Villainous Minds

He awoke wet and cold. Blankets strewn and spilling onto the floor. As he attempted to sit up, his back screamed in protest. The bed was old and full of springs that were no longer content to be like the others.

Feet dangled off the side and found their slippers. Sleep was washed away as the slim beam of light protruding into the room caused his eyes to tear up. The mattress felt damp and smelled of salt.

Once he stood up, everything was a blur, as usual. A shower, a shit, a shave. Out the door. Down the stairs. On the bus.

“Grande double shot?!” the barista yelled.

“That’s me,” he grabbed it gently and nodded in appreciation.

The elevator. The chair. The computer. On and on. Back and forth. The days mended to each other like a patchwork quilt of different shades of gray.

But the nights.

The nights were all colors. They blurred together, but in a good way. The way a great party resembles the Doppler effect in your brain. Like the childhood memory of a theme park trip. An expressionist painting made manifest. One he could look at whenever he wanted.

“Brian, are you listening?” Bob said sternly. “I need those reports by the end of the week. We need to finalize quarterly—” his lips continued in a rhythmic pattern, but Brian had already lost interest.

He knew the reports were due. He’d finish them, like he always had. Like a good little boy.

“Yeah, Bob, sorry, just a little tired today.”

“Hey, I get it, hehe. I used to be a swinging bachelor myself,” he winked and nodded and walked away.

“What a pain in the ass,” Hugo, his desk neighbor, leaned back in his chair. “Like you’ve ever missed a deadline. Seriously— if it wasn’t for you, I’d actually have to work!”

He laughed. “Yeah— well, I uh— I’m glad I could help.”

“So— what did you do last night that made you all tired?”

“Oh nothing, it’s– it’s private, ya know?”

“Oh, that sounds juicy! C’mon, man! Let me live vicariously through you!”

“Nah, I’m just like any other, normal guy— I just let my demons out. It’s nothing,” he tried to look nonchalant.

Hugo had a curious expression. Brian wasn’t great at reading people, but he could tell when something he said didn’t sit quite right. He nodded assuredly at Hugo and returned to his work.

The clockout. The walk. The bus back. Dinner in the microwave. Extra tonight. Fuel. He needed the fuel to last through the evening. To keep up his strength and stamina. The news on the TV talked about disappearances. He switched the channel to comedy.

The night began, and the world slowed down. Just for now.

——

His calves burned like a 4K runner. His back felt like it had been hit by a thousand hammers falling from space. Still on fire. His head swam as he tried to recall the memories. He smiled at the blurring, screaming faces. The visions of flailing arms numbed his aching bones.

He looked at his face in the mirror. He was gaunt. His eyes were almost purple, but he didn’t care. He felt whole again when he thought about it. The chaos. But also the choreography. The game, the chase!

“Grande double shot?!”

“That’s me,” he grabbed it gently and nodded.

He passed by the paper stand. More bad news. More disappearances. He found it rude how often reality butted in throughout the day. So he didn’t read the papers.

“You know you have a rip in your shirt?” Hugo bounced a ball in his hand.

He hadn’t until then. “Darn it,” he’d forgotten he’d worn it the other night.

“Another fun night?”

“You could say that.”

“Woooo, man, I hope you write a book one day,” Hugo leaned back to his desk and started writing.

“Maybe someone will write a book about me.”

Rain hit the concrete hard. The kind that splish-sploshes and seems to come from above and below. He watched from the window as scattered people dared to venture out.

That was good. He didn’t like so many people around. The rain provided a veil that covered him like an opaque bubble. Protected him from their peering eyes.

There was only one time he could truly be himself. The night.

——

He limped out of bed, favoring his right ankle. The left exploded into pain whenever he stood on it. It wasn’t a great night. He’d fumbled his normal routine and hurt himself.

Still— it was exhilarating.

The rain had given him a confidence. It wasn’t an entirely unearned one; he’d been doing this for so long now. Getting better every time. Perfecting his routine. All the while keeping it separate from his daily life.

Brian had few personal acquaintances, and none of them knew of this side of him. It was his and his alone. They’d never understand, they couldn’t. How it kept him from lashing out during the day.

A paper left on the bus stop bench. Links found in the disappearances. The latest intended victim got away. Fought back. Hurt the attacker. He rubbed his ankle. Profile released. Male, between 30 and 50. A loner with higher-than-normal intelligence. Lives alone. Works a 9-to-5 job and seems normal but solitary. He laughed to himself. Good luck with that description.

“Great job with those reports, Brian,” Bob made finger guns.

“Just doing my job,” he smiled weakly.

Bob patted him on the shoulder and walked away. Hugo leaned back in his chair. He didn’t seem to be smiling his normal goofy smile.

“What happened to your ankle?”

The question caught him off guard. “It’s nothing serious. Just a sprain.”

“Sprain from what?”

“Just a sprain, I tripped. It happens.”

