The Calm Before the Storm

It was cool outside. A fresh breeze was blowing, but Thomas paid no attention to it. He thought of Molly, but by the time he reached the house, he no longer cared. His soul still felt heavy. When he remembered Carol, he felt pain. They lie when they say that opening up to someone makes you feel better. In Thomas's case, he did feel a bit of relief, but it seemed to be only because there was someone nearby who had also experienced someone's death. 

He slowly opened the door. His mother was still awake. 

"Thomas, where have you been?"

"Are you serious?" 

"Did something happen?" His mom looked worried. 

"Were you sitting here waiting for me?" 

Thomas locked the door and looked at his mom. 

"Yes..." 

"Why?" 

"I was starting to worry... " 

"Mom, I'm not 10 or 12 years old. I'll be an adult soon, do you understand?" 

"Does that mean you can behave like this?" 

"Oh, God, I just went for a walk. It's not like I killed someone." 

"I'm sorry, son..." 

"I'm going to sleep," Thomas said and walked into his room, locking the door behind him. 

He exhaled heavily, sat on his bed, and thought about Molly. She really seemed like the only one he had besides his mom. But in truth, Thomas regretted opening up to anyone at all. He wanted to keep everything a secret so no one would know anything. 

He probably should have taken a shower, but he didn't feel like it. Without undressing, he lay down on the bed, only taking off his shoes. He couldn't sleep; he just lay there. 

Suddenly, he remembered his diary. He pulled it out and opened it, for some reason, turned to the page where Taylor's photo was. He didn't understand why Taylor, of all people, came to mind. Thomas worried about him, hoping he had managed to leave, though he doubted the truth of his own words. The moonlight illuminated the diary since the curtains were left open. 

Thomas didn't want to think about death or anything like that. He suddenly realized he had no friends, but it seemed like that was for the best. People say physical pain is nothing compared to emotional pain. When you try to forget what happened, it feels like you're being dragged into those painful memories, making your soul heavy and your heart cry out in grief. 

Thomas was struggling, but only a few days had passed since Carol's death. He didn't think he could find peace, even if much time went by. Turning onto his side, he tried to fall asleep. He thought about his exams—he knew he hadn't done well and figured he wouldn't go anywhere to study anyway. 

"Damn it, why do I always have problems? " 

The diary lay beside him. He picked it up, put it in the drawer, and lay on his back. 

"It would have been better if I hadn't been born into this world. Then I wouldn't exist, and neither would my problems. God, what am I saying? Maybe Mom is right, and I really should see a psychiatrist. But even they can't help—it's all pointless. If I don't get revenge, everything will be for nothing anyway" 

Suddenly, he thought of Molly—how attentively she had listened to his story. 

"Her mom was murdered, " Thomas thought, "but she doesn't seek revenge. So I should avenge everyone who was killed, not just Carol. Or maybe it was an accident. Unlikely, but who knows. " 

Thomas remembered John and reflected on their current relationship—they weren't friends anymore, but they weren't enemies either. At least that's what Thomas thought. Maybe John hated him now. Definitely he did. Thomas didn't want John to hate him. 

Suddenly, Thomas recalled how John grabbed his hand and asked if he was truly ready to sever their bond after all they'd been through together. Back then, Thomas said yes. But to him, yes didn't mean it was all over. He thought that after he got his revenge, they would still be friends. Or maybe he hadn't thought that. Thomas was confused—he no longer knew what was true or false, whether his words held facts or were driven by emotions he couldn't fully comprehend. 

Eventually, he fell asleep. This time, he dreamed of John. John was calling him somewhere, but Thomas refused to go. He didn't want to go with him, but John insisted. Thomas hit him and then ran away. John watched him go, not understanding what was happening. 

Thomas kept running, but John was no longer behind him—someone else was. 

It was some kind of maniac, a murderer, Thomas thought. The man held a knife, his face twisted with rage. 

"I'll kill you, " the man screamed, "just like I killed her." 

Thomas suddenly thought of Carol. He stopped and looked at the murderer. His face was hidden in the shadows, so Thomas couldn't see who he was. But the man began walking toward him. 

