Alright, this was our second story and it gets a little weird. But, its interesting. Unfortunately, there is no ending yet, but here's the big hoo-doo, the whole thing, all together on one page. And, if you're really bored, check out the old site at Tripod. Funny stuff. Class entryway though. Take a peek.
Killjoy's Story
She felt the sigh of air brush past her ear, as he leaned closer. The cold sharp edge of a small knife cause the skin of her neck to shudder. She tried to struggle, she wanted to struggle, but her hands were bound and her strength failing from the hours alone in this dark basement-like room.
His plastic gloved hand slowly cupped her naked left breast. She realized that he did not intend to rape her, his movements were planned, calculated and not derived from any sexual pleasure he might take. She was sure of that, felt that, understood it as well as she understood his ultimate intention.
A small wimper escaped her lips and he shushed her quickly. "Shh shh mon cherie, do not fight me. You are my special princess. I am freeing you, molding you....shaping you into my perfect pet. Isn't that wonderful?"
His words were icy and sharp, cutting into her mind with quiet percision. She felt the knife press even closer to her juggular and she shut her eyes tightly in response. "Why me," she thought. "Why should I be subject to this?" The question made her angry, furious that she could not answer it....and furious that he would not answer it for her. Again she whimpered. This time, however, he did not answer the noise. The hand on her breast moved, tracing around the tiny scar left by her augmentation. He removed the knife from her throat and slowly cut into the scar. Her eyes reacted to the pain, tears forming in the corners. She could not help herself, she cried out, long....agonizing, helpless. He continued, cutting deeply into her flesh, amused slightly at her quick surrender to the pain. He worked without any regard for her attempts to stop him, however simple they were. He succeeded in removing the implant, tearing it from her chest. She tried to scream again, her blonde hair whipping about as she flung her head. He stopped her, placing his hand forcefully against the side of her neck.
"Don't try it, my sweet princess! No one can hear you....no one wants to hear you. You are nothing, unless I remake you, send you to your ultimate craftsman!" He hissed the words, like a biting snake, but she did not hear him completely. The pain was intense and she was falling into darkness. He felt her life dimming, and moved to her other breast. Again she cried out when he cut, but this time it was faint. He smiled. Soon she will be perfect. He moved the knife back to her throat and scraped the skin, letting a small amount of blood trickle down her open blouse and mingle with the blood seeping from her breast. Her eyes fluttered and her breath grew sudden and coarse.
He left her there, lying in a pool of her own blood. She tried to call out as he opened the door, but her voice was gone. The knife he had used to disfigure her was stuck in her back. She tried to drag herself across the concrete floor to the one source of light in the room, a window. She managed to lift herself up enough to look through the series of bars across the glass to see a street outside. Her eyes were blurry, but she made out figures walking past the window. She opened her mouth, attempting to call to whomever was on the other side, but only blood came out where word were meant to be. No one would see her, she knew. The glass was darken on the street side, no one could see inside. She slid to the floor, lying there partly naked and scared. She felt her last breaths escape her lips. "Rebecca Killjoy," she hissed. Then she died.
~HP
Roughly, she flipped open her notebook, clicking her pen and preparing to scribble her illegible notes.
"Who found her?"
The maid, a spritely old woman who moved like lightening dispite her advanced years, spoke up. "T'was me, yer majesty. T'was me. I dun went in to clean up her room, like I always duz, right at 9. She wuz always real purticular 'bout that. 9 a.m. on the button."
"Did you notice anything, unusual, Matilda?"
"Well, yes yer Highness, I did."
The detective chuckled inwardly at the old woman's choice of title. "Well...?"
"Oh, uh... well the door wuz locked, ya see. And in all the time I bin cleaning up after this here girl, she ain't never left the door locked at 9. Cuz she knows I be coming in at 9. So I wuz surprised. But I just unlocked the door and went 'bout my bizness."
Stifling an urge to roll her eyes, she asked Matilda to continue.
"After I cleaned up the bathroom, I cleaned up the lil kitchenette, then made up her bed and loaded up all her dirty things into the laundry cart. Cuz she pays me extra to do all her laundry too, yer excellence."
"So other than the locked door, nothing seemed...out of place?"
"Nope, yer honor, not a thing. She wuz always a sloppy guest. But the missus liked having her around I guess. Ain't none o' my bizness."
"No, no I suppose not." She turned the page of her notebook, "So you immediately went downstairs into the laundry room, after leaving her suite?"
"Oh yes, yessir yer magnificence. Oh yes. Right on down in the service el'vator. Its a rickety ol' bastard, but its a sight easier on this here old body, than the old days - I used to lug that cart up 'n down the stairs day and night, doing for all the guests. And the missus. She's also right purticular 'bout the way things is done."
