Jack Fantastic … And the Murder!

Hey, guys. I've been making a new website and putting up all the stuff I have done, and I found this unfinished story when I was 22 (6 years back).

I don't think you guys have ever seen it, but rereading it recently made this one of the few stuff that I am not embarrassed about. I'm been thinking of trying to continue it, but I want you to guys tell me what you think.

To describe what I'm been going for, think of a parody noir, where the story is sometimes purposely badly written in terms of narration.

Chapter One – The Phone Rings!

Somewhere in the world, there is a boy who poured petrol on a cat, and lit it on fire, and laughed while the feline danced around the room like a dancer who happened to be on fire, and also a cat. That boy doesn’t have anything to do with this story, but they say that a butterfly flapping its wings in Cambodia can cause a sand storm in Iceland, so maybe that boy has a lot to do with the events that unfolded. But I really doubt a cat on fire has anything to do with an alien that shoots little aliens out of its mouth (that also shoot smaller aliens out of their mouths, which goes for infinity), but these aliens also don’t exist in my story.

Maybe I should start by introducing myself. It was a Sunday, and I had just come home from doing stuff at some place that I went to, when suddenly! The phone rang. Using my hands, I picked up the phone. What could I say except “Hello?”. Well, I could say “Hi”, but I said “Hello”, since my social brainwashing had brainwashed me to say “Hello” instead of any other forms of greeting when answering the phone.

“Hello”, said a thick, mysterious voice, which came from my own mouth.

“Hello”, said the person on the other line. His use of “Hello” comforted me, because it made me realize that he was raised under the same culture that taught me to say “hello” instead of some other forms of phone greeting.

It was like we were already friends.

But then he said, “Is Jack there?” and my dreams of friendship came crashing down like a plane crashing into a tower.

“No”, said the thick, mysterious voice, which was mine, “You’ve got the wrong number.”

“Oh, sorry. I must have received the wrong number.”

“You must have.”, I answered sadly, with my mysterious and thick voice. “You must have”, I repeated with my mysterious and thick voice, which was starting to be filled with sadness.

I put the phone down, only to realize at the last second, that I was Jack.

But it was too late.

Or was it?

It was.

Chapter Two – The Phone Rings…Again!

12:00 AM. I cannot sleep. The numbers on my alarm clock blink like a child that has got sand in his eyes. Who could it have been on the phone? Was it a psychotic killer who wanted to cut my body into neat pieces so he could make a jigsaw puzzle out of me, and then reassemble them into me again in his free time, because of a traumatizing incident involving jigsaws and his parents' death?

12:00 AM. I still cannot sleep. My mind rushes back to the phone again, and its enigmatic caller. Maybe it was a long lost brother? Or a long lost sister? No, that could not have been, since the caller had a male voice. Unless it was a sister I once had, and then lost (long ago), who then had a sex change to escape her brother who would rape her. It made sense, but that would mean I also had a long lost brother who would rape her. Could I deal with a rapist for a brother, a transsexual for a sister, and an ex-prostitute with a heart of gold for a mother? No, I couldn’t. None of it could be true anyway. I couldn’t imagine my mother having a heart of gold, literally or figuratively.

12:00 AM. I turned around. Time did not seem to pass, as I rest in my resting haven. I closed my eyes, trying to fool my body into thinking it was sleeping, but it did not work. I didn't think it would.

12:00 AM. My thoughts were still on the mysterious caller, when the phone rang. The ringing of the phone smashed my thoughts to pieces like a gigantic titan going, "Rawwwrr!!", and then stepping on my thoughts.

12:00 AM. Who would call at this hour? I picked up the phone, clutching at that thing that is part of the phone where you speak into.

"Who is it?", I grunted.

It was...

"Listen, I'm sure this is Jack’s number..."

It was him! My specter of nightmares, my destroyer of dreams, my disturber of empty, stress-free thoughts. The caller from before!

I couldn't miss this chance. I had to find out who it was. I couldn't mess it up like last time.

"Do you know what time it is, dammit?"

The alarm clock blinked 12:00 AM at me, as if to say, "I'm with you, dude. Its late." in a very bad Californian accent, even though he's true accent was probably Japanese or Chinese or one of those countries where they eat dogs because they don’t know any better.

"It's 6:00 pm. Is it a bad time?"

So I was faced with a liar. I already knew more about him than he knew about me. Except for my name. He knew my name. The bastard.

