Chapter 3

Lonnie walked across the hall to comfort Joey and JC who had been together in Joey’s room ever since they had heard the news of Chris’s death. When Joey noticed him in the room, he wiped the tears from his face and questioned Lonnie.

“How’s Lance holding up?” Lonnie thought about what Lance had told him and lied through clenched teeth.

“He’s doing just fine. He’s taking it like a real man.”

“He always does…” JC seemed a little bit worried but was too overwhelmed by his own feelings to worry about Lance’s.

“Yeah, he does.” Lonnie felt tears welling up behind his own eyes, and turned toward the wall to keep the two young men from seeing that he was beginning to break. He knew that everybody had to grieve in their own way, but it was killing him to see JC and Joey as bumbling masses while Lance sat vulnerable in the corner smothering in self-denial. He wished that he could take away everything that had happened in the past two days and replace it with eternal happiness, but he knew that that was a stupid impossibility. All he could do was try to comfort his newfound family in their dire time of need, and to protect what was left of it. He sat with Joey and JC on the bed putting his arms around the shaking forms and trying to draw comfort from them, and he wished that Lance had come with him, because he could not imagine trying to deal with the awful situation on his own. Until noon that day none of the three men moved, but then a cell phone rang, and they all searched through their pockets for which it belonged to. Lonnie flipped his open, and whispered to them before walking over into the corner.

“It’s me,” he directed at Joey and JC, and then he spoke into the phone. “Hello.”

“Hey, Lonnie. It’s me, Mike, and you are going to flip out when you hear this… They have found suspects, and they already have a lead.”

“That’s great,” he exclaimed and looked over and JC and Joey smiling.

“No, it’s not, man.”

“Why not? How could it not be?”

“Because they are arresting all of the suspects tomorrow morning, and you are the lead.” He just stared up at the ceiling flabbergasted for a moment, and then turned back to his phone.

“What?! How am I the lead?”

“Well, nobody saw anyone come into the hallway all night, and you were in charge of watching the hallway, so they said that you were the only person who had a chance to get into the room.”

“But, it makes no sense! Why the hell would I do something like this? I’m not a psycho!”

“I know man, but I’m not making this up. I just wanted to warn you before they came to arrest you. Once they realize that you didn’t do it, then they’ll let you go, dude.”

“I know, I’m just upset, okay?”

“Sure, dude. I mean, they’re taking me in too.”

“Why?”

“They’re taking in the entire security staff, and replacing us with cops until this whole thing gets worked out, man.”

“I’m so sorry, but I gotta go.”

“Sure, see ya later.” He pushed the end button and looked forlornly at his feet before speaking to no one in particular.

“I’m being arrested tomorrow, so this is the last day in a while that I’ll being seeing you guys.” Little did he know that it was going to be the last time ever that he would be seeing one of the guys.

JC’s hotel door creaked open and a familiar man dressed completely in black crept into the pitch-black room. He walked over and turned on a faint lamp across the room from the slightly snoring man in the bed. He glanced over at his sleeping friend and thanked God that JC could sleep through anything before getting to work on his plan. He reached into his bag and pulled out a videotape, a violin and bow, a bust of Mozart, a piece of burlap, a hypodermic needle full of his friend’s beloved heroin, and a tiny yet well equipped sewing kit. His first objective was to silence the man before anyone had a chance to hear him at work, so he walked over to the bed with the burlap strip and tied it tightly between JC’s dry lips. The next step was to set his work to the music that they both adored so much, and to wake his friend for the show; after all he did have the best seat in the house. He pushed the tape into the waiting VCR and turned on the television set to watch the symphony playing Mozart’s beautiful requiem, but he was slightly taken aback by the irony of the selection; a requiem. He giggled slightly to himself, and gingerly grabbed the hypodermic needle to bring over to JC’s bedside. He pulled the sheets away from his friend’s chest and arms, and then plunged the needle into the arm lying in front of him. He pushed in the plunger, and then grabbed the violin and bow along with the sewing kit. He sat down on the bed and placed the violin across JC’s chest in a position as if to play it, but he then took out the sewing kit and threaded a needle. He pulled the needle underneath the skin of JC’s chest and was slightly startled when his friend woke up and whimpered at the pain.

“It’s okay, dude. It’s real smooth, ain’t it?” JC nodded his head and lay back against his pillow, while his murderer slowly used all of his skills to sew the instrument tightly against the body lying in front of him. He then thrust the sharp end of the bow through JC’s right hand, and was suddenly glad for the burlap keeping back any of JC’s frightened screams from escaping the near vicinity of the bed. He then grabbed the large, ceramic bust and held it in both of his hands as he stared into the frightened eyes looking back up at him.

“I’m sorry, man, but this had to happen.” With that he waited for the burst in the music and struck the heavy bust against JC’s forehead. With each note of the music the bust hit JC harder and harder until it was covered with blood and his face had become unrecognizable. When the last beat hit the bust came to rest permanently on the crushed skull, and the man in black grabbed JC’s monogrammed pen before leaving the room undetected for the third time in the past week.

The next morning the police officer who had kept watch on the entrance into the hall decided to make his first morning check on the group. He stepped into the first room on his left, and immediately heard Mozart filling the air as he stared at the television set. There was an orchestra playing Mozart’s requiem, and it had chosen a young violinist to close up on. The officer looked at the television set momentarily and then glanced at the bed to check on its inhabitant, but had to do a double take at the horror that he saw. His eyes had gone from the young violinist to what he dubbed a “violinist of death”, and he immediately pulled out his walkie-talkie to call for backup and an ambulance.

“We’ve got another, and it’s pretty gruesome,” was all that he said before a multitude of cops and paramedics began filling the small room, each one turning in terror when they saw the grotesque layout in front of them. The first cop turned to his supervisor after everyone accountable had entered the room, and whispered a single sentence before closing his eyes in disgust.

“Whoever did this is a real psycho.”

Chapter 4