"Right, duly noted."
"Huh?" Matilda scratched her head, loosening a few scraggly gray locks from the severe bun she had scraped her hair back into. "Well, when the doors opened I pushed out the cart and saw the puddle. But it wuz still sorta dark and I just figured the washing machines done spilt over again. I wuz done wit' my laundry duties when I turned to go back upstairs when I saw her. Poor girl... Right there in the window, she was sprawled nekkid, like she tried to climb up there and get out, mebbe."
"You didn't touch anything, Matilda?"
"Oh no, no. I didn't touch a thing, your grace. Believe it or not, this ain't exactly the first time I seen a body. Growing up where I did, it weren't that a shocking a thing, to find someone face down in a puddle o'blood. The only thing is- " She put a craggly old hand up to her face and her voice grew soft. "I ain't never seen a crime like this 'un. Poor girl...all sliced up and nekkid. Ya know? Its a terrible shame, it is. I din't see anyone coming or going, I din't see anyone with her a'tall. But I do hope you find the killer, your majesty. I surely do indeed."
"Thank you Matilda," she said. Looking around the room, one last time, the detective sighed.
It never got any easier, being summoned to the scene of a vicious crime. Never got any less painful to look upon the body of someone who had been tortemented so, then left to die. Never. And though she could admit it to no one, it was especially troublesome when you had a personal connection to the victim.
Oh god, she thought to herself, as her partner entered the room. He was good looking man, a few years her senior, and in the five years they had been partners, they had become friends too. He had seen her through some very difficult times. He'll know when he sees her. He'll know that I know. Oh God...
"Morning," he said, his tone was short and angry. She nodded her greeting, clenching her teeth.
His hazel eyes met her blue and held them. "Well, what do we have so far?"
~ST
"How are you going to approch this one, Rebecca?" Her partner shook his head, looking down at the mangled body on the floor. "They didn't cover this on the test, now did they?"
Rebecca Killjoy removed a pen from her coat pocket, clicking it nervously a couple of times. "I don't know, Detective," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasim. "How are you going to approch this one? After all you know her."
Her partner shrugged, his broad shoulders rising and falling with the gesture. "I knew her once, Becca. I've seen a dozen scenes like this one in the past few months, and I've known all of them too."
"Doesn't that get to you a little?"
"I've lost the ability to let it get to me." He looked past his partner to the lady behind her. "Is it necessary to keep the cleaning lady here any longer?"
Rebecca turned around slowly and looked at the woman she'd questioned moments before. "No, I guess not. You may leave, but if you have any more information that may help us give us a call." She presented her card, waiting patiently for the lady to take it and leave. "You know that this only puts you closer to being shut out of this investigation Detective?"
"The only reason I'm still on this investigation is because I know the victims. Sergent Childs isn't going to shut me out, she know that. And you." He pointed at Rebecca. "You aren't going to get another partner."
"I don't want another partner, Detective. You are enough trouble."
He smiled, but the act was devoid of any emotion. "So should we wait until the coroner arrives, or is it safe to assume that we won't find out anything more with this one then we did with the others?"
Rebecca looked down at the poor woman on the floor. In her mind she saw the faces of the other victims. However grotesque the crime, she still could not manage to understand the motivation. Every woman was different, their race, their bodies, their hair and eyes. Nothing about the murders made sense. The only clear connection was her partner. But even that lead seemed hard to wrap her mind around. Although he knew the victims, it wasn't an indication that the murderer knew that he knew the victims. Rebecca shook her head.
"How about we visit Madame Fields again? Perhaps she can shed some light on this one."
"I honestly don't know what that fortune teller will be able to tell us that the Profilers haven't already documented."
"It's not what has already been documented that I'm concerned with, Detective." Rebecca moved towards the door leading out of the basement. When she reached the door she turned back to her partner. His rugged face wore a firm line, as if he were thinking about something confusing. When he looked up, their eyes met, and for the first time in a long while, he smiled.
"Shall we go, Killjoy."
Together they left the basement, never realizing that their killer watched their every move.
~HP
Slowly, his eyes traced the screen observing their every movement. One by one, they left the scene of the murder, photographers, coroner's assistants, beat cops with nothing better to do than stand around and ogle the smooth white ass of the dead girl. Cops he thought bitterly, useless pigs, every single one of them.
When one of his cameras caught sight of Killjoy leaving the site, his heartrate sped up. The blood rushed to his face in anticipation, and he felt the familiar excitement stirring below. Killjoy...
Oblivious to the dark eyes watching them, Killjoy and her partner, a man she referred to by his first name only, because she knew it galled him and was a petty blow to his senstive male ego, climbed into a black sedan and sped away from the grisly scene.
"Jeezus Kenny, you drive like a drunk sixteen year old. Slow the f--k down!"
