The Tracer

It all looked so pretty… to see the world on fire. The crackling sound of the fire made him grin from ear to ear. The sight forced a chuckle out of his sore throat. 
Tick… tick… the clock continued to tick as Max covered his head with a pillow. “You don’t understand, Daniel… his loss is killing him!” 
“Nonsense! He lost a friend, not a family member!” The screaming from the other room was faint yet obvious in his ears. He knew these sounds by heart. “He lost his only friend!” 
“He’ll get over it!” 
Max continued to hold onto his pillow, tears rolling down his face. “I don’t know what’s worse… them arguing… or…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. The aching feeling swirled around him as he looked up at his dark ceiling. “Jane…” Max’s brown hair covered his green and hollow eyes as he held onto his silk pants. “Jane…” 
They always say that you can’t reverse time. People always say that you can’t change what has already happened. He knew this aching feeling by heart… because of the truth. 
“Look at him! He still thinks that she’s alive!” The sun filled Max’s eyes as the gang of high-ranks gathered around him. “Face it… she’s probably in a ditch somewhere with her skirt down… with everything but her feelings exposed.” All of the boys laughed and giggled like girls as they stood over Max. “It’s quite sad that Jane is gone… if one of us got with her… we would be rich, busy, AND lucky!” Everything they said to him was like monotone… he rejected sound in every way he possibly could.
How did he cope, you might ask? 
Darkness surrounded him as he stared up at the ceiling. This was normal for him. “It feels…” He moaned as he stared at his bloody arm in pure satisfaction. “So… good…” As blood dripped from the knife-made cut on his arm… he tried to resist the urge of his emotions. “Just one… wouldn’t hurt…” He gave in… like he did so many other times. As he moaned once again… he bit into his arm… licking the blood off as if he was a wolf… a starving wolf who hadn’t ate in days.  
There was something pure and lawful about drinking his own insides in such a manner. Self-harm meant that he was strong enough to take the pain. It wasn’t torture to him… it was pleasure, no matter the definition. “You…” He smiled as the blood dripped onto the tiled floor in the kitchen. Sometimes, he loved having awful parents who never cared about him… because now he can do as he pleased. With them away… he never could be judged by them. 
The sight of it all… the feeling of his dreams coming true. The world needed a change… and he provided it. Reaching out his arms… he looked to the sky. 
Max Himura… everyone knew him after all of the interviews on television. They knew him as, “the missing girl’s best friend”. From an invisible boy who knew the rich girl, to the next possible suspect. 
Rumors spread like wildfire, especially in a school they called, Lee High. “I bet HE was the one who killed her, stuffed her body in a bag, and probably even raped her.” The same rumors spread through the school… and no firemen could put out the flames. 
Max stared at himself in the mirror. His black hair nearly washed over his hazel eyes. A white shirt hung over his body as he smiled. “I wish I was the one who took you…” Max grabbed his father’s razor lying next to him. The blades shined in the light. Nothing could arouse him more… except for her… the missing rich girl. Max smiled with pure satisfaction as he lifted the razor… giving off a terrible aura… one that could haunt dreams. “I wish we could've ran away… and then I could have seen the day when I wasn't the only one giving me pleasure…” 
Red, thick liquid ran down his arm as the blades did the same. He moaned in a sadistic, memorable, and satisfying way. 
It has been two years since that day… since the “love” of his life disappeared out of thin air. Max was now a Senior, 17 years old in a world on fire. 
“November 13th, Senior year,” Max wrote, “and I'm still getting high off of the satisfaction of her name, thought, and very being.”
Ink faded into the small, yellow pages. Some resort to drugs or electronics to cope, but he never saw the appeal of it all. “If I could,” he wrote, “I would let it all burn down.” Something about it… something about this place… this school… this whole aura of this hell… it just felt, “in need of fixing.” A soft sigh and smoke escaped his lips as he shut the tiny notebook in his hands, stuffing it into his trench-coat pocket. 
The cool breeze of Lee High swayed across his face, sending his cigarette smoke toward the sky. Biting his lip, he held onto his dark hair in hidden insanity. “Why?” He whispered in a gentle tone. “Why can't this place just burn to the ground?” His cigarette fell to the stone ground… which was crushed as soon as it touched Earth. 
It has been two years since the disappearance of Jane Flynn and the murder of David Flynn, yet, even now, the mystery is cold. To most, Jane Flynn was only a statute. She was nice to look at, beautiful and carved by the finest of craftsmen. People didn't love her for her history… they loved her for her money and beauty… like any other normal person in this century. 
In a way, we are all craftsmen. We all shape and sculpt the people around us from the way we act, dress, walk, talk, look, or sculpt by only existing. The world is a complicated system, but only because we make it complicated. Sometimes, to not make it complicated any more… you simply just need to remake the entire system.
