Hi guys, like I promised here is Chapter two hope you liked chapter one đ
CHAPTER 2 (RYAN MCCALLISTER) Trust Issues
Well that worked out well; my father doesn’t trust me or anyone anymore. He hasnât been the same ever since mom died.It was an upsetting time for all of us and I wish those dark days were left behind. Sadly I canât change the past.
My mom died of stage two brain cancer; doctors said she had a malignant tumor, but the doctors mixed up the charts with another patient they had tested for the same kind of cancer.
And now, because of one little mistake, I had problems trusting people (especially doctors) and apparently so did my dad. Who knew the mistake of one person could affect the lives of several, maybe even thousands of people.
Two years ago we were having a family dinner, probably the first one we have had in a few weeks. We would always eat out because mom was either too depressed or too sick to cook. It tore me and dad up to see her this way. But when she got the âaccidental-good-newsâ, she overcame all that and started to cook that night. Oh God; my poor mother was so unaware, and so were we.
Mom had black hair and brown eyes; they would glisten whenever you saw her. Her face would just comfort you after you would have the worst day of your life. And her smile was pretty and was very bright. She always knew how to make me laugh whenever I would have a bad day. She always sat in the left corner of the table; dad would always sit next to her and I would always sit across from them.
It was a small table but then again, we were a small family. It was set to look really fancy; there were candles and a fancy table cloth (that we always had stored away in the closet) and the whole set-up was just amazing.
We were having roast beef with mashed potatoes; it was always dad’s favorite and she cooked it especially for that night. The table was set up, and everyone sat down; dad held mom’s hand and kissed her, then they both smiled and looked into each otherâs eyes. I was so happy that night, because for the first time in a long time, we were a family again.
Mom then pulls her hand away and pours my dad and herself some wine that was in front of her. âSo, who would like to say grace?” My mom asks as she puts the bottle of wine down.
“I will” My dad volunteers. We all put our hands clasped together, bowed our heads, and began to pray. “Dear heavenly father,” My dad began. “We thank you for this meal. We thank you for the health of my wife and for us coming together, to have dinner as a family once again.â; âAmen.” we all said in unison.
Silence blankets the room as me and dad are the only oneâs clanging our forks against our plates; for not all of us had said amen.
I didn’t hear mom’s voice.
I looked up and I see my father already eating, I then look around at mom. She was still and her eyes were cold, staring at nothing and her mouth was open slightly.
âMom, we said amen.” I reminded her. âHoney, you ok?” My dad asked her as we both stared at her.
“Mom…” No reply.
She wouldn’t even look at me or dad. She then starts to talk, but words could barely be made out; she was gasping for air, as if something was choking her. âCall…Hospital…” mom uttered under her breath. Her voice was cold and completely drained of life.
“Honey?” dad tried to shake her a little. âCall 911.” My dad ordered, I pull out my cellphone and dial the number. “Honey snap out of it, Honey!?” You could sense the fear in my dad’s voice as it increases in unease and volume.
I was scared; my heart beat faster and faster with each second. âWhatâs wrong with her?’;’I thought the doctors said she would be fine!’. These thoughts buzzed through my brain as my heartbeat became louder and louder.
â911 what’s your emergency.” The police finally answered. “Yes, my mother is having some sort of seizure, she’s not breathing or anything!” I was freaking out. I pace the floor and I look at my father and mother. Dad picked my mom up from her chair and took her to the couch. âNo! NO! Lauren, don’t do this to me! Please donât!” my father cried and was sitting next to her laying her head on his lap.
He bent down his head to hers and cries loudly. She still lay motionless with her eyes wide open. She didnât blink even once. Oh no…
âWe will be right there.” the officer hung up the line and I put my cell phone in my pocket as I walk into the living room where mom and dad were. It was too late, she was gone.
My father was crying, my mother lay still and motionless and was very pale. The light from her skin was faded and her eyes looked soulless. There was no smile, no glistening eyes, or any look or emotion coming from her⊠she was just blank. I walked over to her side on the couch.
âMom?” I said quietly on the verge of tears, my voice barely comes out as a squeak. I kneeled down and placed my hand on her cheek.
