Four

1 – Shaun

   Shaun pampered the breaks in his skin. He bandaged the blisters on his feet and appreciated the opportunity to relax and take in the fruits of his labor. Although Jalint wasn’t what anyone would describe as a concrete jungle, it was nice to be able to behold Mt. Kass’ plant-life in all its splendor. The college campus was plentiful in trees and had immaculate gardens to spare, but it had all been orchestrated, creating an artificial, man-made aesthetic that was difficult to overlook.

   He smiled at Melissa, who smiled in-return. Every bush at the campus was meticulously situated. Trees were adjusted to correlate with nearby drinking fountains and flowers were tweaked to keep from the sidewalks, preventing disruption to students who might have plant allergies, and to keep bees away for mostly the same reason. It made sense in-terms of practicality, of course, but it landed a different result. This was different. This was nature at its most unwieldy and unpredictable, allowed to act as nature chose to act. The paths might have been cleared out some, but everything else was left as is for anyone brave enough to approach at their own discretion.

   “Kid almost cracked his head,” Shaun said, sincerely surprised by the fact.

   Melissa, too, seemed surprised by the ballsy, reckless stunt. Twenty-something tourists swam around in the pond. The waters were clean enough to swim in, Shaun supposed. Although, thus far, he’d only gotten as far as letting his cracked and blistered feet hang out into the water from the shore (a testament to either his own ignorance or his faith in the pond’s cleanliness, he assumed the risk of infection).

   An example of nature being nature, right over the pond was a cliff looming about ten-feet over the pond, with a very old-looking tree with a rope hanging off the largest branch. The tree stood in a way that made Shaun feel apprehensive, looking like it might splash down into the pond at any second.

   Regardless, that didn’t stop tourists from swinging from the rope, screaming like wild men. One boy in-particular let go of the rope too early, nearly smacking the back of his head against the cliff and falling in, presumably to his death.

   Shaun brought a bottle of hard cider to his lips, welcoming the feeling of warmth it brought to his chest.

   “Could you ever remember being that careless when you were a kid?” Melissa asked, watching as the little kid swam back to the shore, completely oblivious to his near confrontation with the reaper.

   “Oh, definitely,” Shaun replied immediately, “But I never saw myself from an outside perspective like that, never saw what I did on camera, or anything. It would have scared me shit-less.”

   “Oh, really. What was the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done?” Melissa asked.

   Shaun knew he could smell something cooking around them, and it only took a couple seconds before he found where it was coming from. A man, presumably the father of the children sitting with him in an inner circle, was barbecuing on a grill. For a moment, Shaun wondered how he had managed to lug an entire grill up the mountain, then, had the visual in his head of the man lugging it on his back, drenched in sweat. Then, realized how much he craved for ribs.

   Finally, as Shaun realized Melissa was stilling waiting on a response, he answered: “I once tried to climb up a fence.”

   “What an anarchist!” Melissa exclaimed sarcastically, “A real shenanigan’er if I ever knew one!”

   “I didn’t successfully jump the fence,” Shaun added plainly. “I broke both my arms that day. When I rolled both arms in a sling, I would look like a fuckin’ mummy. Oh, the many itches those couple months,” Shaun chuckled some, which Melissa reciprocated.

   “A billy bad-ass, as always,” Scott said as he entered the conversation, having a seat beside Shaun by the pond.

   There was a distinctive and squishy “ka-plop” sound when his wet-body flopped down into the mud. Melissa’s face painted an unpleasant picture. Shaun wasn’t for certain whether it had to do with the “ka-plop” sound or Scott’s presence in-general.

   “How’s it going?” Shaun asked, letting his body ease as he continued to relax.

   “Living the dream,” he replied, stealing a page from the whitest man on the planet’s playbook.

   “Where’s Jessica?” Melissa asked, moving her head around, scanning the area in an attempt to answer that question herself.

   “Somewhere,” Scott said, brushing the question off with a nonchalant shrug, accompanied by the equivalent facial expression.

   “You guys aren’t hitting it off, I see,” Shaun said, feeling Melissa’s feet being propped over his thighs like they owned the place.

   “She’s fine, I guess.”

   “That’s enthusiastic,” Shaun said dryly, a symptom easily mended by his latest gulp of hard cider.

