Jeff the Killer: Randy

Waiting in the Dark
JACKSON, MISSISSIPPI

“Randy – why did you do this to me?” the scarred figure asked in a dry, croaking voice.

“You’re not Jeff Woods.” Randy Hayden responded to the individual sitting on his couch.

“Randy, tell me why you had to do this. Why couldn’t we have just been friends? That’s why I came over that day. We could have been friends and all of this could have been avoided,” it replied.

“What’s your real name anyway? Since you’re just letting yourselves into my house these days we may as well be on first name basis, right?” Hayden replied.

“What do you mean I am not Jeff? Do I not have the scar? Do I not recall what you did to me?”

Randy ignored what most would consider a threat. An intruder in his home made up to resemble one of America’s most sought after serial killers. Instead he opened his refrigerator and retrieved a beverage. He turned to his visitor and made a gesture of offering. His guest declined joining Hayden in a drink. Hayden did not mind.

“Since I was exposed and came out of Witness Protection I’ve been visited by at least two dozen ‘Jeffs’ so if you’re trying to convince me that you are the real deal, you’re doing a piss-poor job.”

“What if I am the real Jeff the Killer? What would you say to me then?”

“I’d say you should come on the Jack Elder show with me and your brother Liu in a couple weeks. It’s going to be a real blockbuster event Jeff. We could all get together and just cry it out you know – really get to the root of all this.”

“You’re the root of all this.”

“No, I’d say your pal Dr. Sawyer is the root of all this. That’s what I think. And I have some proof… Jeff? Yeah, I’ll just call you Jeff since that’s what you want me to think anyway. It’ll just make things easier.”

“You know nothing about Dr. Sawyer.”

“Whatever you say Jeff. Just tune in to Newsroom then. I plan to let the world know all at the same time.”

“That would be a bad idea Randy. A very bad idea – maybe even worse than your idea with the flare gun.”

“Well it’s been fun Jeff. But this is right around the time I call the cops and if you’re anything like the other Jeffs that have been showing up, that means it’s also your cue to try and slide out the door in some ominous bullshit exit. Be sure to let me know that you’ll be back, or that you’re keeping an eye on me or whatever silly horseshit threat you’d like to leave on.”

Randy turned his back once again on the young man who’d broken into his apartment and had been waiting in the dark. Waiting for the master of the house to return so that the all-to-familiar song and dance could commence. This had begun shortly after Randy removed himself from Witness Protection. Even before he’d left Utah they’d appeared. The first one did indeed freak him out quite a bit. Standing at the end of his walkway outside of his rental home there in Park City. Standing at the exit to his parking structure. Standing at the end of alleys or narrow paths. They would always appear dressed just as Jeff Woods himself had last been documented. Always with the scar applied through make-up, always with the milky eye effect courtesy of a simple contact lens. Their tactic was almost always the same. Stand and stare. Try and instill as much fear while making their statement loud and clear – we are watching and waiting.

For the safety of his mother Randy had moved into his own place after being exposed online. He’d remained in Park City though, wanting to be close to Bridgette in case she needed him. She was going through her own battles with Maxwell Hayden at this point and Randy wanted to be there no matter what. However they were still in Wit-Pro and he didn’t want to jeopardize that. It was around the time he moved into his own place as Randy Hayden instead of Sean Beckett that the visitors had begun to appear. They played their little games – staying at a distance, and it was during that time that Randy was truthfully unnerved by this. What broke that illusion was the first time one of them made actual face-to-face close contact.

“See, everyone knows what you really are,” Randy said to the figure on his couch – back still turned. “Just dumbass kids from Mandeville, calling yourselves Jeff’s Killers or whatever the fuck you think will get you attention. You’re all over the news, just like I was when I got called out on the Internet. You’re not that different than myself back then when I was running around with Keith and Troy. You’re just playing a role. My role was rich asshole prick bully. Yours is deranged youths finding validation in through hero worship. The only difference is that I figured it out. I figured it all out, that Sawyer was just playing us all. Your buddy Trent Vickers was just the new Randy Hayden, that’s all. Another leader of losers receiving his marching orders from Sawyer – but now he’s dead and you’re still beating that drum. Hiding out on Shortcut Road trying to get on the news. It’s all so fucking pathetic Jeff.”

Randy picked up the cordless phone that was charging on his kitchen counter and prepared to dial 9-1-1. He knew that would get his intruder on his feet and out the door. It always had in the past. So when he heard the squeak of the springs he didn’t feel alarmed. He knew the next sound would be front door opening as his visitor departed from another failed scare tactic. He inputted the numbers into the phone but hesitated on the Call button. He’d filed at least half-a-dozen of these complaints since moving to Jackson Mississippi alone and all it was doing was serving to defeat his attempts to fly under-the-radar until his moment with Jack Elder. He armed with enough information to and had been granted the ideal platform to deal a fatal blow to Dr. Joseph Sawyer and his entire operation in Mandeville. But these freaks were making the time in-between far more difficult than need-be. The cops had yet to apprehend any of his stalkers as it was and perhaps filing yet another police report was just another waste of time better spent on the larger picture.

What broke Randy’s repose was the realization that he’d yet to hear the front door open. Whoever had broken into his apartment and waiting patiently for him in the dark for God knows how many hours had stood – but not yet begun to depart. Bravado be damned, Randy couldn’t bring himself to ignore this. Turning his attention back to the living room, back to where the figure had last been sitting he realized that he should have completed that call. It was now too late though.

The intruder was moving quickly through the dim living room in Randy’s direction. There was something clutched in its hand, perhaps a knife, he couldn’t tell in the limited lighting. Randy tried to re-dial the police. His hands were sweating though. It was like reliving that day in his garage with the flare gun all over again. He was too nervous to properly use the tool in his hand. He couldn’t input three digits. He dropped the phone and witnessed in slow motion the battery casing break open and watched as the two AA batteries rolled in opposite directions. He stepped back, intended to retreat to his bedroom. His cellular phone was there. He could barricade himself behind the locked door and call for help there.

“You should have gone further from Mandeville Randy!” the figure scolded as it finished closing the distance and pushed Randy into the wall. “You thought you could hide in the shadow of your past Randy, but your past is still your present and we are here to collect what you now!”

Randy managed to reach up with his right hand and grasped Jeff’s face. He shoved the attacker back, creating enough space to turn and attempt retreat to his bedroom once again. Jeff was upon him again in an instant. Instead of retreat Randy decided to advance, grabbing the lunatic and driving him backwards into the kitchen counter. He threw two fast punches to Jeff’s stomach. The attacker’s face did not seem to register any damage or pain. Randy reared back intending to deliver a haymaker when he felt a needle pierce his side. In that moment he realized what Jeff was holding, what he believed might have been a knife. It was a syringe.

“Go ahead and run now Randy,” it laughed. “See how long you can make it.”

Turning towards the bedroom Randy began to rapidly move down the hall. His mind was now frantic. He’d been drugged. He couldn’t fight that. Maybe he could still lock himself away though; maybe he could still call the cops and hope they’d arrived before it was too late. That hope was dashed as he entered his bedroom and felt the effects of the drug begin to do its job. He fell to one knee, bracing himself on the corner of his bed. He world was swimming now. He couldn’t figure it out. He knew he’d been drugged but now the drugs were making even that realization impossible to grasp with the sterile hands of reality. He knew that he needed to close his door and lock it – but that task now seemed akin to climbing a mountain. He crawled forward with no true destination in mind. He was running on the simple instinct to flee.

His attempt to run had been reduced to a crawl. Now that collapsed and he found himself on his elbows. His arms now flailed to either side. The last words to touch his ears came as the intruder wearing the disguise of Jeff the Killer walked into the bedroom behind him.

“Go to sleep Randy.”

Sessions in Recollection
The alarm clock radio began to play, pulling Randy from his nightmare and back into reality. The song was something pleasant, serving as a stark contrast to the hellscape he’d just been trapped inside. He wasn’t sure what the song was called, but it was something he’d heard many times as a child growing up.

My grand-ma and your grand-ma were sit-tin' by the fire. My grand-ma told your grand-ma: "I'm gon-na set your flag on fire." Talk-in' 'bout, Hey now ! Hey now ! I-ko, I-ko, un-day Jock-a-mo fee-no ai na-né, jock-a-mo fee na-né Look at my king all dressed in red I-ko, I-ko, un-day. I bet-cha five dol-lars he'll kill you dead, jock-a-mo fee na-né Talk-in' 'bout, Hey now ! Hey now ! I-ko, I-ko, un-day Jock-a-mo fee-no ai na-né, jock-a-mo fee na-né…

His eyes opened slowly as the warm and inviting morning sunlight crept through the window. For a moment he rolled over, facing away from the clean brightness that invaded his slumbering mind, still held within the gentle grip of slumber. He found that he didn’t really want to go back to sleep though. Something was waiting there, hiding behind his eyelids or perhaps waiting in that first REM Cycle. It was a nightmare, he knew that much. But that fog was clearing and he was hard-pressed to recall any details – not that he would want to.