âMom…” I said weakly.â Mom please, please donât do this.â I pleaded as if she could hear me. I wanted her to come back; I NEEDED her to come back. I couldnât bear any of this.
I bent my head down and began to cry. âSheâs gone.” My dad whispered and shudders as he holds her head. âSheâs gone.” The words were like a switch blade into my heart. They pierced my world, tearing a hole so big that nothing will ever be able to fix it.
That was the worst night of my life; the doctors explained to my dad that her charts were mixed up with another woman. My dad was furious; He stormed out of the hospital and drove to a bar about six miles away. He drank away his sorrow while I stayed at my uncle’s that night; he had pulled the same stunt at her funeral as well.
The emotional toll was high and the baggage we carried was endless. My dad developed a drinking problem his faith was gone; I became anti-social, switched schools, and started wearing black clothing. This was never easy; I moved on but my dad didn’t.
The pain grew way worse when my aunt and uncle’s family was slaughtered by some sick bastard. My uncle was missing but my aunt and cousinsâ heads were displayed in the back yard of their house.
This was rough on the both of us; facing the fact that there may not be any more of our family left since both my grandparents were dead well.
Wait a minute-
I quickly rush upstairs as I walked away from me and my dad’s uncomfortable lecture. I can’t believe I didn’t realize this before. My aunt and little cousins were murdered the same way the Burnt Iron killer murdered his victims. That’s more than coincidence not to mention he wasn’t even heard of back then.
And why was my uncle never murdered? Did he escape? These questions ran through my head. There were just too many coincidences to even be coincidences any more.
The M.O., the lack of evidence, the fact that this guy was never caught even made me suspicious. I was curious as to why were my aunt and cousins murdered and my uncle wasn’t?
Even more strange, is why was the M.O the same as the killer’s? Could it possibly be the same guy that killed all those people? I don’t know but I’m about to find out. Dad may not need my help, and he may not want it. But that doesnât mean that I can’t. I think I know why my father wants to keep me out of this.
His tone and expressions were somewhat suspicious. He is doing something here; not even the station knows what he is up too. I don’t mean to accuse my father or anything. I only wish to work with him. If he lets me, then that would mean the world to me. It would have been exciting and thrilling but he was right, this is dangerous.
The sad thing is that the lecture that he gave me was possibly the most time I have spent with him since my mom died.
I donât think he can withstand that much time alone with me, without grabbing a beer or turning on his laptop to do some research on the Burnt Iron Killer. I guess I will never have that kind of time with him. At least not until this bastard is down for the count.
Maybe then my dad will move on, and leave the unsettling reminder of mom’s death behind, and that he may focus on the future, not the past.
As I reach my bedroom to my right, down the upstairs hallway, I still kept wondering; why do the pieces fall into place, yet one doesnât quite fit? I open the door to my room, walk in, and slam it shut; I was angry but intrigued. My relativesâ death was mysterious, yet what was even more so, is how little I know of how they died. I walk to my computer desk which was in the center of my room in front of large rectangular window, with grey curtains. Next to the desk, at least five feet away from it was my king sized bed, which was unmade. I never had the decency to make my bed. Yes I was a slacker, but a busy one. From the looks of it, my room could even be a crime scene, depending on how trashed and unorganized it had been.
I had a closet that was right next to my door and two night stands on each side of the bed, one left and one on the right. My computer desk was wooden and a dark brown color; it was complete with unorganized papers, a desk top, and multiple printed news articles.
You see, much like my father, I am also a bit obsessed with the Burnt Iron Killer. I was a major horror movie fan so gore was in my best interest, not to mention the story that comes along with it.  It seems as though this horror movie was real, as exciting as that was it was also wrong, so I intend to end this one⊠somehow.
I quickly place my laptop on the desk and take a seat in my chair at my computer desk. On impulse I quickly refer to Google and look up my auntsâ name: Sharon McCalister. Over a couple thousand links came up, but I clicked on the first one listed. Apparently my family ‘massacre’ was well known and heavily investigated.
