The New York Times Presents:

Serial Killer Found Dead

CALLVILLE, UTAH—September 22nd, 2003. In this small town in central Utah, a recently discovered serial killer—Claudia Banks—was found dead at the house of Kent Walc. Walc, in question, was arrested moments after the police arrived for conspiracy to attempted murder.

While nobody is quite sure how, the theory is that the two young adults found at the scene—Lila Notingham and Isaac Longman—were practicing self defense as Banks fired. Isaac Longman took two bullets to the chest, but had been wearing safety gear (on account of his father, Agent Longman) and is in critical condition at the hospital. Lila Notingham, shot once in the leg, is to be released in one week. She suffered in severe trauma and/or blood loss.

Investigators have gathered from the able victim, Ms. Notingham, that they had been brought to the crime scene and tied inside of a closet. Kent Walc is also being charged for aggravated assault, aggravated sexual assault, as well as aggravated verbal assault.

“We managed to get out from his [Isaac Longman’s] paperclip necklace. It was kinda stupid, when I think about it, but it makes sense and stuff now. We went downstairs and tried to get the gun from them [Claudia Banks and Kent Walc] but failed and I was shot in the leg. Then Izzy [Isaac Longman] brought me to the kitchen, and we were gonna call the police, but Claudia came out and shot him. I thought he was dead.” It was here that she was unable to offer any more information.

As long as Isaac Longman sits in the hospital, Walc will not be put into a trial. “There isn’t enough information,” Detective Ross, private investigator, says. “We can’t confirm her story yet until we hear the other side. [Isaac’s].”

            A neighbor had been the one to phone the police. Gunshots had been heard, and alarmed, Ms. Robicheaux (a teacher at the local high school) called immediately. The police arrived too late, however.

            Claudia Banks had apparently committed suicide. Investigators explained how. “She fired twice”—here he demonstrated—“and then shot herself. It was a six-shot, and we found one bullet hole on the banister, one on the couch, one in Ms. Notingham’s leg, two in Mr. Longman, and one in Ms. Banks’s head.”

            It makes sense—but now the world is asking, “Who was Claudia Banks?”

            24-year-old Claudia Banks, raised in New York, was born in 1981 on March 3rd. She had one sibling, a brother named Charlie. Her mother was a drug addict, her father was an alcoholic, and her brother was affiliated with Isaac Longman. Isaac, 9 at this time, was constantly over at her house on account of her brother. He saw the state they lived in—and when Charlie Banks attempted to shoot young Longman, his father, Agent Dave Longman, ordered Charlie Banks to be sent to a juvenile detention facility. Here, Claudia’s younger brother tragically met an end after what was said to be suicide. After suffering paranoia, trauma, and depression, Isaac also noticed that Claudia was turning into a “bad” person, as her brother had, and called the social services. They sent her to an asylum and she remained there for only two months before she was released after being diagnosed as “in good mental health.” When she left, she started to stalk Isaac Longman and followed him to Alaska, and after three failed murder attempts (all in which innocents were killed), followed him to Callville, Utah, and tried two more times. Her death was announced on the second try.

            Investigators are now trying to find what relationship Kent Walc had with her, and have discovered a few interesting facts. “His brother [Michael Walc] was romantically involved for quite a time with Banks during her chase after him [Isaac Longman]. We’re guessing that it just ran in the family to help him.”

            The Notingham family has also offered information. “When she was about 14, I figured out that she was in a gang with this kid [Isaac Longman]. He wasn’t exactly the type I wanted her to hang out with—I mean, her grades were dropping. So we moved to Valley, Montana, but then my wife and I divorced three years later. She [Mrs. Notingham] moved back to Callville with Lila, and I stayed here by myself because of my job. I guess the rest was history.” This was Mr. Notingham’s view.

            “I never knew that that boy would cause so much trouble,” says Mrs. Notingham. “He seemed so sweet, but then he almost got my baby killed!”

            She was unable to say anything more after this.

            Thus, the people of Callville are receiving their fifteen minutes of fame. Most of the high school attendants (where Ms. Notingham and Mr. Longman go) were shocked at this, and there was a moment of silence in the auditorium. But at least it’s one less killer to worry about.