Randy Hayden rolled over once or twice before finally swinging his legs out from under the blankets and resting his feet on the floor. He sat up and felt the typical headache set in as it did every morning. It began at the top of his head, dead center almost, and spread slowly down the sides of his skull, resting almost perfectly above his ears. He always imagined a sick, reddish cap, one of those little numbers that Catholic Cardinals wear, resting on his head. Instead of a soft, cloth cap though, it was pain. He fished around on his nightstand until he found what he wanted, a small prescription bottle containing an assortment of pills. He opened the bottle and rattled the medication around until the white tablet he wanted bounced to the top.

He turned the bottle over and felt something that might be a distant relative of happiness, or at the very least sweet surrender, as not just one but two of the Percocet fell into his palm. He didn’t think he had two left. He popped the pills into his mouth and began to chew them, not even remotely bothered by the bitter taste. He eyed several beer bottles on the floor next to his bed and tested each one with a quick shake until he found one that had a swig or two left. He washed down the chalky powder that the pills had broken down to and smiled a bit in spite of how he felt about life in general.

“Top of the fucking world mom,” he mumbled to himself, and rested his head in his hands until the potion of opioids and alcohol could script out the lie that life was worth living today.

The last few years of Randy’s life had been just about anything but worth living. He’d become a monster in the eyes of pretty much anyone who knew who he was. He’d been painted as the embodiment of privilege and affluence. A wealthy kid from an elite suburb who could do all but get away with literal murder.

When his identity was hacked and leaked to the world, Randy mistakenly believed that exiting Witness Protection and speaking openly to the global audience would somehow birth redemption. He’d been wrong. He drew hatred from all angles. Some even attacked him for coming forward with his story on Leslie Matthew’s news program, citing that he’d been given a second chance with Wit Pro that he clearly pissed away to steal some spotlight. But in most cases he was simply despised for being Randy Hayden. A bully. A narcissistic juvenile whose daddy’s money protected him from due justice. A rich kid who was granted an escape from the very reality that he crafted on the day he decided to aim a flare gun at another kid in an act of violence and pre-planned revenge.

He could escape what the media, both social and traditional, had labeled him. He’d tried a few times since revealing himself to the world. He tried to use platforms like Twitter to be open to questions and concerns from the public. He was met with vitriol. He was told to kill himself. He was told to aim a flare gun at his own head and pull the trigger. Most of all though, he was blamed for Jeff Woods decent into “The Killer.” Randy may as well have stabbed those victims himself for all it mattered. Anything that Jeff did Randy was held accountable for as well. And with the violence returning to Mandeville once more, Randy was still trapped in a whirlwind of blame regardless of the fact that he hadn’t returned to Mandeville, or even Louisiana, since he’d been exposed online.

Wit Pro saw Randy Hayden and his parents residing in Park City Utah, an upscale spot that hosted the Sundance Film Festival and provided a perfect nest for the Hayden family to exist pretty much as they always had. Money was tighter of course, but the yuppie appeal of Park City made Maxwell and Bridgette feel right at home. Perhaps Randy himself could have found that same pleasure, living as Sean Bennett, the assumed name he’d been assigned. Skiing, hiking, camping and every other pretentious activity so adored by those in his station were at his fingertips all year.

But that wasn’t all true though. First off, “former” station would be far more apt a term. Randy, living as Sean Beckett, was anything but a wealthy legacy. His father, Maxwell Hayden, had avoided prison by testifying for the prosecutors on the cover-ups, corruption and general malfeasance committed within Mandeville. His freedom was indeed saved but his cooperation with the courts, but his wealth was a different story. Fines, penalties, court costs and more worked their way through the Hayden’s bank account like cancer. By the time Randy was fully settled in as Sean Beckett, his family’s fortune was reduced to a shell of what it had once been. They weren’t exactly poor, but the days and ways that Randy had grown up with were long over.

Then he’d learned about the Trust Fund. A whole king’s ransom in finances just waiting for his age to match the requirements. Enough cash to leave and really start a new life. Because Randy’s life as Sean Beckett could almost be described as a living hell, but nothing about his existence could really qualify as living anymore.

Maxwell Hayden blamed his son for everything. But in true Hayden fashion, he never came right out and said it. Maybe it was because Randy was older, taller and a bit broader in the shoulders than he was back in the old days of Mandeville, before Cherry the Prostitute came by and taught Randy how to separate life and bullshit. Maybe Maxwell saw something in his son’s eyes that was a polar opposite to what was once there. The fear, the anxiety of not letting down his father, the terror that he had to carry the family mantle at all times and never - ever let it drop; all of that seemed to be replaced. What Maxwell saw in Randy’s eyes now was about as far from fear as one could travel. There was a bold, stalwart sort of insolence. Not the typical teenage angst, but something almost noble.

It was something that said - “You know what you did old man, you know why things turned out like they did. You pushed and pushed me to be something that no one can be and still thrive for normalcy. You broke me, so don’t you dare sit there and think you have the right to complain about me now.”

Randy saw how his father’s behaviors had changed. He wasn’t afraid of his father’s harsh judgements anymore. In fact, he was secretly hoping Maxwell would push things one night – really get into Randy’s face. Because he had a lot to say to his father. It sat in him like a poison, eroding him. But he needed a way out first. And then came his chance at salvation.

Bridgett Hayden didn’t blame her son at all. She in fact identified with him. Maxwell had demanded much of the same perfection from his wife over the years as he did his son. She didn’t like having plastic surgery, she didn’t feel that she needed it. But Maxwell wouldn’t settle for sags and bags, so his wife went in for a tune-up. Maxwell Hayden broke every single rule that he demanded she and their son live by, and should she ever speak up, he always had a solution – divorce. He reveled in reminding her that even if she took half of his empire, she’d burn through it in a few years and come crawling back. And just as Randy once feared his father’s judgements and threats, so too did the wife. She didn’t know for an unequivocal fact that she wouldn’t make it on her own, but she knew that her earning power was never going to line up with her husband’s.

Bridgett had been as much a victim of Mandeville’s affluent elite as she’d been a benefactor. She was a socialite, sure, but being a socialite doesn’t pay the bills. She’d fallen into the trap that Mandeville, and places like it, set for many spouses of wealthy men. She had her little projects and community programs, sure. She sold Scentsy Candles on the side, she worked with local charities and was on the Board for the Susan G. Komen New Orleans Branch, but she still needed Maxwell’s income to keep her calendar free for all of these civic endeavors. Before the incident, before the movers and the day planner and all of the revelations contained within it, Bridgett believed much as Randy did, that there was no escape from the Maxwell Hayden Empire. But then she’d seen him crumble. All of the nights that he’d raved about having no fear of government regulation, no concerns or breaking the rules or being caught, no hesitation what-so-ever because he knew how to play the game, and those bureaucrats in Baton Rouge knew how to play the game too, and everyone was well aware that Maxwell Hayden stood on the tallest pillar within the pissing grounds of Mandeville business, and should they ever make a move against him, he could oh-so quickly remind them exactly what side of their bread was buttered and just who it was that provided said butter to aforementioned bread. Yet for all of his bolstering bullshit he fell to pieces when the light of justice was finally pointed clearly in his direction. The mighty conqueror, the untouchable modern-day gangster wannabe, the all-talk, cigar smoking, golf playing, deal making hot-fucking-air machine that was Maxwell Hayden had been exposed.

So as time went on and the Haydens of Mandeville Louisiana became the Becketts of Park City Utah and Maxwell, now a true king in rags was still trying to flex his psychological control over his wife and son – the wife and son decided it enough had finally reached enough.

It was Bridgett who told Randy all about the Trust Fund. He’d never even known it existed before that. She’d come up to his room one night after a particularly nasty back and forth between father and son. The topic had been, as it always was, Jeff Woods. It’d begun where most of these fights did, right at the dinner table. The conversation that led to this eruption of emotion came from an article in the paper on school bullying and the violence that it could spawn. There’d been a school shooting, it was all over the news and currently a discussion of the matter found itself unfolding at the Hayden/Beckett evening meal.

