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creepswrites · 1 year

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RED CHRISTMAS (Billy Lenz)

The idea for this story came to me in a dream, hope you guys enjoy!! Billy Lenz just needs some friends, honestly. I also really really love Black Christmas, its one of my favorite movies, so I hope I write Billy well :')) let me know if you're interested in a part 2!!

Billy Lenz + Sorority Girls (platonic)

Summary: "Hello?" She spoke softly. "Are you alright?" Jess's expression melted from confusion to concern. Billy nodded quickly, chewing on the skin on his lips. Surely she knew about Claire and was asking just to see if he'd lie. She'll know he lied and then she'll- "Do you need help?" Jess's voice cut through Billy's spiraling thoughts and his head snapped over to where she now stood beside him. WARNING: minor violence, mental health issues, discussion of pregnancy & related issues (Billy is NOT SA'd)

Billy stared vacantly at Claire Harrison, watching her as she packed her bags in preparation to leave. Christmas was in a few days and many of the sorority girls had planned to leave. Watching Claire play with the cat, Claud, Billy chewed anxiously on his fingernails as he stayed hidden in his spot in his closet. Sneaking into the sorority itself hadn't been difficult. Attic windows were rarely locked. Moving about had required precision and caution on Billy's part since the girls were still unpredictable to him, but he could change that. He could make them predictable.

People were predictable when they were afraid.

Snapping himself back to the moment, Billy watched carefully as Claire gravitated closer and closer to his hiding spot in the closet. His recent phone call had really rattled the girls earlier - Claire especially. He'd been calling the house for a few weeks now but only recently snuck in, feeling bolder than he had in weeks.

There was no rhyme or reason to choosing these girls. Maybe parts of them reminded him of Agnes, of his mother, or of something entirely different. Billy didn't have a reason for killing the way he did.

(The little girl in the park had been an accident. Just an accident. She'd seen him sneaking around and he had to kill her or else she'd call someone. Then Billy would be in trouble. And Billy didn't want to be in trouble.)

The rustling of Claire moving to grab something in the closet had Billy lunging for her throat, grabbing the startled girl around the neck and slamming her head into the wall, immediately knocking her unconscious. Billy just stared at his hands, watching them shake as they gripped her neck, before lifting her up into his arms.

Hauling her up into the attic took some doing but he was stronger than his lankier appearance let on.

The attic itself was dark, dusty, and quiet. Just the way Billy liked it. Wooden planks made up the floor that gave his hands tiny splinters for him to pull out with his teeth, cobwebs covering all the old clothes, boxes, props the sorority used when promoting themselves for new members, and clouded windowpanes from years without cleaning.

A sole, comfortable rocking chair was set up by the window. Tying the girl to the rocking chair had been easy. So was wrapping a cloth around her mouth so she couldn't scream if she awoke. Billy ignored the way his hands shook as he worked, mumbling to himself as he did so. Mama had to be in her usual spot, his mind cried. Right by the windowsill with Agnes just like he remembered.

Kneeling in front of the chair, Billy Lenz stared at the unconscious girl. Brown hair, big doe eyes, and a softness to her that Billy craved. The opposite of everything his mother was but very accurate to the version of herself that he made in his head. Billy remembered his mother to appear very kind and approachable, sweet, and delicate to Agnes.

Billy always made her angry, always got in her way. He remembered the way her face would twist and contort whenever he was in a room with her. As though to share her space was an insult that Billy could never hope to apologize for.

His mother was always crueler and scarier when she was yelling at him.

But she wasn't yelling now. He glanced up nervously at the unconscious girl before focusing his attention back on the dirty attic floors. He had control now. His mother was gone and his sister was gone. He was in control now.

"Little baby bumpin', daddy's gone a-huntin', gone to fetch a rabbit skin to wrap his baby Agnes in..." He sang softly to himself, voice cracking slightly, as he took the leg of the chair and rocked it slowly, eyes fixed to the spot where the girls shoes scuffed the dusty wooden floor.

Hearing the muffled sounds of the sorority girls' voices, Billy lifted his head slowly. Most of the girls were leaving for the Christmas break but a few would be staying behind, for one reason or another. The girl Barb was staying - he overheard that phone call right before calling the house.