Max opened his front door to his poor and second-class house. His father was never home anymore. He was probably visiting a strip-club in a far away city. When his father was gone, he still sent Max an envelope full of money in the mail. Lord knows how he got that kind of cash… but Max didn't want to know. 
A couple of beers and a tray of cigarettes sat on his nightstand, for this was his routine. Like all kids, they need to grow up eventually… but Max… just grew up far too fast. He went from the average kid to Jason Dean… but with no Veronica. Shot after shot, joint after joint, cut after cut, he would waste away in his room. After his mother died… father became a drunk… Jane went MIA… he just felt… dead. 
Dead… like everyone in a couple of days. 
“November 14th, Senior year.”
Max trudged out of school in a hurry. Holding nothing but a cigarette in his mouth, he continued to strut away. Sweet silence didn't fill his ears. “The second anniversary of that whore? Wait, when is it?” Max stopped in his tracks, eavesdropping on the conversation, still letting smoke puff out of his mouth. 
“November 17th. This girl went missing and rumors flew through the school.” 
“What kind of rumors?” One of the boys grabbed the others’ shoulders and smiled. “Have you seen that guy around school? Trench-coat, cigarette, Christian Slater kind of vibe?” 
Max held onto his arm, grinding his teeth together in pure suffering. “Yeah, I'v seen him.” 
“Well… he was actually her best friend. Some say that he raped her, killed her and her father, burned down the mansion, and threw her body out somewhere… where they never found her body.” 
‘Breathe… breathe…’ His heart tried to keep steady. 
“To be honest… I think that girl kind of deserved being killed.” The boys gasped; they couldn't believe what he had just said. 
“Why would you say that?” 
He scoffed, turning to his friends. “Well… think about it. The girl probably tried to sleep with every guy in the school, like the whore she was. Her father was the richest guy in town, yet neither of them gave their money to charity or anything like that.”
“She gave a lot more than you did…” A sudden voice scared the boys, making them look up to see the one and only.
“Well if it isn't Max… how you doing bu-” Before he could finish his sentence, an aching feeling poured through his skull, slamming him to the ground. Max’s fist turned away as the guy slammed to the grassy ground. 
A tad of red liquid oozed from Max’s right hand, forcing him to lick away the pain. “Chase! You alright?!” the guys screamed at the top of their lungs as their friend lied unconscious on the cold ground. “What did you do?!” 
A cold smirk formed upon Max’s face… and it was chilling. His smirk, pierced ears, black hair, devil eyes… he made chills run up their little… fragile spines. With cigarette in hand… he gave them the most insane and broken of looks and stares. “Well boys… I was just about to murder your friend like I did that girl two years ago. Ah… what was her name?” 
The boys were terrified up and down as Max tapped his foot. “Tsk… Jacklyn… June… no…” He turned to them and smiled. “Ah… I believe I remember now…” 
Dropping his cigarette, he licked the blood off of his fist. “Jane Flynn… YOU IMPURE BASTARDS!” Max’s fist shot like a rocket toward their faces. It sounded like sledge hammers and the breaking of twigs as the grass turned massacre-red. If they didn't know her name… Max sure did “drill” it into their minds. 
Some say they could hear screams from miles away… until it all went silent once again. A slight sigh escaped Max’s lips along with another puff of smoke. He smirked slightly as he continued walk down the nightly streets. He knew he would be chewed out for beating three guys senseless. With a sadistic smirk he sighed. “A dead boy walking I guess…” 
He shut the door behind him… almost instantly going toward razors in the bathroom. This cycle was infinite… to drink, smoke, and cut his arms in pure pleasure. It was only normal for a guy like him… and he always did this cycle for one reason. 
Max sighed as he laid on the bathroom floor… looking up at the ceiling. The clock on the wall wasn't the only thing in the room that was ticking. Gears on Max’s head began to turn as slight blood fell off of his cuts on his tender arms. He sighed, taking another taste of his flaming cigarette. Puffing another cloud of smoke… Max smirked as he grabbed his chest. “The world has gone crazy, Jane.”
He truly had gone to the point of no turn. He was talking to the ceiling for crying out loud… and calling it by the forbidden name. “You know, Jane,” he began, “why can't... Why couldn't I have seen how much I loved you… before you ran away from me? Look at me… I mean I would kill for…” 
It suddenly hit him…
The pupils in his eyes grew smaller as did his sanity. “I would kill for you…” he said… holding onto his black hair. A sadistic smirk formed onto his face. “I…” He began, “I would kill for you…” More blood fell from his arms as they reached toward the sky which wasn't there… before resting his eyes once again.
“November 16th, Senior year.” 
“Big football game tomorrow! Everyone come and cheer for Lee High!” The screeching of cheerleaders filled the halls as Max growled. 