“I’m just saying it all sounds really similar to a lot of the way kids in Mandeville were being raised, the stress, the constant pressure to conform… to be something that they aren’t, that’s all I’m saying dad…” Randy stated firmly. He and his father had started off on friendly enough terms, just two people discussing a current event, but as Randy dug deeper into the subject matter, he’d perhaps let his ever-evolving disdain for his father slip. Maxwell hadn’t missed the clues and was apparently feeling quite defensive that night.

“Yeah Randy, that’s right! Us horrible fucking parents did it! All those terrible Christmas mornings with presents stacked to the goddamned ceiling, just a real fucking pity, I know. We should all be in jail for trying to raise our kids with opportunities in life!”

“That’s not what I’m saying dad and you know it! I never complained about having a chance! What I’m saying is that sometimes parents, not necessarily you, just parents, you know, force stuff on their kids that isn’t good for them.”

Maxwell wasn’t accepting the attempt at civility that his son was offering though. Maxwell Hayden knew his son, and likely his wife, blamed him for the entire debacle in Mandeville, and he was sick and fucking tired of feeling guilty for what he considered good damned parenting.

“No Randy, say what you mean! I was a just the WORST, right???? I real monster! When I bought you a car; Ohhh fuck what a shitty dad! Or when I worked my ass off to make sure you had braces on your teeth, a gym membership… like that shit did you any good when it mattered….”

Randy felt his temper peak for a moment, and did not succeed in fighting it back, “What you mean dad is that I didn’t beat the shit out of Jeff Woods the right way, huh? When we were out there in that parking lot, or when he came over to the house, I should have used my gym membership privilege to beat his ass, right? Is that it?”

“I prepared you for success Randy, and that’s what I fucking would have expected from you when you were pushed. Not this… not this pussy shit you pulled instead. I did EVERYTHING to make sure you had all the tools to handle yourself, so yeah, maybe you getting your little ass kicked wasn’t part of what I’d have liked to see!”

“Oh yeah dad, you did a great fucking job!”

Now it was Maxwell’s temper that peaked. “You watch your fucking mouth with me! I’m not going to sit here and let a little fucking sissy take that tone with me at my table in my home!”

Bridgett Hayden watched this unfold from her post at the stove. She’d stood up to refill her plate and it seemed as though World War 3 had kicked off in the time it took to scoop beans from a pot to a plate. She began to speak, hoping to perhaps defuse things early, but she saw that her son had more to say and wasn’t waiting for any prompts.

“Your home? Last I checked MISTER BECKETT, the government paid for this house. Oh… that would mean the taxpayers paid for it, now wouldn’t it? What did you always say about people who lived off of the taxpayers’ money? What was it that you called them? Leeches? Welfare Leeches I believe. Seems like that’s you dad, living here right on the dime of the taxpayer. So I don’t think you get to call this your table or your home. None of this shit is yours!”

Randy was now screaming. He felt his arms trembling and hated it. He didn’t hate the anger, but he didn’t like the shaking. He didn’t want his father to mistake those trembles for fear, because there was no fear involved. It was anger. Long, overdue anger.

“You ungrateful little pussy!” his father shouted back. “You want to blame me for all of this? Don’t forget that you’re the reason we’re living here! You!!! I tried to teach you how to be a man and you couldn’t even get that right! Instead, like the little sissy you are, you grabbed a fucking flare gun and tried to scare some kid into respecting you, because it’s obvious… always HAS BEEN, that you will never have what it takes to earn respect on your own! And even then you couldn’t get it right! Even with a loaded gun, even with two of your friends there to back you up, in your own fucking house – HOMEFIELD ADVANTAGE, even then you fucking failed!!!! You dropped that gun with tears running down your face and piss probably running down your legs!”

“Yeah dad, I did that. Because for 15 years all I ever heard was BE BETTER RANDY! BE FASTER RANDY! BE SMARTER RANDY! No matter what I did you just kept ‘em coming old man! Like I was some sort of exhibit for you, some sort of project that you could show off to your stupid ass rich friends – who by the fucking way sold you out the minute you got exposed in Mandeville! Not a single one of your golfing buddies defended you! Nope, not one on your stockbroker pals, your poker night pals, your corporate lackeys… not a single one came forward for you dad! I bet they all laughed at you instead, just like I’ve been doing for years. Laughing at you and your pathetic little….”

Maxwell decided it was time for blood. One word was all he needed, and he was prepared to use it.

“Laughing at my pathetic faggot son.”

Randy felt, momentarily at least, all of the air escape from his body. But that vacant space was quickly filled again with a rage so pure, so laced with humanity, with real identity, that for just a moment he existed on a plane not unlike the one where Jeff Woods discovered his transformation into The Killer.

“Max don’t!” Bridgett shouted from across the room. She knew this was a dangerous line that had been laid out between her husband and her only child, and dreaded what would happen if it were crossed.

Maxwell saw the look - that stunned pain on his son’s face, and for just a second debated on taking it back and just getting up and taking a walk. Maybe he’d go to a local bar and drink his rage down, maybe he’d just go pace about in the cold Utah night. But he, like Randy, had been harboring all of the sick and wretched emotions that came after the events in Mandeville, and like a sore filled with puss, when the pressure hit critical, all the foul shit came out whether you liked it or not.

So instead of mercy, Maxwell embraced the very diseased notion to hurt those that we think are hurting us, and allowed a cruel expression to form across his face. With slow and deliberate pace, Maxwell Hayden began to verbally hurt his son with a mix of joy and shame swirling in his soul.

“Yeah sissy, I know what you are! I suspected it back in Mandeville, considering that I had to hire a fucking prostitute to come over to our house and practically drag you by the arm up to your bedroom to fuck her. And I know you didn’t! I know you fucking couldn’t go through something as simple as getting your little dick hard enough to fuck a ready and willing professional right on your own bed. But I let you think I believed it. I went on ahead and GAVE you that courtesy. I guess I was hoping for too much, wasn’t I?

But yeah Randy, I know what you like. Your friend Victor… he’s not just a friend, is he? I can tell. The way you look at each other, the way your little eyes light up with queer delight when he comes over. I thought I was just imaging things, until I saw a couple of your emails…. Yeah… I raised a son who couldn’t even succeed at being a son…. Why should I expect anything now from a fucking little limp-wristed…”

Randy had heard enough. He’d always been terrified of his father learning the truth. He’d stayed in the closet in hopes of just moving out, moving away, and starting his own life far from the judgmental hatred of his dad. He’d lived in fear of the day his dad might learn the truth, but now that it was hear, seeing the sick, stupid, hateful smile plastered on his own father’s face, hearing the mocking ignorance in his voice, he found that he wasn’t afraid of his old man at all. He found that it was his father who should perhaps be afraid of him.

He lunged across the room, throwing the dining room table on its side. His father, the big-bad fearless head of household, the cigar smoking - Scotch-drinking bastion of manhood suddenly began to shrink back, staggering away from his enraged son. There was, in the end, nothing to fear from Maxwell Hayden what so ever.

Randy drove his fist into his father’s jaw, taking satisfaction of the impact. “IS THIS WHAT I WAS SUPPOSED TO DO DAD?” he screamed, watching his father fall backwards. Randy grabbed him by the shirt collar and delivered another punch to his face, this time fetching a nice pop under his right eye. “LIKE THIS DAD??? IS THAT WHAT I WAS MEANT TO DO WITH JEFF WOODS THAT DAY? JUST KICK HIM AROUND?”

Maxwell backed up hard into the hallway, not able to tell where he was going. He reached towards the wall for balance, causing framed pictures to fall to the floor, glass shattering, chaos reigning. Randy followed, swinging again, this time connecting with his dad’s chin. A painful “click” could be heard, as perhaps his father’s jaw broke. “THIS IS WHAT THE GYM MEMBERSHIPS WERE FOR, RIGHT? I’M NOT TRYING TO KICK YOUR DAD, I’M JUST MAKING SURE YOU GET YOUR MONEY’S WORTH!”

Randy wasn’t done; he wanted more, he wanted to hurt his father far more than he ever wanted to hurt Jeff Woods. This was the moment he’d truly been waiting for. He prepared to charge forward and continue, but suddenly his mother was standing between them.

“Stop it, both of you!!” she screamed, and boldly held her place between the man she married and the child they’d raised.

“He’s fucking out of here – TONIGHT!” Maxwell grunted as he spit blood from his mouth to the floor. “He can go suck cock for food and shelter, that’s what he’s good at anyway!”

Randy went to respond but Bridgett was first this time. “No Max, if anyone leaves this house tonight it’ll be you. And if you refuse to leave, then Randy and me will leave you here. You can grow old and die alone if you want to, but you won’t destroy my son. I won’t let you hurt my Randy any more!”

