Hello Comrads!
I've had this written for a while and want to know what you guys all think. Uhm, yeah. It's one of those 'Videl is a sassy classy FBI agent, blah blah blah,' but, of course, with a Stephen King twist. This first chapter is rather graffic, only in the beginning though, and incase anyone asks, it is Videl. Oh, and it may not seem like it through this first chapter, but there will be the whole DBZ cast in this fic. And anyone who likes Yamchua shouldn't read this either. I have been beyond cruel to him…way beyond. Poor man.
On another note, I have 95 of Chapter seven of State of Union finished. It should be out soon. It'll be a good 3,000 word chapter to make up for the late update. Thanks to all of you who have reviewed reminding me of my priorities by politely saying "You're not finished, asshole". It will be out soon, I promise.
Well, I hope yall enjoy.
Exponential Chaos
Makone
She had the feeling all day, and knew it was right. After work she merely went home, showered, put on her pajamas and waited, sitting at the foot of her neatly made bed with the lights off, windows covered, dark shadows running across her pale face. It was the fear that got her in the end. The gripping terror that shook her very being; the unleavened horror that craved insanity.
Her hands were folded neatly on her bare lap, slowly moving between her clasped knees. The clock ticked, and she waited, knowing that any moment her world would collapse and suffocate her strained existence.
She never bothered to try and stop what happened. It would only make the night worse.
Silence ensued within the confines of her dark room; the only light source was that of the moon peaking through her drawn blinds creating sinister silhouettes across her opposing wall. Then, quickly aiding precaution, she reluctantly stood and went to lock the door to her bedroom and prudently propped a nearby chair against it, tucking it securely underneath the doorknob, not knowing what might happen this time. She then turned around and stood there, taking in the emotional emptiness of the room. The lonely bed with a small dresser, a chair, and a small cactus plant named Rooliger.
Then seemingly out of nowhere the air grew thick and sticky,increasing dramatically in humidity and the density it held. The black and nightmarish silhouettes along the far wall began to move and contort into ominous, disturbing shapes she could not yet identify; distorting themselves ostensibly in the view of a carnival mirror. Slowly they pulsated and became strangely organic, floating and flying across her bare walls like witches in the autumn night sky; gracefully speeding past the ever ill-omened moon, casting their shadowy evil upon the world. However, before she could comprehend the incidence, her vision blurred and her skin crawled as if encased in thousands of squirming spiders.
The temperature rose and the air became stale, stagnant, and unbearably intense. It felt like a giant mountain was floating in the sky, sending its weight not upon the world, but solely upon her weakening shoulders.
She could not breathe. Her nostrils flared and her mouth gasped for more than what it was given. The room swirled around her, spinning like a deadly merry-go-round bound for hell.
She fell to the ground in compete the darkness, her knees slamming against the hard floor of her chaotically lonesome bedroom.
"God, no," she wheezed, desperately hugging herself.
Then came the sounds, those unbearable sounds. At first they were distant, sounding miles away, looming in the horizon, but they were chasing after her mind at an ineffable pace. Screaming, crying, shouting, manic laughter, animalistic, orgasmic shrills…They grew louder and louder searching for her conscience.
"God, someone help me!" cried a random tortured soul, echoing throughout the room. "Please. Oh God, someone please! Help me!" And with a growl and hair curling scream the voice stopped to only be replaced by the savage ripping of flesh.
She quickly clamped her hands over her burning ears, frantically digging her fingers into her black hair to grasp a better vacuum to block the satanic noise.
Rip, slash, splatter.
Her body quivered as she lulled herself back and forth, swaying, and mumbling to herself, squeezing shut her swollen eyes and spraying spittle through ever hard letter and vowel trying her hardest not to panic. She pleaded for God to help her because she couldn't do it alone.
But sadly, alone she was.
Over the chorus of moaning and grunting, a low masculine voice rose, "Stay fucking still, bitch!"
Punch.
"What did I fucking tell you? Don't make me fucking kill you, slut…"
"Our Father, who art in heaven…" she began shakily, gasping through each word, unable to catch her frantic breath. A sticky film of perspiration clung to her body, oozing down her forehead and to the tip of her nose, and then lazily dropped to the floor.
Soon afterward the nausea arrived. The luke-warm vomit sat savagely in the pit of her stomach. She gagged, wheezed, and gagged again, longing to purge herself of the putrid substance.
"Please just let me go…" sobbed a violated woman. "Don't do it again. No. No don't! Get away from me!"
Howling, pleas for existence, horrified screams for help that would never be answered; all echoed menacingly through her brain.
Slowly yet suddenly she began to weep uncontrollably, spitting and drooling, allowing a cascade of warm, gushing tears to envelope her contorted face. Panic soon overcame her senses.
Daringly she pried open her eyes only to glance at the gruesome shadows along the blackened wall, shadows swirling and playing out every savage scenario of rape, murder, and suicide that presently graced her crazed mind. They encircled her and slowly melted into the floor, slowly inching toward her huddled form.
Quickly she squeezed her eyes shut once more and whimpered.
"I'll find you! Sooner or later, and when I do, you and your kids are going straight hell with me! You hear that man! To fucking hell!"
Her lungs heaved through the impossibly thick air that became hotter with every breath. She gasped faster and faster, hyperventilating.
"And your wife…"A sickening chuckle merely finished that despicable sentence.
"Daddy! Daddy! Help, please help!"
She dug harder, forcing her hands tighter against her ears forcing her nails to dig deeper and deeper into her scalp drawing thick blood that ran through her hair and clotted in her cuticles, mixing with her sweat, dripping down her temples and into her gasping mouth, but she didn't care. She didn't have the capacity to care.
"Daddy!"
At this moment fear was controlling everything within her and yet in spite of that she realized she was not truly afraid. Maybe fear was not the foremost and adequate word; terror, an exponential chaos of her human conscience perhaps gave it a minor justification, and yet it too failed to substantiate the radical, agonizing emotion she was feeling. It was a deep-seeded loneliness that eroded her writhing soul, a gluttonous black hole that was veraciously inhaling her by molecular bits and pieces.