‘Another game… freaking typical.’ Everything just looked… dead to him nowadays. Everyone came to the football games, even the nerds. Max was the only one in school who never attends.
Some guys went for the sport, the cheerleaders… mostly the cheerleaders… and Max… was never attracted to any of it. The world has truly gone mad.  
“Have you ever wrote a suicide note?” August 16th, 7th grade. 
“What?” Jane chuckled as she grabbed a piece of paper. “Just write a fake suicide note… it'll be fun!”
Max scribbled onto his yellow paper with a slight cloud of smoke emitting from his lips. With his hair hanging over his eyes, not sane enough to fix it, he scribbled into the death letter. “We have deceived the most loyal of pawns who were the legs of our throne,” he wrote, “and we must pay for the lives we have ruined.” He smiled as he pranced around the room, reciting his masterpiece.
He felt like a craftsman, sculpting the finest of statues into the side of the tallest mountain. Prancing around the room, drops of blood fell off of his arms as he recited his artwork. 
“We the ones who walk these halls shall go out with…” Stomping his foot on the ground, Max drooled from the thought. “We shall go out with a bang! When the final cheer of the final score is shot through the air…” he smiled as he turned to the sky. “we will too…” 
Tick… tick… tick tick… time was up. Max Himura… was going to make history. 
“November 17th, Senior year.” 
“Hi! Welcome! Oh!” Meghan, one of the many cheerleaders, turned to see Max in his typical Jason Dean attire. 
“Evening, Meghan.” 
“Hey Max… didn't expect you here. Umm… what's in the case?” Meghan pointed to the brown suitcase that Max was carrying. The suitcase seemed heavy and not the average thing for a teenager to possess. Max put on his typical smirk and turned to Meghan with acting eyes. 
“Just some photography equipment. I don't want to miss a moment… so why not get it on camera?” 
Meghan didn't know what to say. The school’s troublemaker was finally being social. Her blonde hair swayed in the wind as it turned colder. Putting on a smile, she pulled her hair back, fighting against the wind. “Oh, good. You don't want to miss the game. This should be a really good turnout.” 
Max smirked, gripping onto the suitcase handle. “I'm sure it will be…” 
“November 17th… the school’s first and only year without a senior prom."
Cheers could be heard from miles around. The stomping, screams, and dancing made the neighborhood go wild. You see… you are probably wondering what the climax of this story is. You are probably wondering where the “happy ending” is. Well… here is how I view this “happy ending”... Well there isn't one. 
Leather and metal tied to the bleachers. This leather and metal was everywhere… in the gym, boiler room, cafeteria, classrooms, the roof, teacher’s lounge, the whole nine yards, top to bottom. No stone was left untouched and no nail was left loose. All those people in the stands… cheering their lungs… they were SO busy looking ahead that they didn't know what was BELOW THEM.
'What were below them you might ask?
They were bombs…
Max stared at his watch as the widest smile formed on his face. “Tick… tick… tick… tick… five… more… minutes…” The crowd cheered, stomped, danced, everything you could think of. “Tick,tick, tick, tick, TICK TICK!” The roar continued as Max grabbed his hair, twirling around in a circle. “TICK TICK! THE CLOCK STRIKES SOON! LEE HIGH SHALL MEET IT'S DOOM! AS THE FINAL ROAR ECHOES THROUGH THE ROOM! BOOM!” 
The thunder and cracking continued. “This is it!” Looking at his watch he smiled. The final roar echoed through the world as he hopped into the air. “Your final words… before you pay for those awful words you spoke about her.” 
Thirty… seconds.
Before the final tick of the final roar of the final boom… Max’s heart skipped a beat. A hand grabbed his shoulder. This touch… it could have only been one person… it was… “Keep chasing me…” the tender voice whispered into his ear. The most tender of voices. “Chasing… I-” the voice stopped him, letting go of his shoulder. “I'll be waiting… Max…”
With the final whisper of the final syllable… it… she… was gone. “I… I…” Max began… “I… will…” He gripped onto his fist as a tear fell down his cheek. “I will…”
And just like… kaboom… the chase led forward. 
Once again… Lee High was at the center of attention. Reporters all around came to view the school in ashes. National headlines popped up on every news channel. Everyone wanted to know what happened to Lee High… the school with far too much school spirit. “November 17th so happens to be this town’s unluckiest day. Two years ago, on this very day, the workings of this brutal serial killer is in play once again, even leaving a note at the scene.”
The note which the supposed killer left pierced the hearts of millions: 
“We have deceived the most loyal of pawns who were the legs to our throne. We the ones who walk these halls shall go out with a bang. When the final cheer of the final score shoots through the air… we will too. I shall run away from this world and trace the one thing I can trace. I shall chase her to the end of the of Earth… and there is nothing you can do to stop it. I shall be where she leads me… 
-Sincerely, 
The Tracer”
Category:Mental Illness