Jonathan would like to be in a film.
I take it back. But it seems so much like how he’d want to live his life, like some kind of badass, but really he’s just an opportunist. It’s obvious that he’s trying to be something he isn’t. I can tell that he realizes what he’s doing. I mean, he lives with his parents, who are raking in the cash, but he still does all the things he does for cash.
Indeed.
It seems seedy, sketchy. I really want to mess with him. What do we do to mess with a guy like Jon-Jon?
It will not require a whole lot of effort.
Jon-Jon lives in the guesthouse, all by himself. There is no need to even go inside the main house, even though I kind of want to. But he lives in the guesthouse, which is only three rooms, including the common area.
Of course, when I see him he’s counting money. He’s counting money even though he’s already counted it more than a few times. Look at him, counting money just because he likes counting it. What kind of guy are you? I want to ask him.
“I watched you sleep last night. I made you stop breathing for one whole minute…” I whisper into his ear.
He jumps up, money going everywhere.
“Shi-shit. Hunter. Y-you — what are you doing?”
So he’s scared. You’re right. That was easy.
I ask him, “Why do you think you can be some gangster or something?”
He can barely look at me. Jon-Jon’s looking for a weapon. He’s walking away from me, and it’s clear that he sees me as a monster.
I’m a monster, why?
“How about a beer?” I ask him.
“Sure,” Jon-Jon stammers.
I won’t be where he thinks I am when he gets to that knife.
He looks around. The knife in his hand makes it easy to notice that he’s trembling.
“You scare easy.”
He hears me, but he can’t see me.
I think I’m getting used to this haunting stuff. It’s true that it’s hard for people to not notice you when they’re absolutely freaked the crap out. Maybe they’re just intimidated. Either way, it really gets people looking. It gets people in a state where they can’t just turn you down as something they don’t care about.
And then I ask him, just because it feels right, “Where’s my beer?”
He keeps a whole fridge full of stuff. He’s always got a cooler somewhere.
“Then a smoke? Can’t a loyal bud get a smoke?”
He grows plenty under one of those lamps in that closet, the one near the entrance of the guesthouse. The door to the closet opens on its own. He turns and looks, which gives me time to steal the knife from him.
“Shit…”
I tell him, “No knives.”
He’s thinking, “Where the hell are you?”
He’s thinking, “How is this possible?”
He’s thinking, “Why isn’t he dead yet?”
Because Jon-Jon figured I wouldn’t last, right? He figured I’d end up like the rest, totally brain-dead. Like, just a body and no one else.
Indeed.
But how much of that is true?
It is accurate, in parts.
Which parts?
Consider this — if they banished me back to the kingdom, wouldn’t you follow?
Yeah, I think so. I mean, I’d be afraid, but I wouldn’t want to live without you around.
Indeed. And vice versa.
So he figured I’d be done, finished.
This is where I walk right up to him and ask, “How much of a gangster are you, on a scale of one to ten, ten being a crime lord?”
No answer. He just stands there, trying to hold it all together. He looks right at me, eyes wide, a single tear forming in his left eye.
I watch as it runs down his face, and then I answer for him: “Two. At best.” I shake my head. “I’m Hunter, who are you?”
Not saying anything. He’s scared stiff and shaking.
“Jon-Jon?” I shake my head again. “You’re just like anyone else, but you just think you’re bigger, more important.” I dangle the knife he was going to use on me in front of his face. “I mean, really? You were going to attack me? Like some kind of monster?”
I drive the knife into one of the couch cushions.
“That’s not meant for anybody.”
And then I tell him. I tell him everything you’ve told me. I tell him about his future, about how he’ll keep riding out that idea of being some kind of dealer, some kind of gangster, some kind of self-proclaimed badass or something. I tell him about how he’s racking up the enemies.
“I’m one of them. Big surprise, I know. But I am. I’ve always hated you.”
He’s turning people against him, secretly. Only reason they’re not lashing out and just ruining him is because of all the dirt and money he has on them. He gets us all warped around this idea that he might be powerful, able to really ruin us. But what’s he doing? He’s not doing anything.
He can’t do a thing.
Jon-Jon is just an idea. Nowhere near being alive. Can’t be alive if living takes some degree of care.
“You don’t care,” I tell him. “You won’t care at all unless you’re forced to, like, care to get out of what’s happening here!”
Let’s get out of here. I can’t stand the sight of him. He’s the one who looks completely insane. He’s like this impossible idea that
somehow exists just because so many people pretend that it’s real. Like a crackpot theory that continues to go around from circle to circle because it’s, I don’t know, somehow believable to people with a certain kind of mind-set.
I mean, I guess.
He’s just a guy, and a guy not really worth knowing. He owes me a lot, but I’m not even going to bother. Unless you want to mess with him?
I’d rather not.
Yeah. He’s not worth a damn. I said no to people who made me want to be less like myself when I dumped Becca. I’m saying no a second time.
People like Jon-Jon are the real demons.
I’m just tired of being something I’m not. You know?
I know well.
Yeah. You and me, we’re the same.
You know I really want to. I know you think it’s not worth it and that it’s just because it’s her — Nikki Dillon — that I want to see. Just a glimpse though. You never do that, do you? You never just take a peek?
I don’t follow.
Guess not. It’s, well… anyway, you got to know that I’m interested for more than just that. I just want to see what the real Nikki is like. I’ve always had a crush on the girl. From a distance, she seems perfect. But then I found out that she’s more like everyone else. But part of me just wants to be able to see, you know? I mean, I’m fine if you don’t want to go, but maybe I need this just for closure. She was the reason I liked being haunted.
Stupid, I know.
It was before people started showing their true colors and stuff.
No reason not to, given that we’re already outside her front door. But then should we be, like, more covert about it? Spy agent style or something? Should it be straight haunting? Huh?
I know, I know. It’s up to me. But help me out. Be a friend. Am I scary enough to her without all the haunting and stuff?
It appears as though standing at her door for an inordinate amount of time would be enough of a fear-inducing proposal.
Ah, shit, fine. I’m ringing the doorbell. Here goes nothing.
I’m still nervous. After all that’s happened, I’m still so fucking nervous. I could be shaking, I’m so nervous. I don’t even know. Am I shaking?
Yes. You are shaking. Stop shaking.
I’m trying. She’s not answering.
She’ll answer.
But she’s not really answering. I bet it’s because she sees me at the door.
Ring the doorbell again.
Okay.
This looks pretty creepy, just standing here. That’s kind of the point though, yeah? I guess I’m sort of hoping she’s different when she’s not surrounded by people. Like Brad and everyone else — kind of hoping it’s like, “Hey, you’re actually not a coldhearted bitch.”