            I pinned the article that I had cut out up on my bulletin board. There were some other articles up there, too—a couple from local newspapers, and some from online. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy to know my name was on the front page (well, next to Izzy’s, somewhere in the back of the magazine) and to know that the world will always remember me (they’ll remember me as long as there isn’t another serial killer case). I sighed and then picked up my crutches, hobbled to the door, and down the hall of the apartment to the living room.

            People had been feeling rather sympathetic lately, I think. They sent me all sorts of flowers and cards and “Get well soon!” cards. I didn’t get near as many as Izzy, though. When he got out of the hospital, his dad literally rented a U-Haul to take it all back. To think that these were coming from all over the US—well, it was understandable. If the girls who had sent it (because it was all girls except for the close-to-home guy friends and gays) looked at the picture that they put in all of the newspapers and stuff, then they most definitely had to give him a pansy or two. He had even got a nightshade flower from a gothic girl over in Pennsylvania, but his dad made him get rid of it because of the potential danger.

            All those hopefuls, however, will not be catching Izzy’s eye soon because he now has a long-term girlfriend. Guess what her name is?

            Rachael Boll.

            It made me a little irked when she ran into the hospital and just started crying on him. I was released in less than a week—as the article had stated—and had immediately gone to his room. Rachael had been sobbing on his chest, and he had a pretty disgruntled expression on. She must’ve not known that he had these huge bruises from the bullets or something, because every time she moved her elbows he winced.

            They kissed and made up—little ol’ me standing in the corner—and after that, Rachael straightened up her act. She became the old Rachael—my Rachael—and gave all of her clothes to the trashcan. She would’ve donated them to Goodwill, but Goodwill probably has a no-thong policy.

            I should’ve guessed.

            I admit—I really, really like Izzy still. Two weeks later, I was still kinda hovering over the incident. It was the closest we had ever been—literally—and I didn’t want to give it up. But it was my fault that he went back to Rachael at school and stuff. I shook my head at him when he tried to hug and kiss me after he woke up. Why? Because I knew that Rachael would hate me forever and ever, and even if she is her sleep around self, I don’t want her to hate me. I’m not a hate-able person. I think.

            Or maybe I’m just in denial.

            Bumpy had been shipped over from Dad’s house to comfort me while I was in the hospital; he was anything but a comfort. He had come to live with me in the apartment with Mom—he shred the curtains, ate the plastic plants, and even tried to kill Mom’s goldfish, Bubbles. The name isn’t original—then again, I named it.

            I sat down on the sofa and plucked up the remote control. Ever since my mobility issues (the crutches) I stayed inside and watched TV. Something about that screams couch potato.

            Setting the control down again, I sighed and leaned back against the back of the couch. I had been wallowing in self-pity ever since I declined Izzy’s oh-so-subtle invitation, and regretted ever allowing Rachael to touch him. He’s mine. Mine.

            I’m so greedy.

            The phone rang, and I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t about to get up to get it—that would require walking, talking, and puking because whoever it was probably wanted Mom. She had picked up interior designing—above all things—and now was a hit in the town. I don’t get why people like her taste so much. Our apartment is barely furnished, and the walls are a shade away from puke green.

            “Uh...Lila? You home?”

            I propped my head up on my hands. Rachael was calling. She did that a lot lately—seemed almost like old times. Almost.

            “Look, I just wanna talk to you...please pick up the phone. I know you’re there because you’re always there.”

            Yeah, I’m always here. What’s it to you? I grabbed a stale potato chip from the bowl on the coffee table and nibbled it.

            “Lila, please pick up?”

            Blink. Why? You’re just going to say something like, “I’m having Izzy’s baby.” That’s all she ever talks about now—Izzy. I snorted with abhorrence.

            “Okay, if you aren’t going to pick up, I’m going to call for drastic measures.” Oh, sure. You call your little measures. They aren’t going to do anything for me. I sank further into the cushion. Blech. “Izzy!”

            That’s one good drastic measure, though.

            Izzy picked up the phone from her side. “Lila?” This was the first time he had called me. Well...maybe he didn’t call me. But Rachael did. And he was talking to me.

            I’m not home.

            “Lila, you’re home. Pick up the phone.” I’m not home! I’m in my own little place. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. This had to be the longest recorded message anybody ever made. “Fine. We’re coming over.”