"Killjoy, you may not like me personally. But you really ought to show a little respect. You don't call anyone else by their first name. Its unprofessional."
Rolling her large, blue-green eyes, Rebecca turned to the window. Her thoughts were tumultuous, it was so frusterating. This was the first case in her career that she simply couldn't wrap her mind around. There was nothing that connected the victims, except for Kenny, and he was a non-entity. He had solid alibis for each murder, hell, she herself was his alibi for several of them. Of course, she hadn't been completely honest about those either... yes, she had been with him. And she had told The Sarges that much, claiming they had been working.
Working she thought with a mental scoff. Right... Working...if by that you mean having a hot and sweaty affair not to mention loud and almost violent arguments... Passion, they had been drowning in passion. But they had also clashed personally, both being intense, unbendable people.
The affair was over, it had been since Rebecca discovered that Kenny knew each of the victims. She didn't suspect him, she couldn't. But something was not right and the wild highs and painful lows of their fling were distracting her from her work.
Work comes first, she glanced down at her notes. What's the connection... what's the key? Why can't I see anything?
"Killjoy,"Kenny said roughly, yanking the keys from the ignition. "We're here..."
~ST
She was old, perhaps aged more by the harsh afternoon light shining on her face, filtering in from a window across from her.
The cold steel of a knife at her throat made her suddenly gag.
He slapped her, and her frail form crumpled. "Stand up, hag!" he bellowed at her. She pushed herself off the floor, his knife now waving in front of her eyes. It was hypnotic, in a morbid way. Crusts of dried blood, mingled with some of her own coated the surface. It was unreal, nightmarish and horrific, yet she had seen it all before it came to pass.
Hers was what the outsiders called 'magic', a form of sightseeing that gave her glances into the futures of those she brought into her home. Draped in the shadows of uncertainty, many thought that she gave them false hope, and that she was a charlatan. Kind Rebecca, though, had approched her days before, with surity and conviction. Rebecca Killjoy was a believer, although even she did not understand how important that belief would ultimately be. Rebecca had come seeking knowledge, seeking her powers, in some hopes of unlocking the secrets of a gruesome series of murders that were taking place in the city. Hope was all that Rebecca wanted, and it was business as usual to extend that courtesy. Yet, somethings should be kept lock away. Some things, dark and unnatural things, should not be brought into the light.
Madame Fields slowly lifted her eyes to meet those of the slender man before her. He was nondescript, perhaps ugly, but it was her belief that looks were subjective. She saw past his skin and his muscles, past his bones and organs. She looked into his spirit, and recoiled at the twisted darkness seeting inside. He was dieased and cancerous, mangled and hateful. When she looked past the surface, she knew his true intentions. But, she also knew that he did not like that. Strange were the minds of the insane, justifing evil and violently imposing their views of the world on others. Very few had ever graced her doorstep, and those that did, understood her for what she was. They did not come back.
She continued to stare at the man. But this one did, she thought. This one knows what I am, and he stays. He is terribly frightened, but he can't break free of the demonic urges he posseses.
"What are you looking at old woman?" He questioned her. She did not answer. She understood what must happen to her, she was at peace with it. She knew that his frightened look was not brought on completely out of their encounter. He was breaking his rhythm to seek her out, making a turn that he was not prepared to make. He was a creature of habit, of ritual and in some cases tradition. She was not part of his plan, and they both understood this. She did not care though. It brought her a sense of peace to see his inner turmoil. She knew that perhaps her part in this vast shifting was significant. In some part, she had already seen the ripples, followed them into the unknown. It was there, in those foggy reaches of obsurity, that she would soon travel.
Again, her eyes pierced his. He squinted, the knife wavering in his grasp. The air, tinged with the smell of candles and incense, was electrified and anxious. "They will be here soon," she spoke softly. Her composure was restored and her humanistic need to be afraid was gone. All that remained was the final blow. "You can not let them find you."
He seemed to ignore her, fidgeting with a tiny lighter in his free hand. There was a moment of tense silence, then he spoke. "Do you think god is ashamed of us?" His question was sad, beling his angry interior.
Ah, his last question. She felt the final pieces fall into place, and now stood at the edge of the darkness. With a firm breath she replied. "No one under his rule deserves evil, but you know that you do not do his work. You live to torture yourself."
His eyes widened, snapping open as if he had been hit. The anwser visably upset him, and his purpose-fire ignited. Without hesitation he slashed with the knife, one, two, three times. He continued to stab and cut the old woman, until she was unrecognizible. Her eyes were all that he left untouched. They stared, blinking rapidly out of her bleeding face.
Madame Fields watched him slowly get up and leave her home, not pausing or altering his course in any way. The jingle of the chimes above her doorway followed his retreat, and the old woman was left alone.
The pain was like fire, burning every nerve in her body. It course up and down her spine, searing her heart and her liver, her lungs and her stomach. She did not try to hold on. Her feet were already stepping out into the darkness beyond the edge of the cliff. She knew that she must leap into the unknown, and so she did. With a final ragged breath, Madame Fields shut her eyes and jumpped.
~HP
She sat, unmoving for a moment, a cold finger tracing her spine and causing unexplicable shivers. Kenny was already out of the car, waiting impatiently on the sidewalk. Still, she did not rise. Closing her eyes, she focused the way the old woman had taught her. You may not have the gift of sight, or curse, as some who have it feel... but you Rebecca, have faith. And its so strong, I believe you have a different connection...not sight perhaps, but that sixth sense. You'll know things, you'll feel them. And if you focus, you may even see them. The seer had lowered her eyes then, and spoken softly. But your own sight will never be in time to change what you see...
She had not understood, exactly, what Madame Fields had meant then. But the feeling that had so powerfully kept her spellbound, in the seat, was no longer so strong and she climbed out of the car.
"Let's get this over with,"Kenny said. "I don't know why in the hell you keep dragging me out here. She hasn't solved a single murder. She doesn't know who has killed all these women. She's useless."
"No Kenny," Rebecca reached for the door knocker, a delicate silver rose dangling from a golden stem. "She knows, she has to... I felt it."
He rolled his eyes.
Killjoy lifted the heavy rose and her eyes widened as the door creaked open. It had never been open, in all the times she had visited Madame Fields. The heavy, black cloud descended upon her again, and she nearly bolted.
"Great, she's expecting us," he chortled, pushing her aside and moving through the doorway.
Rebecca could not move, though she lifted a foot to cross the threshold. "Kenny..."
"Oh my God!" She heard him cry, then the familiar beep of him activating his cell and his voice shaking as he alerted the police. "We've got a situation out here. Killjoy and I are-"
She closed her eyes, squeezing the lids tightly, and entered the fortune teller's house. It was a treasure trove of beautiful and exotic antiques, she was gypsy and her home reflected that. Killjoy had loved the contrast of this homey, comfortable clutter to her own stark, half-empty apartment. She had loved coming here. She had loved-
"Oh god," she whispered, dropping to her knees beside the prostrate figure. "Oh god..."
The corpse was unrecognizable as Madame Fields, though Killjoy immediately recognized the long black hair, streaked through with silvery veins that resembled stars in a night sky. But of the proud, once beautiful but now heavily marked by time and trauma, features, there was no trace.
"Killjoy, get up. Don't fuck up the crime scene," her partner ordered roughly grabbing her shoulder. "You can't save her, she's dead. She's dead for crissake!"
Rebecca turned on him, "She's dead because of me! Don't you understand, Kenny? If I hadn't been seeing her, coming to her for advice and information, he never would have come here! He wouldn't have-" Her voice nearly broke as grief and guilt threatened to overwhelm her.
His voice was more tender now, it had shaken him to see her so distraught. "Killjoy, you can't blame yourself. This- this madman...how can you know he wouldn't have chosen her anyway?"
"I just know..."
Killjoy turned back to her advisor, her confidante, her friend. She laid a cool hand across the old woman's untouched brow - still warm - and felt hot tears spilling down her cheeks.
"You knew," she whispered. "You knew what he wanted when he came through your door. Oh god, I am so sorry...."
Suddenly the body lurched, her back arching, her eyes opened. A bloody hand contracted around Rebecca's and lips, slashed beyond recognition, opened.
Kenny was watching, but he did not see the thin, glittering mist that left the corpse. He did not see it seep into Rebecca's own gaping mouth. He did not notice the smile that crossed Madame Fields' face as she exhaled her final breath and died.
But when Rebecca fell backwards, eyes rolling up into her head, unconscious, Kenny was there to catch her.
~ST
Sirens shrieked and lights blurred before her eyes. Messy dark brown hair whipped into her face, and she instictively lifted her arm to brush it aside.
"Don't move Miss. Killjoy," someone nearby instructed, reaching over to pull her arm back down. She struggled, unsure who was talking to her, frightened that it could be dangerous. "Get me ten ccs of feneral, she's trying to fight with the emergency crew!"
"Don't fight Rebecca," the voice belonged to Kenny. Hearing it caused her a brief sense of calmness, then she felt something prick her skin. She tried to fight, to lift her head, but rough hands pushed her back down. Moments later she dipped down into darkness. Kenny's voice soothed her fear. "It will be alright Rebecca," he assured her. His voice grew deep and barely audiable. "It will be okay....." Then she slipped into liquid cool.