Calling the sorority house. Yes, he'd done that. Stupid Billy, he hissed in his own head. Stupid, stupid Billy. It had been such an impulse, such a horrible idea from a horrible, horrible boy-

"Hello Peter?" The girl's voice pulled him from his thoughts, listening intently as she spoke. "I just want to talk to you." Her voice was low, hard to make out. Billy crept towards the door that led the attic and opened it slowly to hear better. Jess, he was able to identify. He was always hyperaware of their voices - and of the girls themselves - at all times. "Nothing's the matter, I just need to talk to you. In person. It's important." Billy stared at the carpeted floor of the sorority house from his spot, hovering over the ladder. He couldn't climb down but he didn't need to see the girls face to see her frustrated expression.

He'd already heard Jess talk to Phyl about the pregnancy.

In his own, twisted way, Billy wanted her to get the abortion too. Remembering his own childhood, remembering Agnes' life, he didn't want to see Jess turn into his mother. Though he could bear to see her annoying boyfriend meet his father's demise.

Billy hadn't been the one to kill his dad, after all. Maybe it would do Jess some good to embody his mother just a little bit.

"Peter, it's important!" Jess huffed again. "I'm not telling you over the phone because it needs to be in person." Billy felt out of his body as he crept down the ladder slowly. "Peter-" Jess huffed before angrily hanging up the phone. Billy made his way to the banister of the stairs and crouched down, watching Jess wrap her arms around herself. She stared at the fire for a moment before turning to sit on the couch. "Honestly, the nerve of that boy..." She huffed to herself before noticing a shadow on the floor and looking up at the stairs.

Both she and Billy jolted in surprise when her eyes landed on him. "Oh, are you from the party?" Jess asked, making Billy's head tilt slightly. "You should head home, it's late." She rubbed her eyes for a moment. "Unless you're keeping one of the girls company...?" Normally she didn't mind whatever boys her sorority sisters invited over but something about this guy gave her the creeps. She pushed the thought from her mind as quick as it came because, no, that was irrational. Sure he looked dirty and startled but that didn't mean he was dangerous!

Billy, however, stared at her with wide eyes, partially out of fear and largely out of confusion. Why would he be keeping them company? Did she know about Claire? Oh god-

"Hello?" She spoke softly. "Are you alright?" Jess's expression melted from confusion to concern. Billy nodded quickly, chewing on the skin on his lips. Surely she knew about Claire and was asking just to see if he'd lie. She'll know he lied and then she'll- "Do you need help?" Jess's voice cut through Billy's spiraling thoughts and his head snapped over to where she now stood beside him, her look of concern reminding him of the social worker- When had she come up the stairs?

"Help." He repeated, mimicking her tone. She raised an eyebrow at that, a nervous smile on her face.

"Do you know where you are?" She spoke softly, looking Billy up and down as he slowly stood up. Billy hated that look and quelled the urge to dig his fingernails into her neck by digging them into the thick fabric of the hem of his sweater instead.

"No." He said quietly, eyes locked on the floor. He was out of his depth here. He wasn't supposed to be found. He hissed softly, gripping his hair in frustration and yanking, trying to ground himself. Why had he climbed down, what was he doing, everything was going to be ruined-

His franticness seemed to alarm her. "It's alright," she gently took his wrists and tugged gently in hopes he'd move his arms. He stared up at her with wide, fearful eyes. "I'm not going to hurt you. I want to help."

For a moment, Billy believed her. Jess seemed kind, genuinely concerned about him. His eyes flickered between her face and her hands as he mumbled to himself. "Do you want something to drink? Maybe sitting down will help." She let go of him gently and Billy felt the weight in his chest lift slightly. Drinks would be good, yeah.

He let Jess take his hand and walk him downstairs.

The downstairs kitchen wasn't anything phenomenal. Plain but useful, decorated to the nines for Christmas like everything else in the house. Jess busied herself with making hot cocoa for the strange man and eyed him curiously as he sat down in one of the old dining room chairs, staring at her.

He was interesting. The green turtleneck he wore reminded her briefly of Peter but his messy, dark brown curls made him different. Green eyes obscured by hair that seemed to stare into her very soul the longer she looked. He was dirty and covered in dust, like he'd been crawling around the attic or something. She looked away, feeling his eyes bore holes into her. He was odd.

But something about him made her feel sympathetic. Afraid, absolutely, but she worried about him.

Cutting a piece of the warm pumpkin cake Barb made and grabbing a candy cane, she brought the steaming mug into the dining room and set the small plate and cocoa in front of the man, who continued to stare up at her.