            He hung up. Then the little red light flashed on the message box. He’s coming over? Not good. I scrambled up and limped to my room, shutting the door and locking it.

            So much for bravery.

            The doorbell rang about five minutes later, and I remained on my bed, reading a book. It rang again. Again. Again, again, again, in a stupid pattern. I rolled my eyes and continued reading. So what if Izzy was at my door? So what if Rachael was next to him? So what if I had pretty much missed my only chance...for something?

            “Lila, open the door.” He—Izzy—used a somewhat inappropriate word. I pretended I didn’t hear it.

            “Oh, hi Mrs. Notingham,” Rachael said sweetly, and I gasped a little. Mom’s home? She’d let them in—great. I threw the book on the floor as the front door opened and I heard Mom making small talk with Rachael.

            “Yes, dear, she should be in her room,” Mom said. I pretended to choke myself. I could go out the window, but my leg would crack and fall off. My crutches were in the living room—ack. Two weeks of avoiding Izzy and Rachael at school, all down the drain.

            “Lila?” They sounded a lot closer now. Maybe...right behind my door?? I clenched my teeth and sat my butt firmly on the bed. I was not moving. Period.

            Rachael tried the door. “It’s locked,” she said. Go ahead and state the obvious, why don’t you?

            “Mrs. Notingham, we really have to talk to her face-to-face,” Izzy said politely. I could just see Mom nodding.

            “Lila Notingham, open that door before I bust it in and get involved.”

            Pff. Karate Mom? Hardly.

            “Lila, you’re grounded if you don’t open this door.”

            “Why?” I snapped, and there was silence. I guess they had been thinking I really wasn’t there. “Huh? Why am I grounded? The doctor said I had to get rest.”

            “You’ve slept away the past week!”

            “I’ve gone to school!”

            “You slept after school.”

            Catnaps, Mom. I had catnaps after school.

            “So?”

            “Unlock your door! We agreed to have the lock only if you wouldn’t use it!”

            True. But what’s a lock if you can’t use it? I snorted. “Whatever.”

            “Fine. I’ll get the screwdriver.”

            Screwdriver meant she was going to unlock it herself. I shook my head bitterly and stood, shuffling to the door. I pushed the lock up with my thumb and swung the door open angrily.

            “What do you want?” I spat.

            Izzy and Rachael blinked at me.

            “Mrs. Notingham, she opened it,” Rachael called to Mom, who was watching TV by now.

            “I knew she would.”

            The nerve of that woman!

            “Let us in,” Izzy said firmly. I looked down and then opened the door a little wider. They squeezed in, then Rachael sat on my bed where I had been before and Izzy took my desk chair. I sat on my dresser, glaring at them.

            “What was so important that it couldn’t wait?” I asked. I really couldn’t care less.

            Rachael stood up. “I’m the head of this operation.” Right. I looked at her dumbly. “Izzy, stand.”

            He groaned and stood.

            “Now, Lila, stand.”

            I groaned and remained seated.

            “Lila, stand.”

            “No. Why?”

            “Because I said so.” She blew invisible dust off her fingernails and then glared frostily at me. “Do it.”

            “I can’t stand. My leg hurts.”

            “So...support your weight on your other leg.”

            “But that leg has arthritis.”

            “You’re too young to have arthritis!”

            “You’re never too young!”

            “Right. Tell that to the people who make the drinking limit 21. Now stand.”

            I did so, but very slowly. Whoever said ignorance is bliss should go shoot themselves. Why? Because I had no clue what was going on and it was killing me.

            “Izzy, walk over to her.”

            Izzy sighed and took the two steps to be next to my side.

            “You two have been acting so stupid.”

            Lecture time. I peered at her from half-closed eyes cautiously. This could get dangerous.

            “I can’t believe you guys. Lila, I have inside sources that say you have been miserable lately. Got that? Okay? Yeah. And it’s not because of your leg. You know that, and so do I. Saying it’s your leg’s fault is like...like...I don’t know. You’re a blame-putter. You put the blame on other things.”

            Ouch.