   “Haven’t been able to hang out with Bryan either,” Scott said, a pitiful, down in the dumps inflection that Shaun couldn’t resist dumping on.

   “Bryan has a new main-squeeze now. If you could have kept it in your pants, you and Chelsea could be out here,” Shaun remarked, adding a playfulness to his inflection to keep Scott from trying to rip his head off afterward.

   To his credit, Scott took it on his chin like a champ, even if he did look a little dejected by it, “I never cheated on Chelsea. I only said that because it’s the first thing I thought of.”

   “Oh,” Shaun said. “I don’t think you know how lies work. Lies usually try to make someone look better than what they do with the truth.”

   Scott didn’t reply to that, looking off into the distance, lost in his thoughts. Shaun noticed the bruising around Scott’s eye had started to fade, although, it was still clearly apparent. Something had changed in Scott over the last couple of weeks, but Shaun couldn’t say for certain what it was. He was more unhinged, where once he was the head of the crowd, he now seemed more isolated, carrying a melancholy aura that radiated off of him. Except when he was drunk, that is, then, his life-of-the-party attitude bubbled back up to the surface. Shaun liked Scott for the most part, and even if Melissa might have known his faults very well, at his best, he was a likable, charming person. This Scott, however, felt like an imitation of that person.

   Shaun followed Scott’s eyes and found Bryan and K.J. in the pond, swimming around with one another. Shaun had never known Bryan very well. In his eyes, his reputation was built around his friendship with Scott, but the sad sack aura Scott had now reminded him of how he’d always taken Bryan. That he was mad at the world and vaguely thought it owed him something. The Bryan swimming around with K.J. looked like he actually had a pulse. Shaun sighed.

   “I think if you apologize to Chelsea for whatever you did, and I mean, really apologize, I think she’ll forgive you. You have a good head on your shoulders, at least when it’s sober and functioning properly,” Shaun said, feeling a tad hypocritical to say such a thing while he drank, but, … he already had Melissa. Scott offered a half-heart smile, one that seemed more out of politeness than it did anything else.

2 – Bryan

   Bryan hadn’t expected to, but he slept well in his tent with K.J.. They kissed and cuddled but kept against going any further than that in their embraces. Not because a lack of interest, but for the strange entanglement of having sex in rhythm to Scott and Jessica’s loud moans of lust. When they arrived at the pond, K.J. had donned a swimsuit and Bryan donned a sleeveless shirt and trunks.

   K.J. blushed while she modeled her outfit, remarking on how revealing it was. In-reality, it was a modest outfit that left a lot to the imagination. Bryan assured her as they dove in. The waters made Bryan shiver, and K.J. let out a loud exclamatory yell.

   The pond smelled like an old tackle box, but Bryan didn’t let that stop him from enjoying himself. Crowds had always been trouble for him, as did public displays of affection, but they were all self-imposed restrictions he’d broken in a matter of minutes. Bryan dove beneath the water, maneuvering his hand over his head like a shark closing in on its prey. K.J. played the victim like she was born to.

   It was his cynicism speaking, whispering in his ear that a ball was about to drop at any moment. That, since things were going well, it meant things would have to take a turn for the worse.

   A loud scream followed, answering his call. This was different than a mere inconvenience, however. It felt like the air changed, somehow. The scream had such emotion buried into it, such fear and such desperation. A scream that said no words but spoke volumes. Even the water’s waves fell stilled by the cry.

   It went ignored at first, at least by everyone Bryan had seen. Screams weren’t uncommon when drunkards were around, but it changed when a man ran out toward the pond, breathing heavily and drenched in sweat, everyone’s eyes were on him.

   “There’s a dead body!” A young boy shouted. His eyes were bloodshot and panicked, desperate for consolation or someone to wash his hands of the predicament.

3 – Scott

   The sight of Chelsea made Scott’s blood run cold, embedding this ugly, sickly feeling in him. He felt a disconnect, like an out of body experience, a horror he knew on some level was out there, but never knew he’d come face to face with. He could feel his eyes start to water, but he could not register his own sadness on a personal level. He couldn’t feel it on a real level, not beneath the surreal feeling that swam inside him, a large ocean of panic roared around in his mind.