"We have marshmallows and whipped cream if you want that as well," she hummed as she sat down. Billy glanced at the cake curiously before taking the fork in a shaking hand and eating vigorously.

Jess felt her brow furrow. With how he was acting, she wondered when the last time he ate was. There was no way Barb's cooking was this good. "Do you know your name?" She asked hesitantly, feeling the mans eyes on her. She wasn't sure if he had a head injury or just didn't want to speak but if he was dealing with amnesia, her work may be cut out for her there.

It was snowing too much to drive out to a hospital right now...

"...Billy." He mumbled quietly, cutting Jess from her thoughts.

"Well Billy," he liked the way she said his name with her accent, "it's nice to meet you. My name is Jess."

"Jess." Billy repeated, mimicking her accent to the best of her ability. Jess seemed somewhat amused by it, giving him a light smile.

"You're very fond of voices, aren't you?" Billy shrugged, sipping on the cocoa and finally taking his eyes off her. "What other voices can you do?"

Billy's head snapped up harshly, staring Jess down. Usually people were annoyed by Billy doing voices, never asked him to do more. He was too loud, too annoying, too- "Tonight, one of these three contestants will become champion, and win a 1975 automobile, $10,000 in cash, or $25,000 in cash. And now, let's meet the star of Jeopardy!, Art Fleming!" Billy lowered the octave of his voice, repeating the lines he'd heard from the TV a few nights ago.

Jess laughed and Billy felt himself freeze. "Wow, okay. So you can do a lot of voices then." Her smile was infectious and Billy could feel himself smiling. He nodded shyly, drinking from the mug again. "Well, I'm sure Barb will get a kick out of that too." Blinking at the name, Billy hummed in thought. Barb was the girl staying behind who wanted to visit her mother. Skiing, he recalled. "Do you have somewhere to stay?" Billy glanced up at Jess, staring her down.

"...No." He said softly, chewing at the skin on his fingers anxiously. Jess didn't seem surprised but frowned slightly.

"Well, I suppose you can sleep on the couch. I'll give a note to the girls still here that you're downstairs so they don't freak out." Billy nodded as Jess took the empty dishes from him, leaving him to chew thoughtfully on the candy cane. "I'll grab you some blankets and pillows, wait here!" Jess smiled before hurrying upstairs, socked feet padding on the carpeted stairs.

The spare closet at the end of the hall by the attic usually had extra blankets and pillows inside for emergencies. When she opened the small closet, Jess busied herself by grabbing a thick, wool blanket and a plain white pillow and used her hip to shut the door. She paused when she noticed the attic door was open and rolled her eyes, reaching up to shut it. Really, Barb and Phyll should've shut it after getting decorations!

Lord knows the draft up there would give them all dreadful colds.

Jess quietly shut off the upstairs lights on her way back down, almost relieved to see Billy had made himself at home on the couch, staring blankly at the fire until he heard the girl approach him.

Billy watched her cautiously, biting the candy cane and sucking it to a sharp point. Grinning to himself, he started laughing quietly. How had he gotten himself into this- this mess?! Biting down on the candy cane to hold it in his mouth freed up his hands to pull anxiously at his curly hair.

Jess set the blankets and pillows down cautiously beside her before looking him over. "Do you want a shower or anything? I'm not sure how many spare clothes I have but, if you want to get clean, I can-"

A knock at the door made Billy shriek, like he'd been stabbed.

Jess froze, yelping as well when her guest shrieked, covering his ears with his hands. That... was odd, but she tried to push it down. "It's alright Billy, probably just late-night carolers or something," she tried to reassure him calmly as Billy peered at her nervously. "I'll go check, it's alright." Jess stood from the couch and made her way to the window and peeled back the curtains, frowning at the figure of a single man standing there.

When she looked back over at the couch, Billy wasn't anywhere to be seen. As she looked around frantically, Peter pounded again on the door, begging to be let in. Jess sighed, more annoyed than anything. So first Peter wanted to wait and now he was suddenly interested in what she had to say? Honestly, sometimes it was like he loved that piano more than her.

First, she needed to find where Billy ran off to. Out of the corner of her eye, Jess spotted movement in the kitchen and let out a relieved sigh. "It's alright Billy, it's just my boyfriend Peter..."

