her from me. The sharp sting in my fingertip, which dripped ignored blood on the floor, was a pleasure to feel compared to the shaking of my heart.
Camilla pulled the blankets aside and saw the open-eyed, pale face of 'Goth-looking' Candice lying on the bed, dead from a deliberate overdose of heroin. Wearing no makeup, her lips were nonetheless jet black, and her baggy eyes suggested black eyeshadow.
"So now I know where you were aiming your killer instinct, Candice," Camilla said, beginning to cry. "Baby, I'm so sorry."
*****************
Agape's body was put on a stretcher and in an ambulance. The police handcuffed Don, while Carrie, sobbing in loud, high-pitched shrieks, watched him being put in the back seat of the police car.
"Please forgive me, Carrie," he said, still crying. "I was out of my mind; I didn't know what I was doing."
Carrie, with her face blanketed in tears, watched the police car drive away. Then she thought she heard--or, more accurately, felt--a voice, Agape's, 'saying',
Don't cry, sweetie. I'll be right by your side, every second of every day. And wait for your dreams: there you'll have a taste of heaven, with me, every minute of every night.
*****************
Don mediated in the back seat of the car, communing with Agape's spirit.
We did it,
Don thought;
Camilla has absolutely no reason to kill Carrie now, for without you, her father, Camilla has no prize to claim.
Agape:
That's right. It's a good thing you got to her locker in that strip joint, just in time before it closed.
Don:
This power we have, it sure is convenient, allowing me to open the padlock just by mentally scanning for the right combination; and psychically distracting everyone else, so no one would notice me in the locker room. I got my gym bag out, and left safely. I'm so glad no one else got to it before me.
Agape:
And with the markings on her mental 'bullet' altered to match your gun, the evidence will point only to you, and not to Camilla. She'll be safe from any suspicion in the murder. You sacrificed your freedom for the girl you love, my daughter. Thank you so much.
Don:
