Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S6 Ep326: Episode 326: Terrifying Urban Legends

Episode Date: March 25, 2026

Today’s feature length offering is the complete story of ‘The Needle Man’, an original tale by Johnny Blaze, kindly shared directly with me for the express purpose of having me exclusively narrate it here for you all.u/Johnny_Blaze_Creepy/r/DrCreepensVault/comments/x1vqmv/the_needle_man_part_2/

Welcome to Dr. Creepin's dungeon. Urban legends often strike a chord of fear within us due to their ability to tap into our deepest anxieties and uncertainties. These stories often passed down through generations. Further lines between fiction and reality, creating a sense of unease and suspense. Additionally, urban legends often exploit common fears such as the unknown, the supernatural, all the dangers lurking in everyday situations. ultimately urban legends serve as cautionary tales, reminding us to the dangers that may lurk in the shadows of our own communities, and fueling our primal instinct to stay vigilant and protect ourselves from perceived threats, as we'll see in tonight's two tales of terror. Now as ever before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's stories may contain strong language, as well as descriptions of violence in horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's begin.

Needle Man by Johnny Blaze. It was another cloudy night in Doyle, Massachusetts. The thick black sheets seemed to blood out the entire sky, leaving a malevolent aura in the air. The surrounding city streets were still damp from the recent rainstorm. The walk back home from work seemed to stretch an eternity in the gloomy weather. The weather and added stress of forgetting my keys at home left me in a dark mood. I hope that one of my roommates was hoping. to buzz me in. Otherwise, it's sitting on the cold, concrete staircase until I had the chance to tailgate someone else into the apartment building. I shivered as I zipped up my north-faced jacket and braced myself for the dismal walk home. Here ya, you got some change? I look down

to see a homeless guy sitting against a nearby building holding a small cup. I could smell his musk from several feet away. Yeah, let me check. I poured out a $10 bill for my jacket, and placed it in the cup, silently praising my own generosity. He stared at the bill for a second in the cup, long enough to see the amount, and then peered back up at me with an annoyed expression, as if I was wasting his time. Jeez, welcome, asshole, I thought to myself as I continued on my walk. I tried to quell my rising anger, reminding myself how that interaction likely had a lot more to do with him than me.

I continued my walk for several minutes, so preoccupied. thinking about the ungrateful beggar, that I barely noticed the reflection of a hooded figure on the corner of a nearby window. I instinctively turned around to see the black shape walking a safe distance behind me. It was still too dark to see his face, but I could see his outfit, black joggers and a grey hoodie. I turned around and picked up my pace, and to my relief he began to cross the street and take a right turn out of view. I started a podcast on my headphones and continued several blocks down the streets. True crime podcasts are a dangerous idea while walking home alone at night.

I chuckled to myself. I shivered at the thought of being one of the characters in tonight's episode. A drug-addicted wife attempts to poison her husband for the insurance money. As I turned a corner, I saw another person behind me, about to do the same. He appeared to be the same hooded figure I'd seen before, on my side of the street again. "'Hey, what do you want?' I shouted from the street corner, and I made sure to leave a healthy distance between us in case I needed to bolt. "'Oh, I'm sorry about that,' a silky smooth voice called back.

It was deep and had the cadence of a radio host. I was lost and was wondering if I could ask you for directions back to Cheshire Square. And it's my better judgment, I took the extra time to give him directions. My apartment was only a few blocks away, and the area was generally pretty busy. What's the worst he could do? Yeah, sure, I said. I was trying to be nice, but I did find the man's voice unsettling, and wanted to get moving soon. Yeah, turn around, go back the way he came, take a left down the path that cuts through the garden,

and take another left on it. I realized that the path would take him right back to the street he diverted to when I first noticed him. At that moment, a tall cloaked man ran out of a nearby alley and lunged at me with something metallic. I wasn't able to make out his features too well, but noticed he was wearing a plain white mask and had long, spindly fingers. Time seemed to slow down as I dodged him to the right, narrowly avoiding getting stabbed in the arm. I was able to see what he tried to hit me with. A needle. Adrenaline instantly flooded my body and I ran.

I could now hear the two chase me in close pursuit. Well, I'd always been a strong runner, and only needed to get a few blocks in order to make it to my apartment. The fear of not knowing the needle's contents pushed me to an even faster pace, though. The ground was slippery, and I could tell my assailants were having trouble kitching up with me. I gave every last ounce of strength to increase the gap as I sprinted back to my building. Once I'd made it, I'd planned to buzz every door and get the attention of the whole apartment. Well, that, and the bright motion-activated floodlights outside my building, would have to keep them away.

But if not, all I needed would be for one person to press the door open button in their room and I'd be inside. Several seconds passed as the men chased me down the streets. I could see the outline of my building getting closer as the sounds of their footsteps grew more distance. I flew towards the front of the building and immediately ran my fingers down every button to buzz the 20-plus rooms in the building, making sure to press my own rooms button several extra times. I turned around to see the outline of just the masked man behind my apartment's floodlights. He wasn't moving any closer. The absence of his accomplice had made me even more on edge.

My eyes darted around the perimeter, searching for his presence. Get the fuck out of here, I screamed. My roommates will be down here any second. Without turning away from him, I checked the door one more time. still closed. He then produced and unfolded a small rifle from his cloak. I could barely make out the unusual shape of the gun. It had an abnormally wide barrel.

I heard three pulses of gas emit from the gun and saw three tiny metal needles zip through the air towards me. I immediately fell to the ground for cover. Glass from the windows behind me cracked open from the shots. I heard the buzz of the apartment door unlocking and immediately swung it open and sprinted in towards the lobby. My two roommates met me downstairs, as well as many other neighbours shuffling down to see what the commotion was.

What happened? My roommate Sam shouted as he began dialing 911 on my phone. I was shut at, I gasped between breaths. I don't think they hit me. I began feeling light-headed, which I assumed was from my adrenaline rush beginning to wear off. "'Geece, that was close. I don't know if they're out there, guys. Be careful.' My other roommate Tracy slowly warped to me, horror painting his features as he noticed a small syringe firmly embedded in my left thigh.

"'Percy, what do they shoot at you with?' he stuttered. As I peered down to see the needle, I was instantly hit by a tidal wave of what I could only describe as peace. love and understanding watched over me as I open my eyes to see what could only be God gazing back at me. He told me humanity would be safe and he was watching over us. I opened my eyes again to the warm lighting of the apartment lobby. Why were there so many people here? I recognised Sam and Tracy, but who was everyone else? I wasn't sure, but I somehow knew they all felt immense love and compassion for me.

I felt the exact same bond with the east. each and every one of them as well. I close my eyes, almost able to visualize the bright orange glow emanating from the room. Other colours began to join in as well. Red and blue lights were added to the orange, creating a dazzling light show.

As I drifted off into a peaceful slumber, I faintly heard of a voice speak into a radio. 10.52, passable drug overdose. It's been some time since this incident. I learned through the nurses that I was injected with a shot of pure heroin. After the hospital ran a battery of tests to ensure there were no infections, I was sent home with not much more than sad smiles and the medical staff's condolences. Despite the best efforts of the many witnesses and the city police,

no one was able to find the masked man or his accomplice. I wasn't able to get a good enough description, so my accounts weren't of much help either. I quickly began to learn how difficult it was to find a first-time offender with no discernible motive or relationship to the victim. It simply ruled a random act of violence from someone who was soon dubbed by the locals as the needleman after news of the incident got around. Well, the needleman visited my apartment again a few weeks after this incident. I had a quiet tap at my window at two or three in the morning. It didn't wake me up as I'd barely been able to sleep since our first encounter.

I opened my window and followed him outside into the chilling night air. I was able to get a much closer look this time. I noticed how tall he actually was as he stared down at me with this impressionless white mask. His long limbs and fingers seemed to sway back and forth in the faint moonlight. The skin underneath his cloak appeared grey and rotten, covered with deep red sores. I felt no fear, not even anger, only an insatiable hunger. He handed me the needle this time. I imagined the heavenly sensation I had experienced in my apartment lobby, as well as how it was so cruelly ripped away from me.

And I needed to feel that again, just once. Chapter 1, has it always been like this? Mermot Pat as he gently shrugged his shoulder to point to the scene to our left. I looked over to see the encampment which stretched down Hampton Street as far as my eyes could see. Tents that were once every colour of the rainbow seemed to all converge on the same dismal grey hue. No, it's definitely gotten worse, I answered, mimicking his quiet tone. I observed the tense with a mix of pity, curiosity, and regretfully some disgust. The focal point of the picture, a homeless man lay completely flat on the sidewalk, using a dirty pair of Jordans as a

pillow. A few feet to his left, a woman was slumped over a tree, slowly drifting in and out. It wasn't even 4 p.m. Around the area, I could see needles, caps, and small saline tubes. Everything seemed to be covered with a layer of grime. The feeling of emptiness was palpable from the group of tents. The people seemed soulless, at their chance at a normal, healthy life life stolen by addiction. We noticed a guy swaying back and forth directly in our path and braced ourselves with some kind of interaction.

None came as he stumbled to the side and let us pass. Oh, I know it's a little rough here, I said. But don't worry. It gets a lot better around my place. No worries, man. I see plenty of this back in Rhode Island, he replied nonchalantly. We continued the wall back. roughly tracing the coast of the city, Doyle, Massachusetts. We were close enough to see the beach to our right,

but still several blocks away from touching its sand. The grimy beach stretched in a crescent moon shape, separating the city in my neighbourhood on the north side and the campus on the cell. Ah, Christian! My dad greeted me with a warm smile on his face as he put the newspaper down to give me a hug. My dad was the city mayor, as one could have guessed given his dress shirt, slacks,

and personable nature. That man really lived apart. And you must be Pat, he said as he shook my friend's hand. Nice to meet you, Mr. O'Brien. Pat returned as he shook my dad's hand. I don't see Jenna. She couldn't make it, my dad remarked with a sly grin. Jenna Flynn was my childhood friend who I admittedly had had a huge crush on since we met in elementary school.

Oh, shut it, Dad, I said sheepishly. he is, I playfully punched his shoulder. Just in time for dinner, my mom called as she walked in from the other room, also to give me a hug and greet Pat. How's the first month of college? My mom asked. Pat and I glanced at each other for a second. I was pretty good, Mom. Super busy, I answered.

And Pat nodded in agreement. Well, we're doing Thanksgiving food tonight, she smiled, knowing that was my favorite. and we quickly washed up and sat at the table. Oh, how do you guys become friends? My dad asked after a sip of wine. We actually met in class during the first week. It's a new elective. Myths and Legends of the Northeast.

Oh, spooky, my dad remarked, amused. Did they talk about, you know, the needleman? He asked as if he was telling a campfire story. And my mom shot him a dirty look. "'O Thomas, not in front of our guest?' "'Come on,' he replied. "'Story's obviously made up. "'People getting shot with a needle by a complete stranger for no reason.

"'Sounds like a junkie trying to take even less responsibility for his actions.' "'Pat and I watched uncomfortably as my mom replied, "'Oh, Thomas, just drop it.' "'Well, what do you boys think?' "'Dead-ass gesturing over to us. "'Did you know about him?' Unfortunately for Pat, he'd just taken a large bite of turkey. We waited for several seconds for him to chew.

Well, the needleman, it sounds pretty far-fetched to me. My dad then chuckled and Mom relaxed a bit. I shrugged and added, I don't think we ever knew Percy since he was a few years older. He had a reputation of being a big partier in high school, but it never seemed to be into harder drugs. Well, I'm sure there's a lot that guy did behind closed doors. I just think it's far more plausible.

He got caught messing with the wrong stuff and tried to make up a story to cover for it. Dad continued. I just think it's easy for people to offload responsibility instead of just owning up to their own bad decisions. We get it, Dad, I interrupted, sensing a rant coming. You pulled yourself up by the bootstraps, made a name for yourself by taking action. Yeah, yeah, yeah. and the three of us started laughing and dug glared at me for a second and then joined us too

pat was quiet as i gave him a ride home in my dad's tesla he lived on campus so the drive was pretty quick hey uh sorry about my dad i started feeling the weight of both pat's silence and the quiet electric motor and he gets on his high-horse about personal responsibility and all that shit sometimes but he really does meanwhile I was silent for a bit, and then asked me, He didn't see addicts as people, does he?

I looked over to see a sad look on his face. I don't know about that, but, well, I think he sees them as very different people, I admitted. Do you, uh, have any addicts in your family, my guest? I saw his head nod in my peripheral vision and felt my face grow red as I record my dad's words at dinner. I even felt guilt wash over me as I reflected on judgments about the people we saw on the walk home. That was the first friend I'd made after I started college. It was friendly and we shared many interests, but I always felt some distance between us. His personality had a somber undertone, very dissimilar from most people our age.

I was starting to understand where that might have come from now. Chapter 2. Oh, no way, guys. Now check this out. "'Gena exclaimed as she stuck her phone between my face and my laptop, "'her dyed red hair draped over me momentarily. "'Can I get two seconds to answer this question?' "'I remarked, pushing her hand away.

"'Pat Jenner and I were at Tat, a coffee shop on campus, "'getting ready for our first round of midterms. "'Gener had just finished up her shift "'and decided to stay with us afterwards to study. "'She moved the phone over to Pat "'while I finished balancing my chemical account, equation. I looked up to both of them, looking at me with wide eyes. I grabbed the phone to see a news report from just a few hours ago. The headline read, high school teacher and young mother

claims to have been attacked by the needleman. Dash cam footage captures the act. I scroll down to watch the short video. Though it was dark and half of the frame was taken up by the windshield, I was able to make out someone being chased. The figure chasing her was. tall and dressed in black. I thought I saw the white mask but couldn't be certain. She was much shorter in wearing jeans than a sweatshirt. I could tell from the video that she wasn't going to win that race. Holy shit. I guess he's real, Jenna remand. There's no way. And did they say if she was a reliable person? Did she have any history of drug use? Well, the article said that she was as clean as a whistle before this, Pat answered.

friends and neighbours are adamant that Rebecca had no history of drug usage and rarely even drank alcohol. Pat read as he squinted at his phone, which now displayed the article as well. Well, that is super-frikin creepy. I imagine what it would be like to get chased like that, knowing that one slip-up could mean a lifetime of fighting with addiction. It could even be worse. There was no telling what could be in those needles. I looked around at the coffee shop and noticed how eerie and quiet. everything had become.

The several long tables were almost empty, save for a few people who looked just as shocked as we did. I furthered my gaze to the window to see the last scarlet rays of sun start to dip below the horizon. The imminent threat of nightfall brought another question into my head. Hey, um, did they catch the guy off, find out where he went?

Jenna shook her head as she also began to instinctively scan the room with her wide eyes. It was near the high school where she was a In fact, Home Security Camera saw him heading back the same direction he came from, but that was it. It's good that he was on the opposite side of campus, but that's still a little too close for comfort. Well, still no motive? Doesn't seem like it. Hey, you think he has other drugs?

Well, I'm not into H, but I wouldn't say no to weed or something. Jenna finished. My eyes widened for a split second, and I made motion with my hand at my neck for her to stop talking. I glanced over at Pat. His brow was furrowed slightly, but there was no other response. Hey, um, sorry about that, Pat. I'm just trying to lighten the mood. No worries, Jenna.

It's no big deal. Pat replied with a forced half-smile. We then decided it would be a good time to pack up and head back home. Hey, uh, you good to walk by yourself, Pat? I asked. Still a little on edge. We can come with you. I'm sure the three of us could take this dude out,

especially if we use Jennifer bait. Jenna grinned and punched my arm. I think I'll be good. It's just a few blocks. I insisted. I think we should walk together. That story got me a little spout. I think we're all just better off with a walking buddy.

Well, he finally accepted. After Jenna and I had walked Pat back to Stetson Hall, we began down the same path that Pat and I had walked to get back to my neighborhood on the north side of the Crescent. There was still that eerie stillness in the air. I had a feeling that the recent news had much of the city on edge. There wasn't much foot traffic on our walk, save for the usual suspects. I shivered for a second as we passed the homeless encampment on Hampston Street,

imagining the needleman's tall frame jumping from behind a tent and sprinting after us. Besides the creepy atmosphere, our walk continued uneventfully, though. "'So, um, you still don't regret coming here instead of Cornell?' "'Gennie asked carefully. "'Oh, I love D.U,' I answered her. "'They have a far better engineering program. "'I've already made a lot of friends here, and it's close to my family, "'and we both knew a big reason I stayed in Doyle was to be closer to Jenna.

"'And, um, it's nice to have you around, too, I admit it. "'She smiled, reassured. "'Okay, good. Just my question. making sure. Also, um, did I upset Pat back at the cafe? I was just joking. I hope he didn't take that too seriously. Don't worry about it. He's just had some drug users in his family, so I think it's a touchy subject. Okay, gotcha. Keep that in mind. Jenna and I enjoyed each other's company as we continued the walk back to her house. It's just a few minutes from mine. The silence in the air was ten times more noticeable now than I was by myself.

My eyes scanned every corner of the road as I walked, my mind casting ghostly apparitions of a tall mass figure hiding behind every fence and dumpster. As I fumbled for my keys to unlock my door, I felt the feeling of running out of the basement after you'd shut the lights off, imagining a hand, grabbing at my ankles and the gaps in the stands. I then heard a loud clap and jump like a startled cat, just to turn around and see it was a neighbour closing their garbage bin. I took one last glance outside and quickly shuffled in, locking the door behind me. Chapter 3. I saw my dad the following morning as he stumbled down the stairs around breakfast time. His mid-length brown hair was disheveled and eyes bloodshot. He was not in any condition to go to work, but regardless, I saw him grab his brown loafers and slip them on by the door.

Did you hear about Rebecca, Dad? Looks like the needleman was real after all. I asked curiously. He slowly nodded. but I couldn't tell if he was answering my question or just dozing off. I've been up almost all night talking to different people about it. This bastard has some nerve to come out again. He growled.

What are we going to do to stop him? We opened this case with the city detectives and we're increasing the police presence around Doyle. This is such a bad time just before the goddamn re-election. Dad, two people were assaulted. Someone could have died. I'm sorry if that sounded selfish, but it's not just about me. Whoever this needleman is, he needs to be dealt with as soon as possible.

If we elect a new mayor before catching him, he can easily attack again during the transition. We'll be sitting ducks while the police and detectives adjust to the new administration. Yeah, yeah, yes that makes sense, Dad. Good luck with everything. Thanks, Christian, and you stay safe, okay. try to walk in groups and be careful around night time yeah also i just think it's safe if you take the long way to campus from now on don't want to risk anything he gave me a half hug and started out of the door you're sure dad don't worry about me i'll be good i cringed his subtle hint that

one of the addicts on hampton street could be responsible hey um before you go he stopped halfway out the door. I highly doubt that someone on Hampton Street would have the ability to stage an attack like this. It just seems too measured. I don't see the point in focus in there. He thought for a second. That's a good point. I get that I have my biases, but I can't let that affect how we run this operation. I'll keep that in mind. You walk back over to ruffle my hair and then left the house. Some months passed by since the last needleman attack. The hysteria in Doyle started to die down and people returned to their normal routines, though there was a noticeable increase in police presence around the city. I learned, however,

that there was no return to normal for his two victims, as I read from an article I saw in a newspaper dispenser at the campus dining hall. Well, in both cases, Percy, the biology student and Rebecca, the young high school teacher, they were unable to continue their lives as normal. Percy had taken a leave of absence from school a few weeks after the first incident. He became reclusive and lost touch with friends and family. Paramedics found him in the middle of an overdose in a nearby town. He didn't survive. Rebecca, however, she was able to cope slightly better. She also quit her job shortly after, but was able to gain admission to the Quincy Rehabilitation Centre. She reported that her recovery process was slow and steady, but she'd not relapsed once since being admitted. Jenner pulled a chair

out next to me as I read the final words from the article. State investigators are still looking for the connection between Keith and Stanley. There were about some motive of the needleman remain unknown. God, that's horrible, Jenna remarked sadly as she finished reading the rest of the article. Yeah, I know, and I don't think the detectives have made much progress either. Seems like they're more interested in throwing cops everywhere than actually finding a motive for solving the case. Is there anything your dad could do?

Jenna asked carefully. I sense what she meant by her statement. Probably, Jenna. It just doesn't see her that much of a big priority, especially with elections coming up. The city's really fucking quick to turn a blind eye on people in that rung of society, no matter how they got there.

Yeah, Christian, but your dad is the city. He should have the power to... I'm not my dad, I snapped, and then I immediately felt guilty at the harshness of my tone. Jenna remains silent for a few seconds. I know you're not. I'm sorry. You could. I was planning to talk with him soon. Maybe there is something I could do to help. I shouldn't have to be your burden, she responded.