            “And Izzy—you have been, like, so stupid! Every time we’re on a date, you don’t ever dress up or anything, you just sit around and act quiet. That’s so totally crazy! Every time I mentioned Lila around you, you freaked out and stopped talking. What’s up with that, boy? Huh? You two avoid each other at school, and you haven’t even talked ever since the hospital. Now, I want you both to fess up.”

            “What do you mean?” I fired. I knew what she meant, but it was so pointless to even bring the subject up.

            “I mean I want you guys to admit you are in love. Totally and wholly. Madly. I want you two to kiss and hug and do everything...well, not everything, but most of what couples do.”

            “Rachael?” Izzy asked carefully. “Um, hate to be the bearer of good news, but that’s what we’re supposed to do.”

            “You’d better believe it. Now I’m letting Lila inherit you.”

            “Inherit me?”

            “Yep. Lila—attack.”

            Blink.

            What was I supposed to do again? Kiss him? Um, well, hate to say it, Rachael, but your little plan isn’t going to work. I crossed my arms. “Rachael, you’re the one being stupid.”

            “I don’t even like Izzy anymore!”

            Izzy flinched a little. Poor guy. Probably his first rejection.

            Aside from me.

            “I like that new boy—Freddie! You know, the one who just moved here? Izzy, I was going to break up with you publicly and all, but I didn’t think your little traumatized heart could take it.”

            “His little what?” I asked.

            “Traumatized heart. He was so sad when you pretended to not like him anymore.”

            Vaguely this reminded me of when Claudia had the gun. There was less small talk and more shooting, but the concept was the same. Rachael was probably going to murder us if we didn’t do her bidding.

            “So, as of now, Izzy, I am officially your ex. And as of now, Lila is officially your unofficial girlfriend.”

            “You can’t do that,” I sneered.

            “I just did. Now, hug.”

            We didn’t move. I chewed on my cheek. Die, Rachael. Die.

            She noticed our lack of progress, and walked over to us. Then she took Izzy’s arms, wrapped them around my waist, and took my arms and wrapped them around his neck.

            Neither of us really let go.

            “There. See? Now, Izzy, bend over and kiss her. Big wet one. Right on the lips.”

            “WET one?” I shouted.

            “Fine. Big nice one.” She smiled innocently. I clenched my jaw. Die, Rachael. Die.

            Izzy didn’t say anything. He just looked at me, and I turned red. Then I took my hands of his neck.

            “This is ri—”

            What is up with him cutting me off? Because he did it again.

            A peck—that’s all it was. But Rachael didn’t say anything, and I think the silence encouraged us (us being him). He deepened the kiss, and I kept my eyes open. Rachael smirked in the corner.

            I smiled into his lips. Rachael was right. Totally right. We had been avoiding each other, and we had been acting stupid. I could’ve easily knocked him where his heart was and he would’ve jumped away because of the bruise. He could’ve easily taken my shoulders and pushed me away from him.

            In other words, we could’ve easily broken apart.

            But we didn’t. We stayed closer than ever. No more war. Only...

            I blushed and just continued to kiss him.

*

A/N: And I didn’t think I’d ever get this up. It’s cheesy, stupid, and retarded...but then again, I like it! Hehe. Uhm, well, I know a few people would be like, “WTF?” if Rachael got the cool guy (then again, that’s life) so I decided, “Let’s elaborate.” Now it’s a fully-sculpted whoo-hoo doohicky story. W00t! I’m so happy. Yeah. Thank you SO MUCH FOR ALL OF YOUR REVIEWS. I LOVE THEM! LOVE THEM! *HUGGLES ALL OF HER REVIEWS AND HANDS ALL REVIEWERS FLOWERS* I can’t believe how well this story went (for being such a bad story, with all the gay parts and whatnot) and I’m hoping that my next one—The Big Cheese (TBC)—will do at least half as well! It’s more comedy than this one, I think...this one was just a “Let’s get in the water and test it” thing…yeah. So every reviewer out there who reviewed and every person who read it and liked it, THANK YOU. ^_____^ I am dedicating this story to...EVERYONE! And TBC should be out soon. ^_^

Disclaimer: I do not own the New York Times! :) I just used it to make it sound more official. I also don’t own…uhm…*looks for other unowned stuff* anything else that is referring to reality.  U-Haul, too! Any relation to real people (or names or something) is purely coincidence and is not because I’m a stalker or something! _;