Painful little pieces.
A tormented moan exploded from her mouth in a rush of hot air built up in her lungs. Her swaying continued, as did the echoing tearing of flesh and blood curdling screams of absolute panic.
"Hallowed be thy name…" she winced.
It was a loneliness that inspired raging anger, and an anger that inspired flaming hatred, not of others, but of herself; for everything was eternally on her doorstep and yet so perpetually faint in mind and body. The sounds, the visions; they were real, and at the same time they were all seemingly within her frantic grasp; the death, the pain, the torture: and yet consistently and tantalizingly they grazed across the gentle tips of her fingers. Conceivably this emotion in turn created fear; however its true form was not and never will be fear.
And yet in the end there's nothing to fear but fear itself.
"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done…"
"Haahaahaa!" laughed a crazed male. "Take THAT," –stab- , "and THAT," –stab- , "and fucking THAT!" –stab-. "Haaahaahahaha!"
The sounds escaladed indefinitely and she pressed harder and harder against her bleeding ears.
The nightmare; a fear of failure, the fear and knowledge of the aptitude for evil encased within every human being. A fear that she couldn't stop them, a fear that shewill never stop the screaming.
"On Earth," she hesitated, continuing to sway forward and back, forward and back, methodically and rhythmically, simultaneously resisting the tempting urge to scream, hoping her voice could over power the noises within her head. However, she knew that if she screamed, she would neverbe able to stop.
"…as in heaven."
Slowly and steadily, and orgasmic grunting exploded through her mind.
"Fuck yeah!" followed by a continuous violent moaning.
Blood continued to gush through her hair and across her face, down to the neck of her T-shirt, and between her breasts. A steady stream slowly crawled along the back of her spine, dripping to the waist of her underwear. Her fingers were entirely coated in the thick, red, gleaming substance that soon began to overtake her palms.
Through closed eyes she felt the twisting and churning of the pitch-black bedroom and the auras of the shadows, watching and waiting for her to open her eyes once more.
Soon her mind was at an absence for words and the weight of the room seemed to crush her body and push deftly against her lungs.
Tears continued to gush uncontrollably. Her thoughts frantically raced. The sound of death and fear grew louder and louder within her head and she could not stop it. The smell of blood, guts, and musty semen engulfed her laboring nostrils and the vomit quickly began to rise.
"FUCK!"-pant- "Oh yeah!"
Panicked and crazed she did the only thing she could do to make the noise go away. She screamed, and she was right. She wasn't able to stop.
Videl stepped out her front door and locked it. The morning was very chilly for late autumn and a gentle breeze ruffled her fitted black coat that lazily extended to her knees. She removed her jangling keys from the lock, walked down the steps, and then headed to her black Honda parked in the driveway. Her black leather heels clicked along the wet concrete and splashed into an occasional pool of rain water.
It obviously rained again last night, and obviously, she hadn't noticed. Her eyes sadly searched the landscape.
By now, more than a majority of the dead brown, orange, and red leaves had fallen to the ground, gathering in her front yard and every other place imaginable. They clung to the soggy street and sunk into the sodden ground, drowned in giant puddles and floated through the ever clear sky.
With the push of a button, the car beeped and unlocked itself.
She has always hated fall. Hated the air it held, the emotion it brought. Bad time, bad memories, it all made her life worse then it already was.
"Ah, Ms. Satan! Lovely morning, isn't it?"
'As lovely as a rat's ass,' Videl thought cynically.
Ethan Daley leaned casually against the white picket fence just beyond her driveway. He wore his favorite tan worker cap and an overly large plaid shirt that slightly hid is gut of old age.
The senile man had been her neighbor ever since she had moved to the suburbs two years ago and always treated her kindly.
She softly smiled, "Sure, I guess, but it looks like it's going to storm again soon."
"Well yes. It is that time of year. Fall always makes me feel old." He leaned back, rubbed his lower back and stretched his shoulders.
"Sorry to break it to you, but you are old."
"Heh. Screwing subtlety today are you?"
"Subtlety has never been my forte. So what are you doing up this early?" Videl pushed up her jacket sleeve to glance at her silver watch. "It's almost seven. You're usually not up until noon."
He returned her comment with a grin and the tip of his cap, "Just because I'm old doesn't mean I have to seep every day away." He turned and pointed to the old rake resting on his front porch, "I just decided to rake up the leaves taking over my lawn. Wanted to get an early start so I won't miss my shows. You know there's a special on the cooking channel today. It's all about cakes."
"Mmm, cake. I could really go for some." Videl remarked leaning her elbows against the roof of her coop, feeling tired and stressed.
"I know. I think I'll run to the store and pick one up when I'm done burning the damned leaves to hell."
She sighed, "Well aren't you the violent one?"
"Just angry," he grinned.
"Ah. That explains quite a bit," Videl chuckled. "Well, I'm already running late, so I better get going before I get my head chewed off. Just make sure you save some cake for me, okay?"
"Are you crazy? It's my damn cake!" he joked.
"No. You're the crazy one, old man. I guess we have a date," she said opening the driver's door and throwing her purse into the passenger seat, "and there better be a warm, cake-filled greeting when I arrive."
Ethan chuckled, "Chocolate or vanilla?"
"Oh, Ethan, you should know me better than that," she replied.
"Then chocolate it is."
Traffic wasn't bad with only a few rough spots here or there, and considering she had to commute to the heart of Satan City, an hour trip was damn good time. She reluctantly turned at the final light and pulled into the parking lot, found her designated space, and stopped the engine.
While life owns many conscious aspects and holds numerous perspectives from which every person on this Earth partakes, her life and the vividness with which it used to flow had recently deteriorated, becoming a suffocating long black tunnel. Only one way in and no way out. In some senses she longingly watched those who had no never-ending tunnel, those who were happy, those who had purpose; those who had love.
Through her tunnel emotions were inconceivable and happiness, a long lost foe.
The world seemed so surreal, so fake. Everything seemed to be put to the absolute extreme. The colors, the smells, the sensations; the darkness.