Yeah, I know. If my influence could help change just one policy somewhere, I might as well try. She nodded solemnly. Jenna and I finished our breakfast and were walking through the campus garden when we saw someone sitting on a part bench with his back turned to us. I could see over his shoulder, an extremely detailed drawing of a cloaked man with a ghostly white mask, holding an orange-accented syringe. Well, curiosity got the best of me.

Is that the needleman? I asked. He quickly turned around to reveal thick glasses in the head of unkempt curly hair. Why? Did you know anything about him? Jenna answered. Nope. What about you?

Is this for art class or something? Look down for a moment and then look back up. I'm looking for him. My eyes widened. Are you fucking serious? Do you know what he can do to you? Don't go playing around like he's some made-up urban legend. Someone literally OD'd not too long ago.

Percy? overdosed, he said quietly. My breath caught in my throat. Percy Keith? Jenna chimed in. Did you know him? We were roommates when it happened. Never got a chance to see the needle, man, but I saw his needle.

I saw what he did to my friend, and I am going to find him. I'm sorry, I started. Don't be, he said, with a strange look in his eyes. I can worry about mourning right after I find the needleman. What do you plan to do when you find him? I inquired. My curiosity peaked again. If anything, I figured he must have more information on the needleman that could be shared

with my dad and the authorities. Any league could help bring us closer to catching him before another victim was created. But I just want to know why. After that, we'll see what I do to him. I wonder how he was so sure he'd not only be able to find the needleman, but, somehow get an interrogation out of their encounter. How do you plan on getting this guy to talk if you find him? Jenna asked before I could.

Well, I haven't got that far yet, he admitted. I stifled a condescending laugh in an attempt to avoid upsetting him. Hey, um, what's your name, by the way? Tracy, Chapter 4. Trace and I soon became friends after that. At first I wanted to keep him around in case he found any important info on the needleman that could help with the case. Despite my initial agenda, I soon began to enjoy his company too.

I found his eccentric personality endearing. Well, many times Tracy, Jenna and I would hang out at the school library. We'd do homework while we researched any leads that might point us towards the needleman's identity. Pat would always be invited but seemed uncomfortable with Tracy's obsession who would usually avoid meeting up with us when he was around. I understood and never tried to force them to be friends. God, why would you want to inject someone with heroin? Tracy asked out loud, deep in thought as he rifled through his binders full of notes.

Jenna and I both looked up from our homework. He was louder than he thought. What makes you think there's a reason behind it? Jenna asked as she lowered her book. Could have been a random string of attacks, right? That doesn't really make sense. The attacks are too calculated, I admitted. There could even be multiple needleman.

The police did report an accomplice. Tracy nodded. He's far too precise. Smart enough to avoid police presence for months now. He obviously put a lot of thought into these attacks. I mean, a gun that shoots needles. It'd take an engineer to put something like that together. Yeah, good point.

Jenner agreed. And if that is the case, there's no way his victims were random. Tracy finished. So, um, did Percy have any enemies? Did he owe anyone money or something? Well, he was a stoner with a college student salary, so probably. Jenner added,

I don't think a drug dealer is going to give out more drugs to someone who couldn't even pay for the last load. There's nothing they get out of that. I agreed. And the amount of people talking about this now, I can't imagine a drug dealer would want that kind of attention. Whatever the motive is, I'll find out when I track him down. I stared at him again for a few seconds. The eyes behind those thick glasses showed no hesitation. I don't know if I can change your mind, but please, be careful.

Jenna also nodded quickly in agreement. Guys, don't worry about me. I'm not just going to stand there and let him stab me. He stood up to display his matching jacket and pants. This material is similar to Kevlar. When I look for the needleman, I'm going to be almost covered head-toe in this. Winter came and went with no other reported attacks.

Somehow the case still remained unsold. Doyle law enforcement seemed to be completely useless as well. All they seemed to be able to do was harass and intimidate people in some vain attempt to create a facade of control or competency. In reality, Tracy was making more headway on the case by himself than the entire force. On the night of April 15th, Tracy claimed he'd finally found where the needleman was. I think I know where he's hiding, Tracy said to me at the same tat we were at when we found out about Rebecca. Tracy had a frantic tone as he pulled out and unfolded in a large map of Doyle.

It was difficult to see past all of the scribbles and drawings. he doubted. This time Pat happened to be studying with us as well. Look, Tracy, I feel like it's going to be dangerous to go out looking for him. At least call the police or someone. Let them know the info you found and they could do something. Pat pleaded with him with a visible shock, his colour left his face. Yeah, Tracy, I know what you've been through, but this is a stupid fucking idea. Getting killed is not going to help us. It's not going to help Percy either. I just want to know why he did it, Tracy replied in a choked voice.

I just need a chance to torture myself, and after that, Tracy lifted up his armored shirt to flash a silver 9mm handgun. I backed up slightly in shock. Tracy, this is not how you... So, here's where I think he's located. Tracy cut us off to start showing us his map. Oh, I can't do it. this right now, man. I need to head home, Pat said nervously, and I didn't stop him. Tracy nodded politely as he left and then continued. Okay, so this is where West Ridge High School is. And

directly south, we have my old apartment, where Percy was attacked. I nodded silently, beginning to understand the pattern. Okay, so we attacked Rebecca from the north, and camera footage showed him retreating south in the direction of Percy's apartment. Yeah? He chased Percy down the direction of the high school right. Well, since the police presence was heavily around my apartment that night, he probably retreated north, right? So you think he might be hiding somewhere between your old place and the high school? Exactly, Tracy confirmed in an excited voice.

Where do you think he's hiding, then? The small college neighborhood over there. Yeah, the Grisha neighborhood. And I'm going to look for him now. Enjoy me if you want. I thought about it deeply for a minute. Sorry, Tracy. I just don't think it's safe.

Is there anything I could do to convince you to stay? I asked one last time. Tracy shook his head, his conviction holding firm. I gave him a hug. If you need any help, I'm going to call the police and send them to you, okay. Sounds good. Thanks, Christian. I heard the clink of metal as Tracy opened the door to the coffee shop and disappeared.

into the night. Tracy went missing that night. My dad found me in hysterics the following morning. He forced me to calm down and explain what I was rambling about. Son, just tell me what happened, he said calmly. Tracy said, the needleman was in Grishy neighborhood. He was going to go looking for him. He hasn't responded to any call or message since then.

I showed him the picture of Tracy's map from my phone. He stared at it for a bit. I'll call some of the force over there. Where were you before he went out looking for him? The tad on the east side of campus. My dad ran his finger across the picture of the map. That war could basically take him across campus. Could have been captured anywhere between those two points.

I hadn't thought about that. I'd assumed that he'd made it to the neighbourhood. Do you know for sure if it was related to the needleman? My dad asked as he began to be able to. pace the living room, staring at the picture on my phone. What else could it be? You saw how obsessed Tracy was with finding him. And the one night he actually goes to look for him, he disappears. My dad nodded and said softly, Christian, should have told me about this last night. We could have sent some officers with him. My eyes teared up as I was hit with guilt. Yeah, I know, Dad,

but he told me he didn't want the law involved so he could get revenge himself. My dad nodded. Understood, son. I'm going to get all of this information to the police as soon as possible. We'll find Tracy, I promise. The next few weeks seemed to crawl by. News of Tracy's disappearance began to spread like wildfire, and several city rules were created as part of an emergency mandate.

