I managed to ignore Peatrice’s shit for the rest of my run back to the hotel room. After being confronted with several minutes of silence, he got tired of making snide remarks and silenced himself. Alone, sort of, I proceeded to tear off the clothes I was in and changed into the most comfortable set of clothes I bought from Arjeanne’s. 

Dressed, and not wanting to be confronted with the barrage of surreal sensations that would come with a shower, I decided to head to bed then and there. Wrapping myself into a cocoon of warmth made from two blankets and a comforter. Unfortunately, with my mind muddled from the events of the past two days, and my new body still thriving with energy despite having not eaten anything since I got it, sleeping was an impossibility for me. With a groan, I escaped my cocoon. 

With nothing to do, or nothing I wanted to do, I spent my time looking outside the window, gazing at the festive collection of Christmas themed decorations as they illuminated the snow-covered cityscape. It was a pleasant sight. A reminder that outside my world, outside the chaos that my existence has devolved into, people were still striving, and still celebrating something. And why wouldn’t they? The people here knew nothing of Oransen. They did not know anyone related to the terrorist attack was in their midst, so why would they choose to forego their merriment? I forced myself to look at these lights, focusing on them and nothing else until, finally, I was met with the blissful emptiness of slumber. 

When I woke up, I turned to a clock radio that read 5:56. With December 21st already a fourth of the way through, and my flight was in three hours, I figured I should get ready. Though, for me, that meant I slapped some soapy water on my face before switching to a black sweater with some regular old blue jeans. I thought about doing something more, but if Peatrice’s words were to be believed, I did not need to worry about grooming or taking care of myself anymore. 

After putting on my bear jacket yet again, snagging my purse, and grabbing my box of clothes, I checked out of the hotel and began to walk to the airport. Which, thankfully, was only about three kilometers away. A long walk, but also a quiet one. It was an early Sunday morning, so the sidewalks were barren and the only vehicles on the streets were plows clearing off the streets from last night’s light snowfall. 

As I looked over the plows, I could not help but wonder what the drivers thought as they looked to the side and saw me. A shockingly tall young woman wearing a childish-looking coat made to resemble a bear, carrying a banker’s box, walking around when it’s negative five degrees celsius outside. It was embarrassing, certainly, but with all the worry and uncertainty that I would not have answered until I returned home wracking my brain, I did not really care. 

Not wanting to be late, I deferred to Peatrice for directions, but that also meant I had to tolerate his usual barrage of snide and sexual comments. For every instance of aid he encouraged me to do something obscene. Like fucking a child in the airplane bathroom and then shoving the remains down the toilet shoot. Or saying that I should hijack the plane and crash it to continue ‘Abi-Q’s saga of chaos.’ It was all familiar trite that I did my best to phase out, and the same can be said about the flight as a whole. Checking in, boarding the flight, getting my baggage, and even hailing a cab. It all blurred together in my mind, and I’d rather gloss over it. I went to an airport, got on a plane, arrived at another airport, and then paid a man to drive me to Oransen. It was pretty dull.

Eventful happenings only resumed around 15:40. Not wanting to arouse suspicion, I had the taxi driver drop me off at a park near my house. A common play place for Maxxie and I when we were younger. I sighed as I exited the vehicle and took a moment to bask in the sight of the park before me. 

Not unlike Funke, winter had taken its hold on Oransen, coated darn near everything in a sheet of white, of snow and ice, and this playground was no exception. It had not been touched since the last snowfall, allowing the structures to resemble a beautiful white ruin that filled me with serene memories of childhood innocence with the ones I loved. Maxxie, Zoe, Shiaka, Terra, and I all visited this park the past summer, but that felt almost like a lifetime ago. Especially after what happened these past two and a half days… 

I had several nervous breakdowns, nearly killed two people who tried to rape me, and learned that I’m now an immortal, in addition to being in a body different from my own in nearly every way imaginable. But now… now this journey was over. I would finally learn whether my friends were dead. Something I could have probably figured out beforehand, by checking updated death records or something, but… I wanted to learn it firsthand. I wanted to hear the truth from someone I could trust. My mother. My lovely, caring, nurturing, and amazing mother. A woman who I really owe everything to. A woman who never gave up hope, never gave up on me, and wanted my life to be as best as it could be. 

With my home only five blocks away, I began dashing through the suburb of Oransen as I made my way to my home. It stood with darkened windows, giving me the slight impression it was unoccupied, or that the person inside simply wanted privacy. After taking a deep breath, I rang the doorbell, listened to the familiar chime and… nothing.