She leaned over in her seat and placed her head in her hands rubbing her swollen eyes, running her fingers through her dark hair, feeling the wounds she inadvertently caused last night. Videl exhaled deeply and held back tears, blinking and blinking, but failing to stop their persistent track down her face.
At this time in the morning the sun had finally risen into the sky, blaming its late arrival upon the looming winter. It was still sleeping behind a trough of fat, lazy clouds.
She wanted to go back to sleep. Forever. To never wake up again to the sadness, the stress, the weight placed on her heart and the chains bound to her soul, clinging tightly, reluctant to ever let go; that would be…
Impossible.
She grabbed her suitcase from the back seat, her purse from beside her and slowly headed on her way into the building. The bitter fall wind blew through her hair stinging her scalp, making her squint her eyes and hide her head behind a raised arm.
"Cold, cold, cold, cold, cold, damn cold, cold, fucking cold, damn fucking cold, son-of-a damn fucking cold."
The doors were promptly opened by two guards who stood at attention and addressed her respectfully. She simply strode by without acknowledging them, keeping her eyes on the ground.
The entrance forum was large, showing off gray spotted, black granite floors, and large, powerful marble columns circumscribing the entire room, and as always, Martie, her annoying little 'mouse man' stood, fidgeting in the center of the giant F.B.I logo that graced the floor. In truth he was her 'advisor', her assistant if need be, but really she thought he was a nuisance.
He had big ears, noticeable buckteeth, and huge brown eyes that resembled dinner plates in proportion to his tiny face and miniscule figure. Worst of all, however, was the fact that he could never stop moving in a twitchy sort of way. At first she thought he was a true reincarnation of a rodent, however due to certain religious reasons she changed her hypothesis to a twitching disorder he received from being dropped on his head at birth…
Doctor: One more push Mrs. Johnson.
Martie's Mom: Daniel (Martie's dad) I swear you are never touching me again after this…
Daniel: (sobbing)
Doctor: Ooh. Here it comes!
Baby Martie: (squealing like a purple people eater).
Doctor: Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, you have a beautiful ba- HOLY SHIT! (drops Martie)What the hell it that thing?(tries to run away but slips on the embryonic fluid all over the floor and is knocked unconscious)
… but now her theory is that he's a cocaine addict with a severe but odd case of the munchies.
"You're late," he said turning and matching pace with her long strides towards the elevator.
"Yup, nine whole minutes," she replied sarcastically.
"And fifty-eight seconds! Might as well be ten minutes," he said, considering lateness a sin.
She reached the elevator and pressed the up arrow on the wall, repressing the urge to tell him to go eat cheese or crackers or something.
"You're late and we got a new report in last night from-" Martie began.
She turned her head to the ceiling and took a deep breath, "Martie, am I in my office?"
"…Well, no, but-" he stammered, confused.
"Then I don't want to hear about it."
"But it's-"
"Office, Martie!" The elevator dinged and opened. They both stepped inside and Martie pressed the button for the twenty-forth floor. He stood beside Videl fidgeting, twitching, ticking, and such.
"It's a big case-"
"Martie, don't make me hurt you."
"But imagine how much time we could save if you just let me brief you on your way to you office than only in your office," he pleaded in his squeaky little voice.
"Three minutes," she replied blandly.
"Exactly! Three minutes could save lives!"
"Three minutes could make popcorn, Martie." Her grip on her suitcase tightened deftly, the leather molding to her palm.
"Oh, but just think of the time we could gain."
"I don't want to."
"But-"
"Martie…"
"Oh, common!"
"You're worse than a child with a severe case of ADD."
After a minute or so of uncomfortable silence the elevator stopped and dinged again, signaling their arrival.
Videl sighed and said, "You know what, Martie; make yourself useful and get me some coffee. Two creams, half a blue thingy of sugar." She then ambled out of the elevator before he had a chance to reply.
This floor had a sophisticated feel, glass walls, expensive woodwork, and new age metallic furniture; open and comfortable. However Videl had chosen the office in the back. No glass walls, only one widow, and no second way in or out. She was never to be disturbed, and this enforced her sentiments.
Once in her office, she closed the door and removed her jacket, hanging it up on a nearby wall hook. Then she placed herself in her rolly chair behind the desk and noticed a little red light blinking on her phone.
Unwillingly she presses the button.
'Three new messages', the monotone voice said. 'First message-received Sunday-November twenty-eighth-five fifteen P.M'
"Uh, yes. Hello, this is Alan Sorgel from Smith&Weston just letting you know you shipment has arrived. Uh, you can pick it up anytime this week-" Videl cut off the message, writing a note on a nearby piece of paper.
'Second message-received Sunday-November twenty-eighth- eleven thirty-five P.M.'
"Heeey Dellll! Where the hell aaaarrre yooouu! We're having a grrre-" Videl pressed the button again, cutting off her friend's drunken message.
'Third message-received Monday-November twenty-ninth- seven twenty-one A.M'
Then, over the small speaker, came the voice she had been dreading. "Hey, honey. It's Dad. I was just calling to check in on you. Uh, I was going to call you at home, but I thought it'd be best not to wake you..."
Videl folded her arms on her desk and gently lay down her head, closing her eyes.
"Listen. I know this time of year is tough for you, but... aw hell I know what you're going through sweetie, but you need to talk to someone. It doesn't have to be me. It's just, you can't keep on avoiding it. I know what you think happened all those years ago and I can't change what you believe, but uh…
Look, sweetie, I gotta go, but please, please…call me back. Love you…"
Her mind was blank and devoid of all thought, almost lulling her to sleep, but then there was a rap at the door, and Martie arrived.
"Rise and shine, oh Lord of Anger." He placed the hot cup of coffee before her. "The day is young and we have quite the tight schedule to follow."
"Go away," she mumbled. "No one loves you."
Used to the usual insults, Martie said, "Yes, isn't that sad…but there are more important things to address."
"Like my sleep patterns."
"Like, the sooner we start the sooner we finish."
