The Notebook

DANIEL

Slow is steady and steady is fast. That’s Daniel’s philosophy. Take your time. Be patient. Do it right.

He picked the lock to the front door with ease, and siddled inside the house. He doubted whether the home had power, but wasn’t going to flip the switch regardless. He brandished a flashlight and carefully made his way through the building.

The home was a complete mess - it had clearly been abandoned for quite some time. Daniel found evidence of squatters, likely homeless or drug addicts. Some old, dirty towels. An overturned chair, a broken table. The place was a dump. Hardly a worthy home of the treasure he hoped to find this evening. But hey, sometimes that was just the way things worked out.

Daniel patiently, quietly, and meticulously made his way through the home in the dark. He knew it was here. He’d find it eventually.

He’d been told by a reliable source that the object was here. Someone he trusted completely. Someone who’d never dare to steer him wrong.

And when he found it… he’d be able to help his brother. He owed him that.

After a short period of time, Daniel finished his search on the first floor, and began ascending the stairs. As he reached the top, he heard a loud thud. The sound of something heavy striking wood, and the sound of that wood object hitting the ground.

He was no longer alone. Someone else was entering the house.

MICHAEL

Screw subtlety. Michael was in a hurry, no time to waste. He kicked down the front door and entered the home. He tried flipping the lightswitch, and of course nothing happened. Flashlight it is then.

What a shithole. Obviously this was a crackhouse or some hub of other unsavory activities. That didn’t matter right now though. What mattered right now was finding The Object. He was still skeptical that it really existed - was it too good to be true?

Michael never believed in magic, and this object appeared to be magical. “Bullshit” was his first reaction. But his source swore it really worked. Only one way to find out.

He made his way through the first floor, kicking aside the filthy towels and looking under the crappy sofa. There were some loose floorboards where something could be hidden, but he wasn’t that lucky tonight - nothing there. Eventually, he declared the first floor clear. He made his way upstairs.

Michael was determined to find this thing. He needed it. Someone needed to be punished, and it was up to Michael to do so.

As he neared the top of the stairs, he heard a creak in the floorboards. Hmm. Apparently he was not alone in this house.

Michael pulled a pistol from his holster, and waited.

DANIEL

The footsteps grew closer, slowly making their way up the steps. Daniel could hear breathing, growing a bit heavier as the person approached.

He had a pretty damn good idea who might be here. But no, he wasn’t 100% certain. Best to play it safe.

Daniel hid behind a door to one of the bedrooms. He continued to hear footsteps on the wooden floor. Whoever it was, they were approaching as if they knew someone else was here. He must have made a noise earlier, something to give himself away. Damn.

He hadn’t brought any weapons, but found a piece of splintered wood in the corner of the bedroom, lightly painted with old, dried blood. He guessed the intruder had a gun, so he’d need to be careful. Again, it might not be who he thought… but just in case…

“Show yourself!” announced Daniel.

He heard a small chuckle.

“I thought it might be you,” said the intruder.

“Same.”

Daniel approached the doorway, clutching the wood piece. He poked his head out into the hallway.

Standing there, gun in hand, was his brother Michael.

“And what might you be doing here?” Michael asked in a singsong voice.

“Same thing you’re looking for, big brother. The notebook.”

Michael nodded. “You think it actually does what they say it does? The names and the columns and all that?”

“Maybe. Possibly. I don’t know.”

“Seriously? You just write down a name… in either the Good or the Bad column… and… things just happen to them? Sounds like bullshit to me, bro.”

“Yeah… you never know though.”

Michael laughed. “So, theoretically, I write your name? In the Bad column. And you, what, lose your job. Or your wife skips town on you. Or you get cancer. You buy all that?”

“Yeah, I guess I do. At least, I hope it works that way.”

“So, Danny Boy, what do you plan on doing with this notebook - assuming you find it before I do?”

“I want to help Joseph out.”

“Screw Joseph. He doesn’t need your help.”

“But he’s…”

“Forget about him, little brother.”

Michael put his gun away, and stepped toward his brother, getting right in his face.

“You need to leave. NOW. Before something very bad happens to you.”

“Go to hell, Mikey. I’m finding that notebook.”

Michael gave a bitter smile, and shook his head.

Michael reared back, and punched his younger brother in the nose. Blood streamed down Daniel’s face as Michael shook his hand, waving off the pain.

Daniel stumbled back, grasping his broken nose.

“You asshole!” He stood straight, and threw a wild punch at Michael. The elder brother blocked it, and hit Daniel with an uppercut.

“Seriously, get the hell out of here. Or I’ll make you leave.”

As Michael again reached for his gun, Daniel sprinted down the stairs. He did not exit the house as his brother instructed though. He found the basement door, and hurried down those stairs. He’d searched the first floor thoroughly, and done a quick pass of the second floor. Maybe the notebook would be in the basement?

He knew it would only be a matter of time before Michael followed him down there.

MICHAEL

He knew Daniel couldn’t go far. He doubted his brother would leave, so he was still somewhere in the house. He’d heard him go down the stairs. Maybe Daniel was back on the first floor, waiting to ambush him. Or perhaps he’d gone down into the basement. Regardless, here in the dark he’d need to be careful. His brother was dangerous.

Before he could go downstairs, his phone started vibrating. His boss. Wilkinson.

“Yeah?”

“Just wanted you to know… it’s happening tonight.”

“Joseph?”

“Yup. They’re moving him. Across the state to Dover.”

“Supermax?”

“Yup. Supermax. He’ll be there by the morning.”

“Okay… thanks.”

