WARNING: This story is very, very dark and twisted. DO NOT read this and then leave me a comment saying, "You have a sick mind." I wrote this because the idea struck me and I'm proud of it.
Having said that, enjoy.
Artemis bent over his desk, thin fingers clutching fistfuls of matted hair. His breath was uneven, causing the torn papers below him to flutter. It was all ending. All of it, and it was all her fault.
The slight breeze, barely existent though enough to cause him to shiver, ghosted over the holes in his ripped clothing. There were many holes, rips, and tears in the mangled Armani suit he sported. Why change? The next suit would end up as ugly as the first, seeing as how he had a tendency to take out his anger on the expensive cloth. So easy to tear.
Sirens blared in his ears. He pressed his fists to each ear, blocking out the ungodly mixture of shouting voices coming from outside the manor. Why wouldn't they go away? Why did they have to make his life more complicated? It was their fault too. Their fault and hers.
It was the entire world's fault, for all he cared, and he had stopped caring a long time ago. Artemis had been slowly driving himself mad for months, the same monotonous thoughts pounding against his skull over and over again, relentless, unforgiving. Soon he began to blame others for his many problems, and it worked; the weight was lifted from his aching shoulders, placed on some other fools'. The ball of self hatred that had formed in his heart was slowly dispersed into other emotions; anger, shame, and sadness, never directed at himself. It was always someone else; his parents, Butler, Juliet.
And Holly. Mostly Holly.
It had been five years, five long, painful, useless years since Artemis had hurtled through time and space to save his mother's life, accompanied by his elfin friend. Five years since she had kissed him. Five years since she had rejected him.
And no, it wasn't his fault she had ended their short lived relationship, because he did what he had to do to keep his mother alive. Holly shouldn't have taken being tricked so seriously. She was cruel and heartless.
In the space of those five years, Artemis had tried oh so very hard to get over her. But she wouldn't let it go, visiting him over weekends just to 'talk'. It was all a game. It had to be. She was cruel and heartless, after all; and it didn't mean a thing when she smiled and laughed with him, or complimented him, or hugged him goodbye with the promise of her return. Holly was toying with him, nothing more.
Whenever she had visited, Artemis had looked at her often. She was very hard not to look at, being so pretty. He hated her for it. He hated her sparkling eyes, her nut-brown, flawless skin, her short, spiky hair that framed her face so perfectly, and especially her cherubic lips. He hated her lips most of all.
When Artemis stared at Holly, he tried his best to reject any romantic feelings, urging his churning hatred onward. At first, it didn't work; Artemis couldn't help but smile when she was around, listening intently when she described a particularly difficult mission or reminisced on a day above ground. He loved the way her eyes gleamed when she talked of fresh air and sunshine. It terrified him, the way he loved the little things about her.
Then, one day, real disgust formed in his mind as he spent an afternoon with Holly. She was an abomination; everything she did was wrong. Every time she spoke or laughed, his throat clenched and he leaned away from her, resenting every fiber of her being. She had hurt him; she would hurt others, too. She was a twisted elf, and didn't deserve her happy lifestyle, or magic, or anything. She didn't deserve life, for what she had done to him.
Because it was her fault he was like this. She had driven him to this low state, making him spend countless nights sitting up in bed, sweating and shaking and pining for her secretly yet hating her simultaneously. She had made him scream at his parents and hit his brothers, and it was her fault his family avoided him now with hidden glances full of malice.
Artemis moaned against his desk. Remembering the past five years made his heart melt with guilt, which he quickly turned to anger. It never fully worked, though. Deep down he knew the blame rested on him, and every day it grew, a monstrous thing that would surely consume him if he didn't realize his mistakes.
Would the sirens never stop? Artemis threw open the curtains, peering out the window at the ensemble of people crowded on his front lawn. Policemen carried weapons aimed at every entrance. They would hurt him. They were evil.
Artemis's eyes met Butler's, who stood squarely behind the police tape spread around Fowl Manor. Artemis threw the curtains over the sheet of glass again, shrouding himself in darkness. He liked the darkness; it shared his pain.