For one, all citizens without prior approval would need to be in Sibbe 8 p.m. For minors, it was seven. citizens were also instructed to walk in at least groups of two the campus was littered with both officers and the National Guard they'd been called in a week after Tracy's disappearance my dad startled by how close I was to encountering the needleman hired a plain-clothes officer to escort me to and from school a 230-pound ex-marine named Sergei

his menacing presence made most people keep their distance the exception being Jenna and Pat My loss of freedom was not even on my mind, just the mystery of how Tracy had vanished without a trace. There was no evidence of a struggle anywhere on his planned route across campus. Detectives began to suspect that he didn't even make it all the way to Grisha, since Hampton Street was far closer to the coffee shop and was a much easier scapegoat. Hampton Street became another hotbed for police activity. Their presence was felt around the area, and I knew of several arrests being made.

None, however, gave us any more information about the Needleman. My family, as well as Jenna and Pat, were a crucial support system during this time. They made sure I was taking care of myself and provided much-needed company. I could tell they were both shocked as well at Tracy's disappearance, but were trying to stay positive for my sake. No signs of any struggle might even be a good thing, Jenna said one day I now walked to the campus game room. The three of us, Pat myself and Sergei, did a double-take-old. this comment. Well, I mean, there's just no evidence that something bad happened. I don't know,

it's just a thought, she continued, colored draining from her voice. Yeah, I suppose that could be, I agreed with little enthusiasm, though. Any news from the FBI, Sergei? Padding quiet. He looked over his shoulders with suspicion and responded quietly. We might have a lead. Can you guys keep this to yourselves. The three of us nodded. We didn't find a link between Percy and Rebecca, but there was one between their parents. Both of them worked with the same hospital several years ago.

Don't tell anyone this information, okay? He hissed as we neared the D.U. Student Center, where our eyes moved upwards to see his hardened frown, and we nodded again. Chapter 6. Several circles of couches as well as many rows of tables lined the perimeter of the well-lit game room. Jena sat on one of the couches, absent-mindedly doodling on a notebook.

Sergei was sitting on a table, pretending to read a book while his eyes circled the room like a horn. The middle of the room was reserved for a few pool and ping-pong tables, one of which we were playing on. The closest wall to us had a large TV, which happened to be playing a one-on-one interview with none other than Mayor Thomas O'Brien. I watched the orange ping-paw ball past Pat's paddle and bounce on the laminarant floor as his attention became fixated on my dad. Joining us right here is Doyle Mayor Thomas O'Brien. Thank you for joining us, Thomas. Oh, thank you for spending some time to speak with me, Sandra.

I saw my dad's carefully crafted sitting posture and demeanor as he began to answer Sandra's questions. He was wearing asleep black suits and had his mid-length brown hair perfectly styled. Without the beard he was previously growing out, he almost looked identical to me. I nervously scanned the room for a TV remote in case the interview went downhill. I was also checking to see any change in expression on Pat's face. His face remained stoic, eyes still glued to the screen. Other people in the room also started to tune into the interview. We wanted to address a few common questions many citizens of being asked.

First of all, I wanted to address the fact that the city of Doyle as Anne continues to have a serious drug problem. You've been re-elected as Mayor partially due to your promise to create and implement a pragmatic approach to rehabilitation. She was reading the words off of her page. It's been a few months since the election, and many residents do feel these words were simply lip service. Well, thank you for addressing these concerns, Sandra. My dad replied in the emphatic sincere tone of a media-trained politician. First of all, yes, I understand these concerns, and we have been working tirelessly to implement just that.

Just last week, my team and I implemented a policy to drastically reduce the amount of jail time one faces when caught with small amounts of both heroin and other opioid substances. We're also currently working with medical and law enforcement resources from the Quincy Medical Center in order to utilize their world-class methadone clinic to help with treatment. Sandra nodded slowly. Why understand, Thomas? This still brings up the question. Why has Doyle been so slow to help treat this problem at the root? Heroin has been decriminalized for years in every neighboring city. Why are we also forced to have addicts travel almost seven miles to Quincy

without any reliable transportation infrastructure to get them there? Why do we not have any rehab resources here in Doyle? Oh, I cringed as I watched the grilling proceed. my dad tried to appear calm but I could tell he was flustered. Hey um my serve right I said as I hit another ping pong ball towards Pat just to see it bounce past it again. That remote was still nowhere to be seen. I could see Jenner in the corner of my view looking at the TV as well.

Sergei seemed unbothered as he continued to read his book. I understand that there's still work to be done and we are making sure to prioritize key opportunities over the next four years. Now, next question. Based on several independent news sauces, you've been reported to have close ties with a few big pharmaceutical manufacturers, specifically the company City Yen,

which is now America's leading producer of both oxycodone and buprenorphin. We can't help, but to feel the part of this drug crisis was facilitated by those very companies and the gateway opioids they provided to our citizens. I can assure you, Sandra, That information is both dated and grossly borne out of proportion. Any policies my team and I enacted around Citi Yen and other pharmaceutical companies

were strictly to get the most effective painkillers into our pharmacies, hospitals, and dental clinics. We fully trust the authority of Doyle's medical staff to safely dose these drugs based on patient needs. Pat was now a few steps closer to the screen. I could tell by his frown that he was not happy with my dad's answers. Hey Pat, everything good? I called. He gave me a quick expressionless nod and returned his attention to the screen. Well, final question is one of the many people are likely waiting for. It seems like when things can't get any worse, the needleman starts to purposely create drug addicts.

What can you do to stop the needleman before he attracts someone else? What can you do to stop the needleman before he attacks someone else? We have another person recently reported. missing, again tied to the needleman attacks. We've been forced to hide in our homes, patiently waiting for some information. When will we hear more from our city leaders? Whereas the progress on the search for the needleman? By this point, Pat resembled a kid with watching Saturday morning cartoons, his head a foot away from the screen. My dad, however, was looking like he'd aged a decade since the beginning of the interview. Well, thank you for bringing

that up, Sandra. We're trying to gain as much knowledge as possible on the needleman and will put him behind bars. We've involved the FBI in order to trace a link between his string of attacks and help us find his next attack before it even happens. Until then, law enforcement resources have been more vigilant than ever. Officers have been placed with schools, colleges, hospitals, neighborhood entrances, and especially areas with high drug activity. Do you mean to suggest the needleman may be one of the addicts living on Hampton Street in southeast Doyle? Sandra asked, eyebrows raised. We do not have a definite answer, but it's certainly possible. They would have the means and potentially even the motive to do it.

He then turned to the camera. So the needleman, we will find you and you will face the consequences of your atrocities. I walked up to the TV and pressed the channel down button on its side. A baseball player now occupied my dad's old real estate on the screen. Pats, trance broke, and he slowly looked back at me. I had a feeling that I knew what he was thinking. "'Has Doyle always had such a shitty response to the drug problem, "'and how much of that was all Brian's fault?' "'Well, he finally spoke after a bit. "'Has Doyle always had such a shitty response to the drug problem?'