She heaved a sigh and sat up, stretching her back. "Fine."
Martie just stood there with a satisfied buck-tooth smile.
"So," Videl said, taking a sip from her steaming coffee (Mug: 'I like my men how I like my coffee…hot'), "what's this thing you want me to take a look at, Martie?"
"Gosh, I thought you'd never ask." He threw a thick manila folder across her desk causing a thunderous slap and a few papers to go flying and floating through the air to land on the office carpet.
Videl cautiously poked it, "Jesus Christ in a holy hand-basket, that's a monster."
Martie smiled again in his rodent-like fashion.
"You can actually carry that thing? Hmm. Must be eating your vegetables."
Brushing off the cynical insult he replied, "A famous Baseball player was found dead in his high scale apartment in south Satan City last night."
"Yamchua? Ooh. Scandal. Cause of death?"
"He was skinned. Died of traumatic shock, heart failure. "
"That sucks," she said opening the gigantic manila folder.
"And blood loss. He was also castrated among other things."
"I'll bet you anything that you'll find his dick being sold on e-Bay within two weeks."
"You're cruel."
"It's a cruel world, but anywho, what does this have to do with me. I don't handle celebrity cases. It's not in my jurisdiction, Martie."
"You think I don't know that."
"Yeah, yeah," she said, pulling the papers from the envelope.
"Uh, you might not want to take a look at the pictures. They're pretty brutal."
"I appreciate the warning. Now continue. Oh, and good coffee by the way."
"Thanks. I put in two sugars this time." Martie walked up to Videl's desk and leaned his small frame against the corner.
He replied to Videl's quirked eyebrow, "You were grumpy this morning."
"What?" she said.
"Eh," he shrugged, "Nothing."
Sensing something strange in his show of courtesy, she placed her coffee mug on her desk and glared at him. "Tell me, Martie. Spill."
"There's nothing to tell."
"Liar, liar."
"No, really."
She took a large gulp from her mug, "Pant's on fire."
He paused and sighed, "You'll bite my head off."
"Martie."
"But it wasn't my idea."
"What's going on?" Worry suddenly engulfed her voice.
"I swear."
"Just tell me."
"I told them you wouldn't like it."
"Stop beating around the damn bush." She quickly shoved the papers back into the envelope and pushed it aside.
"But they said it would be good for you."
"They?"
"They…uh," Martie paused and frantically thought of a way to get away from the conversation, "They… found out Yamchua was involved with-"
"Don't change the subject, Martie," Videl snapped quickly.
He nervously bowed his head and began to twiddle his fingers, his buck teeth bit his lower lip.
"Martie, look at me."
His thumbs continued to wiggle.
"Damnit, look at me!" She slammed her fist on her desk. On queue her desk phone rang. Videl glared at the phone and back at Martie, then to the phone again. She didn't pick it up.
It continued to ring.
"Who's they?" She glared and pointed to the phone, "Is that 'they'?"
"You should pick that up," Martie said nervously.
"Why?"
"You just…should."
"I 'just should'," she mocked.
Videl took a deep breath and sighed knowing that whatever it was, it was trouble. "Fine, I don't give a shit anymore." She gently picked up the phone. "Detective Satan speaking."
An incomprehensible rage ran through her coursing veins. She was livid and wanted to shove a Herpes ridden cow down the Director's throat while shouting unheard of obscenities. But what would she say? 'You lied to me you fucking bastard. Go fuck yourself, you God damn asshole?' No. That would get her fired. Perhaps something more restrained, but she wasn't good at subtlety, and dangit this was not the time for restraint.
She irately stormed down the final hallway and without warning, smashed into the DA's office screaming her head off.
"You bastard! What the hell did I fucking tell you?"
Surprised by the sudden burst, Dean McMillan, the DA, jumped in his chair, but quickly composed himself.
"Ms. Satan, just li-"
"What did I tell you? You think I wasn't serious?" she yelled, lunging toward his desk. She was restrained by someone, but fought with all her might. "You promised you wouldn't do this to me! You fucking promised, damn it! God! And get your God-damned hands of me you-!" She torqued her left arm from the man's grip and prepared to break her restrainer's elbow, but he was quick and grabbed her around the torso, pulling her off balance. Before he got a secure hold, she snuck her arm under his and spun to deliver a hard retort and possibly break his wrist, however instead she came face to face with a large chest and crashed into it, nearly breaking her nose.
Grabbing her throbbing snout, Videl stumbled backward leaning over in pain.
"Bastard," she mumbled. Then regaining her composure, she looked up to see her 'aggressor', and unfortunately, he was gorgeous.
"Detective Satan, meet your new partner, Captain Son."
His posture was that of a king. Back straight, chin up, his hands securely shoved in his casual suit; however there was a blotch of makeup on his dress shirt from her running into it.
"As you can see, she's quite the…irascible person," McMillan commented. The Captain merely chuckled and shrugged, then tried to rub off the stain.
"This isn't what I signed up for," Videl grumbled, leaning on the desk, still inspecting her nose. "I agreed to frickin' Martie, but I don't need another bus boy, just because I'm the damned daughter of-"
"Satan, I know you're good, but if anything happened to you, it would be my head."
"So he's another body guard, is that it?" Videl rolled her eyes.
"No," McMillan sighed, "He's your common sense." At that comment Videl sent a death glare toward the Director. He loosened his tie, suddenly feeling like to room was too small, and the exit too far away.
"I can handle myself."
Dean chuckled uneasily and leaned over to open a drawer and take out a file labeled 'SATAN, VIDEL'. He thumbed through the pages. "Really? You can handle yourself? Just like when you nearly died running into a robbed bank; or when you nearly died trying to jump across two sky scrapers chasing a suspect; or stole a police car and drove it off Orange City bridge… nearly dying; or when you nearly died jumping out of a helicopter into the whitewater of South City River trying to do something or other; or when you stole some kid's bike-"
"You're being over dramatic."
"Don't blame your stupidity on me Ms. Satan. I'm not the one who, let's see," he flipped through a few more pages in the folder and said, reading, "interrogated someone by lighting them on fire."