“Do you know what you’re saying Bridgett?”

“I do. I should have said it years ago, but I’m saying it now. I’ve watched you abuse my son his entire life. I saw the way you pushed him, I saw the stress you put on him, because I was living through it too! You always knew just how to threaten, didn’t you Max? I guess you’re going to tell me that if I leave with Randy that you’ll see to it that I’m on the street right along with him, right? That’s what you’ve always told me, time after time, when I found out about your fucking your secretary, when you’d get drunk off your ass and grab my sister’s tits at Christmas, when you’d tell me that you wouldn’t stare at other women so much if I just took better care of myself? All of those times I let you disgrace and humiliate me, because I believed that if I stepped out of line just once that you’d really do it, that you’d use your friends and your connections and your corporate bullshit threats to make sure I was homeless. And when you started doing the same thing to Randy I should have left your fucking ass on the spot. When you paid for a goddamned whore to come into my home to fuck my teenage son, I should have called the cops on you, because your sick Max, a fucking pervert! But you had me so scared for so long that I just kept taking it. But not anymore! Randy doesn’t deserve this, he doesn’t NEED this, he doesn’t NEED YOU! He has money waiting for him!”

Maxwell’s face contorted between fear and rage in a manner that could almost be considered comical if it weren’t such a tragic situation.

“Mom… what do you mean?”

“Bridgett, don’t! We need that, that’s our second chance, you know it; that’s the only hope for all of us, not just him!” Maxwell seemed to be begging and threatening at the same time, and that matched his bizarre dual expressions just with odd perfection.

“Randy, there’s a Trust Fund set up for you. Enough money for you to be free from all of this, from HIM! You don’t have to live like this forever. And if we have to leave him here and go out there and make it until you can collect, then so be it! Because this, this BULLSHIT ends tonight, no more fear in this family. No more living afraid of him.”

Maxwell Hayden was back on his feet, blood coating the collar of his shirt and streaked down his face. But that insolent smile had somehow found its way back on his face.

“And how the fuck is he supposed to collect that money Bridgett? It’s all frozen because Randy Hayden is now Sean Beckett. What’s he going do, huh? You think he’s just going to stroll into the bank and withdraw it? Randy Hayden doesn’t even exist anymore according to public records. He’s not collecting a damned dime of that money on his own, you know that as well as I do.”

“Maybe he will, maybe he won’t, but one thing is clear tonight, you’re done ruling over us with your threats. Because as far as those public records go, YOU don’t fucking exist anymore either, now do you? And in case you forgot, we structured that Trust Fund to where only Randy could authorize it, so whatever plans you had for it, whatever reason you wanted to keep it a secret, I guess they’re just like your real name… NON-EXISTENT!”

Randy was stunned. He wanted to allow joy to wash through him at the prospect of having a real life, one that didn’t include sharing a roof with his father, but he had so many questions, and things here at home had just gone to complete and utter shit.

“I just wanted to do what was best for this family,” Maxwell stated, but it came out as more of a whimper, a sad, defeated sound. He went from wielding fear and threats to pity. “Neither of you know what it was like…. You were both just along for the ride.”

“And now we’re getting off the ride,” his wife answered. “Come on Randy, let’s go clear our heads for a while, let your dad be alone so he can lick his wounds.”

They left. As they drove through Park City’s mostly sleepy and empty streets, the heater going strong in the car, mother and son spoke of life and what could lie beyond the present.

“Mom… that was incredible! Thank you for standing up for me like that… I never thought I could do that with dad, he always seemed so –“

“Invincible.” Bridgett said.

“Yeah, like, just, unstoppable, unchangeable. Unforgiving. I was scared of him for so many years. Scared of letting him down - scared of being anything other than what he demanded.”

“Does it help to know I felt the same? Your old mom was scared of the exact same things. For you it was ‘be the perfect son,’ for me it was ‘be the perfect wife.’ And as time went on I realized that all the face lifts, tummy tucks and boob jobs out there weren’t ever going to be good enough to satisfy him. I could live with that Randy. I guess I learned that way back before you were born, when he and I first married. I could enjoy the cute little BMW that he bought me for Christmas; I could enjoy the Gucci clothes, the alligator boots, the Chanel perfume, the $20,000 Birkin purse and all the other little perks that came with just keeping my mouth shut and riding the highs of affluent life. I told myself time and time again that this was just a part of being that sort of wife, that nothing came easy, and since I didn’t have to go out and grind away in an office all week, that being Max’s wife was just sort of my job, the hard part of it. I had to smile and go along with his shit because that was the price of having all of those things.”

“Do you blame me Mom? For Mandeville I mean?”

“Not a bit. I blame myself, and I blame your dad, but mostly myself in that case, because I was the one who called Shelia Woods up on the phone and pretended like it’d just be a great idea for her son to come over and hang out with you. I knew it was stupid, you’d just gotten into a fight with her son… there was just no logic there. But Max was pissed. He felt like having one of his employee’s kids embarrass his own son was just unacceptable. He was bent out of shape about it and I knew that he’d eventually screw over Matthew Woods at work; it was just sort of his way. I guess I hoped that having their kid come over would somehow change all of that. Like, instead of the usual ways that your father dealt with things, maybe this time could just be something normal. I knew how much pressure he put on you though, and I wasn’t shocked at all that he encouraged you… no, that he manipulated you into trying to even the score. I should have just stayed there, but I liked Shelia Woods, she and I were hitting it off and I figured if we could all just sort of become friends that maybe Maxwell wouldn’t take it out on the kid’s dad at work. I wanted to just once do something good for real instead of just pretending to be this great mother by posting nonsense feel-good platitudes on Facebook.”

“You’ve always been a great mom, don’t think otherwise. If you hadn’t been there while I was growing up, I might have really lost my shit. I was close a few times mom, when he would really dig into me. I remember hearing Jeff Woods say on those Monica Davenport tapes that he wished his parents had beaten him instead of fucking with his head like they did, and damn, I felt myself agreeing with that so much. I wish dad had done that. Kicked my ass and been done. Instead he just kicked me in the mind. Had me so mixed up and stressed out. But you were always there for me, even when I could sort of tell that dad didn’t want you to be. Like when I’d cry or something. I would catch this look on dad’s face when you’d hold me, this look of anger, like you were wrong and should have just let me cry or tell me to toughen up like he always did.

You were the only person in my life that really kept me from feeling completely alone. I always knew my friends were just along for the ride because of who my dad was and the money we had. And when I was around 13 and realized that I…. realized who I liked… I mean, I couldn’t ever tell Keith or Troy that I was…. You know…”

“I knew, I knew probably before you even did. A mother knows, as the old saying goes… even shitting ones like me who pretend to be Real Housewives of Mandeville. And I know why you couldn’t come out, at least, not to your father. I’m so sorry you had to hide who you were for so long. Had I done a better job as a mother, maybe you would have told me instead of having your asshole dad use it against you….” Bridgett broke into a harsh sob. She normally would reach for a tissue if her eyes watered from so much as a yawn. Had to keep the make-up perfect perhaps. But tonight she just let it out, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand as she drove on, black mascara streaking with wild abandon.

“Mom don’t, don’t cry. I love you, and if that money is really there, I’ll take you with me wherever I go. You’ll never be homeless or have to beg dad for anything ever.”

“But he’s right about one thing Randy, with this Witness Protection shit…. I don’t know how you can claim it without…”

“Without coming out?” Randy said with a smile and a warm laugh, a sort of jovial happiness that Bridgett had not seen from her son in a very long time. A boyish innocence that even the likes of Maxwell Hayden and the Mandeville Elite hadn’t managed to completely eradicate in him. “Well, I did it once, maybe I can do it again!”

“But Randy, there are so many vile people out there, so many that blame you for the entire mess in Mandeville. If you were to be exposed… there’d be so much to live with.”

“Let me work on that Mom. There might be ways to do this without having to break away from Wit-Pro. But no matter what, things have got to change at home. I don’t hate dad, but…. No more living afraid. It’s toxic, and I hate it.”

“No more toxic, I promise you that much.”

And things at the Hayden/Beckett house did change a bit. When Randy and his mother returned Maxwell was already in bed. His jaw hadn’t been broken from his son’s punch, but his face was swollen the next day and that fire in his father’s eyes was not longer present. His father gave him a wide path when he walked past him. Max no longer raved about how they’d lost it all in Mandeville due to “poor choices” by his son. In fact, Maxwell rarely spoke to Randy at all unless it was absolutely necessary. Randy began to openly refer to his companionship with Victor as his relationship and proudly referred to him as his boyfriend instead of just his good friend. He could tell his father hated it and knew in his heart that he’d never accept it, but even that was okay, because Randy no longer desired his father’s approval nor sought his permission for anything relating to his life. His mother was there for him every step of the way from that night on, and Randy wasn’t too surprised when, a few weeks later, she began to spend more nights in the guest bedroom than in the master bedroom with his dad. He understood in a way that was more wisdom than intelligence that she was also done with him, but couldn’t quite move on completely just yet.

