The Source of All Evil

Chapter One

Michaela Walker.

The room was like a dark abyss, and the stench that filled the air was unpleasant and overbearing. A person sat in front of a device, with their head between their arms, grunting from time to time. The small light of the device illuminated just bits of the room, the sound coming from it indicating that it was overheating.

This person didn’t seem to care, or probably was unaware, eyes tight shut, wailing inwardly that their mind seemed blank.

The weather didn’t help either. This year’s summer season was worse than the last. Michaela leaned back in her chair, glaring at the ceiling-fan while running her hand under her damp shirt. She let out a sigh, beating herself up for not being able to come up with an intriguing plot.

No one told her that after succeeding in debuting with a short story, the expectations would be higher and the same for the stakes. Her agent pressured her to write a novel, as soon as possible, to remain relevant. The more she waited, the smaller her fanbase would get, the fewer publishers trusted her work ethics.

She sat up, moving her damp bangs away from her face, scratching her head before reaching for an energy drink can from the tiny fridge beside her desk. She finished it in one gulp, tossing it behind her, and it disappeared within the clutter of clothes, cans, and boxes of half-eaten food on the floor.

She sighed once again, giving herself a pep talk as she rested her hands on the keyboard.

“Okay, focus, Michaela. First, let us think of the genre. It doesn't have to be romance. Maybe by determining the genre, you can come up with a plot to work with.”

Referring to herself in the third person was something she often did, especially when she was in her writer mode.

“But since the target audience is young adults, romance is the genre to go for. . . Ugh, how can you write a fricking romantic story when in your twenty-three years of life, you never had a romantic relationship?!”

She shrieked, tugging her hair. Ever she started writing, her favorite genre was historical fiction. Her debut book was about a female world-war-two spy who lost her team to a field of landmines, getting captured by the enemy when she was trying to reach the military camp. Living in entrapment, she realized how behind the enemy line was no different from her side beyond it, meeting people that changed her perspective, realizing that no side was evil. War was evil.

Though the book was a huge success, some of her readers thought it lacked something, which was romance. They pointed out how the military General of the enemy displayed a soft spot for the protagonist, showing in several chapters that he cared about her. Even when the protagonist died while defending innocent civilians from the military that nurtured her into the strong and resourceful spy she was, the General implied that the war to him just got personal.

Of course, others defended her work, saying that not adding romance to the story made it unique, more intriguing, focused on the cruelty of war and its effects on both sides.

But one critic, in particular, made fun of her lack of romanticizing edge, naming her a virgin with a simplistic mind. His words affected her so much and led to her loss of motivation. Whenever she wrote a line, she’d quickly delete it, feeling that it wasn’t of worth.

Her agent suggested that she should challenge herself in writing a romantic story. Easier said than done, Michaela thought. So here she was, days from the first moment she was set to work on her next book, still staring at the blank first page.

Her agent offered to help, but Michaela was too proud to consider her offer. She knew it was pitiful, and her agent’s last few words were implicative. If Michaela couldn’t turn up an intriguing book that outweighed the last one, the agent, for sure, would drop her.

Michaela wouldn’t be able to survive without an agent. She could write but was never outspoken. She wouldn’t be able to sell her work even if her life depended on it. The blog life was behind her, as traditional publishing opened her eyes to a new world.

“What the hell?!”

Michaela didn’t appreciate the surprise attack on her ears, glaring at the shrieking person who dared to walk inside her apartment uninvited. Only one person had spare keys to her place, and that was her best friend.

Her friend ignored her glare, switching on the light, almost blinding her. She then dramatically gasped; her blue eyes roamed the messy room, her face contorting as she started clearing up a way to the beast that was Michaela.

“What the heck is this mess? I’ve been calling you for days! Don’t you check your phone?!”

Michaela just closed her eyes, leaning on her desk, ignoring her fuming friend. She had lost track of time and material things, wallowing in self-pity.

“Oh my god! What the frick is this?!” Kirsten Green mumbled as she picked up a bag full of empty energy drink cans.

Michaela just shrugged, as for her this wasn't a big of a deal, squinting one eye open, watching her appalled friend. She had placed them in a bag, so it wasn't like she tossed them on the floor. Well, except for a few.

“This isn’t healthy, Michaela. Thank god your agent called me to check on you since you’re not returning her calls. . . That’s it! We’re heading out! You take a shower and fix that mess you call hair, while I tidy up this place.”

She wanted to argue back, as she wasn’t in a mood to head outside, especially under the scorching hellhole they called the sun. But she wasn’t making any progress, so changing pace might spark an idea for a plot. It'd be better than cowering in her apartment.

She lazily stood up, groaning when her limbs ached from sitting for hours on a wooden chair. She scratched her head, stumbling a little on her way to the bathroom.

The room looked decent once she finished taking a shower. Kirsten had cleaned up the trash, opened the curtains to her balcony for natural light to come in. Michaela could see her bedsheet and pillow cover among the dirty clothes in the laundry basket. Kirsten even took it in her own to lay out clean clothes for her to wear.