"He was an international terrorist," Videl retorted.
"And the law suit cost us one point two million dollars."
"I saved thousands of lives!" Videl screamed, standing to her full height.
"This is America, Satan. Do you think anyone cares anymore?"
"…Apparently not."
Feeling too disgusted to continue Videl turned to storm out of the room like a child and go throw a tantrum, or perhaps her chair out the window. Her plan, however, was hindered as she pivoted and went nose first back into the Captain's chest again. Bouncing backward, she grabbed her nose again and yelled, "Damnit! Watch where you put that thing!" and practically ran out of the room. Curious eyes watched as she exited the office and traversed the hallways grasping a bloody nose, everyone wondering how badly she had massacred the DA.
Videl felt she couldn't get to her office fast enough. She tightly grasped the handle, flung it open, and disappeared through the heavenly threshold. Placing her back up against the closed door she sighed and assessed the damage. Drops of dried blood covered her hands so she went to her desk to grab a few tissues to wipe them clean. Once done, she grabbed a few more, pressed them up to her nose and alternately blew though separate nostrils to remove the blood from her nasal passage.
Damage assessment continued as she tried to splint her broken ego.
How could McMillan use those cases against her? She risked her life for others and was being punished for it. So she lit someone on fire. She got what she needed, didn't she? It's not her fault the rest of the world was full of pansies.
Tired and full of a rage that needed to be subdued, Videl grabbed her jacket, her purse, the Yamchua case file, and erupted from her office, heading towards the elevator. Martie was at the far end of the hallway and as he opened his mouth to question her, she interrupted, "Shut it, rodent," and pushed the call button.
He walked towards Videl and asked, "Just where do you think you're going?"
"None of your business."
A ding signaled the elevator's arrival. She hastily stepped in and pressed the door close button before Martie had an opportunity to follow her.
The donut shop was quiet and quaint. Delicious smells of baked dough, sugar glaze, and good coffee wafted lazily throughout the atmosphere, adding to the peaceful aura. She sat back in a small booth next to a window sipping a small cup of Carmel latté, every sip seeming to wash away a bit of her stress, allowing her to become absorbed in the newspaper previously left on the table.
This was Videl's haven; 'Dino's Donuts', a small pastry shop deep in the heart of Satan city. It was a separate world from the outside. The hustle and bustle stopped at the door, along with the stress of the day.
She leaned back a little further, crossing her legs and flipping the pages, searching for the comics.
No matter what she read, she couldn't get her mind off of her new 'Captain Son'. Now that she thought about it with a clear mind, having a partner didn't seem that bad. It meant less paperwork for her, and maybe someone to bitch at when she was feeling low. Perhaps he was a gentleman, but in the end his kindness was not the issue of debate. It was the simple fact that the F.B.I. betrayed her again. They broke a promise that she was adamant about. After two Boston Crème Donuts and a cranberry muffin she realized the betrayal was created through a lack of trust. Dean was right in saying that she nearly died…pretty much every day, but that didn't change the fact that she was independent and downright adamant against having to take care of someone else.
The last time she did that, someone dear to her died.
And hell, she doesn't do that great a job taking care of her own life anyway.
The bell hanging above the door jingled, announcing the arrival of another customer. Videl finally found the comics.
She loved reading 'Peanuts'. Poor Charlie Brown could never kick the damn football. It was practically the same thing every week, but it had a melancholy humor that Videl was very familiar with.
As Lucy tricked Charlie once more, Videl put her drink on the table and chuckled.
"Enjoying yourself?" a deep voice asked.
Videl looked up to see a tall handsome man standing next to the table, wearing a suit… with a make-up blotch on the chest. "Well, yes, at the expense of someone else's well-being, Captain Son."
"And whose well-being might that be?"
"A little boy named Charlie Brown."
He took the coffee in his hand, sipped it, smirking, and then asked, "Is this seat taken?" He added a pointing gesture with his head.
"No. Help yourself."
He sat down in front of her and didn't say anything else. He picked up another part of the newspaper she had earlier disguarded and began to thumb through it. For a while they sat in silence, allowing the conversations of the people around them to be their own.
Every now and then the bell above the door would jingle, bringing with it a quick rush of cold autumn air. People came and went, time quickly passing, and yet they said nothing to each other.
Their silence was not one made from lack of things to say. No, quite the contrary. Videl's tongue was itching with questions and reprimands and accusations and anything to find out something about the man before her. She said nothing however, because it actually felt proper. Awkward, but proper.
But Videl's curiosity was struck and once started it was an unstoppable force. She couldn't help but wonder how he managed to find her, or more importantly, 'why' he wanted to find her. She knew he had a purpose, and it wasn't to sit across from her and read the newspaper.
She bit her lower lip, pleading with herself to not say or do anything stupid, to have him make the first move, but her patience was growing thin.
Daringly, she lowered her paper just enough to allow her deep blue eyes to take an inconspicuous look at him. He wasn't bad looking…not.at.all. Okay, maybe 'not bad' was a severe understatement, yet he was supposed to be part of the enemy. But how could someone so attractive be 'evil'.
As if sensing her eyes boring upon him, he raised his own and looked back with an amused look on his face. She tried to look away and raise her paper as quickly as she could, but ended up looking like a stupid school girl. He smiled, shook his head, and went back to reading. She scoffed and turned the page, but didn't pay attention to what she was reading.
"So…" Videl said, still pretending to read the paper.
He looked up and quirked an eyebrow. "Yes?"
"Are you going to say anything?"
"Eventually."
Videl rolled her eyes and smushed her paper onto her lap in slight frustration. "Eventually?"
"Yeah. Not now though." He still read.
"Why?"
"Silence is a virtue."
"It's also annoying."
"To some, yes."
"You enjoy just sitting here?"
"I like to think, just as you like to hear yourself talk." He looked up to see her reaction and was pleased by an evil glare sent his way. He turned the page.
"I don't like to hear myself talk," Videl retorted. "My voice is too manly,"
With all seriousness, he replied, "Actually, it's quite sultry."