“Yeah, sure, I guess you’re right,” Hugo went back to his notes.

——

It had taken a week, but he no longer felt pain when he placed his feet on the floor. It was a dreadful week locked away. He didn’t know what to do with himself. The walls were beginning to close in and the urge to get out was palpable.

“Grande double shot?!”

“That’s me!” He stepped forward, smiling broadly. “Thanks!”

He was dancing on air. All he had to do was get through this day, and he’d be back at it.

The night.

It held wonders for him that he could not attain in the sunlight. Tonight, arms would fly and legs would flail. Chaos choreographed. A dance he’d lead.

The papers at the newsstand all blurred into one. Week Without Terror But City Still Fears Night Collector! He was bemused by the theatrics of it all.

“You look like you’re in a great mood today,” Hugo chewed on his pencil.

“Yeah, my ankle’s all better.”

“Oh— really?”

“Yeah, just nice to get back to normal.”

“Normal, yeah, so I guess you’re going out tonight?”

“Wh- why do you ask?” Brian’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like questions. Questions demanded answering. Make him answer a question, then.

“Ah! Just makin’ small talk, buddy,” he held up his hands in fake surrender. “I’m just gonna run to the bathroom,” he tucked his notepad away in the center drawer and walked off to the restroom.

Brian eyed the drawer with intense curiosity. Something about that notepad intrigued and scared him. Without another thought, he reached over and carefully removed it. Making sure no one was paying attention.

The top paper was a grocery list, but he’d seen Hugo flip the page. Underneath, he found mad scribbling. The profile of the Night Collector. Below it, several quickly scribbled lines.

—Always tired. Up all night.

—Lives alone.

—“Let my demons out.”

—Ankle sprain. (Possible victim-inflicted injury?)

Dozens more dating back weeks. He felt a wave of nausea come over him. An innate fear he’d felt since childhood. Children can be so judgmental. Adults doubly so.

Panic swelled up in his chest as he felt the room slowly suck into itself. He had to go. He stood up casually and hurried out of the building. He couldn’t look Hugo in the eye. He couldn’t look anyone in the eye.

He stood over the mirror, preparing himself. Half overjoyed to be going out. The other half focused on Hugo’s notes. He’d blabbed too much. He was too weird, too awkward. He didn’t know how to be any different. There was only one time he ever did.

The Night.

He’d forget about Hugo. It really didn’t matter what he suspected. It’s not like anything would come of it. And if anything did, he had a foolproof alibi.

Nothing would stop him.

——

Hugo returned from the bathroom to find Brian’s desk empty. That was fairly odd. He’d worked next to the strange man for five years, and not once had he left early. He’d stay glued to his computer until exactly 5 p.m. At least he assumed he did. Hugo left early whenever he could.

“Where’d Brian go?” he asked Tom, who was smashing keys obliviously.

“He left?” Tom answered.

Hugo looked around. He didn’t pass him coming from the bathroom. His desk was neat and tidy. Nothing obvious — not that there should be.

The best clues were parsed from the subject’s life. The signs were always there. He’d gleaned that from Villainous Minds. The best show ever, in his opinion. Someone in the killer’s life always knew it. Always had the feeling.

He had to be that someone.

Admittedly, he pitied Brian at first. He just seemed like a lonely loser. After a while, his suspicions grew. He knew nothing of his home life other than where he lived. That was by happenstance. He passed by his building early one morning on a jog. It looked like Brian was returning from something.

Something that had him sweating. He seemed startled and put off when Hugo approached him.

“I can’t talk— I have to go—!” Brian ran into his building.

From that moment on, he kept his notes. And not a day went by that Brian didn’t inspire something for his book. Once the papers released the profile, he was sure he had his man.

But it wasn’t enough for the police. Hugo needed real evidence.

He opened his drawer to retrieve his notebook. It was immediately evident to him what had happened. The grocery-list page was peeled back. He felt a cold shudder.

He knew he needed to act, and it needed to be soon. It would be his word against Brian’s otherwise. What if the lunatic came for him first? No, Hugo wasn’t about to allow that to happen.

So that evening, after a healthy dinner — and quite a few stiff drinks — he went to Brian’s street. Dark hood pulled over his head and old jeans, he looked like any drunk sleeping it off on the corner. He’d seen Detective Markus pull this very trick on episode 6 of season 27. He was the hot new guy that season. Refused to play by the rules.

Hugo felt a mixture of fear and excitement that made him shiver. All the better for his ruse. He’d waited on the corner since dusk. A few people offered him dollars, but most didn’t bother at all.

He remained focused on the front doors to the complex. In the show, Markus had a team that watched the other sides of the building, but he was fairly sure this would be the point of exit (another thing he learned from the show).

After three hours, he was finally rewarded. He watched Brian walk out of the front door and turn left. He waited until he was well ahead to start following. He activated his phone’s camera and spoke softly.