It was breezy outside, albeit was sunny, unlike inside her suffocating room.

“Where are we heading?” She asked, dragging her feet, following Kirsten to her car.

“Sisters Café,” Kirsten said, flashing a bright smile, as that small café was their favorite place to hang out. It had two things Michaela liked the most: coffee and books.

She just sighed, climbing inside the SUV, feeling dejected. The last thing she wanted to see was books, reminding her of her incompetence.

“Still can’t come up with an idea for your next book?”

“Don’t want to talk about it,” she said, sounding glum, leaning in the passenger seat.

Kirsten started the engine, driving off on the empty street, casting a glance at her. “Come on, let’s brainstorm together for an idea.”

When she didn’t get a reply, Kirsten added. “Let’s see. . . You can write about a woman who’s seeking revenge on the man who broke her heart. . . His name is Jason Fosters, a CEO of a publishing company. She focuses on her career, becoming a famous writer. . .”

“I’m not writing a story about myself and that jerk, Kirsten.” She cut in, narrowing her eyes at her friend.

Jason was a guy she had a crush on in high school. He somehow found out about her little crush and started bullying her; typical jerk. Michaela wasn’t an easy target, and she always fought back, losing that silly infatuation she had towards him. And when she went to university, thinking that she left that miserable high school life behind her, you guessed it. Jason Fosters was there along with his obnoxious posse, picking up where he left off, making her university years a living hell.

They hated her for being a scholarship student in their school of elites. They always made fun of how poor she was, though that wasn’t true. And when did being poor ever become an insult?

Michaela’s father was a famous archaeologist who unfortunately passed away during an excavation in uncharted territory in Morocco. He and her mother met during one of his excavations in the southern part of Morocco. Born and raised there, her mother worked as a part time tourist guide, which led to their meeting.

It was a classic story of love at first sight. After one year, they got married, her mother moved the States and became a real estate agent. Her clientele were high-class entrepreneurs, business owners, and even some royalty.

Though her mother had money to pay for her tuitions to any school, Michaela insisted on making it by her own efforts, studying hard, which earned her a scholarship to Evergreen Heights High School.

She didn’t mind that they thought she was poor and never intended to correct them, as being rich never mattered to her. But, of course, they didn’t like her carefree, indifferent attitude and her irritable personality, acting like a bunch of wealthy brats, making fun of her at any given moment.

Kirsten glanced at her for a moment, then back at the road, saying. “Come on. Revenge stories are the s**t these days.”

“Is it now?” Michaela slightly grinned. “It’s so cliché, don’t you think? Besides, Stella asked me to write a romantic story.”

“I know, I know,” Kirsten paused, opening her window and shouting at a man who crossed the street on a green traffic light, making her hit the breaks hard. “This i***t,” she grumbled, taking a right turn, resuming their talk like nothing happened.

Michaela was beyond amazed.

“I was getting there. When the main character finally meets Jason, they start arguing and getting back at each other, only to fall in love in the end.” Glancing at her friend’s unamazed expression, she added. “You’re a writer. You can come up with more ideas to add to the plot.”

Michaela let out a chuckle at that, sounding condescending as she said, “So, the main character is so foolish that she falls in love again with someone who broke her heart while seeking revenge?! What kind of a weak-ass woman would do something like this? I would’ve considered it, maybe, if the main character chased after the man who broke her heart, seeking revenge, with the support of her male best friend. She finally succeeded in making the man fall for her, courting for her love. She considers going back to him, but she then realizes that her best friend has feelings for her. Facing the difficult choice of getting back together with the man she loved and losing her best friend or giving the latter a chance.”

Kirsten exclaimed, liking the idea, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. “This sounds great! You see? You came up with a plot. . .” She trailed off, glancing at the sly grin that played on Michaela’s lips, she realized why this idea sounded familiar to her. “You’re not writing a story about me, asshole! I refuse!”

“It’s overdone, anyway.” Michaela shrugged. “So, did you decide on what to do?”

She noticed how Kirsten's expression hardened, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “I don’t know. I love Seth. He’s been good to me and puts up with all my craziness, you know? But I still have feelings for Carter.”

Michaela inconsiderately snorted, not liking how indecisive her best friend was. It was really simple. If she were in her position, she would’ve chosen Seth over that prick, Carter.

“It’s true that nice guys don’t get the girl in the end.”

A slight pout appeared on Kirsten’s lips, saying. “You think I should choose Seth?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. This is your life. You need to make a decision on your own. Think carefully about who makes you happy, secure, and loved. In the end, if you choose Carter, I’m certain Seth will still be there for you. He’s a good guy, after all.”

“So you think I should choose Seth,” Kirsten bit her lower lip, looking anxious. Michaela just stared at her, her lips forming a thin line. “Yes, Seth is a great guy. I felt flattered when he confessed to me about his feelings. And. . . And Carter apologized for what he’s done.”