"…Sultry?"
"Yes, sultry."
"…Sultry?"
"Very sultry."
"Serious?"
"Tremendously sultry."
"But…Sultry?"
"Is that a problem?"
"Sultry…It makes me fell like a phone sex whore."
"A phone sex whore is not a good thing to feel like."
"You're mocking me."
"Of course I'm not."
"Bastard."
"I only meant it as a compliment. You have a beautiful voice when not shouting obscenities."
She paused and looked into his eyes to sense if he was joking. When she noticed that he wasn't she was without words.
He seriously just complimented her.
That was awkward.
Perplexed, Videl picked up her paper and began to read again, however unintreiguing the news was. "Is stalking a regular thing for you?"
"Is that what you think I'm doing here?" he asked.
"Well, unless you always go around telling women they are sexy…"
"Which I don't."
"So then will you tell me?"
"About what?"
"Well, why you're here would be a good start."
He smiled and shook his head somewhat bashfully.
"God," Videl mumbled, annoyed, "do you ever stop smiling?"
"Excuse me?" he said.
"You're too damn happy."
"Is that illegal, Detective?"
Videl folded her paper into quarters and placed it on the table. Back straight, she leaned forward and whispered, exploring the boundary between sultry and really pissed off. "Listen," she said matter-of-factly, "I'm a bitch; I'm a cold, hard, bitch. I don't like people, I don't like children, I don't like little puppies or long walks on the beach or anything," her words stumbled, "…at all. I don't have a family, I don't have friends, I don't have a life." She glared deep into his eyes. "I get pissed off very easily; in fact, I enjoy being pissed off. I find it refreshing. I think that the world is made of flower wearing, peace loving, tree hugging, weed smoking pansies. I think that killing small animals is an adequate past-time. And do you know what? I think you're an asshole. I think you're Dean's damn tree hugging puppet. And I think you're gay."
Nothing else was said. Had their booth been its own ambient system, crickets would have chirped. However the subdued noise around them demolished what should have been an awkward silence.
"You had to add that gay thing in for good measure, didn't you?" the Captain said.
"Yeah. It sounded good."
"Surprisingly, it did."
She quirked her eyebrow, "You're gay?"
He shrugged, "Maybe."
Videl's face contorted in confusion. "Maybe?"
"Feel any better?"
Videl took a deep inhaled and released the air with a huff and a slouch. "A bit." She was still confused.
"Good, because now it's my turn." He put down his paper, crossed his arms, and leaned back. "I'd like to think I'm a nice guy. My mother taught me good manners and how to treat people with courtesy, how to watch my mouth and speak with eloquence and kindness. I like people, children, little puppies, and long walks on the beach. I have a mom, a dad, and a little brother, I have many kind friends, and whether or not I have a life is under intense debate. It takes a lot to get me mad, and I don't enjoy it the least. I believe the world has both good and evil, pansy and hard-ass. I find the diversity refreshing. I find killing little animals as a past-time to be somewhat psychotic, but I'm not one to judge. Upon you, I think you're outspoken, violent, and very, very, loud. I think you have a beautiful laugh, I think you have incredible martial arts skills… and I think you have a strange addiction to Boston Crème Donuts. "
Well, that caught Videl off guard. Perhaps she was expecting something more…manly. Unsure of how to reply, she said the one thing she was still pondering. "So, you're not gay?"
"Would it bother you if I was?"
After a short pause, Videl replied, "That's a good question….Have you ever slept with another man?"
"Detective Satan…"
"Captain Son," Videl mocked.
"You're making me feel awkward."
"I don't care. Have you?"
"This is not the type of conversation I expected to have with you when I came."
"I bet it isn't." Videl paused, "So, why did you come?"
"Not to talk about my sex life."
"No. Really. Why?"
Captain Son picked up his cup of coffee, which was now luke- warm. "I think I have a question to answer yours, Detective."
"Shoot."
Son paused, and Videl thought he was just trying to be over-dramatic. Maybe he had to share some bad news, like maybe he wasn't her partner, but her replacement. Hah, that would suck. But the pause continued until she was uncomfortable and he was putting down his coffee. He leaned forward and looked into her eyes. "Detective, being your new partner, whether you like it or not, intales a sort of relationship that, I believe, must be grown from the ground with trust through adversity."
Videl tilted her head in uncertainty and allowed him to continue.
"You are an…outspoken, independent woman, and I respect that wholly. I don't expect you to like me, I don't expect you to make me cookies for Christmas, but I do expect your respect. However, I must stress once more that a respectful relationship can only be fostered through trust. I need you to trust me, and more than anything, I need to trust you. You see, Ms. Satan, I am a compassionate person by nature. If someone has a problem I will help them with all of my being…" He paused and looked at her in an implorative manner.
Her head tilted even further. She had no clue where he was going with this. "Do you have a point, Captain?" she asked.
" Fine. I'll be blunt." He paused and took a deep breath, as if preparing himself for a great confrontation. "Why do you hurt yourself?"
Videl's heart stuttered and her eyes widened. Her mouth fell agape as his eyes bored into her soul. He had incredible eyes. They pierced straight through her and she couldn't help but feel inadequate under his scrutiny. The dark orbs oozed intelligence and sophistication that was only matched by Golden Rolex watch that suddenly seemed to stop on his wrist.
He repeated, "Why do you hurt yourself."
"Wha…what? What are you talking about?"
"You know what I am talking about, Videl."
"Don't use my first name."
"Don't lie to me. Trust, Videl."
She breathed heavily with uncertainty as her mind raced with what he was talking about and how he could possibly know. "I don't understand," Videl stammered.
"Your head, Satan."
As a nervous reaction Videl ran her hand through her hair, feeling the cuts and scabs along the side of her scalp, hidden underneath thick waves of black hair.
"You're crazy. My head's fine."
"I saw them, Satan."
Them. He described her wounds as them, as if they held personas of their own, like they were a figment of her tortured depressed soul. Nonsense.
"How'd you…?" she began.