After what seemed like hours, I have come up with this information:
My aunt: Sharon, and my cousins: Tommy and Sarah, were brutally murdered in the downtown area of Tucson, Arizona. However my uncle was spotted coming out of the house, covered in blood, and running from the scene. Now for obvious reasons, people say it was my uncle: Devin McCalister. However, eye-witnesses testify that he was screaming in panic and crying as he ran away from the house covered in either his familyâs blood or his own. People thought it couldn’t have been him. It couldnât have, because a serial killer doesn’t cry and beg for mercy on his soul while he has committed the crime.
This would be impossible, unless he’s one of those insane killers with a split personality. Police reports however did find glove fibers in the house and a broken Bud Light bottle, there had to be fingerprints somewhere but none were found. My uncle was a drinker but he wasnât seen drunk.
He looked more sober and terrorized than ever, said an eye-witness report. And the cloths he was reported wearing were a undershirt, Jeans, and work boots; nothing here about gloves or anything suspicious. Then again how could the ‘eye-witness ‘ have known? For all I know this eye-witness was either old, drunk, crazy, or didn’t get a good look at my panicked uncle.
For now that was all I had to go by, but the strangest thing is that the M.O of this killer was the same as B.I.K.; the only difference was that my family’s heads were impaled on wooden branches from a tree, not 5-foot-long Iron poles.
Many comments on the page read thusly:
‘It’s him, I Know it’s him!’
‘It all makes sense now.â
‘These people are freaks. I know that it’s Devin. Sick Bastard, I hope he rots in Hell!â
Okay, that last one pissed me off; I know BIK is not my uncle. I just need to find solid evidence. There has to be something that the internet doesn’t have but can be accessible.
That’s when I had the best, and quite possibly the stupidest idea that I have ever came up with.
‘itâs Suicide though.’, ‘My dad will kill me’; these thoughts ran through my mind so fast I couldnât even pay attention. As I try to think, my impulses just completely block my thinking. Then the phrase ‘Don’t think, just Do’ popped in my brain to my surprise.
Fine, screw thinking; if I was going to find out more, I was going to have to bend the rules a little bit.
I have to steal a file from the police station. I wasnât too keen on the idea, but something had to be done. Either that or just sit back and let this bastard kill more before he’s even close to getting caught. I have to take action⊠tonight.
I let out a sigh as I lean on my desk on my chair. âGod, why does this have to happen?” I whisper as I stare at my ceiling. I look back at the computer then out the window in front of me. I had a great view of the street and a lamp post from my room. The trees from the neighborâs lawn were visible from where I sat, and I could see a long row of houses going down as far as the eye can see. It was still day time like probably 6:00 pm. I look at my digital watch … 6:00pm. Damn I’m good.
Okay, let’s do this.
I then grab my car keys off of my desk to my left and then grab my back pack to my right on the floor.
My dad was still sitting on the couch when I walked down stairs, He was bent over holding his beer and looking as depressed as he usually was. He didn’t speak, he didn’t look at me, and He didnât even look at the blinding light that was the T.V., he just stared aimlessly at nothing.
I was walking slowly down the stairs, with each step I tried to be as quiet as I possibly could, the slow creaking of each step made my heart pound faster and louder. I didn’t want to startle him, nor did I want to break his trance of depression. As much as I hate seeing him like this, I can’t risk him knowing what I’m doing. If depression makes him lack suspicion, then by all means let him drown in sadness.
“Where are you going?” The piercing deepness of his voice startled me and nearly made me panic; but I contained myself. I stopped in my place of the stairway and I look down at him as he kept aimlessly staring at nothing. The room was dark and the curtains were closed. The only light left on, was the luminescent glow of a bright television.
“I said: where are you going?” I pause for a minute then answer him. âIâm going to the library” I lied. “I need to do more research on Jeffery Dahmmer, and I was going to go get a few books on him.” Please believe me, please believe me. “Alright, just hurry back ok?” I sighed in relief as I knew that he fell for it. I proceed to walk quickly down stairs, and just as I reach the door my dad calls me.
âSon.” I stop in my place again and look behind me to see him looking at me with a sorrowful stare.