At that moment, Thomas was awakened by a sudden grip. Thomas snapped. His mother was sitting beside him, crying. 

"What happened, Mom?" Thomas asked her. 

"That man I saw in your diary... he's dead. I mean, he was murdered." 

Thomas suddenly stood up. He couldn't believe his ears. 

"Taylor is dead, Mom? Is it true?" 

It was midday. Thomas had been asleep for a long time. He regretted being woken up by his mother—he could have seen who the killer was. But now, something else was troubling him. 

"Mom, is this true?" 

"I don't remember his name, but look here." His mother pointed at the television as she left the room. 

There, the news reported the overnight death of a 30-year-old man named Taylor. Thomas stopped hearing anything else. It had happened at night. The killer murdered Taylor the same way he had killed Carol. 

"Damn it, but I warned him," Thomas muttered. His words sounded unnatural. "Mom, this man was Carol's friend. Don't you see? It's all connected." 

His mother nodded. She was feeling unwell and just sat on the couch without saying anything. 

"He must be strong," Thomas thought to himself. "If Carol was a fragile girl, Taylor was a young and strong man, yet he couldn't fight him off. The police will deny everything again, or this time, they won't even consider it a murder," Thomas muttered under his breath. "They don't care anymore. At first, they were concerned, but now, the more murders there are, the less attention they pay. Or maybe they've just accepted that they can't catch the killer." 

Thomas stormed out of the house. His face was flushed, and he was crying, though he didn't even realize it. He didn't want to think about it. He hoped it was all just a bad dream, but deep down, he knew it was true—Taylor had died, just like Carol. 

"Why are the people around me dying one by one?" he thought. "Maybe the problem is me. But I warned him! Could this diary really mean something? Thomas knew it wasn't just a coincidence. The maniac had really wanted to kill Taylor. But why? What's the reason? And what if the next victim is someone even closer to Thomas than Taylor—like his mother? No, Taylor was in the diary. The maniac had wanted to kill him for a long time. There's no explanation—it's just a maniac. I have nothing to do with it," Thomas tried to convince himself. 

He was in pain. He didn't know where he was going, but when he looked up, he realized he was near Molly's house. 

He opened the door, which was unlocked, and entered without permission, like a criminal. Molly was at home, and to Thomas's great relief, she was alone. 

"What's wrong, Thomas?" she asked fearfully. 

Molly was sitting at the table, about to eat something. She was wearing a cherry-colored dress, and her hair was braided. When Thomas entered, she stood up. 

The boy walked up to her and hugged her. It was so unexpected that Molly recoiled, but he didn't let her go. 

"Let go of me, Thomas," Molly whispered, but Thomas seemed not to hear her. He was crying, holding her body even tighter. 

"Thomas, you're hurting me!" Molly cried out, and after those words, he let her go. 

"I'm sorry," he said. 

"You need to get a grip on yourself," Molly replied, turning away from him. 

He sat on the couch, nervously biting his lip. Molly began to speak, still not looking at him. 

"I heard about what happened last night. I'm sorry." 

Thomas remained silent. 

"But bursting in here and acting predatory is just too much," she said. 

Thomas didn't cry. He looked at Molly. This time, she turned to face him and stepped closer. 

"I understand your pain, Thomas," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder, "but if you can't control your emotions, it won't lead to anything good. Remember that." 

Thomas wanted to say something, but Molly didn't give him the chance. She walked upstairs, leaving him alone. 

Thomas had been at Taylor's funeral. A week had passed since Carol's death, yet Thomas still couldn't recover. He sat on a bench, staring at the sky. A cigarette was in his hand. He hadn't smoked in three days but could no longer resist. 

Suddenly, he thought about John. He wondered what John was doing now—they hadn't spoken since Thomas had voiced doubts about their friendship. He exhaled a cloud of smoke and wondered what to do next. The police, as he had suspected, denied everything. They claimed to be looking for the culprit, but no one was found. Thomas had lost faith too, though only a week had passed. 

He felt uncertain, and his belief in anything had completely eroded. He remembered the visit to the psychiatrist—it had happened after all. 

"Your son is a smart boy," the psychiatrist had said, "and he feels deeply. He just might not realize it himself." 