Michael hung up the phone. He knew that if Daniel found the notebook and wrote Joseph’s name… no. He didn’t even want to go down that road.

He slowly made his way down to the first floor. He conducted a quick yet thorough sweep, finding it empty. Daniel must be in the basement.

Michael made his way down the stairs, keenly aware of each creak and moan. Daniel was surely down there, and by now knew his older brother was coming for him.

Time for the showdown.

DANIEL

He’d just found the notebook - hidden behind the old broken furnace - when he heard Michael on the steps. Time was limited. He needed to move quickly.

“Danny, I know you’re down here. Don’t make me shoot you, brother.”

Daniel had a decision to make. His brother was coming, just seconds away. He opened the notebook and pulled a pen from his pocket.

Should he write his own name in the Good column? Or Joseph’s? That was why he was here, after all.

He saw the burst of Michael’s flashlight coming into the room. He scrambled to write a name.

Michael White. In the Bad column.

The flashlight fell to the floor. Followed by the gun. Then came the thud of a body. Michael had collapsed.

Holy shit, it worked.

Meanwhile, Daniel heard sirens in the distance. His idiot brother had not been quiet about entering the house. A neighbor must have seen or heard him and called the cops.

It was time to get the hell out of there.

Daniel threw the notebook into his backpack and scrambled up the stairs, passing his brother’s body as he fled. He hadn’t had the time to write Joseph’s name down yet - once he was in the clear he’d do so. He’d set his youngest brother free before the night was over.

Joseph sprinted through the living room and kitchen and out the back door. The sirens grew closer.

His car was parked around the corner. Just minutes, maybe seconds away.

He was going to make it.

MICHAEL

His first thought was “heart attack”. But thankfully, no, that wasn’t the case.

Michael had briefly passed out at the foot of the basement stairs, but came to when he heard the sirens, followed by a series of footsteps upstairs.

He was pretty sure he’d had a seizure. Having never had seizures before, that was his best guess. That bastard brother of his must have written his name in the Bad column.

His head hurt like hell. He must have banged it on the floor, or a step. Did he have a concussion?

The footsteps grew closer as the cops descended the steps. He’d heard them announcing their presence, and conducting a sweep of the house.

He slowly sat up and leaned against the wall. Daniel was surely long gone, and he’d taken the notebook.

A couple officers reached the basement, and looked him over.

“Detective White… you okay?”

“Yeah… yeah, I’ll be alright. But Da… the guy… he got away.”

“We’ll search the area. If he’s on foot, we’ll find him.”

Michael rose to his feet, unsteadily but gradually gaining strength. His head hurt, but he was still thinking clearly. Probably not a concussion.

After a few moments, another officer came downstairs. Michael knew the guy - Baker.

“Detective… we found something interesting upstairs in one of the bedrooms. You need to see this.”

DANIEL

Daniel sped from the scene, gradually hearing the sirens fade off into the distance. He’d made it.

He pulled into a gas station and pulled up to a pump. His tank was full, but he needed a moment. A moment to revisit the notebook. Michael was down, surely with a heart attack, so Daniel was in the clear. No one else knew he was in that house.

Now it was time to free Joseph, to get him out of prison. He’d need Joseph’s help with something. A very lucrative job awaited. Drugs, and plenty of them. They’d make millions. Joseph would help him, and then buy a new ID and head down to the islands. Maybe Daniel would even join him. Why not? A life of sipping fruity drinks on the beach didn’t sound half bad. At least until he got bored, and then he’d come back and find the next score.

Daniel reached into his bag… No, this can’t be right. He fished around, with growing frustration and panic.

Where the hell was the notebook?

MICHAEL

Baker handed Michael an old notebook. THE notebook.

Michael was confused. Didn’t his brother take it with him when he fled? Why was it here? Were there more than one?

“Your name’s in it, Detective,” stated Baker, clearly confused himself.

“Yeah?” Michael began flipping through the pages. There were dozens of names. Each set of pages included Good and Bad columns. Many pages were full. About halfway through the book, he did find his own name, as promised. Written in a frantic scribble, in his brother Daniel’s handwriting. Michael White.

He noted that his brother Joseph’s name was not written down. Clearly Daniel hadn’t had the time.

The book came as advertised. Unless of course that seizure was just a coincidence. But it was pretty telling that within seconds of Daniel writing his name in the Bad column, he was down for the count. Yes, something bad happened to him indeed.

But nothing fatal. He’d survived. Lived to tell about it - if he did in fact dared to tell anyone.

He flipped back to the inside cover. Written in sloppy handwriting was a warning - this book cannot be taken from this building. It was bound to this house.

Baker looked at him, waiting for a response from the detective. Should he try to explain what had happened here? Or would this young cop think he’d just lost it?

Nah… Instead, he pulled out a pen of his own, and wrote the name Daniel White in the Bad column.

DANIEL

He went into the gas station bathroom to splash some water on his face. What the hell was going on? What happened to the notebook? How could it simply disappear?

It was too late to go back. By now the house would be swarming with cops. All of them wondering how one of their own had just died in the basement. No, not a scene he wanted to just waltz into.

Maybe he’d dropped the notebook somewhere in the yard? Yeah, that’s what must have happened. He’d go back another night and look. And if it wasn’t there… well, shit.

He dried his face off and walked out of the bathroom.

The blue lights blinded him.

“Stop where you are and put your hands up!”

There were cops everywhere, in every direction, aiming their guns at him.

How? He’d been in the clear. How could something so… BAD… happen to him so suddenly?

Then he knew.

“Michael…”