"It's always a bad time." I grunted harder. Tougher. Manlier, yet with sensitivity to my grunt that would make others go, 'He is tough and manly, yet he can feel deep emotions.'

"Let's not play games. Are you Jack?"

It seemed that he wanted to play games.

"Depends.", I said with a wink, that he couldn’t see, unless he had a video camera attached in my house that was watching me like a sick pervert.

"Depends on what?"

"Depends on who you are looking for."

"I'm looking for Jack."

"I'm Jack."

"Good. I'm looking for you."

I had won this round.

"What do you want?” I grilled him.

"You're a P.I., right?"

"Depends. "

Our mental, imaginary swords clashed for the second time.

"Depends on what?"

"Depends on what P.I. stands for."

"Private Investigator."

And then there was a gulf between us.

"You've got the wrong Jack, friend. I'm no Private Investigator."

"Oh, sorry. I'll check again."

"You do that." I put the phone down.

You do that, friend.

I was no P.I.

I was just a Private Detective.

Chapter Three – The Visit!

I sat in a chair which was located in my office, which is a room in a building, and the building resides in a small city that has other cities surrounding it, and these cities are part of a country, of which, by bizarre coincidence, is also where I am from.

I looked at my right wrist to see what time it was, but then I realized that I didn’t wear a wrist watch, so I was forced to look at the wall clock, only to notice that I didn’t actually have an wall clock, and in a frenzied panic, I cast my eyes down, and noticed that I DID actually have a watch on my left wrist, and I calmed down. It was 7:30 pm. But what if I wasn’t wearing a watch? What then? I wouldn’t have known that it was 7:30pm, would I? It could have been any hour of the day, and this thought send a really cold shiver down some bone in my back, because it dawned on me that I had escaped a time-less eternity.

“Come in”, I said with a jump because the knock that came on my door two seconds before I said “Come in” really surprised me and made me jump.

The door opened and in came the person that would completely change my life forever. She was wearing black shoes, black the color of a black American or a black European, and possibly any other black person in the world. Her suit rested on her elegant body like a second skin, if the second skin is sort of like a suit on a person. She had an hourglass figure, although it was one of those hourglasses that are shaped like a pear, and it’s unlikely that there have ever been hourglasses like that, because it wouldn’t really make any sense to make something like that. Her eyes were the color of a brown-eyed person’s eyes. Her nose and lips were sensual and hard to describe. Her long beard and moustache were trimmed in a sexy fashion.

“Mr. Fantastic, I presume?” she said in a rough, almost masculine voice.

I shook her hand.

“And who might you be that I should presume?” I responded.

“I’m Douglas. Douglas Jones”

“Douglas. What a pretty name.” I said with a charming smile that had charmed many ladies in my day. And it’s still my day.

“…Uh, thank you. I think.” She responded.

“Well, what can I do for you, Dog?” I asked him

“I require your assistance on a matter, Mr. Fantastic. I tried calling you, but it appeared I had the wrong number.”

“You could have had the right number, and I might have the wrong house.” I told him wisely.

He looked at me in surprise and amazement, “Yes...that is right, sir. That is true, very true.”

“What do your require, Dog?”

“Well, Jack…”

“Please call me Jack.”

“Well, Jack, I have a wife, you see…”

“Congratulations, my good friend. When’s the wedding?”

“No, the wedding’s already over…”

“What? Why didn’t you invite me?”

“Uh…I didn’t really know you back then.”

“Well, you do know me now, don’t you? Why don’t you invite me now?”

“But the wedding is over.”

“And I wasn’t even invited. What a shame.”

I got up, and sadly walked around.

“But go on. Tell me. Continue your story, Douglas.”

He looked at his feet, as if fighting with his words, but one can’t fight with one’s own words, since that’s really not logically possible, so his fight had ended before it had even started. But he didn’t know that.

“I think my wife is cheating on me.”

“In what? Poker?”

“Poker?”

“No, I won’t. She’s your wife, for God’s sake.”

He got up, and walked towards me.

“Mr. Fantastic, I think…I think my wife is cheating on me. On our marriage, not a card game.”

“Ahhh.” I ahhed.

“The game of love. The worse and best game of all. The game were the stakes are the highest and the players the savagest.”

He nodded at my observation.

“Tell me,” I told him, “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to follow her and tell me if she is cheating on me and with whom.”

And that’s how it all started.