“I’m sorry. I just…” he paused trying to find the words to say. âI don’t want to lose you and I would never forgive myself if something happened to you; there are some messed up people in this world, some more than others. I love you son and I won’t let anything happen to you.” He explains with concern and hurt haunting his voice. âItâs ok Dad, I’m fine. I love you too.” I reply softly and slowly. I was in a hurry; I didn’t have time to be emotional. I know, I know, I sound like a complete jack-ass, but touchy-feely moments have never been my thing.
He lets out a sigh. “Ok that’s all; you can get back to your project.” He gestures at the door and picks up his beer. He then looks at the window to the right of him, his sorrowful look turned into disappointment and anger as he sips out of his beer. He then dismisses me with a gesture to the door.
I proceed to exit the house closing the door behind me. Now this won’t be easy, but it’s worth a shot. I walk to my car beside dad’s Mazda. My car, much like any 17-year-old’s car, was a crappy, black, Ford Fairmont. This thing needs work but it did the job. I hop into my car as fast as I could. The library closed at 8:00 so that leaves me only two hours to sneak the file on my aunt and cousins murder, out of the station. I then start up my car as I twist the keys into the ignition. It stalls for ten seconds as I frustratingly turn the keys two times until it finally starts. âHa, ok donât break down on me now.â I warned the car to myself. My car did have a history of giving me a hard time.
I then pull out of the drive way slowly and check to make sure there are no on-coming cars. “What the hell am I doing?” I ask myself. I’m doing what’s right; I hate the Burnt Iron Killer just as much as my father, maybe even more. If this ass-hole killed my family then I’m doing this, not for some project, but for my family and for everyone who has fallen victim of this disgusting freak.
I drive off in a heartbeat and carefully form a plan. âShit” I curse under my breath. I donât have a plan.
As I made my way out of my neighborhood, I started to put together a plan. The words ‘distraction’ and backdoor kept creeping into my mind. Will there be cops there? No, there will be clowns the- OFCOARSE there will be cops there! Frustration runs through my thoughts as I argue with myself.
How is this going to play out?
Well I could sneak through the back door, and set off a firecracker in the front of the station as a distraction. No that wonât work. After I compiled so many possibilities and options in my head, I was finally there. The station was a small building with the bold lettering, reading ‘Tucson Police Department’.
The building was a mere 10 ft. tall, and was nearly 50 yards in length. Tinted Windows surround the front of the building and the rest of the building was blank, except for a few tinted windows on the area surrounding the chief’s office, on the side of the building.    The parking lot was fairly as large as the building was. Yet it was almost empty. Nothing but a few aisles of cop cars were sitting in their usual spots; and the other half of the lot was empty. Those cars were probably on duty.
I stare at the building, then the lot; this is going to be tricky. Luckily I have studied the police station and hacked into the system a couple times; don’t ask why I just did it for a project on the police. I could’ve hacked through the system to look for the file, but the police doesnât post that shit on a site with minimal security, plus I can’t hack that well either.
I start to pull into the lot and park in the most unnoticeable spot in the lot: right in front of them; out of view of the security camera’s picture. I put on leather gloves to cover my tracks in case I touch something; I was wearing a black hoodie as well. I stare at the cars behind me in my rear view mirror. There were literally only 8 cop cars out there plus an ambulance. âGod please, help me!” I shout silently at the sky or at least the roof of my car. I looked suspicious as fuck; plus, the security cameras will catch me somehow. I should probably let it go and go back home, It was almost 8 oâ clock anyways so what was the point.
I grab the shift stick on my console and prepare to pull out of the lot. Until⊠the earth quacked and the windows of the building burst outward with a flame-engulfing bursts coming from inside the building.
A loud explosion shook the ground and blasted inside of the station. Flames engulfed the sides of the building and shattered the windows.
âWhat the Hell?” I said to myself from inside of my car.     Shit,shit,shit, what do I do? I look around in panic as if there was something in my reach that can help. I look to my right, and froze in place as my jaw slowly dropped. From the other side of the parking lot, not even 50 ft. away from me, was my Dad’s Mazda.