He paced the length of his office, barely recognizing the drops of liquid on his face as tears. They fell so often from his eyes, it was natural, like breathing or blinking. How had the police found out? Who had told? Who had seen? The world was against him. Everyone was against him. He could only trust himself, and that was enough, because he was a genius and they weren't.
Memories flickered behind crazed eyes. A remembered conversation haunted his dreams nightly, until he regularly drank coffee for hours to stay awake and avoid sleep. But now he let the memories overcome him, barely having enough strength to stay upright and hate the world.
The door creaked open. He barely flinched as Holly's feet fell upon the carpet, drawing closer to him. Why wouldn't she leave?
"Hey."
He stayed hunched in his chair, pleading with no one in particular to make her go away.
"Artemis?" Holly drew closer, actually having the nerve to lay a hand on his shoulder. Such small fingers.
"You've been so upset lately," she whispered, voice cracking slightly. "Whenever you look at me, I'm scared; your eyes burn, Artemis. I'm worried about you."
He stayed silent, fury boiling beneath his skin. It had to be fury; what else could be the tingling sensation flooding his body, making his face flush?
"What's wrong with you?" she said. Holly's voice became louder; it shook, yet never broke. She was strong. He hated that too. He wasn't strong; why should she be?
"Artemis, look at me!"
She gripped his shoulders, swiveling the chair around to face her. His breath caught; had they ever been this close?
"What did I do?" she asked. "You glare at me all the time- see, you're doing it again!- and I don't know why."
"Get away," he said weakly. It was a feeble attempt to sound as confident as she always did, even now, begging with him. She rolled her eyes.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
"You always hurt me!" he gasped, pushing her out of his way with the palm of his hand as he rose from the chair and paced the length of the room. "You'll do it again, and again, and again. That's why I'm angry. That's why I hate you."
Her eyes were wide; Artemis rolled his shoulders, an odd grin twisting his lips. Pushing her had felt good. Better than good. It made him happy; he was never happy.
"You… hate me?"
"Yes," he breathed, eyes glittering, but not in the beautiful way her eyes did. It felt so nice to say it, and watch as it tore her apart.
"That's stupid!" she said defiantly, after a confused moment's pause. "What have I ever done to you? You're being ridiculous, Artemis. Is that why you look so angry whenever we're together now?"
He was advancing rapidly on her, familiar anger filling his head, drowning any sensible thought. She was ignorant as well as cruel. A thread of reason still existed within his broken soul, pleading with him not to do the one thing that would satisfy him.
"I'm leaving. Call me when your head cools off."
The thread snapped, and so did he.
A sob ripped through the air, slipping past his lips as he forced the remainder of the memory out of his head. She had pushed him too far, another thing that was most definitely her fault.
Artemis's left hand still tingled sometimes where he had hit her; across the cheek, leaving a red mark. She hadn't screamed, he remembered that. Not even when he had knocked her unconscious, dragging her down to her old dungeon room and chaining her there. For perhaps four minutes, he existed in his own deranged little world where he was king.
Then reality came back to claim him. Artemis remembered the fall from his happy high as he realized what he had done. Somehow the police had found out; Artemis Fowl, the genius billionaire, had kidnapped a girl (species unidentifiable) and was holding her captive.
It'd been months. She was dying, but it didn't make him happy. It should have, but it didn't. He was dying with her, and every time he entered the concrete room he shrank away from her furious gaze, lowering his eyes to the floor, to the walls, anywhere but the piercing orbs that used to shine with such love.
Just because it hurt him to see her didn't mean Artemis let Holly be. He dragged himself down to her prison daily, having about a minute's sensible conversation before lashing out at her with furious blows that left her flinching in her sleep. Each rush of adrenaline fueled Artemis with the senseless anger he needed. It was like a drug.
Holly had asked him relentlessly for the first month to explain why exactly he hated her; every time the answer teetered on the edge of Artemis's tongue, but he swallowed the humiliating words and stormed out, leaving her breathing heavily and full of petrified curiosity.
Artemis's days in Fowl Manor were hellish waking dreams. He would stumble about the assorted rooms, eyes wide and unblinking. It would take a strong effort to convince himself that yes, this was what his life had become. Artemis usually didn't even try to alter his demented state of mind; insanity was pleasantly ignorant.
Sometimes, usually in the wee hours of the morning, Artemis would awake from a troubled sleep, his thoughts lucid and innocent. He was fifteen again, on top of the world. This dream world would last for maybe ten minutes; Artemis wandered the halls of Fowl Manor, wondering where his parents and brothers were, before the walls of his sanity came crashing down, and all the tainted memories of Holly that he himself had twisted began eating at his consciousness.
He mulled over all this now, barely feeling the fingernails biting into his scalp. Holly's presence screamed at him, a mute yet unbearable call that reminded him, "She's here! She's here! Dying, and below you!"
A surge of hot fury rippled through Artemis briefly, allowing his head to rise and his feet to stop their incessant pacing. God, how he hated her. Artemis had thought this many times before, even today, but the sheer force of the hatred poured over him now, and he wanted it to stop. Anger was draining, and the man didn't have that much energy to begin with.
She was despicable; that was why she was here, correct? And for months, the elf poisoned the air she breathed in his house, her black soul corrupting his thoughts and forcing perfectly usable hours to be wasted while he cried over the pain she had caused him. He wanted it to end, and end now.
A deluded sense of elation caused Artemis's mangled heart to swell. If she was gone, he could leave Fowl Manor and never return, never see Butler or Juliet or any of the evil, cruel people standing on his front lawn again.
Letting her go wouldn't be enough; she would still exist, being somewhere in the surprisingly small world. No, he would have to remove Holly, and thus wipe away all of the torturous pain he had endured for five long years.
Smiling was something the crazed genius hadn't done for quite a while, but he smiled now. Not only was he smiling, Artemis realized, but he was laughing, too, the bursts of noise poured forth from his lips. Though he didn't understand, Artemis's laughter was as disturbing as his cries; it was loud, senseless, and biting like venom.
"Release the hostage," a voice called from outside Artemis's window. It was unnaturally loud, and he wasn't sure whether it was a police officer or his own sense of decency. It didn't matter. Neither had any effect on him.
Artemis was suddenly hurrying from his office, snaking through hallways with no idea where he was going. He had no control over his legs; they had minds of their own. In fact, his mind had a mind of its own. Artemis controlled nothing, and it terrified him.
He loosed a strangled cry as he found himself in his parents' room, a cry of fear and joy. He now knew why he had come. Artemis Fowl Senior had always kept a small handgun in the nightstand by his bed. Though he was an incredibly wealthy and well-protected man, Artemis Sr. felt a weapon of his own was necessary.
Artemis leapt at the mahogany night table. It cracked under his desperate grip; an antique, he remembered in dismay. No matter.
The gun was revealed in the wreckage, a sleek, black model that fit Artemis's hand just right. He ran two fingers around the barrel, his deranged smile growing.
In two bounds Artemis was back in the hall; the shouts of furious bystanders outside echoed around him, but the sounds were garbled. The world was a mess of dismal color, yet the gun, the gun was as clear as water. Artemis could see every contour of its sharp body; the weight of the loaded weapon felt natural, like a third hand.
Soon, Artemis had made his way into the cement room. Had it always been so dark? He thought not.
"Artemis?"
Holly perked up in her chains, arms tensing as she awaited another unexplained beating. Artemis drank in her form with mild interest, the loathing growing uncannily strong.
"How are you?" Holly asked. Sometimes she tried to force a normal exchange of words from her captor, yet he always broke down after a sentence or two. "You look--"
She shuddered, noticing the object in his hand. Her uncut auburn hair shook over each mismatched eye as Holly strained against her bonds almost absently. "What's that?" she said, refusing to dissolve in front of him. "What've you got?"
