The SecretBusterService Status Update: three hours ago

Dear students of Califur High, 
It's officially been a month since we started school, and we've had two more deaths since then. We're starting to look less like an educational institute and more like a funeral home. The clashing smell of different flowers all together is simply nauseating. Maybe consider taking those flowers home with you at the end of the day instead of letting them rot in the school hallways? In other news, latest gossip points that Jerry Jones just got dumped. And by none other than Danielle Martinez! Jerry, if you're reading this- thank god you're not me, because I would have never lived this down. Being dumped is sad enough, but being dumped by someone like Danielle? Man O' Man, it's like going for a homerun against the weakest pitcher only to be striked out thrice!
Until next time Lions, 
Bond 007.

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My step-father works at a hospital as an anaesthesiologist. Since I am hoping to go to a med school once I finish whatever you call the torture I'm currently undergoing, my mom thought it would be a good thing to work at a hospital for a while. 

Thankfully, they do not let you do any work in the hospital without at least some qualifications, so the most strings my step-father could pull, were to get me behind the desk of the hospital pharmacy. 

Not entirely helpful in the 'exposure' my mom thought it would give me, but I have begun to get a hang of what drugs are prescribed for what ailments, so I take it as a win.

The worst fact is perhaps that I am not exactly paid. Although Dylan, my step father, gives me this regular stipend on his own at the end of each month, it isn't officially from the hospital. 

I wasn't qualified to do anything since I hadn't even finished my high school yet. Just allowed to shadow around, doing anything and everything for the hospital staff, usually bring medications from the pharmacy to the doctors, or even the patients, but I wasn't doing any real work. 

Dylan did tell me stories about his patients, however. He, of course, wasn't allowed to share any personal details, but he would discuss each of his case with me. He would ask me what I thought, he would tell me everything I did not know.

In short, Dylan is the best.

As I made my way through the list of medicines that I needed to pull out before Catherine, the actual pharmacist here, got back from delivering another round, I discarded my jacket on the floor. It was no longer damp from the coffee, but the stain would probably never leave, no matter how much my mom might scrub it. 

My thoughts went back to the 'annoyingly good-looking' (my sister's words, obviously) quarterback. We had been together in the same school for years, and there had been a point when we had actually been friends. He had adored Timothy, and would loudly proclaim to his family, and mine, how he would want to be like him when he grew up. 

The then golden boy-next-door, who was dumb enough now, to snort sugar thinking it was a distant relative of cocaine. He had had one functioning braincell and he had lost that to salvia.

Timothy and Jeremy had loved to gang up against me, and I would easily get all riled up. 

At 15 years old, my brother was ten years our senior, when my parents got a divorce. Things had not been going well for several years between them, and I had meant to be a peace offering that would reunite them. 

Except that my father only ever wanted to be reunited with his true love, the next bottle of tequila. He was never home, and when he was, he was drunk and abusive. He beat my mother so much once, that Timothy, at 12 years, had had to drive us to the hospital, nursing his own black eye. That is where my mother had met Dylan for the first time. 

My father had vanished for years then, and had come back to find my very pregnant mother, waiting with the divorce papers.

It hadn't been right, of course- cheating, but I understood her. She had needed that escape which came in the form of Dylan. My brother, however, never did. Before our father turned into a raging alcoholic (even before I was born), he had been attentive. Dotting, even. Timothy had actual good memories of our biological father (he sure as hell wasn't my dad). He had been fast to blame my mother for everything. 

Eventually, he got mixed with the wrong crowd, picked on me mercilessly, and beat me up every time he knew mom wasn't looking.

Mom only discovered this the day Timothy tried to raise his hand on our step-sister, Daisy. Tried being the keyword. 

He did not realise that the only reason he had been able to beat me up, when he hadn't even been sober, was because I had let him. I had hoped, against all odds, that the brother I had idolised growing up would see me, begging him to stop harming himself, and come back.

Daisy had been the last straw.

My biological father, Mr. Jack O'Sullivan, had never beat Timothy as much as I did that day.

My ringing phone saved me from the darker thoughts that were about to invade my headspace.

"I heard you'll be coaching, McHandsome What's-his-face?"

"I'm busy, Sienna."

"Your sister will be thrilled. Hell, I can't wait to see how this goes-"

"I'm cutting the call, Sienna."

"-You have complained about his 'jerkiness' at least thrice a week since middle school. Y'all would be at the library, isn't it? I suppose it's about time I start studying in the library again-"

I cut the call.

Sienna Perez had been calling herself my best friend since we both were 11. At this point, she was probably right. 

I didn't really do friends. There were guys I played basketball with sure, and there was Stef, our next-door neighbour, who Sienna had adopted into our 'friend circle' after he had taken one look at me and declared his undying love, rescinding it just as fast, and repeating the confession for Sienna, under a minute. My opinion on why I don't do friendships strengthened after that incident.

