The Brotherhood of Misfortune
Chapter 1
Mephisto
Reading time: Approx.12 minutes
Teddy had exactly eighty-one minutes to find the envelope or pick up Rolly’s corpse. He shook his head. “Death in the woods” was not on today’s schedule. Hell no! Not a chance! He had to save him; he had to get there in time! But where was that damn envelope?
It didn’t help that his hands were drenched in a cold sweat; the handles of the desk drawers kept slipping from his fingers. He had to wipe them over and over again on his jeans. His eyes were burning. He knew he was a mess. He feared someone might walk into the study and see him like this, because they’d immediately know he’d just had a run-in with Lucifer himself… or rather, something close enough.
The roar of an engine made him freeze. Teddy’s head snapped up, eyes wide, and he hurried toward the window. His grandfather’s car still wasn’t in the driveway. Relief loosened his shoulders, and he dove back into the search.
He crouched in front of a bookshelf crammed with thick volumes that stared down at him like silent sentinels, judging him. He began pulling books off the shelf in a frenzy, the smell of old paper hitting him in the nose.
Nothing. He had to hurry and find that envelope; he had to, no matter what. Otherwise, how the hell was he going to appease the demon? What was he supposed to offer him? He glanced around, and his academic trophy glared at him from the corner, disapproving. He sighed.
The boy wiped his forehead. Guilt twisted his stomach: he was stealing from his own home, from the only family he had. And that wasn’t even the whole list, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, oh no. There were other sins to add. Fifteen minutes earlier, he’d raided his best friend’s house. Though if he was doing it to save him, it didn’t really count as theft… right?
He was also guilty of deception: he had lied to Mrs. Copperfield, but what other choice did he have? He’d had to make something up to justify why Rolly stayed behind in the woods and an excuse to be let into his room.
Once inside, he’d grabbed a cylindrical cardboard coin bank from under the bed, checked that the contents were intact, and shoved it into his backpack.
As he stood up, his nervousness caused him to stumble and hit a chest of drawers. From the very top, a scale model of the solar system from the world of Dune, which he’d built with Jack and Benji in middle school, came crashing down. The rough landing sent “Arrakis” rolling under the desk. Pure Murphy’s Law, just like everything else on that goddamn afternoon.
Memories of that day, of the four of them together, flooded his mind. They were laughing and chatting, painting and pasting, cracking jokes and having glitter fights. A golden light had streamed through the window. The scent of freshly baked muffins prepared by Rolly’s stepmother filled the air. For a few minutes, life had felt safe, peaceful, normal. The feeling made him drop to the floor after the lost planet. As he tried to retrieve it, the pins stuck into the Styrofoam sphere cut the back of his hand.
Seeing the drops of blood bead, he wondered why the hell they could never just be like other kids. Why couldn’t their only worry be some stupid school project? A lump formed in his throat. He looked at the wall to his left. Rolly had plastered it with photos taken at the arcade and the pizza parlor over the years. Everyone was smiling. Nothing in those images suggested a psychopath had been stalking them.
That demon, that criminal. Mephisto. Real name: Donovan Blackwood.
Will Teddy gather the money before it’s too late?
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Teddy sighed and dragged himself back to the present, back to his grandfather’s study. He pushed his hair off his forehead; his messy bangs were blocking his sight… or maybe it was the tears. He scanned the room frantically, still finding nothing. He growled under his breath. His hands went to his head, tugging at his dyed-blond hair in frustration.
He swallowed hard, and the movement brought a faint taste of blood up from his nose. He rubbed his face, trying to pull himself together. Heavy-hearted, he paused and lifted his round metal glasses, pressing a hand over his eyes.
“Think, for fuck’s sake! Where could that amount be if not in the freakin’ safe?” he muttered to himself, trying to recall, but his mind was filled with only two things.
One, his fear of Mephisto.
Two, the image of Rolly with a knife to his throat, his round face as pale as a corpse buried under ice, and his blue eyes, tearful, resembling large drops of water.
“Shit! Where did Grandpa put that stupid envelope? Okay, calm down, calm down. Focus… what did he say?”
Teddy forced his breathing to slow. Closed his eyes and pictured his grandfather, a round, gray-haired Korean man of seventy, sitting at his desk. He saw him lift a manila envelope and say:
“Here’s the money for tomorrow’s contest prize. The cooks came up with such good recipes that I couldn’t decide, but I finally chose a winner. I didn’t count it very carefully, but I think I put in extra, so the hundred dollars you asked for, you can take from here.”
“Okay, thanks. And how much is the prize?” Teddy had asked.
“Five thousand. One month’s salary.”
