The Genius Next Door
Based on an animation by Wooptyfriggindoo on DeviantArt. Song fiction. After you've held in your breath for as long as you can, sometimes, there's no coming back up in full. Oneshot Fem/VladxDanny
*Copyrighted, Regina Spector
~*0*~
Some said the local lake had been enchanted.
Yes, that was an old legend-one of the few the town had that was worth telling if you hadn't already heard it half a dozen times as a child on Halloween night. Allegedly, some ghost author-guy with nothing better to do with his time had written a few spells around the townspeople's water supply after they'd had his books burned. Some historical accounts from the old records stated that people fancied leeches suddenly appearing when once there were none while they bathed, and others swore that the fish had all died from some strange, ill-work. (People knew today that it was probably due to the oil and amount of rotting meat the villagers hurled into it, or something.)
Still, other people insisted that they'd glimpsed some truly terrible monsters from the depths of the lake, with dark eyes, and bloody teeth, and an insatiable hunger for human flesh. A couple of kids who'd been sitting around the water had suddenly disappeared over a hundred years ago, and while their corpses were never recovered, the lake certainly became one of those places your mother told you not to play around.
But in the 1960s, when a college had been built in this settlement, the lake became something of a resort; a getaway, if you would. It was a backwater sort of town, they complained, conveniently forgetting that they had applied here, or that someone else's dollars were paying for their education. They wanted to have some fun without the expense of driving all the way to the nearest city.
So, they'd gone swimming-held a beer blast here or there near the water. And while doing so much as dipping your hand in the water back in the 70s had been considered the ultimate dare, nowadays, people had no problems holding their parties in the water. They jeered at the youth of the little town for being wimps, for even after THAT particular incident had happened, well….
….it was better to forget about it, entirely.
Others said it must have been the weather.
It had been hot, the night she had died. Maybe she'd simply gone on a late night swim (Some boys joked that she'd probably been skinny-dipping) and forgot that she COULDN'T swim. But this was the lake, not the ocean, for Chrissakes. No monsters. No sharks. Heck, there weren't even that many fish.
Maybe she had been devastated over that breakup. Maybe the counselor's flimsy and uninterested attempts to comfort her had ultimately cost the young woman her life.
Maybe she was just a screwed up ho. Who really cared? Life went on much as it always did, with or without a face you might have been accustomed to seeing in the background. But that was all Vladya had ever been. The girl constantly clinging to that brilliant-camera guy Whatshisface who was interning at some local news station, and fell for this other hot chick. Or something.
Maybe all she'd wanted was a bit of attention, even in death. Maybe this was her revenge on her boyfriend, who, although he'd been seriously white-faced at the scene where they'd dragged her body out of the lake, had said nothing.
Nothing at all.
The neighbors were trying to keep it quiet
No one needed for people to become afraid of their meek little villa. It was a wholesome place, which had grandfathers who'd grown up with other grandfathers. Never mind the occasional hijinks the college or high school kids would get up to-they were innocent enough, and any damage that was made was usually paid off quite handsomely.
Tourism was bad enough here in the suburbs, anyways. They'd even tried to stop the media from covering 'the incident.'
But I swear that I could hear the laughter
So they jokingly and they nicknamed it "the porridge"
Cause over night that lake had turned as thick as butter
It most certainly did, and people didn't want to go in that open tomb for days. But in a matter of weeks, the football teams began to host their parties there again, and high schoolers would come in large droves, hoping to get stoned.
But the local kids would still go swimming, drinking
Saying that to them it doesn't matter
Ironically enough, it had only been three months after Vladya Masters' suicide/accident/whatever it was that he'd found her. He'd been wandering beyond the usual Friday night party at the lake, in the outskirts of the silent town, looking up at the dark sea of stars glittering from overhead.
How long he'd been standing there, making sure to go far enough into the hills until he could no longer hear the sounds of speakers blasting out loud music, people splashing wildly around in the lake, giggling and throwing beach balls, or the sound of drunken exaltation radiating through the trees.
Who was she?