   Her mouth had been gouged at and carved into. The cuts were thick, but precise, very even, not sloppy. Her cheeks were loosely sewn open, giving the aesthetic that the whole bottom half of her mouth was spread and trying to swallow them all whole. Her nose had been sliced off. The wounds had been cleaned. This didn’t appear like an act that was done out of anger or frustration, this wasn’t mutilation from a serial killer or some shit like that, this was methodical and even surgical. No dry blood was on her. Scott could see the slits of her nostrils.

   The whole area wreaked of shit; a blunt realization that Scott almost felt guilty for coming to. Aside from the initial “what the fuck” reaction, of gasps and of Rachel having to fight to refrain from vomiting, it was a full minute before anyone said anything about what was in-front of them. They were all silent, as if paying their respects to Chelsea in some sense. That fact bothered Scott, the thought that this could ever be deemed, in any respect, a place of mourning. This was a massacre condensed down and focused in on one person in-particular. Anger felt necessary to Scott, for his survival, he had to let it in, like a defense mechanism necessary to survive the volt of shock coursing through. Scott tightened his knuckles.

   Stripped of her clothing, Chelsea was spread eagle, her genitalia, at least, afforded some dignity, was covered by a layer of feathers that traveled up her stomach. Her breast had been cut off from her body completely, in their place, the left-over skin was stitched back onto her. The display reminded Scott of a voodoo doll. It was clear what the killer was going for, he was trying to make Chelsea resemble some type of bird. Feathers draped down from her arm in makeshift wings, the sight was degrading, devaluing of Chelsea as the presentation of some monster’s attempted artistry.

   In-front of her, stabbed into the ground, was a large flag, carrying a banner Scott did not recognize. It was a backwards “K” in black lettering behind a white background. The silhouette of a man’s head, wearing solid-white glasses. The figure resembled the leader of an organization or the top-level businessman for a corporation, but Scott couldn’t place a name for it.

   “What does the fucking flag mean,” Scott said beneath his breath, his voice shook in such a way he wasn’t for certain anything he said really made any sense at all.

   Shaun seemed to understand him, however. “It’s …,” Shaun started, then stopped, red-faced and stunned, teary eyed. “The Kudos flag … they were soldiers from a long time ago, back when, … where Odeo Hassius, the King of Hardan had the flag made in his image.”

   “And what the fuck is it doing here!?” Scott yelled out, he felt so angry he wanted to bash in the skull of the first person to give him a reason.

   “I don’t know, Scott,” Shaun said in a somber voice.

   “We need to get out of here,” Jessica exclaimed. “Whoever did this might still be out there.”

   Chelsea died hating Scott, the last memory he would have to remember her by is the screaming she threw his way for all of his bullshit. The same day she was tortured and killed; Scott fucked a girl that meant nothing to him.

   “Shut your whore mouth,” it was not yelled with anger, but was said slowly and with meanness, carrying the assertive tone of an order and not a request.

   Jessica remained silent, taken by Scott’s demand. Scott didn’t care, the sight of Chelsea kept causing persistent earthquakes in his head.

   “I will find who did this and I will rip their head off. I swear to fucking God, I will show them more fucking pain than they could ever begin to fucking imagine,” Scott said, once more with a voice that didn’t feel more like his own. It was the level of anger that replaced every word with an expletive. He felt broken, like he wasn’t even on the same Earth as he once was anymore, like he was somewhere else altogether.

   Every now and again, he could hear his teeth crack with how tightly his jaw was clenched.

   Scott walked away. He had nothing else to say and there was nothing else he could do. Except, perhaps, one thing: Kill.

4 – Bryan

   Bryan couldn’t find any words to console Scott, even though he knew he needed to. Instead, he simply existed in a quiet, vaguely responsive terror. He wondered if the rest of them noticed his vacancy, of how quiet he was being. He wondered if they judged him for it, for not outwardly projecting his emotions.

   They did the only thing they could do, which was continue in their current direction in search of the next checkpoint. There, officials would be stationed that would be able to phone the police and have help sent their way.

   Bryan mostly yearned a place to be able to take a breather and calm down.

   Nobody said anything as they hiked up the mountain, but this was a tense and uncomfortable silence.