I knocked, but there was no response. I called out for her— for Caroline Steticks— but nobody came to the door. With a groan, I moved around to the backyard of my home, covered in glistening, untouched snow, and illuminated ever so slightly from the nearby streetlights.

Peatrice: So, how are you going to get in, momma’s boy? You gonna break a window or something? 

“No, Peatrice,” I dryly said, likely resembling Abigale Quinlan more than I had intended.” My family buried a key to the back door in case of emergencies. I just need to dig it out and I’ll be set.”

Peatrice: Practical, Jad. Practical and discrete. Go grab yourself a cookie when you get back in. And you don’t gotta worry about it going to that dynamite butt of yours. Y’know, you really ought to sit back more and think, ‘Fuck, dawg. This body of mine is great. I get all the perks of being a girl and I can eat an entire chocolate cake without gaining a gram.’

I huffed in response as I dug near a bush in my backyard, dirtying my gloveless hands as I clawed at the snow and into the frozen earth. It took several minutes for me to find this buried chunk of brass, but I found it. 

With the key in hand, I made my way to the back door and was finally back home. And… it was exactly as I remembered it. The same kitchen, living room, stairwell, et cetera. Whatever feeling of homesickness I had been repressing had been remedied, and some of the anxiety I had been carrying around had torn away from my being.

I placed my box down near the back door before kicking off my shoes and looking around the house. Everything that should have been here was there… except for my mother. She was not on the ground floor and her car was still in the connected garage. I opened the front door and realized the walkway had not been shoveled, and it lacked any footprints. The coat rack was also undisturbed, with her shoes and her coat the same place they always were, right next to my light jacket and boots. Two articles of clothing I would never properly fit into again… 

I then decided to pick up the kitchen phone and dial my mother’s cell number, which I had committed to memory ever since I learned it at age seven. However, my call was sent straight to voicemail. It was comforting to hear her voice, but this was still incredibly discouraging to come so close… only for the goalpost to be moved out of sight.

Having exhausted most options, I made my way up the stairs, wondering if I would potentially find my mother in her bedroom. Instead, I found nothing, and… I had absolutely no idea where she could be.

“Great. Just great.” I muttered under my breath, trying to relieve some tension.

Peatrice: Meh, this isn’t that surprising.

“…Care to explain yourself, Peatrice?”

Peatrice: Lemme phrase it as a scenario, J-Dizzle. Woman’s son dies horribly and is vilified by society. Would the woman even want to stay in the same home in which she raised this sorry little turd? Fuck no! 

Peatrice: Sweet little Caroline’s probably been traumatized as hell, and she’s probably gotten to the point where she’ll never believe that you’re her little J-kun. I mean, you can try to convince her that you, some random tall brown-skinned lady, is actually her son. But do you think her brain can even process something like that? 

Peatrice: Shit, even if she does believe you, would she ever be able to look at you the same way again? Do you seriously think she could identify you as her child, that she could love you as a mother?

Peatrice: And what about your friends? Even if they managed to deny the fact that they saw Jad Novus kill over a hundred people, they won’t be able to forget it. Forget what they felt after the deed was done, after the blood was spilled. Because I’m not sure if they’ll ever feel comfortable around you ever again. Let alone trust you. 

Peatrice: Oh! But even if your special ones avoided trauma and buy your bullshit story, there’s still the fact that you’re a monster. An inhuman creature, indestructible, all-powerful, and a threat to all life. You can try to run away from it, but that’s the truth. 

Peatrice: Actually, here’s another truth for you! No matter what you do, no matter how you handle yourself, you are not strong, and you will never become strong enough to deal with being immortal. You will hurt others and inevitably become a psychopath in your own special way. You may think that’s impossible, but it’s only a matter of time, something you have plenty of, my dear Yahd-kun. Or maybe I should say Jade-chan. I mean, it’s about time to give up this retarded charade. About time to just let Jad Novus die, once and for all. And if you need help pulling the trigger, all you need to do is ask.

“…Peatrice.” I said, my voice simmering.

Peatrice: Yes’m?

“I expressed how much I despised you back at that restaurant, didn’t I?” I coldly reminded Peatrice

Peatrice: Oh, yeah, but you were just joshing me around… Right, little miss Quinlan?