He wasn't sure. Certainly like no one he'd ever encountered. Her flesh was lifeless, blue, as though she'd frozen to death rather than leapt to her death from a cliff into the very deepest depths of the lake one warm and sunny afternoon. Her eyes sparkled like bloody sapphires, and her skin was cold to the touch. Danny Fenton knew firsthand because he'd tentatively reached out for her cold, inviting hand, which had curled around his comfortingly, her fingertips trembling when she'd felt the beat of his pulse under her dead hands.
For weeks, she had been his very special secret-the only one worth getting out of bed for. She followed him everywhere she could, pardoning his parents' home (THAT was a certain deathtrap…again) and at school.
But she was always out of the corner of his eyes, smiling that knowing smirk of hers, her eyes hiding some sparkling secret that was fauceted with loneliness and sheer, almost wild-desperation. She was a dead woman walking, always offering a charming embrace or a loving murmur into the boy's ear, pleased as a well-fed cat, but also terrified.
Of what, he was never certain, but her clinginess and possessiveness never bothered him, really. He'd been long forgotten by his parents-his elder sister had gone off to Ivy League, and he was paying for local, community college by working. His folks had sold half of their lab-their pride and joy-to the GIW just to pay for her first year. He, however, worked in a crowded restaurant for minimum wage, mostly for rude customers whom were his classmates.
So he was on his own, save for Vladya. One day, when he'd gone to visit her, she'd wrapped her cold, spectral body around his own, and had whispered:
If you just hold in your breath
'Til you come back up in full
Hold in your breath
'Til you've thought it through
She wanted him to think it through-give him a chance to reconsider if he changed his mind, and decided to resurface. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't considered it.
If he'd had contact with anyone-ANY sane person-he would have fled Vladya's comfort, out of town, out of state, out of the country, perhaps-anywhere and everywhere the girl could not follow.
But he had no one.
And some days, her proposal didn't seem all that bad, really.
You fool
The genius next door was bussing tables
Wiping clean the ketchup bottle labels
Getting high and mumbling German fables
Didn't care as long as he was able
She haunted his thoughts. Constantly. She had begged and giggled and cried and pleaded and teased him, both when he was near her, and in the agonizing hours he was not. His parents took no notice of his new and strange behavior; they scarcely surfaced from the basement.
He'd scrubbed the tables clean, much as he always did, wondering how anyone could eat when the very smell of food made him feel nauseated. His stomach shrank, and lines appeared underneath his eyes. Nighttime was reserved for seeing Vladya, the one person who made the skeptic feel special.
She was special.
Worth staying with?
Life so jaded him now that he could come to work drunk if he fancied to and no one would notice, let alone care.
And, one day, he took a sip of alcohol for the very first time to fuel his intent. It led him to simply walk out the doors early late one evening, without bothering to sign out or notify anyone.
To strip his clothes off by the dumpsters
Just in case he decided he'd….he'd rather live…..he didn't need them weighing him down. He could return for them later.
At night while everyone was sleeping
He'd left no note. He'd ran through the woods in the dead of night to get to the lake. Chest heaving with exertion and fatigue, he'd approached the dark water, glasses sliding off the bridge of his nose.
And wade midway into that porridge
It was cold. But he'd submerged himself anyway, sinking deeper and deeper, his breath escaping into silver bubbles that rushed off into the dark indigo.
Just him and the secret he was keeping
She'd come, as he'd known she would. She had smiled so gently, so sweetly, though he'd seen her fangs, and the way she wrapped herself around him as he continued to sink….
It was one of the most loving, vicelike things he'd ever known. He hadn't fought her as he kicked idly under the water, considering the surface above with large eyes.
If you just hold in your breath
'Til you come back up in full
Hold in your breath
Turns out, that embrace was the very last thing he'd ever feel. She whispered that he WOULD come back up. Perfectly. In full.
And, so saying, she had kissed him tenderly, and dragged his flailing and dying body down into the icy gloom of the lake…..
….down….
'Til you thought it through
There was no thinking this through. He WAS going to die. His lungs seared in his chest, and it was getting so hard to see…..her warm eyes as she tugged him down beside her, reaching out for him with open arms even as his life quickly began to flash through his eyes.