What the fuck is he doing here? I sigh and look to the burning building with my hands firmly gripping the wheel. Doesn’t matter, he’s still in there, quickly I got out of my car and rush toward the building; I need to save him and he’s probably still in there. But where could he be? I quickly check my phone for messages from dad.   The screen read ‘1 new message from dad’. I stop walking to the station doors and I read the message. âSon, I will be looking over evidence in the station. Be home before 8, sorry about earlier. I wish, I could make it up to you.’ I look down and put my phone away.
Shit, well Iâm not going to let him die in there; he canât die on me, especially after such a shitty day, I would never forgive myself.
I quickly rush through the front doors of the station. The place was clouded with smoke and flames that engulfed the front desk area and random spots on the walls of the wide-spread room. I remember the map of this place. Dad must be in the evidence room. I run to the far left of the room where an ‘Officers only’ sign was bolted on the thick silver door. The flamesâ heat spread everywhere, making it very warm in my hoodie and causing me to be drenched in my own sweat.
I cough as I hold my sleeve next to my mouth so I breath in as little smoke as possible. I quickly open the door and run into the hallway. From there, all I could see was smoke; just dark, thick smoke all over the atmosphere of the hall. I quickly drop to the floor and as I predicted, it was more clear and breathable on the floor. Flame patches were all over the walls and some on the ceiling as I look up and look straight ahead.
Now the evidence room should be at the end of this hallway. I stare straight ahead as I lay on the floor. My vision was starting to become blurry, Oh no, Iâm losing consciousness; I begin to crawl as fast as I possibly could, but with each movement my vision grows more blurred.
Along the way I see doorways blocked by debris of the collapsing ceiling. I have got to hurry. I then look to my right as Iâm crawling, at an open doorway and see two officers, already dead, but still burning from the blast. They were both in uniform and blody patches of skin peeled off their faces and arms. Their dead eyes were staring at my direction. They were in a lying position and had shrapnel of what appears to be glass from a coffee maker, stuck into their faces. I could see the blood still leaking from their faces, the flames crisped the skin within a matter of seconds; soon there was nothing but half a face upon one of the officers. The skin and flesh was gone and the remains were muscle tissue and a partial skull.
But I didn’t have time to awe in disgust, I quickly began crawling again. Terror and panic raced through my mind. My heartbeat grew louder and the crack of the flames snapped harder.
The heat became worse and my hoodie became more fatal to my well-being than the flames. I quickly while lying down take off my jacket and slide it away. I can get a new one later I donât care; Hot Topic had better ones anyway.
I grunt as I continue down the hall. Okay it should be in this next doorway to me left.  As I come up to the door I hear footsteps. Loud, slow, calm, footsteps; who was that? I look ahead to see a dark figure emerging from the thick cloud of smoke, The figure was wearing a hoodie similar to mine, only he was larger and taller. He was wearing what appeared to be work boots, and his hood was up barley revealing his face. In his hand he held a long metal pole, sharpened at the tips.
He didnât seem bothered by the smoke though. Thatâs when I realized the smoke had cleared in this area, I could have stood up and confronted him, but I have a bad feeling about this one. I slowly stand up and back off slightly; He got closer and was more visible.
Oh shit! It’s him!
He came closer; his footsteps were now pacing faster toward me. He saw me, and it was obvious he didnât want to be seen. He raised his pole, ready to fight and kill me.  I look around in panic and I see a metal pole conveniently placed against the wall at the entrance. It was one of his weapons. I quickly grab it with both hands and point the end at him. âCome on you bastard!” I taunt him. He comes faster and is now face to face with me.
He swings the pole’s sharp end at my chest. I quickly back off, and then lunge forward with my pole for his throat. I miss as he dodged the attack; I quickly retract as he holds his pole in a spear like position and tries to take a jab at my leg. He grunts in frustration.
This fucker wants me dead, but he’s not succeeding. As he takes the plunge for my leg I duck and quickly maneuver behind him and jab my pole’s sharp end at his back. I pierce his lower back as screams in pain and drops to his knees.
As he is taking his recovering moment, I swing the pole’s unsharpened end at his head instantly knocking him out. My vision quickly blurred again then became normal once more, I have to get dad out of here. Hopefully He wasnât killed already.
I stare at the unconscious body, I was Hysterical and angry, so I quickly kick him in the stomach and he just groaned lightly “That’s for my family, bitch!” I shout at him, then I quickly spit at him, I enter the evidence room.