Poking his head out into the entryway of the hall, he simply stared at her. Those big green eyes once again made her feel unsettled except for the fact he didn't seem... dangerous? He was weird for sure but the girl didn't think he was that dangerous. After all, she was in college for psychology. She'd recognize anything hostile in him.

Peter's incessant knocking was grating on her nerves. "One moment Billy," she sighed before turning on her heel and marching to the front door. After a bit of a jiggle of the tricky handle, it opened.

"Jess! Leaving me to freeze out there? After I came all this way?" Peter pouted dramatically, shrugging off his jacket and pushing past Jess into the sorority house.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I didn't think you'd be coming. You said you were getting rest, tomorrow's important to you."

"Well, you piqued my interest," Peter explained with an insincere smile. "Besides, I can't sleep if something's on your mind. What's going on?" Slowly, Peter's eyes shifted to behind Jess and he looked alarmed. "Who's THIS?"

Jess looked over her shoulder at Billy, who stood in the entryway to the kitchen with a candy cane stuffed in his mouth, the point aimed at Peter. If looks could kill, her boyfriend would be ash at her feet. "That's Billy," Jess smiled, "he's from the party earlier."

"So... why's he downstairs with you alone?" Peter gave a concerned look to Jess. "Jess, sweetie, is he bothering you? Just say the word and I'll-"

"Pig bitch..." Billy muttered, voice slurred by the candy cane. Jess felt herself freeze. That voice. She had thought it familiar at first but that phrase... only one person she knew said that. The Moaner. The horrible, awful Moaner on the phone who was now in the house. Had been in the house the whole time. Oh my god he was in the house and she fed him and offered him to spend the night?!

Jess felt close to fainting but she held it together.

"What did you say?" Peter snapped at Billy, glaring him down.

"Rotten pig bitch!" Billy shrieked in a high pitched at the other man before retreating back into the kitchen, a soft shattering noise of glass made Jess flinch slightly.

Now she had a choice to make: she could tell Peter about the phone calls, tell him about the Moaner, about how for the past few weeks he had been calling the house and disturbing her and her sisters. Or. Or she could tell him about the baby, brush off the Moaner's - Billy's - antics and tell him what he came to hear about.

Steadying herself, Jess moved to sit on the couch. If she said something about Billy, Peter may try to pick a fight him, a fight she was uncertain he'd win. Or call the cops. And lord knows what would happen if Billy found out she sold him out. She wasn't sure how strong he was but he was nearly the same size as her boyfriend. Besides, there was something about him that confused Jess. Billy was just a walking contradiction.

There was simply no way the Moaner who screamed profanities was the same man who was too anxious to meet her eyes. Right?

Jess didn't like her odds.

"I'm pregnant," is what she settled on saying. Peter's eyes went wide. His slowly growing grin was not at all what she'd expected.

"Jess that's wonderful!"

"I don't want it Peter," Jess sighed. She'd been afraid of this reaction, quietly hoping he'd be as opposed to having it as she was. "I want to get an abortion."

Peter blinked at her like she'd grown two heads. "What?"

"I don't want it. I'm not going to keep it." She sat down on the couch, crossing her arms over her chest to mask her trembling.

Peter was quiet as she spoke, sitting beside her on the couch. "Jess. Listen to me very carefully. You are not going to abort that baby."

Jess turned to him with wide eyes. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me! We'll get married and you'll keep the baby. It'll be perfect!" He smiled at her but all Jess felt was nausea.

"Peter, I don't want that. I have things I want to do that a baby will prevent me from doing. I don't want to play housewife for you with a baby I don't want." She stood up, forcefully pulling her wrist from him when he grabbed her. "Let go-!"

"No, listen to me!" Peter practically snarled, voice oozing with malice. "You don't get to decide-"

"SHUT UP!" A voice shrieked before a glass cup struck Peter in the eye, breaking into shards that scratched his cheek as they fell. Jess's eyes snapped over to Billy, hand clenching a sharpened candy cane and glaring daggers at Peter.

As her boyfriend recoiled, Jess stepped in front of him. "Billy! It's- it's alright! He's not going-"

Billy shrieked, voice higher than usual, gripping his hair with the hand not holding the candy cane. "NASTY, DIRTY PIG BITCH!" He snapped stumbling backwards until he hit a wall. He crumpled with a sob and pointed the sharpened candy cane at Peter with tears streaming down his face.