“Oh, he apologized?!” Michaela feigned surprise. “Sorry, I didn’t know he apologized. That changes everything!”

“I don’t need your sarcasm right now. I need a friend.”

Michaela shifted in her seat to face her as Kirsten parked in front of the coffee shop. “Listen, Kirsten, I’ll say it for the last time. Carter cheated on you. He cheated on you for years. Do you think his apology means anything? If so, then there is nothing I can help you with.”

With that, she got out of the car and head inside the café. She didn't bother to wait for her friend. Michaela was livid, and she knew that this moment wasn’t about her, but it got too much for her to handle. She could clearly see it. Why Kirsten couldn’t? How could she be reluctant when one guy supported her and showered her with love, and the other betrayed her trust? Michaela just found Kirsten's way of thinking unfathomable.

She greeted Craig, their friend who worked at the café, choosing a secluded table to sit at. Kirsten soon followed, looking upset.

“I’m sorry that my love life is bothersome for you.”

Michaela placed her elbows on the table, glaring at the other. She knew she’d be blamed if she said anything, and she’d be considered cold-hearted if she didn’t say a word.

“The only bothersome thing is how stupid people get when it comes to matters of the heart. Bad guys are alluring and intriguing to most women, but you’re not most women, Kirsten. You’re smart, independent, strong, and stunningly beautiful. You know deep down who’s the right guy for you. I can’t decide for you, but if my opinion is what you seek, then you know who my choice is.”

“What’s wrong, girls?”

Kirsten gave Michaela the side-eye to keep quiet, but Craig was an intuitive guy, or perhaps he eavesdropped on their conversation.

“Is it about the whole team Carter versus team Seth thing?”

Michaela chuckled when Kirsten pursed her lips. Craig didn’t look discouraged, smirking as he pulled Kirsten into a side hug.

“Listen, darling. I can solve this dilemma. I’ll take Seth off your hands, so you don’t have to bother making a choice.” He didn’t look bothered by Kirsten’s silence, adding. “Unless if you want to be with Seth, then, believe me, I don’t mind getting it on with your man, Carter. My heart is weak for bad guys.”

He sighed dramatically, making Michaela laugh harder, loving how annoyed Kirsten looked. The latter still didn’t say a word, and Craig leaned down, smugly whispering in her ear, loud enough for Michaela to hear. “Or, you can forget about them and choose me, love.”

“Aren’t you gay?!” Kirsten stammered, her white porcelain cheeks tinted red, looking flustered.

Craig chuckled at that, pulled away, and took a seat next to her. “I’m a loving person. My whole body is shrouded with love. My duty is to share it with everyone.”

“You’re an i***t,” Michaela said, rolling her eyes at her silly friend, and he faked getting offended.

“No, no, you don’t understand, Mica. My duty in this world is to shower every living person with love.”

“Any living person?” Kirsten smirked when Craig nodded. “So, even that guy?”

Michaela looked at where she pointed, noticing a man in a weird get-up sitting at the table across from theirs. His look was disheveled, shaggy beard, and dirty-looking black hair. He was wearing a costume of some sort, and for someone his age, he looked peculiar and creepy.

Craig also glanced at the man, looked back and smiled. “Do you mean Warrior John?”

“Warrior John?!” Kirsten asked, and the other let out a laugh.

“That’s the nickname I gave him. . . He showed up to our shop yesterday, so me being me, I asked him about the weird costume he’s wearing. He ignored my question. He then proceeds to ask about what year this is, and about someplace I don’t recognize. And I’m pretty sure it doesn’t exist. He’s either a loony or one of those cosplayers who are into their characters.”

“Interesting,”

“That’s creepy! What do you mean by interesting?!” Kirsten frowned at what Michaela said, but the latter found it intriguing.

“It is interesting.” Craig agreed, placing his hands on the table as he leaned forward and whispered. “He offered to pay for yesterday’s meal with weird gold-looking coins. I felt bad for him and let him eat for free. Alas, what can I do? I’m just too good of a person.”

“You mean, you’re a fool.” Michaela grinned, nodding towards the man. “He thought of your generosity as a weakness, so he’s back again today to eat for free.”

“No, that’s not true.” Craig was quick to defend him, frowning. “He was actually sitting outside as if he’s waiting for someone. I felt bad that he didn’t budge for hours, so I asked him to come in for some food.”

Michaela glanced at the man and found him staring at her. His glare looked blank, bearing no ill-intent, yet still jarring.

“Besides, he barely touches the food I serve him, only drinks tea. From time to time, he’d pull out a piece of an old paper and looks at it. . . It got me thinking that he must be not from this place.”

“That’s awfully suspicious. Why didn’t you call the cops?” Kirsten suggested, stealing glances at the man as if she were scared of him. “He’s looking at us. No, he’s staring at you, Michaela!”