"What do you mean?" Thomas's mother asked. 

"He told me himself that he can feel what others feel." 

"Isn't that something everyone can do? When you look at someone, you can tell if they're upset or happy." 

"No, it's deeper than that. He immerses himself in their soul. Yes, we can also see if someone is angry or happy, but that's not the same. Your son is truly perceptive. However, in his eyes, I see self-hatred—first and foremost. As awful as it sounds, the time might come when he'll want to end his life. I'm not sure he'll go through with it, but I'm warning you. I would genuinely like to help, but your son refuses my help. He blames himself for the girl's death. It's a tough case—I don't even know what to say. You just need to be there for him. Let him know he's not alone." 

"So, are you saying I'm not giving him enough attention?" 

"That's not what I mean. Just know that this will be a hard time for him." 

"Yes, I know he's sensitive. When my husband left me, Thomas began to hate him. He didn't want to hear anything about him. But now, he doesn't care anymore." 

"He has other problems. I asked him if he liked that girl, but he didn't answer me." 

"He often shuts down and doesn't want to talk to anyone. But after what he's been through, I completely understand."

Thomas finished his cigarette and tossed the butt into a trash can, but he still wasn't in a hurry to get up from the bench. He had no one to support him now, but it was his own fault. Ever since Thomas stormed into Molly's house, she hadn't spoken to him. Maybe she hated him, or maybe she simply didn't want to talk. Thomas didn't know. 

Thomas didn't see himself as special and didn't take the doctor's words seriously. He believed anyone could understand how another person felt—they just needed to talk. 

Carol had looked cheerful when Thomas first noticed her, but he knew she was actually unhappy. He thought everyone knew it, but the men who came there didn't care about her feelings. They just wanted to satisfy themselves. Thomas hated himself because he had made promises but failed to keep them. But was it really his fault? 

"Yes, it's my fault," he thought to himself. "Of course, it's my fault." 

Unfortunately, the past couldn't be changed. 

Thomas had only seen his father once after Carol's death. His father had said he could help if needed, but Thomas declined. 

He didn't like his father, mostly because of the other woman in his life and because he had left them. But in truth, his father wasn't that bad—he had helped when Thomas asked. 

"Still, he's a scumbag. Mom suffered so much because of him. But I'm just like him. Men often act like idiots," Thomas thought bitterly. 

One day, Thomas had seen Julia with Ethan. They were walking hand in hand. Julia was clearly in love with that jerk, no matter what anyone said. Thomas didn't really care, but deep down, he hated her just as much as he hated him. 

It was starting to get dark. 

Thomas suddenly stood up and began walking toward the house when he heard someone shouting. 

And he recognized the voice. 

Thomas suddenly yelled, "Mom!" 

"Let me go!" he heard and followed by a sudden thud. 

Thomas ran to the house and saw his mother lying on the floor while a man stood there, gloating. The man had his back turned to Thomas, but he recognized who it was. 

"Richard," Thomas whispered, and then shouted, "What did you do to her? Get away from my mum!" 

Thomas rushed forward, but Richard turned to face him and shoved him back. Thomas stumbled. 

Looking at the man's face now, he saw the expression of a true maniac—his eyes gleamed sinisterly, and his smile was wide and hateful. 

"What did you do to her?" Thomas yelled. 

"I just gave her a few slaps," Richard replied, laughing. 

"So, it was you. You did it all murders. You attacked us—me and Carol!" 

Richard's smile suddenly disappeared. He started rummaging through his pockets and then pulled out a phone. 

"Take a look," he said. 

Thomas recognized what it was—it was his phone. 

"It doesn't work," Richard said, "but even when I lost it, I decided to find it anyway." 

"Why…?" 

"Actually, I don't need it anymore," Richard said, tossing the phone to the ground. It hit the floor with a loud thud and stopped moving. 

Thomas tried again to run toward his mother, who lay behind Richard, showing no signs of life.

"She's alive," Richard said calmly. "I didn't have time to kill her. Or maybe I didn't want to. I was waiting for you to come running at her screams. I knew you were nearby." 

"The neighbors will call the police," Thomas replied. "You'll pay for everything."