"'Well, he left out the last part, but I knew he was thinking it. "'Why else would he ask me?' "'Yeah,' I agreed reluctantly. "'It was like this when my dad became mayor.' "'He nodded solemnly. "'Oh, I'm sorry, Pat. "'I imagine the pain he meant. might have been able to avoid if his family had better access to treatment.

Ah, it's not your fault, man. You don't make the rules. I couldn't help but hear a touch of resentment in his voice, though. Chapter 7. Dad, what the how was that? I said in an exasperated tone as he walked into the house. Don't use such a language in this house, Christian. He scolded it. And I didn't back down. How come you didn't tell me about any of these ties to city? Didn't we talk about Hampton Street already? There's no chance. you're going to find the needleman there.

I showed you Tracy's notes, Dad. He's in Grisha. He dropped his work back and sighed as he rubbed his eyes. Son, do you know the first thing about being the mayor of a major city? I have a million things going on at all times. I'm not a detective, and I'm not on the Needleman case. They told me Hampton Street is a place of interest, so that's what I'm going with. Yeah, but Tracy said...

I'm sorry, but it doesn't matter what. Tracy said. My dad interrupted. Tracy's not a detective, nor is he in the FBI. They have their protocols, and that's what they're going by. He continued, and that city-end deal was in place long before my time. Well, do you think it's contributed to the drug problem in Doyle? He paused. Look, it's complicated. I don't know. Well, Christian, I got another call coming up. I've got to go. He took off his shoes and hurried upstairs then. Days turned into weeks as the search continued for any evidence of the needleman to Tracy's whereabouts. I was beginning to lose hope of ever finding it.

It was May by the time I heard any news, mostly snippets of information either from my dad or through Sergei as he escorted me to and from classes. We have a bit of information, he told me one day after my final statistics class of the semester. There's not much, but it could be something. So Percy and Rebecca had a common link. Both of their moms were to the same hospital at the same time. They said that both of them also shared a few patients, including our person of interest, Celia Doves.

You think she might be the one with a grudge against them? She died twenty years ago. Well, it's not much, but a motive could be forming here. To stay hopeful, his case might be over soon. His hardened face nodded and gave me a small smile. And Sergei was right. Just a few days later, the needle and, man was captured. Again, Sergei was the one to deliver the news. We saw his mouth drop as he read a message

on his phone. Holy shit, they caught him. I stood up from my chair and yelled, a little too loud for a library. No freaking way. How do you know? Did they find Tracy? It felt like most of the library had hurt me, and excited whispering started to pop up around the large room. Jania and Pat were similarly excited, we exchanged hugs and began badgering Sergei with questions. Just, um, give me a second, guys. Sergei said, poorly disguising his excitement as he picked up his phone and walked away to take the call. He returned a few minutes later.

Yeah, we found a guy who fit our description off of Hampton and South Street. Same needle gun and mask were found on him. Fifteen rounds of syringe ammo as well. Looks like he didn't resist arrest and has been cooperating with the officers. "'Bastards in the interrogation room right now.' "'I quickly dialed my dad's number to find that he was outside the interrogation room. "'What's going on, Dad?' I asked quickly. "'Did he say anything about Tracy?'

"'The guy's around 5-11, Caucasian male. "'He's wearing very dark clothes. "'I'm not sure if anyone's heard him talk before, "'but he has a rather deep, raspy voice, very distinct. "'Ason of a bitch won't confess to anything. "'What'll even tell us his name? "'I'll let you know if we get him to talk.' about Tracy. What was he doing when they caught him? I asked, still curious about Sergei's

disgruntled patient story. Seemed like he was there to buy heroin. Some guys around here said he was paying double or triple the street price. Glad they caught him when they did. Looked like he was preparing for another attack tonight. A bitter sweet feeling washed over me. Needleman was finally caught. However, I assumed the worse for Tracy. Several weeks and he still hadn't turned up. I shivered as I imagined the needleman disposing of his body in the bank. The weather was dark and foggy as Pat split up with Jenna, Sergei and I. Sergei and I dropped off Jenna, then we began to walk home. I don't think you'll need me here anymore, Christian, he said as he offered his hand at my front door.

Hey, thanks for all your help, Sergei. I shook his hands and he gave me a firm pat on the back. I stumped forward. Good luck with everything, kid. hope you find out what happened to your friend. I nodded and returned a sad smile. I had a lot of questions for my dad during dinner that night. Why does it feel like there were so many loose ends, Dad? I asked. I mean, there's still no trace.

We have no clue where Tracy is. I'm not sure what his motives are. Why Rebecca and Percy? What about their parents? Christian, my dad cut me off. We're still looking into it. Sure more will come in delight when we finally find his identity. We paused for a second as his eyes tilted upwards in thought. Maybe these attacks

were less calculated than we thought. I don't know. I'll sit with the detectives tomorrow and get back to your son. Chapter 8. The next day was just as hazy and dark as the one before it'd been. Strange dreams filled my brain. I watched as a needle slowly squeezed into my thigh, filling me with its putrid black sludge. I screamed and begged him to stop. I was, and begged him to stop, but I couldn't move my body. He took off his mask to reveal my dad standing before me with a twisted grin. Sorry, son. City End needed to test their new medicine. They'll only hurt for a bit. Oh, I woke up in cold sweats as I jumped up screaming and frantically trying to pull out the non-existent needle. I calmed down after several deep breaths and reached over to grab my phone.

I had a new group message with Jenna and Pat. Patrick Casey. Hey guys, I was going to go to a small party tonight to celebrate the end of the semester. Feel free to come as well. I know it's been a tough year, so I figured it might be nice to unwind a bit. I groaned to myself at the thought of hanging in a room full of strangers and the mean and a small talk that came with it. My mood was still pretty glum from the past few months, so naturally my plans included watching movies in my room

while trying to wait for any information from Dad. Before I could finish typing out my thoughts, I saw a reply from Jenna. Jenna Flynn. Sure, Pat, it sounds like fun. I don't know if Christian and I have been to one college party all year, L.O.L. You'll come too, right, Christian. I groaned again, and threw my pillow across the room,

resigning myself to accompanying Jenna. Yeah, sure, guys. I guess I could make it out. They both hearted the message. Where is it, by the way? Patrick Casey. It's on the west side of campus, near the garden and Cheshire Square. We can meet my dorm around 8pm and head over together.

With my semester being completed and nothing else to occupy my time, my day dragged on with not much else to do but check my phone and wait for any updates on Tracy. I spent most of the day staring at a computer screen, trying to occupy my mind. I finally heard something around 4 p.m. Dad. The detectives still haven't gotten a name or confession now for the guard.

They're going to do a face scan soon. I'll let you know what comes up. Jenna met me at my house around 7pm and we started our walk to campus. Isn't May supposed to be warm? I asked out loud, feeling the micro-rain particles coating my face. And sunny too, Jenna added. Maybe we should have just stayed in and watched a movie. We've only been walking like 15 minutes, Jenna.