“Suspect left his apartment at approximately twelve a.m.,” (they always say- approximately) “wearing a dark trench coat and hat, carrying a large duffel bag. I am following at a distance of—, (he wished he knew metric — they always say cool stuff like “suspect is approximately five hundred meters away”) “—approximately three blocks. Suspect has not made me yet. I will continue to follow at a safe distance. Radio silence from here on out.”

Adrenaline pumped through his body so much so that he practically floated. Keeping his breath controlled was the hardest part. Whenever Brian turned a corner, he’d have to run up to continue his pursuit. He’d lost him twice but figured his way back. The safety gap he’d placed between them remained at two to three blocks at a time.

Brian seemed to walk on forever. Finally, they reached a dark part of town. Older, run-down buildings. Bars with patrons lining the walls too blitzed to notice who walked by. Older streetlights cast a more amber glow than the newer ones.

Hugo guarded himself more closely here. More afraid of being unveiled as an imposter among this crew of late-night scoundrels. A few clicks on the internet and you can see what happens to people in this part of town. At this time of night.

Right where he was.

Still, Brian walked as if the world around him didn’t exist. Or it couldn’t fight him. His adrenaline turned against him. It inspired the fight, but it also inspired the flight. His skin prickled intensely. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as the shadows painted the landscape now.

Brian turned another corner. Hugo jogged lightly to keep up. He slowly approached the corner and poked his head around.

Brian grabbed him.

“What are you doing following me?!” he held his fist up.

Hugo cowered. “I’m sorry! I just wanted to know where you were going! Please don’t kill me!”

“I should, shouldn’t I?” Hugo winced at his words, but he continued, “No, why don’t you come along? Come see what I’ve been doing at night.”

“No, really— I’m cool, I won’t bother you— I won’t tell anyone, just— please?”

“No, Hugo, this has gone too far for you to go back now,” Brian looked at him sternly. “You’re coming with me.”

——

They continued walking for another block before Brian led him to the front door of what looked like an abandoned building. He unlocked the front door and ushered him inside.

Hugo protested slightly, but Brian seemed cold. Angered. He’d obviously gone too far.

A long, dark hallway led to a freight elevator. Brian lifted the gate and beckoned Hugo into the car. Hugo was numb at this point. Really wishing he had brought some backup. Like the time Agent Kumar rescued Detective Markus from the boiler-room killer.

The elevator creaked and hummed and slapped against the walls as it rose upward to his doom. Brian held his duffel tightly and looked at the door the entire time.

“This was muh-my time. You ssssshouldn’t have cccc—come here. But now I have to sh- shut you up-p-p,” Hugo could see his hands shake as he talked. The bag swayed back and forth.

When the bell dinged their arrival, Hugo practically jumped through the roof. The door opened to a dark room. Poorly lit by a single dim nightlight.

Brian led him over to a bench along the wall. Hugo couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of himself.

“I’m really sorry! I swear! I won’t tell anyone!” He felt himself crying now. Actual tears coming down his face.

“Just sit-tttt th-th-th-there. Don’t move.”

Brian walked to the back of the room. He heard a door close. He started looking for routes of escape. The only way out was the elevator and the way Brian had gone. He made for the elevator.

When he was barely moments away from the elevator, it was recalled. It sank to the bottom along with all his hopes of escape. He returned to the bench and resigned himself to his fate. He really thought he’d make a difference. But he was no Detective Markus.

No. He was the victim.

The elevator began its return trip. Who else was coming up? Was this a murder club? Could he survive this if he joined? Or was he the sacrifice? He heard Brian coming back from the room.

Brian stood motionless against the wall. The elevator dinged. The door opened and more people poured out. The lights were turned on.

Brian stood in a sweatshirt and a pair of tights. On his feet were a pair of ballet slippers. The others were similarly dressed or returned from the back in the proper attire.

Over the next two hours, Hugo watched in utter amazement as the group practiced ballet. It was intense and physical. He could sense it was demanding and taxing on the body. But he could also see Brian’s smile. His complete enjoyment.

Hugo watched intently throughout the night. Brian was pretty good, but more so he was a different Brian completely. He was out front taking the lead. He worked and laughed with his partners in a way he’d never seen him do at the office.

“I feel like an idiot,” Hugo said as Brian approached him, drying himself off. “I’m so sorry.”

“You looked like an idiot,” Brian smirked.

“Was it this the whole time? Why always be so vague about it?”

Brian pointed to his tights. “Remember when everyone found out Sanji from accounting was into furry role play?”

“Yeah, but that was just— well, not this! This is incredible. The way you lifted that woman over your head!”

“It helps with my anxiety. If you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly the most social of people.”

“I get that.”

“I’ve got a little gas left in the tank, want me to show you some moves?”

——

The Night Collector was arrested not long after. He turned out to be a well-known, well-liked community member. Brian quit his job and joined a dance company. Hugo doesn’t watch Villainous Minds as much these days.