5 – Melissa

  “The body, … Chelsea, she was badly cut-up,” we only just found her before we found you guys.” Melissa explained.

   They had each been taken into separate rooms. It was a misguided attempt at coming across as in-control and composed, even though Melissa could tell that the pimply, red-haired security guard was scared out of his wits by the whole incident.  

   “And, did you do anything to the body, ahem, move it, perhaps, in any way?” The red-head’s mouth stayed ajar while he waited for a response, the man had a certain odor to him that expressed both how nervous he was and also how unsanitary he must have been.

   “No, none of us touched the body,” Melissa assured.

   The image of Chelsea was burned onto her eyelids, and she saw her every time she shut her eyes. The whole scene resembled something out of a particularly grizzly horror film.

   “I have one of your friends saying you did,” the red head said, his voice had the confidence of a horrible bullshitter, which made his phoniness easy to detect.

   “No, you fucking don’t,” Melissa fired back, perhaps creating more of a screech than that of an irritated vengeance like she wanted.

   “Oh,” The guard said, dumbfounded by the response. “My mistake,” he said, flipping through the pages on his clipboard as if he was seriously trying to sell the idea of mixing it up with another murder.

6 – Rachel

   “No, I can’t imagine anyone could have done this, not out of anger, nobody from our school,” Rachel articulated between sniffles.

   Rachel had known Chelsea for as long as she could remember. They had even graduated from the same elementary and high school together. Rachel could even remember the kindergarten pictures she still had in a photo album. It was a cut-out snippet from a local newspaper, to do with what, she couldn’t remember. It seemed so cool back then to make it into some newspaper, back when their worlds were so small.

   Rachel, at last, looked up from the plastic white table, which looked to be free of any type of dirt or grime, in-fact, it looked newly bought, suggesting its rare use. The security guard glared at her, still waiting on more information.

   “Everyone loved Chelsea. She had a way about her. She had a kindness that seemed infectious. Chelsea lit up a room with her presence and brought the best out of anyone she was in contact with.” Rachel gave her best tribute to Chelsea. It was what she would have liked someone to say on her own behalf. Although, it did have some inconsistencies to it, she knew, but was too emotionally distraught to correct herself. None were more glaring than the “bringing the best out of each person” claim. The one who mutilated her was likely not the best version of themselves, for instance.

   They weren’t close. Rachel was more likely to fall into the category of “nerd,” whereas, Chelsea fell into a much more beloved rank in the social group hierarchy. Chelsea was one of the nicer ones though. She didn’t look down her nose at someone like Rachel for not being athletic or not having a certain appearance. She even invited her to a couple birthday parties in their younger years.

   What left her tingling was not the fact that Chelsea, who had always been a presence to her in some capacity, was no longer a part of it at all. It wasn’t that she had been yanked out of her life with such indignant force that bothered Rachel most. What bothered her most was not even the fact she had been murdered. What made her shake with an unnerving panic was the visual itself; the sight of her.

   She had been cut into and treated like nothing more than a piece of meat. The way her eyes were spread open, as if some bit of life still stayed inside of her: screaming. That would keep her up for many days from here on out.

   Rachel had never thought much about heaven or hell. She always felt righteous that life, as with everything else, had an eventual end. But, every now and again, a paranoia crept in her head. It was an irrational mindset, she knew, but, it was only every once in a while. She considered the thought that a person remained in their body, even as a skeleton, aware of their surroundings and vaguely present. The way Chelsea’s eyes looked down at them with such forced agency, it felt like she was watching them, even in death.

7 – Scott

   “Instead of asking me pointless fucking questions, why don’t you tell me what you’re going to do to find who did this?” Scott yelled out, smacking his hands against the table to get a reaction.

   The table said nothing. Meanwhile, the hollow sound of his hand smacking down against the cheap plastic table clearly startled the ginger-ass security guard who flinched before making a vain attempt at regaining his composure. For some reason, his reaction only worked to further infuriate Scott. The thought that the very best was not at the disposal of bringing Chelsea’s murderer closer to him was more than he could stomach.

   “When the fuck are the real cops going to get here!?” Scott exclaimed, knowing that for every second they weren’t there, Chelsea sat on that wooden perch like a fucking scarecrow.