Artemis's eyes bored into hers, and Holly saw the madness in his pair. A deep understanding within her sank and broke. He had lost all reason.
She squirmed, trying for the millionth time to release her wrists from the rusted chains. Artemis advanced on her, his breath ragged and an insane smile on his lips.
Artemis raised the gun with surprisingly steady hands. The tip of the weapon was aimed directly at her chest; one shot, one pull of the trigger, and his worries would end. The last five years was moot.
His captive closed her eyes. One pull of the trigger. He could do this. He would.
It was over before he knew it. The gunshot's bang bounced off the cement walls, deafening Artemis momentarily. The pressure on his fingers told him that the trigger had been pulled.
It took quite a few deep breaths to refill Artemis's lungs with the appropriate amount of oxygen. His heart thudded dully against his chest, beating a tattoo that felt like it would bruise. It was over.
The smile had fallen from his lips. Artemis quickly reattached the sick expression of happiness back onto his features. She was gone. All was right with the world, because Holly was gone as she deserved to be. She had been an evil person, and Artemis had just brought justice back into his private world.
Artemis strolled over to admire his quick gunmanship. Holly lay still, hanging from her chains like a grotesque doll. Her hair, overgrown and ragged, fell in front of her face, shielding whatever expression had frozen on her features as the poor elf's life was stolen. Artemis gripped the gun tighter, holding onto it as a drowning man would a life raft.
He was seized by the desire to see her face, see the look of horror pasted over her glassed eyes that he had caused. Egged on by the silent whisper of the gun, Artemis brushed the back of his free hand against Holly's hair, pushing the curtains back.
The sick joy within him shattered as Artemis reeled backwards, eyes widening as his conscience returned in full force, twisted and sadistic yet still there. The sight of her killed him, for her eyes did not contain just fear but absolute and complete terror. Drying tears sparkled on her cheeks in the barely existent light emanating from the single bulb hanging from the ceiling; had she ever cried before? Why hadn't he thought to check, to even look at her in full after so many months?
Artemis saw the betrayal and hopelessness in his friend's lifeless body, yet realized she had never once screamed at him or tried to hurt him. So brave, he thought sadly. And I thought I was such a martyr for even putting up with her.
A small portion of him still insisted that she deserved what she got, that Holly had toyed with him and enjoyed breaking him again and again. This little voice laughed at the sight of her destroyed form. And Artemis knew that once, even half an hour previously, that little voice had inhabited his entire being, controlling his every thought and movement, and every demented notion the voice whispered to him now used to be his way of life.
Five years of self inflicted torturous grief came crashing down and built up again in a newer and more disturbing form, for now all the hatred that had been directed at others was now aimed at the correct target; himself. Artemis sank to his knees, the gun clattering to the floor as Artemis pawed at Holly's shoulders, begging forgiveness with mouthed requests.
"Wake up," he murmured, shaking her slightly, one last delusional fantasy overpowering his system. She was sleeping, nothing more. She was asleep. He'd wake her up.
Why was there blood, if she was asleep?
He cried out as reality claimed him once again. His hands were damp with Holly's blood; it was a sickening sensation, and he leapt backwards, letting Holly collapse. Artemis pawed at his torn suit, letting the blood cascade from his palms to the white shirt before.
It should be his blood.
The fact was overwhelming. It should be his blood staining his clothes, seeping into the floor. Artemis should pay for his heinous deeds-- murder being the largest, yet not standing alone-- in pain.
The gun. He scrambled for it, clasping the end like a lifeline. It was cowardly, he thought, to duck out of life like this. But he was not a strong man.
Metal pressed against his chest. Artemis turned to Holly's form, and pictured the corpse holding precious life, the life he had stolen out of terrible, terrible resentment. Waves upon waves of intense pain flooded Artemis's heart and head; death couldn't be worse than this. Hell couldn't be worse than this. He'd take hell over his life.
Without waiting for his mind to change, to warp itself into terrible denial, Artemis drained himself of life with a single bullet, awaiting damnation with a smile.