It was during those months that he researched long and hard into the Trust Fund, popping up on various social media locations asking just how such a thing could be accomplished while still hiding out in Wit-Pro. Had it just been Randy he would have likely just come out of hiding and owned whatever vengeance that world had for him. But he had his mother to think about. Plus there was Victor, who still believed he was Sean Beckett, who had no idea he was in fact the infamous bully from Mandeville, the child painted in the media as being a selfish, spoiled product of privilege who drove another kid to insanity by firing a loaded flare gun into his face. The world saw Randy Hayden as an affluence-possessed brat who was directly responsible for the creation of Jeff the Killer and indirectly responsible for everything that came afterwards - the deaths of Benny Rosenberg, Officer Williamson, Keith Lockett, Troy Jacobson and perhaps more victims yet to be discovered. So Randy kept the secret as he continued to desperately seek a means to rescue himself and his mother from any remaining grasp his father might try and impose.

Session Red
Randy stepped into his living room. His couch – it had been there, in his nightmare. Someone had been waiting for him there, in the dark. Of course they’d had a scar, a scar from a flare gun shot. A flare gun that had been held by Randy several years before – a simple tool that’d been part of his father’s sailing supplies, a minor piece of equipment that went on to become a catalyst in the destruction of many lives. Randy reached for his television remote. He just wanted enough distraction to allow the pills to finish ramping up. There was something wrong with his cable. The screen was all red.

“Fuck really?” Randy grunted. He flipped through the channels but all of them rendered only a blank red screen.

He felt annoyance building into something more visceral.

“The red makes you hate!” a voice suddenly squealed with glee from somewhere behind him.

Randy turned quickly and scanned his living room but found he was still alone. Randy climbed to his feet and searched about the small room. There were only a few places in his tiny apartment where one could hide. And the voice had been right behind him. If someone were there, he’d see them.

“Not for you though Randy!” the voice announced, this time coming from the direction of his bedroom.

“Who’s back there?” Randy demanded, trying to muster courage and strength into his voice.

“Come on back here and find out!” it replied.

The voice was female and vaguely familiar. He could not place it though. He also found himself quite hesitant to accept its invitation to meet face-to-face.

“I’ll call the cops!”

“How? Your phone is back here with me! Both your cell and your cordless! Not very smart Randy. Not good planning when you’re being hunted as you are. They’re always out there Randy, late at night, hiding in the dark. They watch your windows. They know when you turn off the lights and go to bed. That’s when they come in and watch you. Up close. Just like I’ve been doing all morning.”

“Alright great! You’re part of Jeff’s Killers from Mandeville right? You’ve been fucking with me for months – and you never do shit!”

“Randy – I’m not part of Jeff’s Killers, although I do know Dr. Sawyer quite well. Jeff’s Killers was my suggestion actually. Just as I suggested things to you – I suggested them to Trent Vickers. It’s amazing how it all works out. Also, it’s not really fair to say that we haven’t done shit. We’ve already done it, it’s been done, and you just think it’s a reoccurring nightmare. You just think you wake up from it. Just like you think you’re in an apartment in Jackson Mississippi right now.”

“Come show yourself then. Come show me the nightmare!” Randy demanded.

“Randy – the invitation still stands. Just come back here to your bedroom. Walk down your hallway and come in here and see me. BET YA WON’T!”

He looked down the hallway leading to his bedroom. The room he just recently was fast asleep within. Was this person back there with him the entire time? Watching him sleep? And why was this time so different. He felt a new emotion here. The voice was frightening to him and he couldn’t understand why. He’d been harassed by Jeff’s Killers many times, in person, directly. All the special effects, the scars and the eyes, the fake knives, figures hiding in the shadows – it had all seemed so laughable to him. This new reality though contained a different layer. This voice seemed so harmless – a snarky, condescending tone at worst. Yet there was something else to it. No theatrics this time. Only… truth.

His hallway seemed far too long. The sunlight coming from his open bedroom door seemed to be dimmed in a menacing fashion that was natural but still not right. He knew that he could grab a knife from his kitchen drawer to arm himself before venturing to his bedroom. He knew he had a baseball bat leaning against the wall in his living room that he could take as well. Still yet, something sensation beyond fear but before blind terror was turning his feet into concrete at the mere thought of stepping down the hallway towards the mocking, hateful voice.

“Fuck you, you’re not going to stop me from exposing Dr. Sawyer! You’re not scaring me away from telling the truth of what he is – what he’s doing!” Randy shouted and made for his front door. His newest harasser might have figured out how to get under his skin, but she hadn’t thought to position very well. The mind games wouldn’t work if he weren’t present for them.

He opened his front door, expecting to see the outside world. But where the courtyard of his apartment complex should have been was only a void of darkness.

“Shit…” he muttered as he stepped back into his living room. As his eyes remained fixed on the tunnel of blackness that had once been his front door, he saw that his initial assessment had been incorrect. It wasn’t a total void. Somewhere in the distance, a distance that could not be gauged in this abyss was a single red light. A perfect circle of red that could be mere feet away or perhaps miles – he didn’t want to venture in to find out.

“Not what you were expecting now is it?” the voice from his bedroom asked.

“What the fuck is this?” he stammered. He was now trapped between the insanity before him and that which was hiding just beyond the end of his hall.

“The red makes you hate, didn’t I already tell you that Randy? But like I said before, that part was never for you. Red, green, blue – they all do what they do. But Randy you were special! You just did what came to you. We had very little influence over you. Once in a while the good doctor would have to step in and make sure you were staying on track. But really you were a fucking natural kid! But then something went wrong. It wasn’t really your fault Randy. More your parents – especially your fucking mother. We thought your dad would be most likely to shit the bed on things, but who’d have ever guessed your mother would find her conscience first. Honestly we didn’t even believe that your father would let her find out about his agreement with Dr. Sawyer in the first place. You got a real naughty family Randy. But it’s okay, because you’re going to pay for them all!”

“I won’t be silenced!” he screamed back.

“Too late Randy! We got you! You’re with us now! You’re not in Jackson or Utah! You’re right where you’ve always belonged, right where you should have stayed! You weren’t born to be manipulated by the red – no Randy – you always have BEEN THE RED!”

Randy collapsed to his knees. His eyes still locked on this hallway, still watching the bedroom door. Whatever was down hiding was far more dangerous than its voice eluded. He clutched his hands to his ears, squeezed his eyes shut and tried to bury himself from all of this. He couldn’t escape the taunting, evil words coming from down his hall.

One by one the lights began to go out around him. That dim, sickly sunlight coming through the curtains began to flicker and fade, like a fluorescent light being turned off. The apartment began to darken until the only light was coming from his bedroom. What had been sunlight was now replaced by a red glow.

“Come down here Randy. Come down here and see me. I won’t hurt you much!” the voice teased.

Randy looked around what remained of his apartment. The front door was still open, that vast darkness with a single red light somewhere hovering in the great mass of emptiness served as his only company in his living room.

“If you stay out there Randy that abyss will swallow you whole. And trust me, you don’t want to be out there. Just you and that red light for all of eternity – that’s no way to go. But your time is running out.”

Randy’s thoughts raced. “I can’t stay here. I can’t go down that hall. I can’t run, I can’t hide, I can’t….”

Sessions in Green
Another voice spoke. “Play their game Randy.”

He looked around, trying to place the owner of that new voice. It was also familiar. It was close, perhaps right behind him. He turned his head but could see nothing in the immense darkness surrounding him,

“Randy, you don’t have much time. They’re tearing you up dude. You don’t know this but they’ve been working on you for a minute. They want you to focus only on the red, but the red isn’t what you’ve always been – that’s a lie,” spoke the new voice.

“Who are you?” Randy asked.

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you understand the red isn’t the only way here. The red is what they want you to drown in. You cause the red but you are not the red – does that make sense? Probably not, but what you need right now is the green.”

“The green makes you fake,” Randy mumbled, almost in a trance.

Fake Randy. He knew fake Randy well. He’d discovered the power in fake Randy way back before Jeff Woods ever moved to Mandeville. Real Randy and Rich Randy – always butting heads until a woman that called herself Cherry had come into his life and explained to him just how to find power in that fake side.