   “I’ll tell you the same thing I told your friend Hassan. He was traveling with your girlfriend, as you know, and that was when they were all attacked. Jalint’s best law enforcement are taking a helicopter out here, but it will take some time before that happens. We are investigating various different leads as we speak, however, I can assure you.”

   Something about the red-hair bitch’s words sounded fake as hell to him, like someone reading off from a prompter or from a transcript. It added up as telling him they didn’t have shit.

   “Like?” Scott asked firmly.

   “Simply know that we are doing everything we can to find the person that did this and keep everyone safe.”

8 – Bryan

   “I don’t even know how I made it out alive,” Hassan expressed, the fear in his voice radiating as he did so. “We were walking, it wasn’t even dark out.”

   They were all grouped inside of a small space, one that resembled a waiting room, with the chairs pressed up against the walls. Bryan sat, quietly observing it all.

   Hassan and Chelsea had taken the trip out together. He had been the first one to find the dead body, they bumped into him shortly after they left the pond.

   “I remember being hit over the head. I remember rolling down the hill. They must have left me for dead. I can still remember their voices, all of them talking, their voices still echo in my head like a shouting whisper. They said something about the top of the mountain, said they had others too!”

   “Mr. Dawson told us during one of his classes that there had been a lot of missing person’s cases in the past, said there were cult groups that had these bizarre rituals that they did,” Melissa explained.

   Hassan gave her a mostly confused look as she spoke, then, at last, nodded his head in agreement.

   “That must be the ones that did this,” Hassan said.

   “It would explain the flag that was with Chelsea. It definitely makes a lot more sense than it being some history nut,” K.J. said, nudging Bryan in search of agreement, but, instead, she received nothing but silence.

   A door flung itself open, and out it came Scott, heading straight toward Hassan.

   All the group was taken aback by the act, and Hassan portrayed the role of a deer caught in the headlights, uncertain why this emotionally wrecked college student was hurriedly racing his way. Scott’s fist coming in-contact with the side of his jaw, in all likelihood, would help sort out some of his uncertainties and confusion. Beyond all of that, Bryan was more taken by how off-guard Hassan seemed.

   After all, Hassan and Scott were less than a month removed from Hassan beating the shit out of Scott during a drunk encounter. Scott blacked out of that day’s events, but Hassan didn’t know that. Maybe it was the act of a martyr volunteering himself to be the punching bag that Scott so clearly needed but most people weren’t that considerate.

   Hassan rocked back, but wasn’t taken off from his feet. He tended to his jaw as he regained his composure and straightened his disposition, a look on his face that didn’t spell out anger, but, rather, confusion.

   Scott looked as though he had attained very little satisfaction with his strike, and also looked less than enthused by Hassan not retaliating against him.

   “And, what was the reason for that?” Hassan asked.

   Hassan cupped part of his mouth with his hand, particularly his bottom lip, although, Bryan could not see for certain whether or not it was bleeding.

   “You fucking did this, I fucking know you did, and I swear to God I’ll kill you for it!” Scott yelled out, and, although he was most certainly able to project his anger, confidence in his words was a different beast altogether.

   For that, Bryan knew Scott was unlikely to truly believe Hassan actually did what he was being accused of. Hassan wasn’t capable of something like this, and the last thing he would do is inform everyone about his handwork. If you wanted to hide a body, it didn’t ever become much easier than hiding said body in the mountains of Jalint. Furthermore, Hassan wouldn’t have had the surgical expertise to accomplish what was done to Chelsea.

   Bryan may have hid in his head during these situations, but, right now, he had a level-head, or, at the very least, a much more level-head than Scott did about the situation. Whoever did this wasn’t really worried about being caught, not by Bryan’s estimate. The amount of time it would have taken to set everything up and the likelihood of leaving behind damning evidence, the mere spectacle was begging for attention. Could this have been a warning or was it a serial-killer taunting the police and using Chelsea as a sign of that?

   Either way, it was clear Scott was fishing for information in a very reckless manner. Scott wanted answers or a fist fight. Hassan opted against giving him the latter among the two, to his credit, managing to keep his temper. “You’re her boyfriend then?” Hassan said plainly, asking a question he most certainly already knew the answer to.