It's not too late to flake, I laughed. After a few more minutes of walking, Jenna turned to me and asked, So, how come we haven't been on a date yet? My cheeks began to glow red. I struggled for a second to come up with a response. Didn't we just have a study date last week? I quipped. She grinned and shook her head.

I'm in a real one. Hey, how about tomorrow night? Wait, isn't it supposed to be my job to make the first move? You had like ten years, buddy, she laughed. Okay, fair enough. "'Yeah, tomorrow night sounds good. "'How about we go to that Italian place, downtown, you like?' "'I'd love that,' she said warmly,

"'and she rested her head on my shoulder for a second. "'I felt a warmth swelling in my chest "'that, just for a second, "'erased all the negativity in my head. "'It even felt like the fog was beginning to clear up a little. "'He eventually made it to Stetson Hall "'and told Pat about our date. "'That's about time,' he smiled as he clapped me on the back.

"'There was a bit of a bit of a little. sadness in his smile, but I couldn't quite place it. We had a few drinks at Pat's place and started the walk across campus to the party. The cozy feeling of the alcohol, plus the excitement of my date with Jenna, caused me to forget about Tracy and the needleman for a bit. It was nice to feel that weight off my shoulders. Around us, students seemed to be in good spirits as well. The police presence on campus had diminished significantly, replaced by the excited looks of other students getting ready to go to parties and events of their own. We finally neared the house, a few blocks into the college neighbourhood.

The surrounding houses were also throwing parties, as evidenced by the music and coloured lights. We walked into the house. I saw the music and lights coming from downstairs, but there weren't too many other voices. I assumed it was still getting started. I got around to the bathroom, but it looks like the guys are downstairs, Pat said quickly as he shuffled across the main floor. Jenna and I made our way down the stairs. Just as we reached the bottom step, I noticed my phone had been buzzing in my pocket for a while

and picked it up to see several messages from my dad. The last one read, What's Pat's last name? I replied. Casey, why, Dad? Christian, get back home right now. startled i looked back up at the entrance to the basement to see the light from upstairs disappear as a heavy metal door swung and was locked with a metallic jenna and i began to panic and ran bang up to the door we began to frantically pound on it i noticed jenna's movements were slowing as her head started to bob up and down i then noticed how drowsy i'd become as well my vision blurred then everything went blanked

Jack, chapter 9, the next thing I remember was slowly waking up in the basement. It was a dingy concrete room filled with miscellaneous tools and supplies. I saw many white masks in a stack, a small collection of weapon prototypes, and a medicine cabinet filled with syringes. The only light came from a few dim bulbs on the ceiling. I tried to move and notice both my hands spread out to the side of me, shackled in place. I was standing up, but my feet were restrained as well. To my writer saw Jenna crumpled next to me. Both of her feet shackled and her hands cuffed behind her.

She was still asleep. I began to panic and thrash, but there was no give in my restraints. Jenna, I tried to scream, but a muffled gurgle came out through the gag I felt in my mouth. My fear and panic began to rise. Oh, where the fuck is Pat? it came out as another inaudible gurgle. Off towards the other end of the room the pale face and curly black hair of someone chained to the floor.

Tracy! He was awake but wasn't able to respond due to his own gag. He made a few sounds and pointed to his left. Out from the shadows of another room crept a man. His imposing frame was almost tall enough that he needed to crouch. He wore black pants and a long-sleeved black shirt. His face was wrinkled and grey with razor-thin lips. His black eyes, small and downturned, reflected a life of suffering.

Though he wasn't wearing his signature white mask, I had no doubt in my head as his ominous presence washed over me. This was the needleman. An indescribable sensation of dread filled my core as I looked down to see a small medical cart at its size. It had several full syringes, sailing solution, alcohol wipes and many other supplies. My thrashing grew violent at this point, blood spilling down my ankles and hands. He tore open a small square labelled Purole and wordlessly walked towards me. I felt a slight cooling sensation as the alcohol touched my arm just below my left bicep.

Tears started flowing down my face. I began to hear Tracy scream vaguely in the background. I attempted to break my wrists as he turned with a small syringe filled with a cream-colored liquid. There was no chance, though. They were bound too tightly. I began to pray to any God that would listen.

Please, someone help me. Dad, the cops, anyone. I did nothing to deserve this. Please, don't, I screamed through my gag. I started sobbing uncontrollably as I felt the small pinch of a needle piercing my flesh in a slight rush as the heroine flowed into my veins. It was amazing how quickly my grief began to evaporate.

A euphoric peace replaced it. The best feeling I'd ever had in my life. I couldn't even remember why I was so upset in the first place as I happily tilted my head forward. I noticed that Jenna had begun to stir as I started to nod off. My fear returned tenfold when my eyes reopened. Jenner had begun to repeat exactly what I was doing when I woke up. Her eyes were wide as sources, tracing between me, the medical cart,

and the needleman who'd been sitting on the basement floor waiting. He got up again and went to grab another syringe. I was almost two days to think at this point. My head bobbed towards Jenna. My love for her was still there, but my protective instinct to defend her was fading. I felt completely powerless. even apathetic. Part of me even wish she could feel how amazing it was. Or to my surprise, he walked over to me again. I heard Jenna unleash a guttural scream, but there was

nothing she could do. He injected me again, and they went back to sit on the floor of the basement. By the time the third injection came, I understood exactly how heroin could destroy so many lives. It felt unbelievable, but not as euphoric as the first time. My only desire, was to feel the same bliss I'd just experienced. I started to hear a heavy banging on the door. Jenna and Tracy both screamed as loud as their gags would allow. Through my half-closed eyes, I saw the needleman walk over and unlock both of the cuffs that held Tracy in place.

He quickly jumped up and backed away to the opposite corner, but the needleman made no attempt to catch him. He simply produced Tracy's handgun and slid it towards him on the ground. Tracy picked it. up with trembling hands and shot the needleman in the temple. Chapter 10. Tracy took a few steps forward and shot the needleman's crumpled mass again. I had another loud bang from up the stairs and then fell unconscious. I woke to sunlight streaming out of a hospital window, the ache of the worst hangover ever

drumming in my skull. Jenna and my parents saw me wake up in an adjacent room and quickly walked in. I saw their eyes were red and puffy. I could also see Tracy in the waiting room. His face was much more taught than when I last saw him. Are you feeling okay? My mom sniffled. Her sniffles then turned into full-on sobbing. For a brief second, I didn't remember why I was there until the events of the previous night came flooding back. Oh, are you okay, Jenna? I croaked as I tried to get up. "'Oh, easy, take it slow,' my dad said in a hoarse voice.

I looked up to see the grief on his face. This was the first time I'd seen him cry in my life. "'I'm fine,' Jenna replied. "'Didn't even touch me.' I could hear the guilt in her voice. After a few hours I was clear to leave the hospital. I waited until the five of us made it back to my house before I began asking questions. My dad began.

So you knew about Celia Duff, right? So Percy's mom was her doctor many years ago. Her Rebecca's mom was her pharmacist. We dug up some hospital records to see that they over-prescribed her opioid drugs after an accident and neglected all signs of her spiraling drug problem. I nodded as I began to understand. She died the next year from a heroin overdose. So, the needleman was her son, Alistair Dove.

