Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7. To recap: Sebastien Van Der Miles was attacked by his brother, Miles Van Der Miles, who was abducted and brainwashed by a masked individual. After that, Miles was taken to the hospital where he was diagnosed with amnesia. Meanwhile, Detective Bryan Mantis has been investigating the deaths of Helga, Powell, Stacy, and Kreezy, with his new partner, The King of Europe. The two have concluded it is the work of a serial killer. Bryan also mistakenly believes his turtle, Rupert, to have passed away.
“Will he ever recover, doc?” screamed Sebastien as he cradled his Brother Miles’ head, trying to wish away the amnesia.
Dr. Carlo sighed deeply and murmured, “I’m afraid not. I’m afraid this is a terminal case of amnesia. He’s just going to keep forgetting more and more until one day he forgets how to breathe.”
Sebastien cried out in pure anguish and kissed his brother’s forehead.
“I’m afraid all you can do now,” Dr. Carlo whispered fearfully as she put a hand on Sebastien’s shoulder, “Is take him home and make him as comfortable possible.”
Sebastien sobbed and lifted up his brother who met his eyes with a vacant stare. A single tear rolled down Miles’ cheek, as if he remembered his baby brother for one single second before that memory, like so many others, was gone in the night like all of the beautiful stars in the black night sky.
“I’ll always love you,” cried Sebastien as he stroked Miles’ face.
“Who are you?” asked Miles, all inklings of recognition gone.
Manuel opened the door to his small duplex and sighed deeply.
Another day at the office, he sighed. He deposited his daily earnings into an envelope and put the envelope into the mail chute. He was sending it back to his family in Brazil. His sister had no legs and he and his family had been saving up for a medical procedure to fasten two or three on. They’d even contacted the best doctor in Brazil, Dr. Mengele, to do the procedure. With Manuel’s current salary they’d be able to afford the procedure in two or three years.
Manuel was happy to be home. He walked into his living room and sat down on his huevos rancheros. He was almost nodding off to sleep when a giant thunderclap illuminated the entire room and Manuel saw, quite starkly, what was written on his wall in what appeared to be blood: KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT.
Bryan Mantis was walking along the Golden Gate Bridge high as hell and thinking about jumping in when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a green neck he hadn’t seen in a long time. He dropped his syringe and sprinted towards what he had been seen.
“No! It can’t be! Is it?” screamed Bryan in delight.
Bryan squeed in glee as his long-lost turtle, Rupert, leapt into his arms and the two hugged.
The King of Europe strode into Bryan’s office and screamed, “Bryan, I’ve got a lead!”
“A lead into finding out the identity of the serial killer?” Bryan murmured, “Add it to the evidence board.”
Bryan motioned to the evidence board which, at this moment, was haphazardly covered in pictures of the Van Der Miles photos and obscenities written in red marker.
“This is big, Bryan!” screamed the King of Europe.
“Well, what is it?”
“I was going over the dossier to the Van Der Miles family and two names stuck out—Kendra Von Puter and Nolan Tracktenberg III.”
“Yeah, they’re brother and sister, so what?”
“But Bryan, Von Puter and Tracktenberg are different names!”
“Jesus Christ!” screamed Bryan so loudly the upstairs tenants became very grumpy and considered coming down to say something but decided it wasn’t worth the confrontation.
“That’s right, Bryan, there’s only one reason why a brother and sister would have different surnames—only if the sister, only if Kendra were already married.”
Vanderbilt Von Puter crouched down in the bushes and looked back through his binoculars at the Van Der Miles estate. He was looking through into the sixth-floor atrium where he could clearly see his long-lost Kendra embracing her new fiancée, Sebastien.
Vanderbilt cringed in disgust.
He pulled his iPhone 3GS out of his pocket and dialed Kendra. Through the binoculars he watched Kendra pick up her phone and let out a merciless cackle. She showed the phone to Sebastien who, as well, cackled. Together, they through the phone out the window and Vanderbilt watched it sink down into the moat below.
A single tear rolled down Vanderbilt’s cheek. He pulled a sleeve of oreos out his pocket and tried to eat away his pain.
It didn’t work.
Bryan and the King of Europe had forgotten about the case and were playing paddle ball when Dr. Carlo burst into their shared office.
“Monte, old friend! How are you doing?” asked Bryan sincerely.
“Great Bryan,” began Dr. Carlo, “But I don’t have time to chit chat. It’s very important.”