Oddly enough, there wasn't any regret to feel, really. He sank into her arms, and into a comfortable sort of darkness.
You foolish child…..
They talked of filling in the lake, now. It was simply too much a hazard-far too dangerous for the children running around Amity. A girl had gone by around six that morning on a jog, and had stopped beside the lake, curiously peering at the large object that had been floating on top of it.
And that screams that followed her observing the new discovery more closely allowed her to realize that it was SOMEONE.
In the morning the film crews start arriving
With donuts, coffee and reporters
The police didn't want a scene tried to quiet the press, but the media had settled onto this like sharks to an open wound. Yet another death in a mere few weeks after the first one-a Vladya Masters had committed suicide by plunging herself into this water.
Or something. It was more fun to talk about how the town officials were stubbornly defending this supposedly 'cursed' lake that had claimed the lives of so many. (Every good story needs a bit of embellishing, as every reporter knows.)
People-the few whom were awake at this hour-were soberly watching a corpse with alabaster skin and messy raven hair being quickly and quietly pulled onto a cart, face covered with a small sheet as he was hastily zipped up, and his body was being carried away. The boy's parents were to be called immediately, but media stations were already rushing over to hopefully get a few shots of Madeline Fenton's tearstricken grief.
The kids were waking up, hung over
Ugggggh…..
A young girl buried her face into the pillow, moaning at the splitting pain in her head. The bar had been enjoyable enough, but now….this was agony. Why hadn't they had their normal rendezvous at the lake? Sure, the guys had said they'd gotten a really nasty feeling from the place-though they'd tried to joke about the hormonal teenage girl ghost that supposedly haunted the joint.
For some reason or another, they knew they weren't welcome. Not last night.
The neighbors were starting up their cars
Most of them were readying themselves for the typing pool. The news had hardly officially broke out yet, though life went on much as it did before.
The garbagemen were emptying the dumpsters
Some kid's clothes were found next to the trash, oddly enough, but they had followed the dumpster piles directly into the trash heap, unemotionally, and unremorsefully.
Atheists were praying full of sarcasm
Later that afternoon at the local café, a young girl named Danielle left the place, her cool blue eyes heavy with disdain after watching the latest news broadcast on TV, her cynical heart almost crushed by annoyance and boredom.
No one even knew this kid. It would only be a show to grieve-not an act that she particularly cared to play out.
Two figures from a nearby tree watched the teenager pass from underneath them. Vladya's skin had miraculously become cream-colored again, and her eyes were now an appreciative, satisfied indigo-the same color as the water which was dully sparkling nearby.
Danny lay wrapped in her arms, spectral tail wrapped idly around hers, head in her lap, faintly considering the corpse that was being delivered via body bag to his old house.
And the genius next door was sleeping
Dreaming that the antidote is orgasm
Was he supposed to feel better now? He wasn't precisely sure WHAT to feel now, though Vladya was joyously serene. Her face sparkled with relief and contentment, and her fingertips were forever tracing their way through his hair. More than once she'd bent to kiss him chastely on the forehead, and Danny wondered if this was truly as good as it got.
But, he supposed, when they both decided to move on, they'd find out for themselves. For now, this was fine.
If you just hold in your breath
'Til you come back up in full
Hold in your breath
This place again.
Evan considered the water with violet eyes, his face impassive as he fidgeted with his camera, his knuckles starkly white.
In a sad, sad way, this was sort of comforting. This wasn't his fault, just as it hadn't been before. It couldn't have been. Vladya was the one who couldn't let go.
A small scrap of white caught his attention, and he looked up quickly to see a small bit of paper fluttering in the breeze overhead. Instinctively, he shot up a hand to catch it, absentmindedly glancing at it before he began to throw it in a nearby wastebas-
?
He stared at the picture for a puzzled moment, and then, after a moment's silence, dug through his bag to dig out a photo of her-the one of them he hadn't quite been able to bring himself to throw away.
'Til you thought it through….
He held the two photos together, his eyes narrowing as he compared the faces.
Who was this boy?
Suddenly, his eyes widened, and both photos slipped out of his weak grip at the next gust of wind, which carried the two fumbling articles over the dark water.
You foolish child