“The green makes you fake,” Randy repeated again, this time louder.

“Whatever are you going on about out there Randy? Wasting more time? Putting off the inevitable?” the voice from his bedroom taunted again.

“The green makes you fake…. But I mastered that shit didn’t I?” Randy stated with more conviction as he lifted his head and stared down the hall.

“You mastered nothing!” the voice replied.

“Is that so? Because I recall having a fucking blast! I recall living a whole lot better than anyone else I knew!”

“You hated it!” the voice rebuked.

“I used it!” Randy retorted as he now climbed to his feet. “I used it then I will fucking use it now!”

“THE GREEN MAKES YOU FAKE!” he screamed, and he the words echoed down the hallways he saw the lights above his kitchen sink flicker a bright green.

The new voice – still so familiar yet beyond his immediate grasp whispered, “you’re doing it Randy. Play their little game. They gave you everything you need to win a long time ago. Don’t let them squirm out of it now.”

“THE GREEN MADE ME FAKE – BUT IT DIDN’T MAKE ME WEAK!” he shouted. As he stepped forward the world around him began to swim in green. And along with that came so more changes. Randy’s chest puffed and his arms grew in size. He could feel himself becoming larger. Growing in height.

“Do not test us!” the female voice threatened back, but Randy felt no hesitation. He advanced towards the bedroom.

“My name is Randy Hayden and these are my boys Keith and Troy!” he bellowed and suddenly saw that Keith Jacobson and Troy Lockett now flanked him on both sides. “You’re new here, so I guess it’s only fair that I explain. I run shit around here! My dad owns half the damn town. Nothing happens in Mandeville unless I say so. And right about now I’m fucking sick and tired of hearing you talk shit!”

The apartment began to melt away. Randy watched without fear as the walls oozed into puddles. He was now standing in the parking lot of Friendly Video in Mandeville. His town. His place. His rules. He did not know fear on this plain.

Randy looked around and saw that he and his two friends were the sole occupants of the parking lot. The storefronts appeared to be vacant and deserted. The glass doors and windows were shattered. Despite the desolate appearance of the shops, the scenery was still quite lovely, especially in comparison to where he’d been standing just moments before.

“You should stop while you can Randy! These moments can turn red again really fast should we decide! Perhaps enjoy this time with your long dead friends instead. After all, they’re dead because of you!” The voice was coming from what was once the video store. Its mocking tone was now one of weak scolding. Like a teacher trying to enforce threat of punishment on an unruly classroom that she’d lost control of a long time ago.

“Keep talking bitch, just making it easier for us to find you!” Randy answered as he and his compatriots began to march towards the entrance to the video store.

As they closed in on the door several men stepped out of the darkness. All of them looked alike – bearing a scar and a milky eye. Jeff’s Killers perhaps; or maybe here they were all Jeff Woods himself. Either way it didn’t matter. Not to Randy Rich. Not while he was basking in all the glory of the green.

“Let’s welcome the new kid, shall we?” Randy asked, and he and his friends began to accost those who blocked their path.

The Jeffs wielded their knives and swung them with gusto. Randy and his friends seemed to have no difficulty in disarming and maiming their attackers. A knife was thrust directly into Randy’s chest and simply bent a movie prop, drawing no blood and inflicting no pain. When several of the Killers attempted to charge Randy at once, he simply gazed up into the green sky, which now featured a roaring green sun. As he did he felt himself grow stronger, sweeping his arm across all those before him and sending them flying across the pavement.

Once the Jeffs had been dispatched Randy peered into the darkness of the video store. Beyond the broken glass door he could see very little. Whoever had been tormenting him was hiding in there. They were no longer shouting threats at him though. Now all he could hear was a faint breathing. Short raspy breaths, the inhalations brought on by terror. And who were they terrified of? Why Randy Rich or course. Randy of the Green. Randy who ran this fucking town! And they were damn wise to be scared.

Randy held out his hand. He knew the tool that he needed before proceeding into the darkness. He felt the flare gun being placed into his hand. He eyed it with confidence. He checked once to ensure it was loaded and slapped the device closed with a flick of his wrist. He aimed into the shadowy interior of the video store and launched a flare inside.

For just a moment he could see a figure. Hunched over in the far corner of the store with a blanket wrapped over its body. Its face was covered. The flare died out.

“Give me another one,” he ordered as he held out his hand. He loaded the second flare and fired once more, this time aiming directly towards the corner inhabited by this ghoul. He did not wait for any light to illuminate the room this time. Instead he charged inside, intending to appear with the flash of light himself. He was now the boogeyman and he did not plan to miss the opportunity to appear out of the darkness in a flash of light.

The second flare lit up the room. The second flare was different. The second flare produced a bright blue hue that infested every corner of this small store.

“The blue makes you – you!” the voice beneath the blanket announced, and in that moment Randy was reduced to being Randy Real.

Sessions in Blue
“What’s happening?” he whispered as his eyes shot from one corner of the store to the other. He was no longer a powerful, hulking destroyer. He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflective glass countertop next to the cash register. His red hair, his thin beard that never quite looked the way he’d hoped. He was as he saw himself in the mirror each and everyday, a remorseful young man who became the pariah of a nation, the face of affluence and bullying - the cause of Jeff the Killer.

“What’s happening? Why don’t you take a look Randy?” the voice instructed.

He turned and saw Keith and Troy lying dead outside of the store. Stabbed multiple times. He saw a young man hunched over on the floor grasping his face in his hands. His face was burning behind them. He was screaming in agony but the flames would not die down. He saw his mother crying as his father screamed at her, blaming her for all that went wrong.

“This is wrong! These things weren’t just my fault! Sawyer… he caused this! His plan!”

“Oh sure, blame Sawyer! Blame your father! Blame your wealth. Blame your birthright. Blame Mandeville! Blame Jeff Woods for moving here. Blame your friends for wanting you to be the leader. Blame all of them Randy! Blame everyone and everything except yourself you pathetic little sissy!”

The voice altered at the end. Dropping in tone, becoming deeper. This was no longer the voice of the red, trying to be scary from the end of a dark hallway. Nor was it the voice of the green, scolding and with empty threats. This was now the voice of the blue. And the blue rang only truth. No lies could live within the blue, for the blue makes you – you, and one cannot hide when one is oneself. There is no pretention within the blue. No one to impress or intimidate. No friends to lead. No new kids to bully. Within the blue one can only find their true self and can tell it no lies.

“What were you really going to do with that Trust Fund money Randy? What was the real plan? Were you really going to help your mother? I bet not! I bet you were going to move on, sell your story to whoever would buy it and continue to grow your bank roll. I would bet every dime I have that you never changed one bit! You tried to hide from reality even when you were researching how to obtain your daddy’s money. You think you’ve grown? You think you’ve become something more than you were back in Mandeville? Back when you were just this pathetic little rich fucking bastard kid who took glee in tormenting others? Manipulating people’s fears? Building your support around those who wished to benefit from your parent’s wealth?”

“You don’t know anything about me!” Randy screamed back. “You weren’t there, you weren’t in my fucking head all those years! Hiding everything about myself to try and fit this mold that my father wanted! Being dad’s little champion at every fucking turn of my life! You have no right!”

“WE WERE ALWAYS THERE!” the voice returned in a massive bellow that shook the walls and caused Randy to step back towards the door. He stopped as his foot brushed against the corpse of Troy Lockett. He looked around and saw that Jeff was still burning. That his mother was still crying. That his friends were still dead. This was reality. This was Randy Real.

“Randy, we crafted you from the start! You know this! You know all of this! After all, it’s what you intended to expose on the Jack Elder show is it not? How you learned of Sawyer’s plan. How your mother showed you the documents. The recorded conversations between your father and Sawyer. You’ve always known that we pulled the strings. What you think of as Randy Real and Randy Rich – that little coping device you were taught! Do you truly believe that was some sheer case of cosmic intervention? Do you believe for even a moment that it wasn’t part of the design? No Randy, you were supposed to do everything just as you did, all up until the Witness Protection. That got in the way. That caused some issues. But like a horse returning to the stable you returned to us. You made yourself easy to find Randy. You even moved yourself to Jackson Mississippi so you could be close enough to Mandeville but distant enough to be safe from us. But you were wrong about that Randy! You came way too close and we got you. We got you right back where you belong. And now you can drown right here in the blue! Drown in yourself Randy. Drown and die!”

Once again he collapsed to his knees, this time not from the terror of the red but the truth of the blue. He could wade through the red but he could not float above the blue. For it was inside of him.

