I raced through the city. Fuck the promise I had made to Petra, I was going home. I had to go home. The voices were no longer there.
They should be there. Of all things I wanted, being cured of the voices was the last thing I wanted. I remembered the conversation I had about them with Fraza; she had told me that the only way a curse could be lifted was if the demon that had given it was no longer among the living. But that couldn’t have happened. Not to Fraza. She was a fighter; she could tear a man like James Xrobzix into shreds.
I had just smoked too much pepper leaf, that was it. I had drowned the voices in a sea of pepper leaf. I would get home to see an angry Petra and an annoyed Rikku and Fraza. I would hug her and tell her I had slept with Kendra, that it was a mistake, and she would forgive me, happy that I was safe and alive.
I pressed the gas pedal to the floor of the squad car and zoomed through the streets. Creatures jumped aside in fright and flipped me off as I drove by, even though I was driving with the warning lights and the sirens on. They didn’t know how fast I wanted, needed, to get home.
I knew all the shortcuts to my place, and I took them all. The drive home had never felt so long before, but today it seemed like the city had decided to expand a million miles in every direction. I screamed loudly as I kept driving, listening closely to see if I could hear the voices. I had to hear them. Fraza was alive, she had to be. She had to know what I had done. It couldn’t end like this, not with so much unsaid. We would get married and go to the coast. Life would be perfect.
I finally arrived at my house. I slammed the brakes and the squad car squealed to a halt, making several officers standing outside the building reach for their weapons. I jumped out of the car and ran to the door of the apartment building. The police presence had already gathered a large crowd, and yellow “POLICE LINE: DO NOT CROSS” ribbons kept them from getting too close.
I sped through the crowd, shoving aside angry-looking people including some reporters, several of whom I remembered from the press conference. Their microphones were held out like sticks seeking for the truth and for answers. They were the hardest to push aside as they tended to shove back; they felt they had more right to be here than anyone else.
One reporter punched me in the face as I tried to push her aside. “Stay back, bitch, we were here first,” she snarled at me. The blow took me by surprise and I fell to the ground. I got up, enraged, grabbed her microphone and smashed it over her head. She dropped to the ground, screaming. “You should have moved, bitch,” I shouted at her as I stepped over her and went under the yellow tape.
Three officers grabbed me and tried to push me back into the crowd behind the barrier. I struggled and kicked … and then I saw him.
James Xrobzix. He was standing behind the sea of people. He smiled at me and waved goodbye.
“Stop him! Stop that man! That’s James Xrobzix, he is a murderer, he killed six Favored girls. No, don’t let him get away,” I screamed as the sea of people looked dumbly at me and then at the man I was pointing to. No movement, no effort to stop him, just a crowd of brainless idiots wondering what was going on. “Why aren’t you stopping him, why aren’t you doing anything? Move, goddamn it, don’t just stand there!” I could scream all I wanted; he was walking away, unchallenged. I drew my gun and the crowd of onlookers dove to the floor.
“Drop the gun, now!” I heard from behind me.
All the police officers at the scene had drawn and were aiming their guns at me.
“No, don’t aim at me, stop him! Stop James Xrobzix! He is why you motherfuckers are here. Stop him!” I cried out in frustration as I looked back to where James Xrobzix had been. He was gone.
“I said drop your gun, now!” the same officer shouted at me. They had let him go. They were here to protect me but they had let him get away.
I heard a concert of handguns being cocked, ready to fire. I knew they would shoot if I didn’t drop my gun. I would die, and James Xrobzix would have won. I dropped my gun to the ground, raised my arms in the air and slowly turned around. The officer who had ordered me to drop my gun walked up to me and signaled for the others to lower their weapons. There was another concert of clicks as the guns were uncocked and returned to their holsters. I saw him reaching for my extended arm and took my chance. I had to know if Fraza was alright. We would catch James Xrobzix eventually, but for now I just had to see that she was safe.
I kicked the police officer in the balls and as he dropped to his knees I punched him in the face. I ran for the door of my building before the other cops had time to react. There was no time to go through the door, so I leapt through the open window next to it and rolled as I landed in the lobby. As I pressed the button for the elevator I saw the other officers checking on their colleague. It was the biggest mistake one could make when in pursuit, but one I was glad they made. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. It was empty. I jumped in and jabbed at the button for the penthouse. “Hold that elevator!” another police officer shouted as they ran into the lobby, weapons drawn. Just in time, the doors closed and the elevator zoomed up. I was safe, for now. This was the building’s only elevator, and I knew they wouldn’t be able to catch up to me by taking the stairs.
The doors opened at the penthouse level and I ran out. The hallway seemed to stretch as I ran to my apartment. As I drew closer I saw Andreaa walk out with her dog Cezar next to her. She saw me running toward her and shook her head. “Don’t go in. Please, Tara, just don’t,” she begged me as I blasted past her and rushed into my apartment.
The world came crashing down, its weight on my shoulders making me fall to my knees. I puked as I knelt there, tears streamed down my face. I heard several gun clicks and that of a photo camera, and I heard Petra’s voice telling someone that it was alright. I looked ahead. I still could not believe what I was seeing.  

Next Chapter: A bloody message