Jess was... confused, to say the least. She glanced at Peter, who held his face in shock, and then to Billy who had an arm wrapped around himself and was whispering and mumbling frantically, though she was able to make out the name "Agnes" in the whispers.

"Jess, who the hell is this guy?!" Peter roared, Jess flinched slightly.

She really, truly, did not know.

"I'm having a baby!" Constance Lenz grinned at her boyfriend. The two had been struggling to have a child but finally, finally, it'd worked.. The twelve year old boy who Constance had locked in the attic after her husband tragically "died of a heart attack."

But Billy knew. He'd seen her kill his dad. And now his mom was having another child.

And Agnes had been precious. Billy had been enamored with her immediately, sometimes creeping down from his attic room to see her asleep in his crib. He'd mastered sneaking around the house now, stealing food and water when everyone was asleep. And he'd see Agnes.

Then, Christmas morning, when Agnes was five years old, Billy made an appearance.

She'd never met him before, not really. He'd watch her sleep - green eyes boring holes into the toddler as she'd slept. He felt insanely protective of her, wanting her to have a good childhood and living vicariously through that. He'd watched his mom hold her and rock with her in a rocking chair, watched them make sugar cookies together...

And it was like he was completely forgotten. Completely stripped of personhood. Now he was just a memory locked away in the closet.

So here he was. Staring down his five year old sister as she played with her toys by the Christmas tree. Mommy and daddy had gone into the kitchen to get breakfast ready. The stove was currently burning the side of daddy's face as mommy bled out on the floor - the both of them with various candy canes lodged in their necks and stained bright red.

The blood still dripped from the puncture wounds. Billy had gotten good at sharpening the sticks down to points.

Agnes just looked up at him. Of course she didn't recognize him. She didn't know him but he knew her.

"Little baby bumpin', daddy's gone a-huntin', gone to fetch a rabbit skin to wrap his baby Agnes in..." He sang softly, lifting the five year old up into his arms. Agnes clung to her doll and didn't protest when Billy sat in the rocking chair, rocking his little sister the way he'd seen his mother do.

She was five. She didn't have a strong concept of danger yet. The blood staining Billy's hands didn't bother her.

Billy stared ahead at nothing, just repeating the lullaby over and over. Tears fell silently down his cheeks. He felt covered in dirt and blood and he clung to his baby sister like a lifeline.

The police didn't have a difficult time finding the killer. The killer who was sat by the Christmas tree with Agnes Lenz in his lap, babbling incoherent nonsense. "Agnes," he whispered to the slumbering baby as the officers drew their guns on him, "don't tell them what we did, Agnes."

As if a toddler had any hand in what happened.

...

"Billy?" Jess's voice was louder then the memories. Memories of Agnes sobbing. Her and Billy being separated. The trial that had ended when signs of neglect had been littered on Billy's body. Bruises, malnourishment, just a ratty and dirty seventeen-year-old boy who lost control.

He'd been let go. Regular therapist visits had been required. But Billy had run away, went north to Canada. Where he was now.

"Billy?" Jess again. Billy finally looked up at her, tears streaming down his face. She looked worried, perched on her knees as she reached for his face, brushing hair away. "What's wrong?"

"Agnes?" He choked out, feeling bile rise.

"Who's Agnes?" She asked softly. Her nasty boyfriend stood behind her, glaring at him, but Billy ignored him.

Billy bit his tongue as he hummed to himself. "Little baby bumpin'..." He cooed, staring blankly at his lap.

"He's insane, Jess." Peter spat with a roll of his eyes. "Let's just call the cops and they'll take him back to whatever asylum he came from. Lock him up and throw away the key."

"No!" Billy shrieked, more tears falling. "No! No! No!" He lunged at Peter, grabbing at him. The two scuffled, Peter yelling at Jess to call the police.

The poor girl stands there, freeze taking over her entire body.

Then Barb and Phyllis come downstairs dressed in their bedclothes. Barb opens her mouth to ask what was going on just as Billy tackled Peter to the ground, screaming and hitting him.

Jess ran over, grabbing Billy around his chest and dragging him off her boyfriend, reassuring him that things were okay. God, what a world she was in where The Moaner was sobbing in her arms as he tried to beat the shit out of her boyfriend for whatever reason.

She sunk to the floor, holding Billy, who scratched desperately at her arms and shrieked.

This was going to be a long night...