My dad finished. And who did you guys catch off of Hampton Street? His brother, Daniel. And Pat? Tracy answered this time. Patrick Casey was his cousin. I gasped. That son of a bitch planned this whole thing.

I brought him into our house. How much of our friendship was a freaking setup? Tracy replied again, slowly. Alistair wanted me to believe that Daniel and Pat had very little to do with his actions. I know that can't be true, but I think he was preparing for the legal aftermath here. The amount of evidence they could probably collect on either of them is minimal. My dark growled in anger but remained silent. He let you kill him.

What did he kidnap you for? They knew I was getting too close to exposing them and wanted me out of them. the picture. Alastor promised me that after his final plan unfolded, he let me be the one to take his life. He didn't even mistreat me when I was down there. He was given enough to eat and a little mattress pad to sleep on. So it was some kind of vendetta against the doctors who let his mom die? Why go after Percy and Rebecca, not their parents? All he would say was that, that's the only way they could understand my pain. And why me?

Jenna, who'd been silently observing the conversation, began to cry. Tracy pursed his lips and shook his head. I don't know. The following trial of Daniel Duff and Patrick Casey was one of the most convoluted and publicized in Doyle's history. I was told that Patrick was found in his dorm room

and didn't resist arrest. I stared at him with malice as he sat next to me on the defendant's side of the room. After setting me up for an entire year, I didn't want to sit here and watch some lawyers in a jury deliberate his sentence. I wanted him dead. He never once made eye contact with me. The lawyers that had represented the defendants were sharp and decisive. When they broke down the timeline of the needleman attacks over the last 18 months,

there was little definite proof of Daniel and Patrick's involvement in the crimes. He and my dad's best lawyers were struggling to make a good case. When Alistair attacked Percy, reports claimed there was another person with him. That made Daniel a co-conspirator. When Rebecca was attacked, it appeared that Alistair acted alone. Tracy's disappearance. Tracy and I did our best to make the case that Patrick was involved in his kidnapping. He was with us that night and conveniently went home with just enough time to alert his cousins.

And again he happened to have an airtight alibi. With no concrete evidence, the full blame of the kidnapping fell once again on Alistair. Impersonating the Needleman. Daniel's lawyers made a strong argument that it's not illegal to carry a white mask and carrying heroin was hardly punishable by law. The only charge that could be made was of obstructing justice. Finally, Jenner's and My Kidnapping. Well, the lawyers argue that Pat was coerced into setting us up.

This made him a co-conspirator, but the kidnapping. The kidnapping charge fell once again on Alistair. After weeks of trial, the final charges were, Daniel Duff, accessory to assault with a deadly weapon, obstruction of justice, harboring a fugitive, 27 years. Patrick Casey, accessory to kidnapping, obstruction of justice, harboring a fugitive, 19 years. And that was it.

The national media attention died down after the mirror. history was solved. Everybody went about their lives, for good this time. Well, that is, everyone but me. The trauma from that night stayed with me. The curse of addiction, too. What did you do to him, Dad? I asked in our drive from the courtroom. The other guys directly played a part in ruining his family. You haven't done anything like that. You didn't even know him or his mom. My dad turned to me, a look of compassion and grief in his eyes. I don't know. Whatever his motive was won't change anything now.

We'll get through this Christian, I promise. I wouldn't wish my next few years on anyone. Well, maybe Patrick. I didn't return to school the following year. I began working a part-time job instead, making just enough money to afford my next fix. I was a functional addict for some time. I tried my best to hide my drug use from everyone and continue on as if nothing had happened. Well, Jenna found out within a few days after she noticed my attitude change.

My parents found out soon after that too. I able to hide my drug use any longer, I began to distance myself from everyone close to me. I eventually ran away from home for a while. I overdosed twice after that and miraculously survived both times. I distinctly remember seeing my dark sunken eyes. in a mirror at the rehab centre. And that moment was when I decided enough was enough.

Chapter 11. I stared into the black pool of weak coffee in the styrofoam cup I was holding. In my peripheral vision was a circle of black plastic chairs around me. About 15 people, all of their eyes were fixated on me. Some displayed horror, some pity.

One of them, a blonde woman with wrinkled skin, was looking down at the floor. For years, contemplating my revenge was the only thing that kept me sane. I'd counted down the days until Patrick's released so I could... I guess I didn't know what I'd do. That seething rage somehow dissipated more and more as each day passed. For some reason, I just couldn't handle the burden of it anymore. I made the conscious choice one day to leave that part of my past behind me

and focus every ounce of strength I had on getting clean. Quitting Heron was the hardest thing I've ever done. I'll never be free from addiction, nor will I forget the circumstances that made me an addict, but with the support of my loved ones, and after years of failure. I stared down at the enamel V-I on the small bronze coin in my other hand. Well, I've been sober for six years as of today. The group clapped lightly as we ended the session of Narcotics Anonymous. I'm so proudy, Jenna smiled as she picked me up.

I kissed her and reminded her. "'I couldn't have done this without you.' "'Yeah, I know,' she laughed as we began our drive out of the medical centre and to my parents' house for dinner. "'Well, it had been ten years since I was attacked by Alistair, but Doyle felt radically different from what it was like before. We passed through Hampton Street. Gone were the rows of tattered tents,

now held a small elementary school. Seeing the struggle I went through did something to my dad, though. His outlook on addicts changed almost over another, In fact, he did exactly what he'd promised in his one-on-one interview with Sandra Mayers, create and implement a pragmatic approach to rehabilitation. By the end of year two of his second term, construction of the world-class Keith Medical Center was complete. It was designed from the bottom up to help those in recovery

with a mix of behavioral therapy, methadone treatment, and city-funded rooms to help keep users off the streets. By the end of year three, the City of Doyle implemented the recovery rooms program at every major hotel in the city. This program helped homeless people transition from living on the streets to living in hotel rooms across the city. Well, as unpopular as that idea initially was, it worked extremely well. People recovering from homelessness were given a warm, safe place to stay. They had a much better chance of recovering when away from other users. No hotel guests didn't even notice them since there was only one in every 20 rooms.

At the end of his term, regulations were passed that strictly limited the ability of doctors to prescribe opioid drugs. Mneseaid pain relievers and cannabis were positioned as replacement options. My parents greeted Jenna and I warmly as we arrived. Hey guys, nice to see you. Congratulations, Christian. Thanks, guys. Check out my coin. I pulled the bronze anniversary coin out of my pocket. We ate and talked about the past few years, reminiscing about days gone by.

Everyone was so excited to hear I'd begun going back to school part-time for engineering. My dad told us how we started volunteering at the hospital, helping recovering addicts find their best treatment options. We finished our dinner and said our goodbyes. Jenny was quiet for several minutes on the right home. As we passed the revamped Hampton Street again, she finally pointed out of the window and asked me,

Christian, do you think this was what Alistair wanted? And so once again, we'll reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast wrong, please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast.

That's it for this week, but I'll be back again, same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.