Fighting me is a waste of energy, Rebecca. The voice belonged to Madame Fields. She opened her eyes. The old woman stood in front of her, arms reaching out to invite the detective closer. Come to me and I will explain. Rebecca looked around. She was standing in the gypsy's home, the collection of antiques and beautiful exotic items glistening with the first rays of morning sunlight. Oddly enough, the entire room seemed different. Even the sunlight played off the furnishing with a honied deepness, almost solid. It melted and reformed, and the scenery blurred, much like a painter whipping his brush over a canvas.
"What's happening?"
You are in a dream realm, my child. The old woman shimmered, then became solid. It is an illusion, a hazy reprsentation of your reality. She reached out and ushered Rebecca over to a seat. Sit down, child and let me tell you why I need you. You know I am inside you, don't you? Rebecca hesitated. "I'm not sure what is going on." She took a seat across from the old woman. "Please, Madame Fields, tell me what is going on."
You are a soul-fire, a vessel to house souls that have passed on. You are given the ability to absorb energy from the dead, capture what they know, and what they've seen. The fortune teller shook her head. It is not a gift of complete clarity, I'm afraid. You will be given only what the soul will give up.
Rebecca shifted, her discomfort evident. "I don't know what that means. In fact I don't know anything right now. I came to you to seek out possible leads...." A face appeared. It was angry and sad at the same time. She did not recognize it.
That is the man who killed me. The old woman motioned to the shimmering face in the air beside her. It is unfortuneate that he will not keep that face, though.
"What are you saying?"
Madame Fields leaned close. You are dealing with a devil, my child! He is a master of disguising his trail and his appearence. You will not discover him by the mere physical. You must discover him with your ability!
Rebecca looked confused. "If that is true, which is hard to gather, then why am I being told this now?"
I am dead, that's why I must reveal so mush to you so fast. I knew that this moment would occur. I had to wait. I had to watch you closely, and your partner. He is more important to the course of your destiny then you know. You will need to seek out your devil-killer with his help. With the help of your ability. "But how am I....."
The old woman held up her hand. I can reveal no more at this time, my child. This dream world is temporary, and will dissolve quickly. I want you to continue to search him out, your devil-killer. Feel him out.....
Rebecca opened her mouth to reply, but the dream world vanished.
Her opened mouth exhaled softly as he watched her. She was asleep and out of danger. Whatever had happened to her in the gyspy's home did not seem to leave any critical wounds. The doctors wanted to leave her in the hospital overnight for observations, but they assured Kenny that she would be fine.
I only hope that it true, he said to himself. He brushed the hair out of Rebecca's face, and slowly kissed her forehead. She did not know what she truely meant to him, and he was afraid to tell her. Seeing her in the hospital bed made him wonder if this situation was enough for both of them to make it through.......
~HP
She sighed.
Rebecca Killjoy had been released from the hospital, and been granted - then forced to accept - two days of personal time to grieve for a friend and recover from her strange illness. She sat on a stool at the breakfast bar, plain white tiles surrounded by trendy pale-wash oak, which faced into a stark white kitchen. Plain white appliances, plain white walls, plain white tiles...
It had never bothered her before. It had never even occured to her before. But every apartment she'd ever had, was identical in its emptiness. If she had turned then, she would have seen a generic brown couch next to an ordinary striped chair both facing a store-brand television. Nothing hung on the walls, except in the small bedroom where she kept a painting she had done in High School. It was expensively framed and beautifully abstract. Burning reds and oranges blazed as they intermingled with the cooler blues and greens. She had always thought it was her one moment of genius.
Running fingers through her long brown hair, Rebecca sighed again. Feel him out...devil-killer... The words the old woman had told her in the dream echoed through her brain, not even half a bottle of vodka had killed the memories.
She didn't understand this gift. But, she decided resolutely sliding from the stool, she would use it.
Stumbling a bit, she grabbed her coat from the hook near the door and fumbled her way into it. Feel him out...shapeshifter...devil... The words spun lazy, crazy circles in her mind and she squinted to see in the depths of the night. How can I find him, if he is never the same man? And yet, all of these crimes are obviously connected...each of these women was killed, and maimed and- and...ritualistically mutilated in similar, though different ways. Even the expert forensic pathologists agreed on that.
Forensic Pathologist... she thought for a moment.
"Deanna!" She hiccupped, speaking the name aloud. She had few friends, but a strange bond had formed between the homicide detective and the coroner, Dr. Deanna Rafferty. Rebecca recalled meeting her, the bubbly, vivacious brunette with laughing eyes and wondered how in all hells she had ended up as a forensic pathologist, dissecting the dead for a living. But their strongest connection came in the passion for mystery and solving puzzles. The crucial difference was that Rebecca lived her work, let it consume her whereas Deanna had the unique ability to turn off, to separate herself.