#🔪 creeps writes #billy lenz #jess bradford #barbara coard #phyllis carlson #claire harrison #peter smythe #black christmas #slasher fanfiction #billy lenz needs friends honestly #this is NOT remake friendly i hate the remake

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skyetenshi · 3 months

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05:15 Uhr. Teeküche der Policestation, Rocky Beach.

"Hast du gehört, der neue Officer soll heute kommen.", sagte einer der Polizisten zu Smyth. Officer Smyth selbst war noch nicht lange auf dieser Polizeistation und war daher bisher selbst neu gewesen: "Ach ja?" "Oh ja, und er wird wohl mit dem Inspektor auf Streife fahren, obwohl er erst frisch von der Polizeischule kommt." "Vielleicht will Cotta einen ersten Eindruck von ihm gewinnen.", mutmaßte Smyth. Sein Kollege brummte überlegend: "Kann gut sein, immerhin habe ich gehört, dass ein Großteil seiner Akte geschwärzt ist." Smyth runzelte die Stirn: "Geschwärzt, der Junge soll doch gerade mal um die 20 sein, was kann er denn schon getan haben?" "Wer weiß..."

6:23 Uhr, Hauptraum des Polizeipräsidiums, Rocky Beach "Ich freue mich, dass wir heute ein neues Gesicht bei uns begrüßen dürfen. Officer Shaw wird uns in Zukunft in unserem Team unterstützen.", erklärte der Inspektor vor der versammelten Mannschaft. Der blutjunge Officer in seiner nagelneuen Uniform grinste schief und stellte sich höflich vor.

Gerade noch in den Gedanken vertieft, dass der Junge sympathisch schien, hörte Smyth ein Wispern schräg hinter sich. "Fuck, das ist Peter Shaw." Smyth drehte sich mit fragendem Blick zu dem Kollegen, der das geäußert hatte, aber war damit beschäftigt eben so gestresst auszusehen, wie die Kollegin neben ihm. Smyths Fragen blieben also unbeantwortet.

13.48 Uhr, am östlichen Rand von Rocky Beach, verlassene Fabrik. Smyth atmete schwer und hätte es wissen müssen, das dies ein verfluchter Tag sei. Doch nun mit Messer an der Kehle und einem ausgerenkten Arm kam die Gewissheit. Und das wo sich der Inspektor schon mit dem Neuen als Verstärkung angekündigt hatte.

13.50 Uhr, immer noch am östlichen Rand von Rocky Beach, verlassene Fabrik.

Smyth wurde zu Boden gestoßen und grunzte unter der schmerzenden Kollision von Arm und Boden. Die Verbrecher hingegen nutzen die Zeit. Der Typ der Smyth am Wickel gehabt hatte, hatte die Autoschlüssel gefunden und seinem Komplizen zugeworfen, der sofort in das Polizeiauto gesprungen war und so gewendet hatte, dass der andere Smyth nur zu Boden stoßen und einsteigen musste, um die Flucht zu beginnen. Genau in diesen Moment war Inspector Cotta und der Neue vorgefahren. "Was ist los?", hatte der Inspector verlangt zu wissen, sobald er ausgestiegen war. Smyths Kollege erklärte die Situation, während Smyth sich mühsam hochrappelte. Der Neue bot hilfreich seine Hand und Smyth griff dankbar mit dem gesunden Arm zu. Mit einer überraschenden Leichtigkeit wurde Smyth wieder auf die Füße gezogen. Smyth bedankte sich leise. "Dankeschön." "Officer Shaw!", rief Cotta. "Verfolgung aufnehmen, Sie fahren." Der junge Officer grinste: "Natürlich, Inspector Cotta." "Alle einsteigen!", befahl Cotta und setzte sich auf den Beifahrersitz. Smyth runzelte die Stirn. Der Junge hatte nicht geklungen wie ein frischer Polizist, der gerade mit einem Befehl angebrüllt worden war, sondern als hätte ein Freund ihm einen guten Vorschlag gemacht. Smyth und der Kollege stiegen in den Polizeiwagen ein und setzten sich auf die Rückbank. "Ich weiß, es ist schwierig wegen dem Arm, aber bitte versuchen Sie sich anzuschnallen.", sagte der Officer noch, als er losfuhr.