“Please, continue,” implored Bryan.
“First of all, I knitted this tiny deerstalker cap for Rupert in case the top of his head gets cold.”
Rupert who, in case you forgot, was a turtle, waddled over from his pillow and put on the cap. He smiled at Dr. Carlo to show how much he appreciated the gesture and then went back to sleep.
“Secondly,” continued Dr. Carlo, “I have some concerns about the Miles Van Der Miles diagnosis.”
“Please continue,” begged the King of Europe.
“Well, I was under severe pressure from higher-ups to get Miles out the door as soon as possible. I said it was amnesia, but I’m not so sure. He’s missing some of the tell-tale signs of amnesia—metallic taste in the mouth, gastrointestinal displacement, and polio. I think it might be something else.”
“Well what could it be?!” screamed Bryan.
“I’ve seen similar patients, coming in all vacant-like. Pretending to be amnesiacs but knowing exactly what they’re doing. You know what was wrong with those patients?”
“They’d been brainwashed.”
Sebastien pulled a picture out of his pocket and showed it to Miles. It was of the two of them as boys down by the docks, playing.
“Do you remember this, Miles? We were so happy that day,” whispered Sebastien, lost in thought, “This was the best day of my life.”
“No! I remember nothing!” yelled Miles facetiously.
“Brainwashed?!” screamed Bryan.
“Yes,” Dr. Carlo continued, “The beta waves of Miles’ brain have abnormalities that suggest physical alteration.”
“That’s science,” agreed Bryan.
“Now, I don’t even know if I’m entirely correct, but there’s the chance that a nefarious individual or individuals have programmed Miles to complete some task. Maybe at the sound of a trigger or something.”
“Jesus Christ!” screamed Bryan.
“That’s right Bryan. The whole family could be in danger.”
“Well most of the family is dead at this point. Helga, Powell, Kreezy, etc.”
“You’re not listening Bryan,” sighed Dr. Carlo as she turned on the television and pointed to channel one.
The television was showing live from a presidential rally where candidate Sebastien Van Der Miles was introducing his family and his butler, Manuel,
“This is happening live. Miles is there. I think whoever programmed Miles is going to trigger him on live television to assassinate the candidate, assassinate Sebastien.”
“That’s quite a logical leap,” scoffed Bryan.
“They’re going to have Sebastien assassinated to pressure congress to pass the new spending bill!”
“What are you basing this on?” asked Bryan, confusingly.
“It’s a Zionist conspiracy!” screamed Dr. Carlo.
Man, this got uncomfortable and a little racist real fast, thought Bryan.
“Fine, I’ll check it out. But only as a favour.”
Jesus Christ¸ Bryan thought as he sprinted out of the room.
“Hey Press!” yelled Sebastien, “This is my brother Miles!”
Sebastien wheeled his brother Miles onto the stage to the gleeful jeers of the press core.
“And this is my butler, Manuel!”
Manuel walked out and stared uncomfortably.
“And this is my favorite gun!” yelled Sebastien as he pulled a gun out of his pocket and showed it to the press core. They “oohed” and “ahhed” appropriately. Sebastien was trying to score points in Southern America, where Boehner was still competitive in the polls.
Sebastien handed the gun to Miles and used both of his arms to simulate that he was raising the roof and then jumped up and down a few times (as politicians are known to do at rallies). He then turned to the press core and asked, “Any questions?”
Bryan sprinted down eighty-fourth street as fast as he could.
“I’m running out of time!” he screamed to no one in particular. He’d been listening to the rally on his Apple EarPods so, with their pristine audio quality, Bryan could tell everything that was happening just like he was in the room. He knew Sebastien had already got to the gun-showing part of his speech.
Just then, Bryan finally arrived at the basement suite the rally was being held and he kicked in the door. He pushed through the press and rushed to the stage. Bryan could dimly see that Sebastien was standing beside Manuel and Miles, demonstrating to the press just how many nuts he could eat.
“STOP!” screamed Bryan at the top of his lungs.
Unfortunately, the word “stop” seemed to trigger something in Miles and a malicious gaze glazed over his eyes. He picked up the gun Sebastien had handed him earlier, turned off the safety, turned to Sebastien, laughed maniacally, and then proceeded to shoot Manuel several times and then turn the gun on himself as Sebastien looked on in pure mortal anguish.