"I noticed when you where trying to attack McMillan. Detective, if there's a reason or excuse for this please, tell me now. I can help…"
"I don't have to tell you anything, Captain. It's none of your concern." Her voice was laced with a seething anger and frustration brought about by her new friend; fear.
"Satan, if your cut yourself, it's my concern."
"I don't cut myself," she hissed.
"Satan-"
"I don't cut myself," Videl repeated with more vehemence.
"Satan-"
"God! What don't you get?" Videl exploded from the booth and began to grab her things, putting on her jacket and gathering her purse. "I don't cut myself. Who do you think I am?"
Gohan stood as well and grabbed her arm. Their voices were now at a violent whisper, not wanting to alert the other costumers. "Then tell me-"
Grabbing the Yamchua file from the bench and securing it under he arm, she ripped her arm from his grip and turned to face him. "You wouldn't understand." Videl turned on her heal and practically sprinted from the donut shop. Time seemed surreal as she exploded through the doors to the outside. She could only see his Golden Rolex watch ticking ever so slowly as if it controlled time itself.
Why was she running? He asked an honest question and he deserved an honest answer. But how could she give him an honest answer? Those wounds were self-inflicted, yet they weren't at all deliberate…or… Damn.
He followed close behind, getting caught off guard by the sudden burst of cold that greeted him. "Detective!" he shouted, running to catch up. When he reached her he grabbed her shoulder so she couldn't tear free and turned her to face him. Her face was one mixed with rage and sorrow.
He then realized he opened up a damn big can of worms.
"I didn't mean to…" he began.
Tears were gathering in her eyes and she could not have felt more ashamed of herself. "You wouldn't understand," she mumbled through short irate gasps. She was confused. She hated being confused. She hated being confronted about things that should stay buried; buried deep inside the monstrous caverns of her own mind.
"You don't know that."
"You don't know me, Captain." She said, "You don't know anything, and I'd appreciate it if you dropped this subject and never brought it up again."
"Detective-"
"You don't know me, Captain. Now, have a nice day," she finished bitterly and went to free herself from his grasp.
He held her still as she tried to move away, his hands on her shoulders. Amidst her quick struggle he leaned forward and whispered, "I know you hate little puppies."
Videl stopped moving and looked at him in bewilderment. She bowed her shaking head and let out a melancholy chuckle followed by a prompt sniffle.
"In my mind, Detective, that's sacrilege." Gohan was proud of himself, thinking he had calmed her down somewhat.
Videl picked her head up slightly and said, "Captain, you've known me for less than two hours and you've already made me cry."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. Honestly. I'm sorry. Just let me help, please. You need to trust me."
Videl picked up her head and smiled tenderly. She relaxed and took a deep breath, replaying his words through her head. She then nodded and smiled wistfully whispering, "Yeah, sure," …and then punched him square in the face. The banshee within emerged. "Bastard!" she screamed, "No one, and I mean no one, makes me cry!"
He stumbled back a few steps in shock of being hit, and maybe a broken nose. Feeling that her right hand was broken she ran forward, clinched her left one, pulled back, and struck his face again, sending him sprawling onto a nearby building. "That one's for touching me!" She chased him again, picked up her leg and skillfully smashed a round-house kick across his temple. He fell to the ground with a groan. "And that was for thinking I need help." She walked to him and leaned over. Her voice was low and menacing, "I don't need anyone, Captain Son." She stood and turned, saying, "The sooner you get that through your head the better off we'll both be."
Videl readjusted her purse strap and calmly strode down the sidewalk to hail a taxi.
The sun had already set as she pulled into her driveway and removed her keys from the ignition.
Her right hand felt broken so she took a moment to nurse it, rubbing it gingerly. Through the windshield of her Honda her house looked barren and forlorn. The lights were off, the windows empty, the landscaping overgrown; it looked like anything but a home. It was a vacant hole to which she could retreat to mend her wounds. It was nothing less, nothing more.
Longing for anything but an empty bed in cold dark house she opened her door and stepped outside into the cold. Through squinted eyes she noticed Ethan's house and remembered their previously set pastry appointment. With more fervor than she thought she could have ever mustered, she walked down her driveway and across the sidewalk to the entrance in Ethan's fence. She opened it and briskly walked to the porch, crossing her arms for warmth. He opened the door before she had a chance to knock.
"Heh. I thought you had forgotten our date, young miss." He was dressed in an tattered navy turtle-neck sweater and comfortable kakis. He had a large glass of milk in his hand.
"How romantic," Videl replied playfully.
"You mock me, Satan."
She stood on the porch and asked, "So, can I come in? It's cold."
The old man thought for a second, "I don't know…"
Videl rolled her eyes and stepped through the threshold into his warm abode. Giving no fight, he closed the door behind her and offered to take her coat.
"You redecorated," Videl noticed, taking off her jacket and handing it to Ethan.
"I've had nothing better to do with my time lately."
"I know what you mean," Videl replied quietly.
Once her shoes were off she ambled into his homely kitchen and took a set at the center island. Ethan walked to the other side and feigned a bartender.
Going along with it, Videl pretended to be a desperate drunk. "Hit me, old man."
"What would you like, young lady?" He rolled up his sleeves and wiped his hands with a nearby towel.
"Whaddya got?"
"Heavy stuff."
"Like what?"
Ethan narrowed his eyes and made his voice low and serious, trying desperately to not laugh. "Cake. Chocolate cake. Think you can handle it?"
"Whadday think I am, a sissy?" Videl replied, pretending to be equally serious.
Unable to keep a straight face any longer, Ethan began to laugh and cut a piece of chocolate cake for Videl. "You're a piece of work, Satan."
"I try."
Placing the cake before her he went back to retrieve a fork and glass of milk he had previously poured for Videl. Handing her the fork, he smiled and asked, "How was work today?"
She graciously took the fork and dug into the cake. "It sucked."
Cutting his own piece he inquired, "Must've. Your hand looks horrible and no offence but your runny make-up makes you look like a rabid raccoon."
"Thanks for being subtle."
"You're rubbing off on me."