13:56 Uhr, auf den Staßen von Rocky Beach. Smyth machte mental ein Testament. Smyths Kollege murmelte leise vor sich hin. Er schien überzeugt davon, dass Polizeiautos nicht für diese Geschwindigkeiten gemacht waren. Inspector Cotta funkte ruhig nach Verstärkung und versuchte die Straßen räumen zu lassen. Officer Shaw musste das Gaspedal mittlerweile auf den Karosserieboden getackert haben, denn an keiner Stelle versuchte er mal zu bremsen. Smyth war überzeugt nur mit Wahnsinnigen im Auto zu sitzen. Und Officer Shaw war der Schlimmste. Er lachte kurz als er eine Kurve nahm ohne auch nur eine Sekunde abzubremsen. Und er machte ein kleines "Wups." als er alle durchschüttelte, in dem er über einen Bordstein bretterte, um eine verstopften Kreuzung auszuweichen. "Ach das passt.", murmelte er zu sich selbst, bevor er den Wagen durch ein Nadelöhr wischen einem Baum und einigen großen Müllkontainern durch schoss. Cotta bekam über Funk die Nachricht, dass der Flüchtende immer noch richtig Westen fuhr und vermutlich aus Rocky Beach raus wollte. "Inspector, rufen Sie mal bitte Just an.", sagte Officer Shaw ruhig. Smyth hatte keine Ahnung wer das sein sollte, aber der Inpsector nahm sofort sein Handy zur Hand und rief jemanden an. "Guten Tag, Inspector Cotta. Hat Peter Sie schon wahnsinnig gemacht?", fragte eine amüsierte Stimme durch die Freisprechanlage. "Ne, aber er will mir dir reden.", sagte Cotta. "Hey Just, ich verfolge gerade einen 503 mit wahrscheinlichem 505A und brauche eine Abkürzung. Kannst du das große grüne Tor aufmachen?", sagte Officer Shaw so ruhig, als würde er nicht gerade versuchen einen Polizeiwagen zum Abheben zu bewegen. "ETA?", fragte die Stimme am Telefon.

"Minimum 2 Minuten.", sagte Officer Shaw und schoß haarscharf an den Ständen vom Wochenmarkt vorbei. "Schaffe ich. Aber Onkel Titus hat einige neue Möbel gekauft.", sagte die Stimme. "Sie stehen dort, wo letzte Woche die Heizkessel standen." "Krieg ich hin.", sagte Officer Shaw.

14:13 Uhr, Gebrauchtwarencenter T. Jonas.

Ein Polizeiwagen driftete durch die Einfahrt, an dem Stapel Möbel vorbei, wirbelte Staub und Kiesel auf, wo gerade noch Kunden standen, bevor man Sie höflich aber dringlich auf die Veranda des Hauses gebeten hatte. Smyth sah sich schon mit dem Höllengefährt in einen Stapel Altmetal krachen und so zu einem tragischen Tod kommen. Officer Shaw aber kuppelte und stand wieder auf dem Gas. Es durfte ja nicht sein, dass er durch das Driftmanöver etwas von seiner Geschwindigkeit einbußte. Den verletzten Arm festhaltend, versuchte Smyth nicht zu schreien. Gerade bevor der Wagen wieder losschoß, sah Smyth einen jungen Mann mit wuschligen, dunklen Haaren der dem Polizeiauto zu winkte. Smyth saß hinter Cotta und konnte deswegen nicht alles sehen, aber war überzeugt, dass Cotta und Shaw zurückgewinkt hatten. Diese Psychos. Das Polizeiauto schoß wieder vom Gebrauchtwarencenter, durch ein Tor, dass Smyth noch nie bemerkt hatte. Hatte das Gebrautwarencenter eigentlich einen zweites Tor nach hinten raus?

"Ha da sind sie ja.", sagte Officer Shaw lächelnd. Tatsächlich war nun nur wenige Meter vor ihnen das gestohlene Polizeifahrzeug von Smyth und dem Kollegen. Die Verfolger nun bemerkend, beschleunigte es, aber Shaw hatte schon wieder vergessen was Bremsen waren und schoß ihnen hinterher aus Rocky Beach raus. Für einen Moment dachte Smyth, wie gut es war, dass sie nun nicht mehr so vielen Menschen und anderen Autos begegenen würden. Doch dann erinnerte sich Smyth an die Kalifornischen Serpentinen und all die scharfen Kurven an der Steilküste. Testament war schon die richtige Idee gewesen. Smyth sah rüber zum Kollegen, der mittlerweile so weiß aussah, als hätte sein Herz schon aufgehört zu schlagen.