Deanna would have answers, she always had answers. Maybe seeking out Deanna wasn't feeling the killer, but it couldn't hurt...
"You can't be here tonight Becca, and oh-" she waved a hand in front of her nose, crinkling her face in disgust. "You're loaded. Go home! How did you get here anyway? Jesus, you didn't drive like this did you? Last thing I wanna do is your autopsy!"
She frowned. "Deanna, I'm not drunk. I was, couple hours of walking ago, but I'm sober now. I need to talk to you, about the murders."
Deanna chuckled, shaking her head. "Leave it to you, offered a couple days of rest, and unable to relax. C'mon Killjoy, lemme call Kenny to pick you up. You can't be here tonight. Besides, we're having a busy night - three shootings from downtown and a nasty car accident. I've got four bodies left to take care of and the assistant they hired for me keeps losing her lunch. Either she's pregnant, bulemic, or she's just not cut-out for the coroner's office. Get it? Cut-out? Cut. " She giggled, reaching for the phone.
"No, damn it. Deanna, I need to know-"
There was a long, tense pause as sparkling brown eyes caught and held Rebecca's troubled blue eyes.
"The things I know are in the report. But they are not going to help you. He has left no clues, nothing. Not a finger print, not a hair, not a single thing to connect himself to these murders. Killjoy," she whispered, a note of seriousness that was foriegn to her voice, "Please, I can't help you. This killer is... something I've never dealt with. Something I don't want to deal with..."
"He is a devil," Rebecca nodded.
Deanna blinked suddenly, shaking her head. The smile returned to her face. "Sorry, did you need something? I guess I'm a space case tonight."
"Huh?" Killjoy frowned.
"What? Did you need something? Its not like you to stop by the morgue for a chat." She grinned, then reached for a handful of thick, reinforced latex autopsy gloves.
Rebecca hesistated. "No, nothing. Sorry to bother you Deanna. Looks like you've got a full house tonight."
"Yup yup. A coroner's work is never done,"she pulled her second glove on with a snap and shrugged. "Good to see you though. You could use a couple days rest. See ya."
She sat on the bench outside, pulling her knees upto her chest for warmth, waiting on her partner and unable to figure out what had just happened. Though the alchohol had clouded her judgement hours ago, when she walked the five or so miles from her apartment to the building which housed the city morgue, she had been in complete control of her senses when she approached Dr. Rafferty.
Feel him out came the voice in her head again, Seek him out...with your partner... With Kenny? She thought abruptly. Kenny? Kenny knew these women... somehow he had met them, but none of them were ever close. None of them were anything more important to him than a one night stand or a casual date... What does Kenny have to do with this? Oh Madame Fields, why did you have to die? And what did you do to me?
Tears were slipping silently down her cheeks, glistening in the harsh glare of the street lamps when he pulled up. He restrained himself from leaping from the car and throwing his arms around her. He wanted to shield her from the world and its cruelties... He wanted to protect her from everything...from herself...
"Killjoy,"he called as the passenger window lowered at the touch of a button. "Killjoy, get in, its freakin' cold out there."
She glanced up and for a moment it was as if she didn't recognize him. Then she stood, surrepticiously wiping the tears from her face and approached the car.
"Kenny..."
~ST
The car rumbled as it sped along the highway out of south central chicago. Rebecca sat in the passangers seat, silent and lost in the haze of her own thoughts. Kenny did not bother her, he could tell that her mind was full of questions that he did not have answers for. As the small sedan moved along the highway, Kenny stared out into the night sky. It was a clear night, devoid of stars and devoid of any emotion. It was empty, cloudless and to Kenny, it was terribly cold. His own mind mirrored the night sky. There was nothing he could do for Rebecca, nothing that did not seem empty and hollow.
"I need to go back, Kenny." Her words caught him by surprise.
"What?"
She turned, slowly, meeting his dark eyes. "I need to do something. It's important that you take me back to the corner's office."
"Killjoy, there is nothing that you can do there right now. Dee has it under control, you don't want to waste...."
"I'm not wasting anyone's time Kenny!" She hesitated, seeing his eyes react from her angry words. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she repeated. "If any time is being wasted, it's my own. I need to keep focusing on these murders, you have to understand. I can't take two days...or even one day to rethink things. I have to put myself in the heart of this mess and clean it up." She shook her head. "Believe me, it's hard to explain...even I don't fully understand what is going on. All I can say is that I need to see those victims. I need to go back." She reached over and put her hand on his arm. "Please."
Kenny did not speak for a moment, his eyes turned away, focusing on the road in front of him. When he spoke, his words were soft and tempered. "I don't understand you anymore....at least I don't know what this new sense of urgency is all about. We've been on this case for a while now and you've done everything by the book. Are you sure that Madame Fields' death isn't causing you to mess things up on your own?"