"I can't help it if I'm cool." Videl continued to munch on her cake, savoring that flavor and realizing she desperately needed to improve her diet. Videl quickly finished her first piece, washing it down with a large gulp of milk. "Can I have another piece?"
Without a word Ethan took her plate and cut another generous piece for Videl.
"You wouldn't believe what happened to me today," Ethan began.
"Try me."
"A rather strapping young man caught me while I was retuning from the grocery store, asking about you." He paused and looked up to see Videl's expression. Catching no emotion, he continued. "After helping with the groceries I offered him a drink and we got to talking."
Ethan took a bite and then said, "Apparently you punched him…twice."
Videl's cake caught in her throat. She gagged.
"Surprisingly, he wasn't sour. Instead, actually, he was quite worried about you," Ethan continued.
"Did he say why?" Videl probed, hoping the Captain hadn't indulged Ethan with the reason why she punched him…twice.
"No," he began, "but he did say you have a hell of a kick and a damn good pair of lungs, not that I didn't know that already."
"Did he bruise badly?"
"Not really. The boy must have eaten his vegetables."
Videl shook her head and poked the cake with her fork. She took a deep breath and sighed. "Have you ever had a strange feeling about someone?"
"Besides you, my dear?" Ethan said.
A small chuckle escaped Videl's lips. "Captain Son." She stabbed her cake with vehemence. "He's kind, (stab) good-looking, (stab) intelligent; (stab) and pretty (stab) much (stab) Mr. Perfect. (stab)(stab)(stab) And yet..."
"Lemme' guess," Ethan interrupted, "You can't stand him?"
"Bingo." Videl scooped some massacred cake into her mouth. "Is there something wrong with me or what? I am a young blooded female presented with a perfect male specimen, and yet I continue to be…"
Interjecting once more, Ethan mumbled, "Yourself."
"Sadly," Videl murmured, "yes."
After a short pause, Videl dropped her fork and covered her face with her hands. "God, I'm gonna die lonely, aren't I."
"Stuff it, Martie."
The morning was bright and sunny, the white fluffy clouds hung lazily in the sky, and Videl cursed them all to hell. She stormed through her precinct floor, dying to get into her quiet office in the corner.
Martie followed her, making his usual rodent banter.
Relieved, she arrived and flung open the door.
Her office was completely empty.
At first, in slight shock, she stepped back through the doorway and looked down the hall to make sure she was in the right place. Once her correct location was confirmed, she ran to the center of her empty office and shouted, "What the hell is this?"
She spun and turned, thinking that action would somehow cause her desk to reappear.
"Martie," she seethed, "who did this?"
Before Martie could muster a reply, a handsome man arrived in the doorway with two cups of coffee.
"Ah, Detective," Gohan said, "I thought I felt your seething anger. Beautiful morning, isn't it?"
"Where'd you put my stuff?"
"I made you some coffee." He walked forward with a smirk on his face and went to give her the mug.
"Where the hell did you put my stuff?" She rejected the coffee.
"It's good coffee. You guys are spoiled here. You have bagels, cream cheese, orange juice…"
"Where in God's name did you put my stuff?"
"…And nice little packets of peanuts. I love peanuts."
"Captain!" She lunged forward and grabbed him by the collar of his suit. "Where is my desk?"
"Pistachios. You guys have great pistachios, but I bet you already knew that."
Violently, Videl shook him with murderous intent. "I don't like pistachios!"
She stopped, let go, and backed away, breathing heavily. Her fists were clinched at her sides. "Captain, just tell me where my desk is, please."
"That's the word I was looking for. I moved it to the big office on the other side of the floor."
Glaring, Videl huffed an impatient thank you, picked up her briefcase, and exited the room. Before she got far, she turned around and went back to Gohan. She yanked the coffee mug from his hand.
"Next to my desk, of course." He added, smiling.
She chugged the coffee and then asked Martie to go and buy her some vodka.
Videl trudged through the hallways muttering to herself, trying to keep a cool head and not explode. The Captain followed.
She turned and continued through the floor, walking backwards to better converse with the new thorn in her ass. "Captain, just why did you move my office?"
"So we can spend more time together."
"And how did you manage to get my desk through here?" She looked over he shoulder.
"With the power of love, my dear."
She gave him the evil eye and then looked over her shoulder again to make sure she wasn't about to run into anything. "You're a pansy."
"And you're a scrooge, but you don't see me complaining."
"You just did."
"Hm. True. Ah, you might want to…"
Before Gohan could finish his warning, an office door opened in Videl's path, bashing her from behind and sending into the opposite wall and onto her butt.
Gohan bent down and offered a helping hand. She swatted it away with a, "Don't," and helped herself up.
"Are you okay?"
"Fine," Videl muttered. "Let's just get to work."
She took the final strides to the new office and opened the door; Gohan didn't move from the middle of the hall.
"…Dear God, no." Videl spun and glared at Gohan.
He waved and smiled.
"I can't work like this," Videl moaned.
Gohan walked through the doorway to Videl's side. "What do you think?" he asked cheerfully.
"You're being paid to drive me crazy, aren't you?"
"I think that was in the contract."
Flashing multi-colored Christmas lights lined both desks, the walls, and the giant windows that graced the far wall. Tinsel hung from the ceiling and in the far corner stood a proud artificial Christmas tree, decorated with every color ornament possible.
In place of a star on top was a happy teddy-bear.
"You know, I'm really starting to believe that you are gay," Videl said begrudgingly.
"I could just be in touch with my feminine side."
Too frustrated for words, Videl rolled her eyes, walked to her desk, and sat down.
"Well then," Gohan clapped and rubbed his hands together, "Let's get started."
Whooooweeee. THAT was long. I decided to get throught beginning all in one piece. After this the case starts, and I'm still playing around with the plot twists and such. Either way, it will be scandelous. Uhm, well if you like it then I will warn that the chapters after this will NOT be this long. Probably around 2-3,000. And since SOU is my priority right now, I'm not sure how updates will go. Oh well, I see yall soon!
Makone