The second voice returned. Once again whispering in his ear. “It’s all you Randy. The blue is you. You can’t drown in it, you are it, wield it and it cannot be your demise.”

“No…. I can’t. I caused this. I caused my friends to die. I didn’t have to point that flare gun at Jeff. I chose to. I wanted to be Randy-fucking-Rich. I wanted my father to be proud of me.”

The second voice, still so familiar asked, “Why? Why did that matter so much?”

“I don’t know.”

“Try to answer.”

“But I hate it.”

“Whatever is hiding under that blanket wants you to hate it too. Because if you hate it you hate yourself and that allows them to continue to destroy you.”

“But I hate it too. I hate it because I hated it back then and I kept doing it anyway. Randy Real and Randy Rich were just two more lies to avoid just being Randy. I never was real, not once back then. I was always just fictional. Like an actor playing my own role. Poorly.”

“SHUT UP and stop whining!” the voice beneath the blanket demanded. “You cannot dodge the truth within the blue!”

“Don’t dodge it Randy,” the second voice spoke. “The only thing real here IS you. These illusions mean nothing in the blue unless you allow it!”

“Both of you shut the fuck up!” Randy shouted as he rose to his feet. “All my life I’ve had to deal with this. I’m so fucking tired. You want to know what’s really going on? You want to know?”

The room was now pulsing with a powerful blue, so bright it was almost blinding. Randy was tired indeed. He felt the same way he did the night he struck his father over and over. The night he took ownership of who he was there. He felt that same frantic yet focused energy forming within him. He could stand here and drown in the truth or he could ride it like a fucking tidal wave.

“My name is Randy Hayden and my father was an abusive piece of shit! He signed my childhood away to Sawyer. That much I know. That’s the part I couldn’t control. The rest though – fuck it, I own it too. All this red, green and blue bullshit, you said yourself it was never used on me. No, I was the one out there creating those conditions, right? Maybe I was more green than blue but fuck it all if I didn’t know. I knew. I knew and I lied anyway. I knew by the time I was 13 years old that I was attracted to boys instead of girls and I knew my father would have none of that so I just lied some more. When he called over a prostitute I just went on up there and we had a nice talk and when I came down stairs I pretended that I fucked her real good! Just another red-blooded American boy doing what my red-blooded American dad wanted. Just checking off the boxes. I knew when Jeff Woods came over to my house that I didn’t want to hurt him. We played video games, we had fun – we were becoming friends in a way that didn’t include my dad’s money. I could’ve had a normal fucking friend! But that wasn’t good enough for Randy Rich or Randy Real, because both of them are bullshit! You can’t live two fucking lives at once and think that any of that shit is normal! So I just kept on lying. When Keith and Troy showed up with this wicked little plan to jump Jeff in my garage, to make him pay for kicking the shit out of us in the parking lot the week before, it all just seemed so damned awful. I hated doing it but I did it because I wanted to!”

“SO YOU ADMIT IT?” the voice below the blanket screamed. “YOU ADMIT YOUR VILE, BROKEN…”

“Shut your fucking pathetic mouth. Who do you think you’re in the room with right now? I’m not Liu Woods. I’m not writing a book crying about how I just miss my brother so much. No bitch! I’m RANDY-FUCKING-HAYDEN -the bully of Mandeville, right? Maybe you haven’t read about me on Reddit lately but fuck me if the whole world doesn’t hate my guts and I can’t even tell them they’re wrong on half the shit they say. Yeah motherfucker, I admit it all! You must be one stupid ass if you think that I think that I’m some sort of saint here. You wanted me to own this right? Well sit down and shut up because this it all me! I wanted to be Jeff’s friend. I also wanted to kick his ass. Maybe we’d be friends later. Maybe we just need to square that up. I don’t fucking know? I was a damn kid, confused as all hell. You think I knew what I was doing back then?”

“So you’re proud of what you were? Is that what you have the nerve to stand before us and say?”

“Proud? No. I shot a kid in the face with a flare gun! What in the hell is there to be proud about? I fucking hate myself for that shit. I hated myself back then and let me tell you, since I’ve matured a bit I’ve had years to explore that self-loathing and trust me princess, it doesn’t get more pleasant with deeper observation. After I ruined Jeff Woods’ life I hid behind a corrupt justice system and didn’t get so much as a mark against me on my permanent record. Not that it would have mattered because my dad would have had all that shit expunged by the time the sun set the next damn day. Then when my friends were murdered we dipped off into Witness Protection. Just like that, poof. A new life, a life as Sean Beckett and you know what, I didn’t hate every second of that either. I’m sure my parents were a little less than thrilled that they had to step back from everything they’d ever known but I had some good times up there in Utah. And yep, when I was having those good times I wasn’t thinking about Jeff Woods or Keith and Troy or anyone else. And I’m not proud of that either bitch. I think back on that and it doesn’t fill me with any real joy, but I don’t cry myself to sleep at night over it either.”

“Then why pursue exposing Sawyer? Why put yourself at risk? If you deserve this pain then wallow in it but do not try and…”

“How many times are you going to make me tell you to shut the fuck up today? You’re hiding under a blanket you pathetic fuck! I’m not exposing Sawyer to vindicate myself! I’m exposing Sawyer because it’s the right thing to do! Even a piece of shit from the suburbs like me knows that much. I may never climb out of this hole. I may wallow in it forever. But guess what, your pal Dr. Sawyer is going to wallow right next to me. There’s plenty of room!”

Randy charged forward without another word, his hand reaching out towards the blanket. He would pull it off and reveal who was hiding beneath. As his hand closed around the cloth the entire world went dark.

From out of the void came more voices, voices that Randy didn’t recognize at all. What shocked him the most is that they were not talking to him but rather to each other.

“Clarissa, we have to go!” a male voice interjected. Randy didn’t recognize it nor did the name Clarissa ring any bells.

“How dare you interrupt Noah? I’m in the middle of a session.”

“It’s the police! They just kicked in the front door. Some guy with a camera too. We have to leave now!”

“But I’m…”

“You’re accomplishing nothing! You’re supposed to be suppressing him, not giving him a moment of triumph!”

“I can turn the red back on anytime. He isn’t going anywhere.”

“But we are. If we stay here we’re going to get arrested.”

“What about Randy? He knows too much, we can’t just leave him here.”

“We have no choice. We can’t do anything if we’re locked up. Let’s go now!”

“Okay fine. Do you think they know about the main clinic?”

“Of course not! If they did they’d be raiding that right now! For the last time get up and let’s get out of here!”

“Fine. Randy – if you can still hear me you best heed my warning. Do not pursue this further. We can find you again. And we can leave you in a place far worse than anything you’ve experienced over the last couple weeks!”

Randy heard footsteps in retreat. Apparently the female voice belonged to someone named Clarissa. The male voice belonged to someone named Noah. Neither of those names registered to Randy.

“Now what?” he asked himself in the darkness.

“Follow the light,” that second voice replied.

“What light?”

“You’ll see.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m just you. Just Randy Real if there wasn’t a need for Randy Real. If there was just Randy, maybe I’m what he’d sound like.”

“Thank you.”

“There’s the light Randy. Go to it.”

In the distance Randy could see a white orb. No red, green or blue this time. He began to move towards it and realized that it was moving towards him as well. It was bobbing up and down, as though in rhythm to walking. He could hear faint voices as well. Unlike the voice of Clarissa or Randy Real or Noah or anything else he’d heard today, these voices seemed to come from outside rather than inside. He was exhausted though and was in no mood to chase hope. He chose instead to simply sit down and allow the light to come to him.

“I found someone!” a male voice shouted.

“Who?”

“Hey Dalton, tell your pal with the camera to get in here, we need the big light!”

“Holy shit I think I know who that is?”

“Well fuck Derrick don’t keep us in suspense! Wait, I think I know him too. Is that…. Is that Randy Hayden?”

Newsroom
Televisions across America tuned once more into Newsroom with Jack Elder. Just weeks before they’d watched as he interviewed Liu Woods, brother of the infamous serial killer Jeff Woods, better known as Jeff the Killer. They’d been promised an appearance by Randy Hayden, the equally infamous bully who’d driven Jeff to his crimes after permanently disfiguring his face with a flare gun – however that promise had long been thought broken. Tonight though Elder would prove it wasn’t broken but simply postponed and the wait was now over. He would be speaking with Randy live via satellite from his studio in New York all the way to Randy’s location in New Orleans. And what a story there was to tell.