   “You know who the fuck I am, you sick fuck!” Scott yelled out, once more trying to get a rise out of Hassan that Bryan sensed wouldn’t come.

   A security guard stepped inside the room, having been oblivious to Scott’s assault, he must have overheard the yelling from down the hall. The guard, an older gentleman with a thick gray mustache and a bald head, shot a look at Scott. Unfortunately, the guard was far from the proper build to instill any form of intimidation.

   Hassan let a breath escape him, “I know you’re upset. I cared about her too, and I want you to know that I would never think about hurting her. I was attacked, as she was, but I overheard my attackers say something about going to the top of the mountain. Said they had others,” Hassan shivered some at the thought of it.

   Everyone had been left emotionally damaged by the sight of Chelsea. After all this time, Bryan still overheard distant whimpers and sniffles from Melissa and Rachel, and, even K.J., who hadn’t really known Chelsea very well.

   The sight would haunt them all, and they would all be traumatized by it, visibly carrying the wounds inflicted. Hassan, on the other hand, had managed to keep a level head. That fact alone struck Bryan as fascinating, and, perhaps, disconcerting. Not only had Hassan been attacked himself, but he had been the one to first find Chelsea’s body, and he did so, alone. Hassan carried himself with a distant aloofness, a gloomy reserve that didn’t any insight into how he felt about the situation.

   Humans were interesting creatures, Bryan thought.

   Not all of them reacted in the same way, and for some, like himself, the most practical way to handle situations was to retract and shut down while emotionally processing the information. Bryan was certain Hassan was still in shock, on autopilot, with no real responsiveness, only instinct.

   Scott reflected on Hassan’s words for only a short moment, but, in that moment, his anger toward Hassan seemed to lessen. Perhaps it was because he realized he wasn’t angry at Hassan, but by the situation.

   “Looks like I’ll be headed toward the top of the mountain then,” He said after, deadpan in his delivery.

   Bryan noticeably scoffed at him, without really meaning to, receiving a glare from Scott in turn. Bryan offered nothing after that unintentional gesture, leaving Shaun to act as the voice of reason. “Hassan said he heard voices. Plural. The idea being that an actual group is responsible for what happened to Chelsea. I know that you’re angry, okay, I get that, but going and trying to do anything about it by yourself will only serve to get you killed,” Shaun said, speaking in a somber voice, an approach that would most likely have went over better than simply scoffing at him. Bryan, however, didn’t have anything more in him than that.

   “And what if this was Melissa up there? What if she was up there with her mouth ripped open and her tits cut off, all sprawled out!? That she had been tortured!? Would you not be ready to do the same damn thing!?” Scott yelled out, sounding infuriated.

   “I would want somebody to tell me that whatever I did would do nothing to bring her back, that it would only serve to make a second tragedy.”

   “I’m not a tragedy. Chelsea was, but I’m not.” Sott didn’t seem to take anything Shaun said in, never stopping to reflect for a single moment, shrugging it off in favor of the anger that overcame him.

   “I’ll accompany you in your endeavor, I would do anything to avenge Chelsea’s death.” Hassan said to Scott, a serious look on his face.

   Bryan noted his awkward choice of words, seeming out of character from the more laid-back way of speaking Bryan had come to associate with Hassan in the few times they’d talked with one another. Hassan always came off as a stoner-type, for lack of a more affectionate word. Hassan’s straightened and motivated demeanor made for a major change to say the least. Perhaps it was the situation’s severity that brought it out of him. There were many layers to each person, after all.

   Scott looked at him, at first, befuddled by his offer. Bryan was perplexed by it as well. Perhaps both of them were broken and crazy enough, so much that it made their differences seem small in-comparison, even one as recent as Scott punching Hassan in the mouth.

   Scott nodded his head, mouth held open. He didn’t say anything in-response. Instead, he turned his back to them all, and headed out the door from where he’d come, heading, presumably, up the mountain as suggested.

   “Will the rest of you be joining us as well?” Hassan asked.

   “Are you fucking out of your mind, going anywhere near those sick bastards is a suicide mission! And what are you going to do when you get to them? Murder them all!?” Shaun yelled, demanding explanation.

   “If you cared about Chelsea, it seems like a risk worth taking to me.”

   “Fuck you!” Rachel squealed out, no longer able to contain herself.