She glared at him, trying to enforce her feelings. "Listen Kenny. I don't know what I am trying to explain here. Don't ask me. I need to go back to the mourge....can you do that? Or do I have to crash this car and walk back half-cocked?"
"Hold on, Rebecca! Don't start throwing around threats. I will take us back there. Fine! I will do it."
"Good." She crossed her hands over her chest. "Although, when we get back, I want you to go home. I don't want you breathing down my neck. I just need to see something for myself. If I come up with any news you will be the first person I call."
The remainder of the trip back to the corner's office was spent in silence. Kenny felt that any argument would be meant with further disapproval. He pulled the sedan into the parking lot and let Rebecca out. Neither one said anything, and he pulled away without looking back.
Rebecca watched him leave, and wondered if she'd made a larger mess of things. It couldn't be helped now, it was important that she come back here. She felt it, the need burned in her chest. Feel it. The words were even more persitent. She turned and walked back into the building, making her way down two flights of stairs and threw the swinging doors into the mourge. Deanne was in the middle of an autopsy. She looked up, clicking a recorder in her hand. "What are you doing back?" The darkness seemed to launch itself out of the corners of the room. Ominous and deep, it surged into Rebecca's vision.
Without realizing it, Rebecca was running over to cold storage, flinging open the steel doors. Deanne was steps behind her. "What are you doing Killjoy!" She tried to grab onto Rebecca's shoulder, but the officer twisted out of her grasp.
Looking frantically at all the names on the gurnies, Rebecca came upon one of the victims from the murders. She threw back the sheet covering the young woman, whose breasts were horribly disfigured. Instantly the victim's eyes opened, and a high scream pierced the cold interior of the freezer. Why! Rebecca felt Deanne's hands on her back, then the room swirled before her eyes. Everything seemed to mix with the darkness, dancing and wavering, taunting and calling out to her. Rebecca reached out, calling up an unseen force inside her body. Tell me why! Her arms reached out, tendrils of glittery dust seeping from the tortured body on the gurnie. Instantly the shimmering soul of the victim rose to meet her, and together they shifted into the haze.
~HP
There was shifting light in this place, as if the sun was moving across the sky in hyperspeed. It streamed through thin, satiny curtains. Rebecca glanced around, disoriented for a moment, her eyes taking in every detail.
"Killjoy,"a voice said softly. She turned toward the sound, blinking. "I know, I'm hardly recognizeable."
"No- Its just. The last time-"
"Yes," the pretty blond woman nodded slowly. "I was a mess when last you saw me. Look, I don't have long left. So why did you- well, what you did, why did you do it?"
"I need answers."
Killjoy waited for a response from the woman, this woman whom she had last seen in a pool of her own blood, naked and mutilated. There was silence as the glittery air shifted around them. Killjoy frowned. She wanted to ask a million questions, she wanted to know everything this young woman could remember about the incident, about the man, about...
"I don't know who he is. More correctly, I don't know what he is... I saw him several times, before th-the day... around. He must have been watching me. But- He knows you. He talked about you. Killjoy, he said, Killjoy will be my ultimate... He was like, obsessive about Killjoy."
"Why me?" She said, more a rhetorical question than an actual query.
The young woman pushed long blonde hair away from her face, beautiful in a classic sense. "I don't know. But perhaps this 'power' of yours, is why."
"I didn't have it before- Madame Fields had it. Why didn't he want her then?"
She shrugged. "I can't answer that. Maybe no one can..."
"Then...why am I here?" Killjoy cried.
Kenny had been watching as she stalked into the morgue again, and as she forced her way closer to the body of the previous victim. He was watching as she fell to the floor inconvulsions, but forced himself to stay back, to keep his distance.
"You're here for things I cannot tell you. I don't even know if you know yet, what you seek. But I don't have it."
Killjoy watched as the young woman dissipated, leaving her alone in the strange realm between life and death... alone...
Kenny frowned, waiting impatiently for her to get up. He wanted to run to her, he wanted to get her, but...something held him back...
"Killjoy,"he whispered to himself, "Where are you now?"
~ST
He watched her breath deeply, as if her mind was struggling with a bad dream. He feelt a farmillar yerning in his loins, sad and confused, dispassionate and forlorn. He understood that he was falling steadily into a deep pit of churning darkness, but he did not want to be rescued. His soul welcomed the malevolent embrace within, although some piece of him that was still human struggled against it. His inner turmoil did not register on the hard lines chisled into his features. Those lines were unbending iron, and he let very little erode what many years of torture had erected. Even with the understanding that she was his salvation, he did not breath or sigh relief. He stood a few feet from her hospital bed and watched her. She will take me with her, he murmurred. She will fall upon my blade and I will be free.