“You sure you feel up to this Randy? Maybe you could start small? Do my show first?” Derrick Reynolds joked. He and Randy had become friends since the rescue. Dalton Bradshaw and Nina Hopkins were there as well. There were also several Federal Agents assigned to protect Hayden at all times. Since he was kidnapped from Mississippi and brought to Louisiana it became a federal case and that meant Randy got all the best security.

“Derrick I will totally do Cult Hunters next, I promise. But tonight we tell the world about Dr. Joseph Sawyer. We do that on Newsroom live. Remember what happened when you did Jane Arkansas’ story. I don’t want that to happen again. They’ll do anything to scare us away from telling the truth.”

“Kid, with your testimony here we have every cop in the state looking for these people. I think we’re finally bigger than all the fucking corruption in Mandeville!” Dalton chimed in.

“Language!” Nina scolded. Latoya Hayes who still played the role of her legal guardian accompanied her.

After the rescue of Randy Hayden lots of eyes were on Dalton, Nina and Derrick. They were celebrated as heroes by everyone accept those that lurked in the shadows. They’d ruined something that had been in the works for a very long time. And with Randy’s story tonight they would bring the hammer down once and for all on the corruption and lies.

The satellite television crew was in and out of the room. It was a slow process since they had to be cleared through federal security standards every time they entered the building.

“If you need anything at all Randy, if the questions get too tricky or something, just look over at one of us and we can field it for you,” Derrick said.

“If Liu Woods could talk to that guy for an hour I think I can do okay. But thanks, I will keep that in mind.”

A technician popped his head in the room, aimed a remote at the large monitor that was set up to serve as Elder’s proxy, and activated the screen. Elder was on the other end. His make-up people were dusting his face with powder. When he finally had the chance to open his eyes he saw that his monitor was live as well and spoke up to Randy.

“Mr. Hayden! Glad we’re finally able to do this. To your rescue team there, I will do my best to get you all some screen time but please try and let Randy remain the focus here.”

Derrick fought the urge to make some sarcastic quip about understanding how television works. He was successful in remaining silent but not without much effort. Dalton seemed to have no interest in being on screen and Nina had already been bribed to the ends of the earth not to try and hog the spotlight. It wasn’t cheap but the adults were confident that she could remain on whatever passed as her best behavior.

“Going live in 60 seconds!” a tech announced from the doorway. Randy and the others at in their pre-assigned seats as last minute adjustment were made. The lights in the room were adjusted and the final thumbs up were given. The light on the monitor changed from red to green (no deeper meaning this time) to indicate the feed was now live. Randy was as prepared as he would ever be.

The following broadcast was observed by millions of households across the country and millions more overseas.

Elder: Good evening my fellow Americans and friends across the globe! My name is Jack Elder and you’re watching Newsroom!


 * Music and Graphics play**

Elder: Tonight none other than Randy Hayden joins me live via satellite from New Orleans Louisiana. His location is undisclosed. He is guarded around-the-clock by federal agents and he is only talking to us right here on Newsroom!

As most of you know Randy was kidnapped from his home in Jackson Mississippi just a little over two weeks ago and help hostage at an abandoned property in Mandeville Louisiana. Mandeville is Randy’s hometown as well as the scene of the grizzly Jeff the Killer murders of 2015. Since then it has become somewhat of a hotbed of corruption and suppression. A rag-tag group of outsiders calling themselves Jeff’s Killers has fought to remain an ominous presence in the back roads of this small town. The murder of a State Police Officer assigned to investigate recent crimes took place right in the command center of the Mandeville Police Station. A disturbed young man named Trent Vickers was found crucified on the walls of the vacant structures he once claimed belonged to Jeff’s cult of killers. But this may top it all!

Randy claims to have all the information one the authorities need to actually put an end to the source of all of this. He says that his own father was bribed into this bizarre organization that began with one man, a psychiatrist named Dr. Joseph Sawyer. Randy claims that he was raised to be a beacon of sorts, to trigger these events and to manipulate an entire city. Was all of this part of Sawyer’s experiment? Mr. Hayden says yes and he has the facts to back it all up! So without further wait – Randy Hayden, welcome to Newsroom and thank you for being here via satellite tonight!

Hayden: Thank you Jack. I’m here to tell my story. No more secrets.

Elder: You were kidnapped from your home in Jackson Mississippi, is that correct?

Hayden: Yes. I was being stalked by members of Jeff’s Killers for months. But what’s important to understand here is that I don’t believe these are the same kids that hang out in vacant homes in Mandeville. I think these people were from some sort of inner-circle with Sawyer’s people.

Elder: Why do you believe that?

Hayden: I don’t think that a group of teenagers from Mandeville could orchestrate something like a kidnapping over state-lines. There are more pieces to this.

Elder: You told my producers that you recalled a visit from one of these individuals. They were waiting for you in your apartment.

Hayden: Yes. That’s the last thing I remember before being rescued. Everything in between was this…. Repeating cycle. Slowly over the last week or so I’ve been able to recover some of what happened to me in that house in Mandeville. I was subjected to these – hypnotic states I guess? Same thing. I’d wake up in what I believed to be my apartment in Jackson and then everything would sort fall apart from there.

Elder: Psychological torture?

Hayden: I think it was more suppression through torture than just torture for the sake of torture. They knew I found out the truth. They couldn’t get to me any other way. My parents are still in Wit-Pro so I guess they figured they’d just go right for me.

Elder: And you believe what they were attempting to suppress was the truth about Sawyer’s operation?

Hayden: Without a doubt. My plan was to reveal all of this when I came on your show with Liu Woods. They got to me first though. Had I not been rescued by Detective Dalton Bradshaw and Filmmaker Derrick Reynolds along with help from another of Sawyer’s victims, Nina Hopkins I’m pretty sure I’d still be in that house somewhere.

Elder: And they’re joining you right now! Very brave individuals! All of here at Newsroom join Randy in thanking you for your courage!

Hayden: Derrick’s show also did an expose on the corruption in Mandeville that directly ties to Joseph Sawyer. He lost two of his filming cast in this. These people are serious Jack. They are taking lives and I know for a fact that it goes all the way to the top!


 * A photograph of Dr. Joseph Sawyer appears on television screens across the globe**

Elder: This man, Joseph Sawyer. You’ve claimed he is the mastermind behind all of this. You claim to have the proof. The floor is yours now Randy, tell the Newsroom audience how this one psychiatrist from Texas has somehow created a serial killer, a cult and high level corruption that has taken an entire city by storm.

Hayden: He approached my father back in… **static** before I was born after being **longer static** from Sam Houston University in Texas **a faded image behind the static** white rooms and mind control **voices interrupting**

In New York, Elder looks at his production staff, “What they hell is going on?”

“Sir, it appears to be a signal override. Someone is hijacking our broadcast. I’ll try and fix it by…”

“Don’t try too hard, let’s see what this is,” Elder replies.

In New Orleans – “What the hell is this shit?” Dalton snaps.

“This is like that Max Headroom crap from the 80’s man!” Derrick answers. His voice is filled with concern and fascination.

Slowly the static clears and both Randy and Elder see the new image on both of their monitors. What they, and the entire viewing audience witness are three figures standing before a camera in an unknown location. The quality of the film is poor but clear enough to be effective.

Sitting in a chair flanked on either side by a man and woman wearing what appears to be cheap paper masks is a Dr. Joseph Sawyer. His mouth appears to be gagged. Between the static snow the audience can make-out that his hands are bound to his chair.

A voice speaks over the image. It’s heavily modulated. It sounds like a male and female voice both read the lines together and the merged voices were then modified to add depth. The effect is chilling.

They speak: “To those watching this broadcast, be advised that Randy Hayden is telling no lies. Joseph Sawyer is indeed the creator of this experiment. His vision – to test the limits of humanity through control, reward, punishment, fear, and pleasure – will not be jeopardized now. Not even at his own hands. For all that follows is now result. The testing, the planning, the phases, and the controlled variables – all have been set into motion. There remains only one final piece to this puzzle. A piece that goes far beyond anything Joseph Sawyer is prepared to handle. Randy Hayden has already turned over all that he knows to the authorities. Yet we still remain. The project still moves forward. All of you will see very soon now. The wait is almost over. Goodbye father. You have served your purpose and we shall not disappoint you.”

The masked figures both brandish large blades and proceed to stab Sawyer over and over again. Jack Elder screams at this staff to cut the feed. Network executives storm into the studio demanding that what has essentially become a snuff film cease being broadcasted. The broadcast remains. No sound, just a man and a woman in paper mask – designed perhaps to look like a animal heads stabbing a bound man over and over again – long after he is dead.

Then the screen goes red.

KILL SOMEONE begins to flash.

Within minutes 9-1-1 call centers across the United States light up.

The red makes you hate.