Erbarmungslos holte Officer Shaw die Flüchtigen ein und brachte schon bald das Auto auf die gleiche Höhe wie die Flüchtenden (nur auf der Gegenfahrbahn, weil nach allem was bisher geklappt hatte, würde das bestimmt keine Probleme geben, richtig?). Inspector Cotta signalisierte den Flüchtenden anzuhalten, doch die schienen das noch nicht einzusehen und so fuhren die Autos erst weiter auf einer Höhe, bis eine Kurve kam, in der die Flüchtenden abbremsen mussten. Officer Shaw empfand das nicht so. Er ließ das Auto einmal mehr durch die Kurve driften, bis die Räder auf Smyths Seite schon merklich den Alsphalt verließen, und dann schoß das Auto wieder gerade aus der Kurve heraus nur um sich mit einem weiteren Driftmanöver quer auf die Straße zu stellen. Zum Glück reagierte der flüchtende Fahrer schnell und stieg auf die Bremse.

14:38 Uhr, in den Hügeln um Rocky Beach herum.

Inspector Cotta und Officer Shaw stiegen simultan aus und zogen ihre Waffen. Die Flüchtenden ergaben, sich bereits bevor Smyth oder der Kollege es geschafft hatten das Auto zu verlassen. Cotta und Shaw verhafteten die beiden, lasen ihnen ihre Rechte vor, und verfrachteten jeweils einen von ihnen ein eines der Polizeiautos.

"Gut gemacht, Peter. ", sagte der Inspector. "Keines der Autos ist zu Schaden gekommen." Smyths Augen weiteten sich. Hatte der Inspektor erwartet, dass die Autos demoliert wurden und trotzdem den jungen Officer fahren lassen? "Das ist doch meine leichteste Übung.", sagte Peter. "Aber Sie sollten die Bremsbeläge checken lassen. Die könnten etwas besser ziehen." Inspector Cotta betrachtete seine drei Untergebenen. Zitternd. Bleich. Grinsend. "Shaw, Sie fahren den Polizeiwagen zurück. Smyth, Sie fahren mit. Detective, Sie fahren mit mir."

Smyth unterdrückte die Tränen. Natürlich machte es Sinn weder einen zitternden Officer hinter das Steuer eines Autos zu lassen, noch den bleichen Detective, der sich gleich sein Frühstück noch mal durch den Kopf lassen würde. Selbstverständlich nahm man da den grinsenden Officer, der ruhig und cool wirkte. Wie automatisiert ging Smyth auf das Auto zu, als wäre es ein Schaffott. Officer Shaw sah fragend herüber: "Wie gehts ihrem Arm?"

Smyth hatte fast vergessen, dass da noch was war: "Wird schon wieder." "Ich kann Sie gleich beim Krankenhaus absetzen oder beim Arzt, wenn Ihnen das lieber ist.", sagte der Officer. "Äh... das wäre ganz gut.", sagte Smyth in der Hoffung das Höllengefährt so schnell wie möglich wieder verlassen zu können. "Okay.", sagte Officer Shaw und begann verschwörerisch zu grinsen. "Und keine Sorge. Ich kann auch langsam fahren." Smyth nickte tapfer und stieg ein.

14:56 Uhr, in den Hügeln um Rocky Beach herum.

Inspector Cotta sah durch die Windschutzscheibe auf das andere Polizeiauto, das nun von Peter Shaw in wenigen Zügen gewendet wurde und zu einer gesetzestreuen Rückfahrt ansetzte.

"Dieser Junge wird noch mal mein Ende sein.", murmelte der Inspektor.

"Wie bitte?", fragte der bleiche Detective vom Beifahrersitz. "Nichts, schon gut.", sagte Cotta und versuchte seinen Puls zu beruhigen.

tldr: Peter geht zu Polizei, arbeitet in Rocky Beach und wird der Fluch seiner Kollegen. Er weiß zu viel, er kann zu viel, und gelgentlich ruft er das CIA auf deren Privatnummern an? Teil 2

#die drei fragezeichen #die drei ???#justus jonas #peter shaw #inspektor cotta #Smyth hat kein Geschlecht #ich konnte mich nicht entscheiden #Future Die drei ???

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