~~Hello! This is my first fic, there is two parts with both main character's points of view. Thanks and Enjoy!~~
vv~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~{*`* Oliver's Point of View *`*}~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~vv
It was always just us and I always expected it to stay that way. If you're looking for a name I'll just tell you straightaway, it's Oliver Kirkland. I live in a relatively small house in a huge neighborhood with my dad. Another thing about me is that I don't have a mother. My dad has never spoken about her and I can't find the courage in myself to start questioning him. Imagining and guessing are my only choices, so to me she died soon after I was born, or just left us. Even without her, we still have enough money; dad is a boring accountant for a nearby company. When I'm older I'll get a job, but for now I'm just a student at school. Life was peaceful and nice, and I wanted to keep it that way.
You want a visual of us right? Well, I'm tall for my age, blonde hair, blue eyes, and absolutely handsome, well that's what people tell me. My dad on the other hand is pretty short, dirty blonde hair, and with green eyes. I'm also sporty, so I've got muscles, in fact I'm starting football and have to get a new uniform, so dad's having to work more. He been taking night shifts, but that's okay with me. I get to stay up and play video games or watch scary movies. It's only bad when it rains real bad or storms. This night, the local weatherman reported a real bad storm.
The powerful winds and pounding rain kept me awake. Storms were never my favorite creation from Mother Nature. Even when I was small, as soon as the lightning cracked or rain came pouring I made a mad dash to my father. At night I would stay in his bed lying next to him to comfort myself. "Of course I outgrew that by now," I muttered to myself, "it's just another stupid storm." As I was repeating these to myself I walked down a small hallway then suddenly I crashed faced first into a door. As I clutched my throbbing nose I glanced up and realized that I ended up at the door to dad's room. I mentally slapped myself, here I was convincing myself that I was okay with storms now, but I led myself to my place of safety. Then began a mental battle with myself to go inside or head back to my own room, with a sigh I turned the cold handle and stepped inside.
Once I step inside the first thing I notice as unusual is a messy stack of papers spread out on dad's antique desk. That struck me as strange, because he's usually an absolute clean freak. He cleans his room as if the Queen lived in there herself; everything is organized and categorized to its entirety. He nags me to clean my room like his, but I never get to it. "Sloppy is my middle name," I'd huff at him.
He'd give me a look and would retort with, "You idiot, no it's not." He would never leave such noticeable clutter, even in a rush. Covering up a yawn while I walked closed to the disorder I sat down at his favored chair. and scanned the information in front of me. They were boring papers that I assumed were apart of dad's job, but then something caught my eye.
The golden edges weren't what made me look closer. It was a birth certificate with the name "Alfred Jones" crossed out and underneath was my name in black ink, "Oliver Kirkland." I let out the air I didn't know I was holding and shifted the papers. "Why was my name on there," I uttered to no one, "and that was dad's handwriting!" On three other papers were lists of names of people who I've never heard of. As my eyes scanned the tops of the pages something made my heart stop. "Killed and Disposed:" read the top of one, "Taken:" was another, and "Next:" on the last page. Why would father have these papers? My brain strained itself for a reasonable answer.
Another paper made its way into my searching hand. This one though, was a piece of lined paper, written on like a diary entry:
"Another subject ran loose again. What's going wrong with me?! I need to focus, I've got 3 left to kill this month and 8 to kidnap. Scott says I'm losing my touch, but what does he know?! Has he ever been famously known as the 'Silent Killer' or been sought after by the most formidable police and detective force in The States! Hah! He knows nothing; soon I will execute my revenge plan and annihilate all competition. Having his blood run out of his body and taste of defeat will be my glory. The petty citizens' blood will run cold when they find out I'm better than that excuse of a serial killer and that I'm back in business. Of course they've been looking for an older man, living far from where they think I am. I've lived as one of them, how devious of me! My charm and looks fool them, after all that is what they are; fools! The one who deserves to rule is I only I! They will understand, I am god.
Arthur Kirkland "
I let out a wailing scream that I've held in for the whole time. "How can this be!" I screeched. Dad isn't some cold-blooded killer! This must be a mistake, or some kind of cruel prank! I fell to the floor, my head spinning like a merry-go-round on steroids. Suddenly his open arms seemed no longer secure or safe, they seemed like ropes trying to strangle me as I came to think if this was true. "Dad never did talk about his past, or my mother, as if he ― that's it," I contemplated in my head, "he must've stolen me." The last part was barely uttered as I came to the realization of what that birth certification meant. As thunder boomed I became aware that I'm not his son ― and he's not my father... My name, and my life, its all a lie!
He's a murderer, and he kidnapped me, does that mean he plans to kill me? So many thoughts burst into my head; I couldn't think straight. One thing kept on repeating itself, "Get out of here, NOW!" I sprinted to my room, still clutching my birth certificate. Seizing my backpack and overfilling it with my necessities, "I have limited time until dad ― no, not dad anymore, Arthur comes back," I corrected myself. As I pulled over a coat left on the bed and raced down the staircase to the front door, I thought, "What about money?" With a hurried look back, I went over and took the stash of emergency money hidden in the pot of the fake flower. As I unlocked the door and took a step outside, I also took a step into a new life.
vv~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~{*`* Arthur's Point of View *`*}~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~vv
Feeling weary after a long useless day at work and of course, and terrible rainstorm I was glad to finally be able to come home. I let out a sigh of relief as I slip off my drenched coat and kick off my muddy boots. As I take a look at the digital clock, I see that it's early, so I take my time and without a noise slip up the stairs to my room. Before I enter I go to quick take a peek at Oliver. No matter how old he gets, the lad never stops being startled by a rainstorm. "He always wakes up and has to get me to wake up too ― to comfort him," I chuckle to myself. As I pop my head in through the door I see a sight I don't expect. I know, and to my disappointment, that his room is a pigsty, but not like this. Clothes are scattered around, but none are in his open closet. His bed is also empty.
I zoom up into my room and burst open the door, unlike my usual manners. It was just as I had feared. The papers, my papers, were thrown all over my desk and some on the floor. I tried to remember if I had put those papers away earlier, but my memory had failed me, I hadn't. As I collected them I noticed that the birth certificate was gone. "He must of have seen them," I croaked. "OLIVER!" I hollered, "OLIVER WHERE ARE YOU?" I searched in agony, he was gone; he left. I cursed rather loudly and bit my lip, deciding on what to do now. Grabbing my coat and boots again, this time carrying an umbrella I opened my front door. The wind ripping at my skin, begging me to go back, but I ignored it, for this is too important.
Hours soon passed, then days, and weeks. Still no sign or word of a boy by the name of Oliver Kirkland, or even of Alfred Jones. Dread filled me, where was he, and did he tell anybody about myself? After or before work I would hunt for any information about a tall, young, blue eyed and blonde boy. No news ever greeted me any closer to finding him. I considered reporting a missing child to the police, but that included giving information and I couldn't have any of that. So I'm stuck to walking around and charming people for any gossip about him.