"I have never seen you cut Sienna's call faster," Catherine said, leaning against the wall right behind me, suddenly appearing out of thin air like the Wiccan witch she claims to be.

I jumped at the sneakiness, and she raised an eyebrow. I usually sensed her coming a mile away. Okay, maybe not a mile, but close enough.

Sighing, I put the last medicine on the list in a paper bag and handed it to her, "She wanted to waste my time, and I had better things to do."

Her smirk reminded me of Jeremy, and my frustration deepened.

"Sure thing, sonny. Picking out drugs, that are burnt into your memory like a reflex by now, definitely requires a big use of those braincells. In that case, are you telling me that on the rest of the days, talking to her is a better thing to do than ensuring you get people the right medicines so that, I don't know, maybe they don't die?"

She knew she had me in a chokehold, so I did the smart thing, a miracle since Jeremy had been on my mind just a second ago, and shut my mouth, turning to the next list of medicines. I noted down the possible diseases those groups of medicine could be used to treat in a list on my own notebook for the end of the day. Dylan and I would be matching my answers then.

She marched away with the medicines, and returned a minute later. Plopping herself down on the chair behind the computer, she switched the screen from the list of patients and their prescribed drugs to a local news network on YouTube.

"-another corpse identified as Sierra Coleman. Sierra was a senior at Califur High, making her the seventh student victim of the assailant dubbed by the media as the Scotch Killer, due to his trademark habit of leaving a broken bottle of scotch sticking out of the wounds of the victim. This serial killer is highly dangerous, and our viewers are advised to stay at home during late hours and always be armed while going out. The FBI took over the case three weeks ago, and we are still to hear any-"

I quickly opened my phone, and sure enough, the SecretBusterService had a status update of half an hour ago, mentioning Sierra. A complaint about 'more rotting flowers' followed the news and my empty fist clenched. I had talked to Sierra a couple of times. She had seemed chill, nice and sweet. Both the killer and the admin had turned her death into a humiliation. 

I wouldn't be surprised if they turned out to be the same people.

Out of all the victims so far, I had not really been friends with any. I was glad that had been the case. I mean, it sucked for those girls, and I got angrier with the increasing body count like a good law-abiding citizen would, but I did not want to think what I would do if I lost another person in my life.  Another good point to add to my list of why I didn't do friends.

Catherine looked up from the screen and called out to me, "The killer seems to be targeting high school kids. You should at least carry a taser on you, ya know."

I had had a similar conversation in the morning with my mom, who had forced me to keep a taser in my bag, and I had no interest in watching a repeat telecast of that.

"I'm glad that both you, and my mom, seem to see only a young girl when you look at me," I grumbled, "You realise all his targets have been women so far, right? He has a very particular MO. This definitely looks like a sexually motivated crime."

I expected Catherine to warn me about the killer inspiring others to take up a life of crime in the town and making it even more unsafe, much like my mother, but she threw her head back and laughed.

I looked over at her quizzically, and after a few seconds she stopped laughing, remnants of a smile still on her lips.

"Man, to be young and think you're invincible. I wish I could go back to the time I was like that."

She was, like, 27 or something. Her red hair did not have a single streak of grey. I had seen furniture in this hospital that was older than her. 

She arched an eyebrow and continued, "Most of the girls will be thinking along the same lines, sonny. And what will our dear killer do then? Start butchering mannequins? Usually ones like him, who are crazy enough to kill, turn out to be quite...fruity in their tastes. I've seen many documentaries and crime shows. I know."

I stared her, my mouth slightly agape, before I started laughing. Just as hard as she had before.

"I'm not even sure just how many people you're offending with that statement Cathy," I croaked out, finally getting over my initial surprise, "Besides, I work out enough to be able to stand my own. I dare him, or her, to come after me." Cathy started to protest but I silenced her with a finger to my lips and a loud 'shush'.

"Come on, it could be a woman! A fruity one," I found myself laughing again.

Catherine glared at me and switched back to the medicines list on the computer. 

"Get back to work, O'Sullivan," her eyes twinkling, and a grudging grin on her face, "You're lucky I'm not the one paying you."

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Hey y'all,

It's your girl back with another update. Things are moving now, huh? I cannot wait to see what surprises my brain has drummed up for me when it comes to this story. 

I am enjoying writing about Thomas so far. His voice is just so full of repressed anger and this constant struggle for control. He reminds me of my middle school years. Except I had probably cried more and not been so frigid about friendships and relationships. 

Our boy has a longggg way to go folks.

Next chapter shall be bringing back Jeremy Jones, now that some necessary back story is out of the way.

I hope you enjoyed reading, and a Happy New Year guys. Hope y'all have a healthy and prosperous 2024 :)

Byeeeeee