One cut up, one cut down, Franky would repeat in his head--one cut up, one cut down, deep inside his guts are found.

And with his bare fingers, he scooped out the insides of a fish he’d caught in the creek. It was dark in the hospital closet, and the single dim light bulb didn’t help much with his incisions. Usually a chef or fisherman wouldn’t care much about precision when it came to gutting meat, but if Franky could cut just right--

Suddenly the closet door opened, shooting bright light onto the glistening scales of Franky's work. He quickly hid it behind his back, replacing it with a bottle of glass cleaner. He had been shadowing a surgeon in their area, Doctor Delaney Mildred, who was standing in the doorway. She lowered her mask to smile at Franky, whose face had become a guilty red.

“What’s the matter, hon?” Dr. Mildred said in her motherly tone that Franky loved. He brought his shoulders to his cheeks and glanced away.

“I wanted to clean the patients’ windows…they’ve been getting dirty in the rain and I wanted them to be able to see clearly outside…if I’m able…” he said shyly.

“Of course you can. No breaking and entering again, okay?” 

Dr. Mildred chuckled, but Franky broke into a cold sweat when he heard it--no, he hadn’t done anything wrong, only getting into patients’ rooms while they were asleep on his first days. Dr. Mildred had corrected him and told him not to enter the rooms when they were locked, serious at the time, but she joked about it ever since. Franky laughed along, even though he didn’t find it funny…and his heart raced at the thought of breaking into a patient’s room when he wasn’t supposed to. He felt horribly guilty even if he never meant to in the first place.

“I won’t, I promise,” Franky said, trying to bring a smile onto his face. Dr. Mildred patted his shoulder with a small, gloved hand.

“I know,” she said, before leaving the closet. The heavy door swung shut without her interference. Franky held the leaking fish back up to his face, examining its dead features, before throwing it into a spare bucket, putting on a new pair of gloves, and getting his cleaning supplies as he’d promised.

Slide up, slide down, Dick repeated to himself as he looked closely at the waffle machine. Slide up, then down, now it’s nice and round.

Despite his childhood memories being tanked with his first computers and their wide variety of tasks, Dick was never good with technology. He was able to run a music player just fine, but when it came to things like cars and sewing machines and batter mixers, he would look at all the buttons and dials and his mind would get fogged up. The rhyme was taught to him by his manager, Lara, who was mostly well-meaning, but her temper got the best of her at times. 

And the same was for Dick--he had lived in Waverly Hills all his life and all his life he hated it. The smell of the ancient factory that originally brought people to live there, a meat factory that smelled like rotten bologna and salami and cold fatty pork; summers were worse since the humidity and heat would accentuate the smell, and every time he and Franky wanted to play outside as kids went to waste. Trampolines broke, basketballs popped, chalk wore out, baseballs got lost and jump ropes got busted. It wasn’t any better now since playing hopscotch and baseball wasn’t a viable option if Dick and his roommates wanted to live.

So there he was, at a Waffle House making minimum wage pretending he was saving up for anything important. He and Franky would always promise each other they would grow up and leave, move to Chicago or Nashville or anywhere, because anywhere was better than where they were. But they had just moved into a house in the same rusty old town they were born in, and there was nowhere else to go from there; going to college to find something greater only meant decades of debt they’d die for or never pay. 

Dick turned when he heard someone walk through the restaurant doors. Two girls, one dressed in bright neon colors and another wearing only black and white, entered. He turned to lean on the counter as they sat down, nodding as a greeting. It was hard to muster words when his mind was so full all the time, so he tried not to talk as much as he could. Otherwise he’d sound completely silly.

“Can we get some coffee?” the monochrome girl said, in a low voice. Dick nodded and turned to the coffee machine to pour two mugs for the girls. He set them down in front of them--the grey girl drank hers immediately with no disdain for the temperature, while the colorful girl poured cream and sugar into her mug until it was almost white. She blew on it before she drank it.

“Do you talk?” the greyscale girl said, cocking her head at Dick. Dick sighed.

“Can I get you anything to eat?” he said, his voice quiet. 

“A couple waffles,” she replied. The neon girl chimed in, raising a hand decorated with rings and bracelets.

“Could I get chocolate chips in mine?” she said. Dick nodded, turning back towards the machines. He could hear the two girls whispering to each other, but couldn’t make out their words, even in the otherwise silent building. After a few moments, one of the girls spoke up.

“You look really familiar,” the black and white one said. “What’s your name?”

Dick paused. He couldn’t even get himself to glance back at the girls. Covering his eyes with his hair and his face with his hood meant the townsfolk wouldn’t typically recognize him--yet those who spent their time in dark, curtain-drawn bedrooms watching gory sitcoms saw right through his disguise. With a slight turn of his head, he could finally muster his own name. 

“Why?” he asked. “Who are you thinking of?”

The girls exchanged a glance.

“You know…Fitzsimmons,” the grey girl said. “The serial killer. Your hair…”

Dick gave a shallow sigh through his nose. He took the waffles out of the fryer and placed it in front of the girls, who were smiling at Dick. “You’re his son,” the colorful girl said in awe. Dick shrugged, wondering if he should tell the truth or lie to avoid all the questions.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” he said. 

“You don’t know Jeff Fitzsimmons? He killed six people here,” the grey girl said, her smile fading. “So…you’re not Richard?”

“It’s Dick,” Dick said, turning away, “And no. I’m not.”