The old man had gotten up, placed the cash on the built-in bookshelf behind the globe, grabbed his briefcase, and left. Teddy, distracted, had left too, without taking anything.
Relief washed over him as the memory clicked into place. He pushed aside the globe and grabbed the envelope. He counted the bills quickly and smiled when he saw there truly was extra money. The total was six thousand five hundred dollars.
“Call the police!” screamed the photo of his parents, set in a silver frame in front of the largest books. A young married couple dressed in traditional Korean clothing stared at him from the past, the last picture taken of them before they died. Teddy exhaled sharply and shook his head. He took a thousand dollars and stuffed it into his pocket, then breathed deep. He knew that when his grandfather counted the money later and subtracted the hundred he had asked for, the old man would assume he’d simply miscounted and put in just four hundred extra. He would never notice there was anything missing.
He returned the envelope to its original spot. Then he scanned the room for anything out of place. A few details were immediately apparent. He straightened some papers, squared a stack of books, pushed the drawers fully shut, and aligned the computer monitor with surgical precision.
Before leaving, he looked out the window again and jolted in alarm. Behind the fluttering curtains, he saw his grandfather’s car now parked in the driveway.
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He was terrified his grandfather would suspect something. If he found out about any of this and called the police, everything would blow up. So as he walked, Teddy adjusted the collar of his turtleneck sweater and brushed off the dirt clinging to the wine-colored yarn. He had to erase every trace of what had happened as much as he could. But Donovan Blackwood had landed a brutal punch on his face less than an hour ago, and there was no way of hiding that.
He reached a small sitting room and rushed to the full-length mirror on the opposite wall. He evaluated the state of his face. First, he examined his brown eyes, tracing the curve of his monolids, and sighed with relief: they were intact. However, the bruise on his cheek was huge and a mix of red and purple. There was no way to hide it. He couldn't say it was for the short film; it looked too real. And Rolly wasn't that talented when it came to art. His grandfather would have believed that story about Jack, but never about Rolly.
He took in the rest of his reflection and grimaced. His tall, thin frame made him look fragile. He tried to hide it by wearing oversized clothes to add bulk, but he only succeeded in looking like a scarecrow.
A frustrated sigh escaped him. Why did he have to be this weak? If he were stronger, he wouldn’t be tangled up in this nightmare. How was he supposed to protect anyone like this? A sharp pain shot through his chest.
He smoothed down his hair, but his glasses were askew, and shame colored his expression. He had become a puppet for a criminal. He was giving up his morals and innocence like some desperate fool making a pact with the devil to save a life. And the worst part was the ominous feeling that he was opening a door he wouldn’t be able to close again.
Overwhelmed, he shook his head. Sweat trickled down his neck; he’d had to jog up two steep streets, and his lungs were still burning. He’d taken a taxi from the woods back to the city, but stopped first at Rolly’s house on Glenview Drive. He didn’t want Mrs. Copperfield asking questions like “Why didn’t your chauffeur bring you?” He’d already lied about everything else; he couldn’t juggle another lie. So after leaving her place, he’d had to run all the way home on Terrace Street to grab the money before his grandfather returned. The result: his stunted lungs were protesting violently.
His last stop was his room. He would take the rest of the money from his own savings. And once he had the full amount, he had to head back to the woods.
He checked the clock. It was 4:51 p.m.
He had to finish the mission before six. Donovan hadn’t given him a second more. After punching him, he had warned him that if he wasn’t back by that hour, he would slit Rolly’s throat. Teddy had dashed out of the forest like a madman after that. He hadn’t even realized what bad shape he was in until now.
When had everything gone to hell? He didn’t know. His morning had been perfectly smooth. He could still hear the jingle of the slot machine at Simmons’, the bar near his university, right after he'd been down to his last five hundred dollars and hit a winning line of watermelons on the slot machine. A pure stroke of luck…
And then a black hole swallowed the light, the luck, the joy… everything. Donovan Blackwood had appeared behind him out of nowhere, like a dead man coming back from the grave.
Why? Why had that criminal even walked into the bar at that hour, when the place was practically empty?
“Good heavens, Teddy!” Mr. Song’s voice boomed suddenly.
Teddy jumped and turned around.
“Hello, Grandpa,” he said, bowing.
“What are you doing here? Weren’t you spending the day with Rolly, filming for your cinematography class?”
“Yeah, it’s just…I fell, we broke a camera lens, and… I came for a replacement,” Teddy said, keeping his face neutral. He hid his trembling hands behind his back.
“But look at that bruise! I don’t want you killing yourself in the woods just to get an A, understood?” Mr. Song scolded. Teddy nodded quickly. “Well, did you two already eat? If not, I’ll have them prepare something for you.”