“I was frustrated. But now, I’m past that. I’m through being angry at you. You know why? Because I despise you, I loathe you, and I am going to kill you.”

Peatrice: Ooh la la! The noble murder-and-sex-hating human being who I’ve been venturing with me is going to kill their closest companion. Like, O-M-G-W-T-F! Quit fooling around, numbnuts. You can’t kill me. You’re a wimp. A coward. A pussy. A classically trained cunt muffin. Somebody who’s too scared of their power to ever use it. Besides, you’re just proving my point if you kill me. Murder is like anything else; it’s a lot easier the second time around, third time even more so, and by the time you get to number seven thousand, it doesn’t even phase you. But if you want to accelerate your ascension into becoming Jade Quinlan, Abigale Quinlan’s shit successor— her ‘shitessor,’ I have one thing to say, and I know you’ve heard it before. ‘Just go for it!’

I knew this little shit was only trying to mess with my head. Even if there was some truth in his words, or some advice he could give me in the future, I was at my limit. I was going to kill Peatrice.

I went into the upstairs bathroom and removed the towels and rug, for I knew this was going to get messy. Before that, I needed a weapon to break open my head and break the chip that gave Peatrice the ability to communicate with me directly through my brain. I headed into the attached garage, where I found a musty, old, and thick metal hammer. It was dirty and had some greasy residue on it, but I didn’t care— it’s not like I could get an infection or anything. 

Upon returning to the bathroom, I began to strip myself, discarding my bear jacket and the clothes I had on underneath. In doing so, I caught a glimpse of my body, the naked body of a beautiful woman, and winced at the sight. I never wanted… this. I never wanted to see another woman naked. But now… I would see it for the rest of my life.

This realization steeled my conviction. I awkwardly shoved my tall frame in the tiny bathtub, but once I was most of the way there, I clenched the mallet. I was ready. I knew it would be messy, that it would hurt, and that I may regret this in the long run. But I didn’t care. I had already told myself that I would do this, and I refused to back down. I refused to let Peatrice win. 

Upon letting out a guttural yell, I swiftly bashed the tool against my forehead, causing a wave of pain to spread through my body. Before I could even fully register the agony I was going through, or see the blood seep from my forehead, I struck my head once more. Then another time. And another. And another. And I kept doing it as I heard my skull crack. As I felt the blood drip across my naked body. As I lost control of my limbs. And as I dipped in and out of consciousness. 

Time had no meaning as I wailed on throughout the dreadful process, a process that sent Peatrice into hysterics. His cackling and apparent joy inspired me to work through the pain. To tolerate the torment I was inflicting upon myself, knowing that there was a light at the end of this wretched tunnel, that I would soon be rid of him… forever.

…In my rage-fueled furor, I lost all awareness of my actions. Some time later, I regained consciousness and looked up to see my bathroom ceiling… stained with blood that dripped down onto my face. Despite everything I went through, I felt no pain. I moved a hand to my head, where I felt a now familiar head of hair drape down to my shoulders. I was unharmed. I was perfectly fine. And… I expected as much.

It was then that I chose to look down at the contents of the tub. It was painted red with my blood, with minuscule chunks of skin, brain, and skull mixed, creating a thin layer of a disgusting fleshy paste. I turned on the shower in an attempt to wash this filth away… and it did. The warm water that cascaded down on me, sending the stray bits of blood and flesh down the drain.

I stood underneath the stream for a while, taking a moment to relish in the consistent and droning sound of running water, hoping that I would feel cleansed after all of this. But it still felt wrong. The way the water caressed my body, reminding me of my new features. It… it saddened me. 

This was how showers would feel. This is how… everything would feel. Nothing would be the same, and this… was my new normal. The breasts, the hips, the ass, the smooth legs, and being so damn tall that I couldn’t even fit underneath my shower head anymore. 

“Peatrice, are you there?” I asked after a few minutes of quiet.

I was met with silence.

I was relieved to be free of him, but in my haste to shower, I was unable to find what remained of him. The chip he existed within. Peatrice must have gone down the drain, where his remains would be filtered out from the urine and feces and discarded forever. It was a cruel punishment, one I had not intended, but I did not feel bad for him. He was a selfish and obnoxious being, one who cared only for his own amusement and viewed humans as little more than playthings. 

I felt I had done the right thing, but that doesn’t mean I felt good about it. Especially when there was so much I didn’t know about Abigale Quinlan. So much I didn’t know about… myself.