His hand moved towards the night stand, hovering inches above the false leather cover of a Gideon Bible that laid there. He hesitated, realizing that the sacred text would burn him like fire, licking its dangerous flames over his skin. He drew his hand away. His eyes narrowed as he reached into himself to hear the voices. They instructed him....the voices did. They had orchestrated his every move, demonstrated his powers time and time again. They were the masters, and he was the student. Mangled and deformed were those that he sought to rescue with their assistence. She did not understand this, although her new ability would soon open the doors of insight. He needed to wait. He needed to listen closely to what the voices said. More, they instructed softly. More must come into the fold. He insticitively reached out to brush a stray strand of hair out of her face. His movement was sincere and parental. He needed her, as a mother needed her child. Completion, he sighed, the sound barely audiable. She stirred.
He drew his hand quickly away. She must not see me, he warned himself. She must not wake and find me here. He stepped a few feet back from the bed, drawing the shadows of the room around him like a blanket. Her eyes remained closed, and tiny beads of perspiration glistened on her unlined forehead.
More! The voices insisted. He realized he had overstayed his visit, and turned to the door.
"Hello?" Rebecca shifted on the matress, looking into the darkness of her hospital room. "Is anyone there?"
He melted away, moving down the long hallway outside her room. Several doors lined the cooridor, and he glanced briefly at each one. More! The voices were screaming now, and his head hurt with their shrill cries. Yes I know, he called to no one.
He would have to return to his other self....that self he hated. It was necessary, the voices told him. You are two halfs, they reminded him. Two....he reminded himself.
He rounded the end of the hallway, and noticed the man leaving the elevator. The man looked preoccupied as he approched.
Drawing the darkness over his shoulders, he rushed forward. Two....they whispered. Then he colasped into his old skin.
Turning on his heels, Kenny swore under his breath. "Damn, I knew I forgot something! My jacket!" He moved down the long hallway. He paused a moment, a few feet from Rebecca's room, as strange chill passed over his body. As quickly as it had come, it vanished, and he continued on.
"Kenny!" Rebecca greeted him as he opened the door. "I'm so glad to see you! What happened?"
He sat down at the end of her bed, his face displaying a sad smile. "You did it again, I'm afraid."
" I fainted?"
"I'm afraid so, Killjoy." He patted her leg, concealed under the blanket. "You barged into the morgue and accosted one of the dead bodies in the freezer. You had Dee literally up in arms. She had no idea what to make of it. No one does, actually."
"Including you?" She tried to meet his smile, tried to understand his position, but failed. "It's difficult for me to...." She paused, noticing a shadow flitter across her partner's face. "Kenny, are you alright?"
He shook his head. "I'm tired, Killjoy....that's all...."
She cocked her head to the side and looked at him. "You sure?"
He did not answer. Somewhere in the back of his head, he heard a voice whisper....
Two.....
~HP
Killjoy looked at him critically the entire way home, for after she woke from her deep faint, they could find no reason to keep her and nothing they said about 'observation' could convince her to stay. There was something in the set of his jaw, the tense muscles at his temple - something was bothering him.
"Kenny..." she began uncertainly. and he glanced at her from the driver's seat, beautiful hazel eyes dark with worry. "Nevermind... you can drop me off at home, I- I think I could use a good rest."
Before she knew it, her head was resting on his bare chest, her nakedness pressed against his in the moonlit room. They had hardly spoken a word, but a mutal need for release overcame them. Sighing languidly, Killjoy trailed a finger down his arm. He had strong arms, and large, sensitive hands. There was power in them, strength and a gentleness as well.
"Kenny..." she began again.
"Hmm?" he raised his head slightly, half asleep.
There was a long pause, and she tried to collect her thoughts. "I know you were watching over me, both times I traveled to- both times I fainted. I cannot say exactly how much that means to me..."
"No problem Killjoy," he mumbled, rolling onto his side and wrapping his arms around her. "Good night."
"Good night." She frowned, allowing herself to be pulled close. "I- I love you Kenny."
A frantic voice on the phone, which had rung persistantly all morning, finally woke Rebecca. Blurry eyes found their way to the clock and she cursed to see that it was only 6:11.
"What? What's wrong?"
"For Christ's sake Killjoy, where the fuck have you been? I've been calling you all morning!"
"All morning? Chief, its only six."
"Killjoy," Childs began, trying to control her fury. "Find your partner and get over to the morgue, now."
Rebecca sat up, pulling the sheet around her. "What- why?"
"Deanna has been killed."
She dropped the phone, reeling from the news and turned to wake her partner.
"Kenny?" His side of the bed was cold. "Kenny?"
~ST