“DAD! DAD!” I shout for him. âOVER HERE!” I hear him call from what sounded like the right end of the room. The place was scorched, and full of burning shelves of burning evidence; so much for that file.
Fuck that file! My father needs me. I quickly make my way to the right end of the room; he was leaning in a corner with his cheek cut up, and coughing violently.
“Dad!” I rushed to him. âRyan how did you find me?” I avoid the question and I grab his hand and hold him up. He then tries to help himself up as well. “Are you hurt?” I ask him “No, Iâm just cut up a little” He responds. He starts to stand on his own. âWhatâs that?” he points at my pole, I didn’t realize I was still holding it.
“I ran into him dad. I hurt him somehow.” I tell him feeling proud of myself. âWho?” He replies, I give him this look of concern and just stare at him, I think he knows who I’m talking about. âThe killer? He’s here?” He asks. His face held a shocked expression and wonderment. He was covered in dirt, and was bleeding over his eyebrow.   âYeah, we need to get out of here. I only knocked him out hard enough to let me get you.” flames cracked harder and louder now. We hear crashes of debris outside the hallway. âWe have to go.” My dad suggests. We both nod in agreement and rush out.
As we reach the exit of the room, I look down at the killerâs unconscious body, he’s still there.
I stop and suddenly all the memories and all the horrible stuff that this guy was responsible for had come rushing to my head. Dad quickly gets over him and stops as he notices my pause, he turns around and yells.
“C’mon!”;” That’s him dad: The Burnt Iron Killer.” I explain softly as Iâm still looking down. A voice in my head kept telling me to kill him, just kill him and this will all be over. âSon, the building will burn with him; this place will collapse!â He warns me âBut we should finish him off.” I’m so ready to kill this fucker, screw the evidence, I’ll wipe my prints off the pole and nobody would know but me and dad. I raise my pole in a stabbing motion with both hands, ready to plunge the iron bar into his head. “STOP!” dad commanded and I halt. I was angry and impatient.
“What do you want me to do?! Just forget about him and pretend that he didnât kill off half our family? No Dad. Not this time, today was the last fucking straw!!” I yelled at him choking back tears. I stare at him with the pole at the ready. âNow you want me to show -mercy?!” I ask him still looking down at the killerâs defenseless body.
âSon …” he says raising his hand to calm me down. “We kill him, and then we will be no better than him!” He explains. âWe are NOTHING like him!” I shout with my back still turned on him. Small debris crashes from the ceiling behind him. âI KNOW! But just trust me on this one. You did a brave thing, but killing him won’t bring back your aunt or uncle. Please leave him and leave the pole.” He urged me. The killer still lied there unconscious as I held the pole in position away from my body and toward the killers.
I didnât know what to do; so many emotions ran through my mind: Anger, hate, revenge, sadness, and fear all in one. Tears ran from my eyes, quite sobs emerge from me.
âSon, He is not worth it. Don’t do this.” he managed to get to me. He was right. If I kill him now, I will be no better than him. A mad-man with more blood on his hands than any serial killer combined. I should know better and I do. This isn’t how it should end. I drop the pole on the ground then evacuate the building with my father.
As we reach the outside of the building, I feel the rush of fresh air run through my lungs. The dizziness crowding my brain was gone, and I could finally see the light of day again. It was still night and ambulance and fire fighters arrive and pull into the parking lot. Dad grabs my shoulder and pats my back. I look to him and he tells me: “Iâm proud of you son.” He smiles, and hugs me and I hug him back. I close my eyes and I finally got what I was looking for: my dad’s love and his old self back. I was so happy; the feeling of having my dad back was indescribable. He never left in person, but he was back mentally. Whilst I hug him I open my eyes to look at the burning building and its front doors. Flames engulf the entrance.
Was he dead? Will he come back?
I don’t care as long as my dad was safe, it didnât matter. He was safe, and so was I.
Once again sorry for all the bad editing and everything
Click here for chapter two! https://oc950.wordpress.com/2016/07/02/burnt-chronicles-chapter-1-foreword-from-the-author/
Goodnight folks see you next week!
Hells Reject 