The girls giggled with each other, and Dick brushed through his hair to make sure it was covering his eyes. But the girls saw, and the grey one reached forward to try to remove his fringe. He wanted to move away, not only because he didn’t want them to reveal his identity, but also because he didn’t want a stranger to touch him or his hair. She did anyway, and Dick’s green eyes and hook nose and dimples were uncovered. The girls reared back in shock before they started to smile again. Dick couldn’t tell the novelty of it. His father was a serial killer, and so what? He didn’t want anything to do with Jeff Fitzsimmons, and he never did. Why try to live up to a man who hated him more than the people he killed, and died for those exact crimes? He knew he could be better than that.

“It’s nice to meet you,” the colorful girl said. “I’m Tabitha, and this is Cynthia. But you can call us Tabby and Cindy.”

“No! No, no one calls me Cindy. That’s not real,” Cynthia said. Dick leaned against the wall watching Tabby drench her chocolate waffle in syrup, and Cynthia eat hers plain with her hands. “But yeah, sure, it’s cool to finally see you around. I wasn’t expecting you to be working at Waffle House. More like…somewhere other than, you know, North Dakota,” Cynthia continued.

“Where else would I go?” Dick said, cocking his head towards the floor. He sighed again. “Don’t get too excited. It wasn’t as cool as you think it was.”

“What do you mean? Won’t you tell us about your dad?” Tabby said. 

“What do you want to know?” Dick replied. Cynthia and Tabby glanced at each other again.

“What are you willing to say?” Cynthia said.

“Hmm…not much,” Dick replied. He gave a slight smirk as he crossed his arms over his chest, and rested one foot on top of the other. “It’s best if you figure it out on your own.”

“But talking to relatives is the first thing we always do! They’re first-hand sources, right here,” Tabby said.

“Don’t you think it’s a little weird to obsess over serial killers from your hometown?”

The girls looked at each other, then shrugged.

“Nope. Everyone is,” Cynthia said. “You’d think it would move people away, but it only draws them in. You know there’s an entire cult dedicated to the maniacal, right?”

“Not at all.”

“Fitzsimmons was a part of it.”

Dick paused again. He tried not to give it too much thought--a secret cult wasn’t entirely out of his father’s style, but…it wasn’t really something he’d do either. 

“Well, then you officially know more about him than me,” Dick said. He breathed in slightly, giving their evil cult a moment more. He’d never heard of a cult in town, but for their population and situation, there surely was a lot of crime within the gates. “But…just out of curiosity…what’s this cult you’re talking about?” he said.

“Only if you swear not to tell any outsiders about it,” Cynthia said. “I wouldn’t normally do this, but you’re a Fitzsimmons, so I’m assuming I’m obligated to.”

“Alright. Fine.”

“It’s the Valian’s Cult. We’re led by the only demon on earth. Well…the only evil demon, that is. We commit crimes in his likeness. Most of us are in it for Ted, but some entirely focus their time to revenge on the people in this town that made our life hell. We love both, and so does Ted. He’s…the leader, by the way,” Cynthia said. “I’m sure they’d love it if you joined. We could always use more…established members like you around. They talk about your father all the time. If you joined, you’d be the talk of the whole delinquent body.”

Dick cocked his head. A demon? Here? His first thought was that these girls were delusional, thinking some random guy was really a dark angel from hell. He probably just wanted to wreak havoc and have all of his minions join in. He didn’t deny that the cult existed secretly beneath the concrete, but he didn’t believe that their leader was all-powerful. Although, it was kind of sweet: the idea of someone, let alone an entire cult, worshipping him as if he were a supernatural being with devastating powers…

“No thanks. I’m not really into that kind of stuff,” Dick said. “You guys really think Jeff is that great?”

“Not greater than Ted, no,” Tabby chimed in. “Ted has claimed countless souls, with Jeff only having six…he definitely came from Ted’s underworld, but he’s not Ted. He’s just one of Ted’s many followers that died for all of us. Isn’t that awesome?”

“And I’m assuming this cult is responsible for Waverly Hills’...uh…crime issue?”

“Not entirely, but most of it,” Cynthia said with a mouthful of waffle. “They hate the way this town is run, and they hate that they can’t escape it. This place breeds hatred, evil, and packs of nobodies who might as well die in the grand scheme of things. With no impact on the world, they perish with no legacy. So what’s the harm in breaking a few windows? Might as well put a mark on their name. Tabby and I have never killed anyone--it’s an impressive feat for a Valian, usually--but we’re working up to it. We’ve done a multitude of other things, too. Like the window thing, and robbing the diner, and the gas station, and the nursing home, and…”

Dick’s thoughts started to drown out Cynthia’s words. The cult members she’d described lived Dick’s exact life. If the only thing Dick was known for was Jeff’s crimes, then what was the point of trying to be anything better? There was one thing he could do--not be better, but to be worse. Six people wasn’t that many, right?

“Where is this place?” Dick asked once Cynthia was done rambling.

“Just down Elm Street. It’s a regular house--sizable, yellow. We meet in the basement every Tuesday before we go out and play the game. Why? Do you want to play?” 

A cynical smile crept onto Cynthia’s face. Dick shrugged.

“Sounds kinda fun,” he said, trying to appear nonchalant. The girls looked at each other, and grinned.

“Great! Make sure you go to Lupita and sign up first. We’ll see you there on Tuesday,” Cynthia said. Tabby reached out to shake Dick’s hand.

“They’ll be so excited to see you!” she said. Dick rolled his eyes, but deep down, he smiled. They’d be more excited to know how far he was willing to go--not for Ted the demon, but for himself.