Fear & Loathing At TIFF 2013, Part 5: Why Does Everything Have To End With People Dying?

CHAPTER 13: A FATHER AND SON BONDING EXPERIENCE

My father and I have been riding in silence for the better part of the last hour and half in a presumably stolen 2009 Prius.

We've left the city far behind. I'm not exactly sure where we are, but according to the GPS built into the automobile's dashboard, I only know that we're somewhere in the Humber
Valley, a forested area just outside of Toronto.

It's now reaching 7 p.m. and the sun is starting to go down. I only have an hour, maybe less, until my father turns. Sometime in the next sixty minutes, I will be face to face with an actual monster, and I'm probably going to have to do something about that.

Staring ahead through the windshield towards the road, my father begins to speak.

"You know that I do love you, son."

"I know that."

"I've never really understood you, but that doesn't mean that I was ashamed of you. Few fathers understand their children, just as few children can understand their fathers. It's just sort of the way it is in the world. It's the way it's always been."

"So it seems."

"But I have always been proud of you. I want you to succeed and sometimes, it's difficult for me to see you struggle. And it bothers me that I can't help you. It's frustrating, really frustrating. I know nothing about the world you're in, I don't really understand how it works, and it just seems like it's all fake and bullshit. I do know that you have my pride and my temper. I know that you have to do what you feel like you need to do. But I know that this, all of this, what I've seen here at this film festival, it's not for you. These people, they're not your people. But it takes guts to do what you've done. I never would have had the guts to pack up and move to a new city, or a new state, or a new country on a whim. I'm not just proud of you because you're my son; I respect you because you're willing to work for what you want."

"Thanks, Dad."

"But we both know that this isn't going to end how we wanted it to. And I apologize for that."

"You did set me up after all."

"Everything's a trade-off in this world. Haven't you learned that by now?"

"What do you mean?"

"The connections you've made, don't you think they might help you when you get back? I've tried to help you the best that I could, and I think it's going to work. But there's always a price to pay. I'm sorry if it was too high, but it is what it is."

"I don't know if those connections will be much use now. Not after what's happened."

"We're going to fix that tonight."

My father turns off the road onto a dirt path. I haven't seen any other buildings or cars for a few miles. He's brought me out to the middle of nowhere.

He puts the Prius into park and gets out of the automobile. I do the same.

He leads me around to the back and opens the trunk. I should have already known what was going to be inside. But somehow, I'm still startled.

Both Emmy and Neumann are gagged, blindfolded, and tied together in the claustrophobically cramped space. Their bodies are fidgeting, wiggling, and withering around like a litter of new born kittens. There's something almost alien to them, as if they've been stripped of their humanity and rendered anonymous piles of meat.

I know what my father believes has to happen now, and I don't like this. I have enough explaining to do, the grave I've dug for myself is deep enough already.

My father is waiting for a response but the most that I can muster is a simple, "No."

He's not pleased with the answer.

"Don't tell me you're gonna shed any tears for these two shit stains. You have any idea what this little faggot was saying about you when I picked him up? This fucker sold you out to the cops."

"And you set me up as bait to get to your friend Ralph."

"You don't know my reasons for doing that. You don't know what he did. He had it coming and I had it under control. This shit heel specifically fucked you over just because he doesn't like you. And this bitch is fucking him and not you just because he's more successful, because she's a social-climbing whore. And right now, they're the only two people who can and want to identify you to the cops. How can you possibly fucking tell me no?"

"NO! We're letting them go. We're not doing this! I'm accepting responsibility for my own wrongful actions and you need to as well. And you need to do it before the sun goes down. And they're not the only ones after us now. There's also Gina."

"Who the fuck is Gina?"

"She's the reason why you're going to be howling like an animal in the next 20 minutes."

"What the fuck are you talking about, Greg?"

"Don't you remember what happened at the Terminal Bar three nights ago?"

"Again with the stories, Greg, always with the stories. Where do they come from? What happened at the Terminal Bar?"

Before I can answer him, Neumann has somehow gotten the ball gag out of his mouth and starts to scream.

My father gives me a disapproving look before pulling a sub-compact 9mm Glock out from the back of his pants. I should never have thought that he only brought the one gun.

He puts the firearm up to Neumann's head and pulls the trigger, and just like that, blows his brains all over the trunk of the car, remnants of grey matter splattering onto Emmy.

He kills him with a casual nonchalance as if he had just swatted a pesky fly.

He proceeds to lift Emmy out of the trunk and cuts the strands of rope that are binding her legs and hands together. He even removes her blindfold.

A stream of piss is leaking down her leg. I feel terrified and humiliated for her. My dad puts his index finger against his lip; signaling for her to be silent as he removes the ball gag.

I'm amazed I hadn't heard the two of them bouncing around in the trunk on the drive out here.

Once Emmy is free of her bondage and restraints, my father tells her, "Run. Run as fast as you can."

She doesn't scream, she doesn't say or ask anything. She does what she's told. My father has that power over people. He's an intimidating guy.

So she runs. She runs off into the dark of the woods.

It's now almost past dusk. My father unloads the clip from the recently fired gun and tosses it into the brush. He cocks the gun, cycling the last round out from the chamber, and then drops the empty weapon onto the ground.

I have the Smith and Wesson tucked into the back of my pants. I haven't made my father aware that I took it and that I am now carrying it. I debate with myself whether I should make the threat. Should I tell him that I went to a gunsmith and had my silver jewelry melted down into silver bullets, that I can definitively end this right now. But there's no use in making threats as a means towards negotiating. The asshole already fucking killed Neumann. We're already at a point of no return.

So I find myself asking, "What game are you trying to play here?"

He shakes his head. "Everything I do, I do to help you, to make you strong."

And with perfect timing, the sun has gone down and my father starts the process.

The undressing, the spasms, the convulsing, the stretching, the bones breaking, the screaming, the growing, the transformation.

The beast now standing before me only looks at me with pleading eyes before it takes off into the woods.