CHAPTER EIGHTEEN JUNE
#The666Killer
Wokebro: Come on, dude. Of course he did it.
Alex33: There are discrepancies. That’s all I’m saying.
Wokebro: What discrepancies? Seriously.
Alex33: There are issues with the main witness, Leigh Jones. Cross-racial misidentification being one of them.
Daddy-oh: “Cross-racial misidentification being one of them.” LOL. Okay, you’re the smartest person alive, we get it.
Wokebro: LOLOLOL
Alex33: I’ve been communicating with him. He makes some valid points. None of his DNA was on the scene. And he was wearing a balaclava, another factor that brings the whole eyewitness testimony into question.
Wokebro: Communicating with him? Why would you be communicating with him? That’s not normal.
Alex33: It’s called research.
TNT: Nicole White was high off her ass on drugs. Play stupid games. Win stupid prizes.
Alex33: So … she deserved to be stabbed to death for getting high?
TNT: Just sayin’. If she didn’t do drugs, she would still be here today.
Alex33: Hmm … that reasoning seems flawed. There are lots of people who get high and yet nobody murders them.
Wokebro: Yeah. Alex has a point there. The guy is one messed-up individual. I mean, it’s one thing to have sex with that Nicole girl when she was a little wasted. But he didn’t even do that. Dude fucking stabbed her to death.
Alex33: Well, having sex with her when she was a little wasted would have been RAPE so, I guess it’s good he didn’t do that at least.
Wokebro: Dude, stop with the virtue signaling.
Daddy-oh: Yeah, who took your balls?
Alex33: I’m a woman. So no one took my balls.
Wokebro: That actually explains a lot.
Alex33: Like what?
TNT: Like why you’re such a bitch.
Alex33: Deeply original.
Wokebro: I bet this isn’t research at all. I bet you’re just pen pals. You’re probably one of those sicko weird girls who want to marry the guy.
Alex33: Or just find out the true answer.
Wokebro: Other than the ‘oops I tattooed myself with a 666’ thing. He CONFESSED. Let me say that again for the slower (Alex) people among us. He confessed.
Alex33: I just don’t think it’s that simple.
Wokebro: As simple as you are, you mean.
TNT: Maybe you should just marry the guy.
Daddy-oh: Have little psycho babies.
TNT: ROTFLOL.
Wokebro: Alex? Alex?
TNT: I don’t think Alex is playing anymore.
Wokebro: Ah, she went home crying because her feelings got hurt.
Daddy-oh: I hate it when girls come on here and then just leave when the going gets tough. If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.
Daddy-oh: On second thought, she’s better off staying in the kitchen.
TNT: Hahaha. LMAO
Jay comes into the apartment, dropping his keys in the dish with a clink.
His entrance surprises me, since it’s only 5:00 PM, early for him to come home. Standing there, he lets out a momentous sigh. “I am going to have a drink,” he announces.
“What happened?” I ask, closing down my computer at the table. I’m done reading the “Top Ten New York Serial Killers” article anyway. Babushka jumps off my lap.
“Nothing a Tooheys can’t fix,” he says, grabbing a schooner from the refrigerator. He opens the bottle with his hand, the metal cap skittering on the marble island. “Want one?”
“Nah.” I haven’t acquired a taste for Australian beer. “But I might just help myself to some merlot.” We have some left over from dinner last night. I pull a large wineglass from behind the frosted glass cabinets and give myself a generous pour.
We clink glass to beer bottle and each take a long sip, the rich plum taste coating my tongue.
Jay swallows, wipes his mouth off, and exhales. “That’s a start,” he says.
“Shit day?” I ask, leaning an elbow on the island. I circle the sharp rim of the wineglass with my finger.
“Shit day,” he agrees, taking another long sip. Then he moves closer to me, the smell of starch coming off his shirt. “How about you?” he asks. “Any more creepy letters?”
“Nah, I just got in a war with a bunch of misogynist Twitter bros. So that was fun.” Babushka tries to sip the wine, and I give her a little shove.
“Idiots,” Jay mutters, after another drink. “I don’t know why you even bother with them.”
“I’m not trying to bother with them,” I say, piqued. I smooth my hand on the marble island. “I was just plumbing the mines out there to get information.”
“On Twitter? Or X? Or whatever the hell you call it?” He snickers good-naturedly. “More like mining the cesspool.”
“Yeah, I suppose you have a point.” Babushka licks my knuckle with her sandpaper tongue, then darts in to attempt another taste, which I block. “And what irks me most is that they actually have a point. Eric Myers did confess.”
“Wait.” Jay makes a face. “He confessed? And you think the guy is innocent?”
“I think that I don’t know.” I grab Cabin in the Woods from the kitchen table, then crack it open to the page with his signed confession, which starts with a simple sentence.
I killed Nicole White.
“You want to hear it?” I ask.
He raps his knuckles on the island. “I’m assuming the correct answer is yes?”
I don’t bother to answer the moronic question, just clear my throat and start reading.
I killed Nicole White. I stabbed her multiple times at Hobbes Lodge. We were both high and started kissing, but then she told me that she had a boyfriend and did not want to date me. She laughed at me like it was a big joke and I got angry. I should not have got so mad but I did and then things got out of hand. I grabbed onto her heart necklace and broke it. She got upset and slapped me and that really set me off. There was a knife on the kitchen table and I grabbed it. Then I don’t even really remember what happened but I kept stabbing her. When I realized that she died, I got scared and wrote 666 on the wall. I thought someone would think it was some satanic thing and not suspect me. I threw the knife in Cooper’s Lake. I threw it really far, but you could try to find it. I admit to killing Nicole White.
I look up at Jay.
“And?” he asks, apparently waiting for more.
“And that’s it.”
“So, what’s the question?” he asks, taking another drink of beer. “The guy is guilty as sin.”