White City Murder Expo

I said to Butcher, "I'm going away for a while, tomorrow or the day after tomorrow, alone."

"Okay," he said, as if we were anxious to steady each other in a negotiation, and then asked, "How long? . . . will you be back?"

"I don't know," I said, barely audibly, "I'm too tired to care about your feelings."

When I said this, I didn't show a very tired look, it was normal to be haggard.What a person can bear and express is always limited, and maybe I didn’t get worse because of anything, but just wanted to end from the beginning. This earnestness keeps people in a state of boredom. There is no Hope is not despair.

He was silent for a long time, then turned his eyes and looked out the window: "I'm glad you can say that honestly, Dad." No, he didn't sound happy at all.

We did not continue this topic.Butcher brought pillows and slept with me. "If you never come back..." he said.He didn't finish this sentence, pretending to be asleep, and I heard his rapid breathing sometimes as if he suddenly remembered something embarrassing.I think if I hug him now and say something reassuring, we'll both be better off, but I'm out of strength and don't see why it's necessary to make even the slightest effort.

"I hope you'll change your mind when you wake up. Will you, Sue?"

Before going to bed, I heard someone say this.I know now that he is not my imaginary friend and I don't have a friend now.

**

The next day I slept until noon, sitting on the edge of the bed blankly thinking about life.I wanted to leave here so desperately yesterday, but after careful consideration, there seemed to be nowhere to go.All my real estate was the house I lived in and the little drug store on the Circle Line, and my savings only allowed me to choose between traveling abroad and paying for Butcher's schooling.I am already considered the most irresponsible parent, but there are still so many things to consider. It seems that I have not lived for myself for a long time, if I can still be considered to have a life now.

Then again, do I really have to leave?

I don't even want to dwell on the fact that what drives me to get up and change is nothing more than a fear of being secretly laughed at by Butcher, the fact that it's too obvious and too hurtful.

I tried to imagine that I was going out to play, and I shaved carefully in the shower.I came out of the bathroom in a rush from not grooming myself for so long, smelling like pine needle aftershave, but surprisingly feeling good.This slight tingle from the aftershave and cuts makes me feel alive.

Stepping outside and standing in the midday sun filled me with a vague sense of dread.I was walking aimlessly around town, distracted, not knowing where to go.I've been deliberately reminiscing about the past lately to brush up on my love for Butcher.It turns out that there are so many details that I overlooked that point to the current situation, but I didn't realize it at all at the time.I've clearly discovered from an early age that Butcher was one of those weird kids in every way, and I lived with him and was blind to a lot of the signals.A large part of this is of course my indifference to everything, but at the same time, subconsciously, I always feel that no matter what happens, it is impossible to change the relationship between the two of us.The bond of blood is unbreakable, transcending all norms, for example, I always easily forgive his actions; when he kills someone, I will help him dispose of the body.

I always thought I was so blindly in love with him, Butcher Siders, the man who carried on my father's name, my only child.But until recently, doubts grew between more and more momentary gaps, when I suddenly realized one day that things were not quite what I believed them to be.After losing Matilda, Butcher was the only thing I had that was unmistakably mine, and I couldn't afford to lose him, really, that's all there is to love.I don't know how to face him anymore.

I went to the cemetery, and the tall iron gate was unlocked. At the entrance of the cemetery, in the shabby wooden house, the gravekeeper was dozing off on a couch, and I didn’t wake him up.After walking past countless tombstones, I finally saw the cross I was looking for. The raised tomb and the new and clean tombstone seemed to have no birds or animals staying here.I made the sign of the cross on my chest and sat down with my back against the cold tombstone and closed my eyes as if there was another person sitting next to me, but I didn't feel scared at all; when I was at home looking at the garden from the window On the contrary, it is easier to have sudden palpitations.Petra, I ask, can this all end?No one answered.

**

After walking out of the cemetery, I was depressed and I wasn't sure if it was the right choice.On the way for a walk, I passed a restaurant and smelled the smell of damp tablecloths in the distance, and I began to feel hungry.

"Oh, Mr. Sides." Someone called me.Turning around, it turned out to be Teacher Susan.

"Why aren't you at school?" I asked.

"I can't stand the cafeteria," she said. "If you don't mind, let's have a meal. I don't want to be too close to the window. How about here?"

She gave me a multiple-choice question, and it does feel safer to be next to the wall than by the window, so I said it was fine.Picking a seat means we have to eat together, but I probably don't want to be around people today, too bad.The food on the menu has also become unappetizing.

"Grilled fish and mashed potatoes," I said, "what's for a drink?"

"Lemonade," she said, closing the menu and handing it to the waiter, "that's all, thanks. Drinking during the day is bad for your health, and my aunt, who worked as a nurse at Dwight's Alcoholics Sanitarium, came back and told me too many examples of alcoholics. .” When she said this, she turned her head and looked at me, she didn’t mean to be targeted, her tone was very sincere, but I became more embarrassed.

To an alcoholic, the name of Dwight was tinged with anguish by the sanatorium.You're sick, you're a piece of crap, and no one will respect you and your privacy—or so it feels.With that in mind, I didn't say anything.Susan is really a teacher. In front of her, I always feel that I have made a mistake, and I lack confidence in everything I say.

The silence before the food was served was hard to bear.I chattered a little casually and asked her about the school, and she said something along the topic, putting one leg on the other and putting it down frequently, repeating this action from time to time, as if she was also very uncomfortable.I listened, absent-minded, and picked my nails under the table. After hesitating for a long time, I finally couldn't help asking: "I'm sorry, are you looking at me?" The meal was served just in time, interrupting this out-of-time straightforward question.

"...yes," she said after a while, "you look sad, what happened?"

I froze for a while, the mashed potatoes I just scooped up slipped from the spoon and fell back onto the plate. "Where is this supposed to start?" I asked her about Butcher.Butcher is a common topic we all know and love to talk about, and I've said a little too much in the moment, including my recent anxieties about the love of loved ones.After hearing this, Susan said, "It won't be like this. Parents' love for their children cannot be so selfish, Mr. Sedders. It's just that something has made you blame yourself."

I stopped talking, and the food on my tongue started to lose its taste. "Thank you," I said, trying to get on with my lunch, and looking down, a tear, two, fell on the plate and trickled down, mingling with the slushy mashed potatoes.I put down the knife and fork, touched my face, and pressed my eyes with the back of my hand, but I couldn't stop the tears that continued to flow without warning.I was frantically flipping the handkerchief on my body. Susan sighed and handed me her own handkerchief. I took Susan's scented handkerchief with sweaty and trembling hands and covered my face. I know that I am now What does it look like, a sad middle-aged man, curled up on a chair with his back arched, suppressing his crying, sobbing violently like a hiccup; there is an inquiring gaze with disgust from the side, but I am even more embarrassed because of embarrassment self-control.

The next day people would start gossip about how that Susan who taught at the school had dumped a divorced man, and that the hapless guy was crying in public, and that sort of thing.I don't know why I cry like this without warning, it has been going on for a long time, I often cry so that my brain is starved of oxygen, and I can't even hear clearly.I keep apologizing, I'm sorry, the sunshine outside the window is just too good to be true.

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Suy was severely triggered...!