Bloody Valentine

By Kate Hutton


Disclaimer: I own nothing. This 'nothingness' includes Alias and good Charlotte, who have let me borrow their song 'Bloody Valentine' for this fic.

A/N: Thanks to the GC Girls, I love you all. This is written in the mindset of a psychotic person. It drifts between the detachment of third person and the thoughts of the 'predator'. Please, review, tell me what you think.

Distribution: Whatever, just email me and ask.

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Oh, my love
Please don't cry
I'll wash my bloody hands and
We'll start a new life

He slowly approached the house, being as covert as humanly possible. It wasn't everyday he tried to sneak into a well kept house in a quiet suburban neighborhood; that was rare. What made this excursion all the more unique was the objective.

Inside he saw a man clothed only in a bleached white undershirt and black sweatpants. The man inside stomped clumsily around his spotless kitchen, obviously weary and suffering from dulled senses at the hands of fatigue.

At that moment, when the predator stared intently – almost longingly – at his prey, the prey did the unthinkable. The prey looked into the predators eyes. This was his only chance now to attack. And wasted time could cause interference – and he would have none of that; nothing would separate him from his love.

Quickly, frantically almost, he rushed into the house. Where was the target? Where is his prey? He couldn't waste time, mistakes were not allowed in this game and he'd already made one.

There. There he is. Cowering behind that door. Talking on that phone. Damn him… trying to alert the others. He will get his.

He dropped you off, I followed him home
Then I, I stood outside his bedroom window
Standing over him, he begged me not to do
What I knew I had to do cause I'm so in love with you

That was when the door was broken in. He wasn't sure how it happened, the adrenaline had taken over. Somehow he had the prey pinned. Tied. Gagged. Crying. Begging for mercy with those colored, piercing eyes. Begging me. No. I have to. It's for my love.

So he stared back – that cold, cruel, hard stare that would make ay man squirm. Pause. Shoot. Task complete. Now, now he could be with his love.

I don't know much at all
I don't know wrong from right
All I know is that I love you tonight

Call her. That's what he what to do. Hello? This is your love. Yes, I love you, don't you see? Please, don't cry. I love you. We can be happy. No, don't hang up. Of course this is no sick joke! Don't discon-. Redial. I have a gift for you. No! I can't just go away! We can be happy now! Signal dead. Damn.

There was
Police and
Flashing lights
The rain came down so hard that night and the
Headlines read
A lover died
No tell-tale heart was left to find when you...

And then his senses kicked back in. Sirens. Confusion. Must get out. Now. Run.

Running. Where to hide? Bush. Not ideal, but will have to do. He saw her. His one. His only. She sped up and slammed on the brakes, missing a badly parked cop car by a hair. Why is she running to him? He no longer is of this world. She should be running to me. In my embrace. But she is not in his either, who would hold a dead man? She's crying. Sitting. Desolate. Alone in her pain. I should be there, why am I not? It's the authorities. Bloody cops – never knowing when to just stay out of things.


You mourn the death of your bloody valentine
The night he died
You mourn the death of your bloody valentine
One last time

They're coming towards me. Pistols drawn. If I couldn't have her, then no one could. I love you, darling. He separates us, even in death.

The men in uniform pushed him into the car, the car outfitted with steel bars and bulletproof windows. Perfect for the man he'd become – a cold blooded, disillusioned killer.

If not in life, perhaps in death; but I shall have you, my love, my Sydney.

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So whaddya think? Who do you think was killed, and who do you think killed him? This may seem… scatterbrained but I was trying to make it seem… like a psychotic killer. So did I succeed? Review and tell me please.

Thanks for reading.