“No, it’s still early. We’ll grab something later… He’s waiting back in the woods.”
“He’s waiting back there?” Mr. Song asked, frowning. “Why didn’t he come back with you? It’s your assignment.”
Teddy swallowed hard. He tapped his thigh with the side of his fist. His grandfather looked confused. If he asked too many questions, they were screwed.
Why don’t you tell Grandpa what’s going on? He’ll help you!
Sure, why not? Blackwood said if he sees the police, he’ll cause Rolly to go into anaphylactic shock so bad, that he won’t make it to the hospital in time, and he’ll make it look like an accident, like always. But who cares! Go ahead, tell Grandpa what Mephisto’s doing so you can carry the corpse of one of your best friends on your conscience for the rest of your life!
The buzzing of the wasps nesting outside the cabin’s main bedroom window filled his mind. His eyebrows drew together.
“Teddy?”
“Yeah… uh… He stayed because he didn’t want to keep moving around. He preferred to stay in the clubhouse playing a new video game he bought.”
The old man studied him more closely. He didn’t look convinced. Teddy didn’t understand why. The lie had worked perfectly on Mrs. Copperfield. She’d believed every word.
“Look at the state of you. Were you running?” his grandfather asked, puzzled. “How did you get back?”
“Taxi. I had to stop by Rolly’s house… He forgot his phone. He asked me to bring it to him, and then I ran home because it was getting late.”
Mister Song tilted his head. Teddy tried to breathe slower and concentrate on that instead of the way his heart was pounding violently against his ribs, making a racket like the tolling of church bells. Maybe Grandpa could hear it. Maybe he knew everything already. Thump, thump, thump!
God, shut up!
Heavy beads of sweat slid down his forehead. He dropped his gaze.
Tell him! The police have resources! They have to be able to do something!
Right. As if that psychopath hasn’t fooled them before. They can’t touch him! They never have! They abandoned us before and they're going to abandon us now! We're all alone against that maniac!
Teddy inhaled deeply and held his breath. Mr. Song shook his head.
“You shouldn’t run, especially if you fell. You need to take care of your lungs; I shouldn’t have to remind you,” the old man said sternly. Teddy nodded again.
“If it’s getting late, ask Lanz to drive you back. He’s available.”
“Okay, I will.” All the tension drained from Teddy’s muscles at once. He let out a shaky breath of relief.
“Good. Be careful out there. It’ll probably rain later, and I don’t want you getting sick.”
“Yeah, don’t worry, Grandpa.”
“All right. I’ll see you later then. I’m going to get the prize money, the staff is waiting,” Mr. Song said.
Teddy forced himself not to flinch at that. “Did you grab your hundred dollars already?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, by the way, Jack called a few hours ago. He said you weren’t answering your phone, and I told him you didn’t have signal in the woods. So he asked me to let you know he’s on his way. He should be getting here soon.”
“Today? He’s visiting?” Teddy asked, eyebrows raised.
“Yes. Why don’t you call him?”
“Okay. I’ll talk to him now. Thanks, Grandpa. See you.”
He bowed again and left.
He hurried to his room and closed the door behind him. He grabbed his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found Jack’s number. His finger trembled as he tapped it. He had to talk to him no matter what. The thought that Blackwood might want to continue the chaos he had unleashed before his arrest filled him with dread.
The image of the well near the cabin had been lingering in his mind for a while. The same well the police had declared “sealed” after putting the lid back on, yet never bothered to fill in. In his imagination, it was open again, screaming like a giant cold mouth in the earth, dark and hungry.
He couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened there three years ago, about the fact that the well had swallowed blood before.
Exhausted, Teddy sat on his mattress with a deep frown and a heavy heart, waiting for his friend to pick up. One of his legs bounced nervously, unlike the branches outside his window, which swayed calmly in the damp wind. The phone continued to ring. He shut his eyes tight. All he wanted was to turn back time, go back to the moment of happiness that filled that morning, and rewrite the day. But he couldn’t.
Jack didn’t answer. His eyes shifted to one of the walls. The horror movie posters echoed his fears, especially the sinister Michael Myers mask. His stomach knotted. The thought of going back alone with the money was sickening. It was a terrible idea. Worse than terrible, it was impossible.
Overwhelmed, he propped an elbow on his knee and covered his face as he listened to the ringing sound. He started imagining Jack’s phone buzzing quietly in one of his pockets, squeaking like a mouse. Still no answer.
“Come on. Say his name. Yell. Explode. Do something, for God’s sake…! Where the hell is he? Why the fuck isn’t he answering?!”
