Haunted
a/n: I tweaked the ending...It just wasn't done somehow.
You will find that it is necessary to let things go; simply for the reason that they are heavy. So let them go, let go of them. I tie no weights to my ankles.
― C. JoyBell C
Wait. Wait. Yes, yes –
Its there.
Just a flash on the very edge of your vision, so fast you aren't sure exactly what it is but that hasn't stopped you from hunting it yet. The tugging feeling somewhere in your gut says you have to know, and it's saved you from becoming just another casualty statistic so many times you've decided not to argue with it.
Besides, its already dragged you to this Force forsaken backwater planet you can't remember the name of, why not see it through?
You do so hate leaving loose ends.
Pay attention, you've fucking lost it again.
You turn your head slowly, searching for –
There. The door.
The rain is coming down hard on the nondescript black armor you...requisitioned so no one would recognize the ridiculously white crap the Republic – its the Empire now – issues. Your borrowed boots have started to leak and your steps quicken as you head toward the rundown old building. A sign you don't bother to read dangles precariously off the post to the left of the boarded up windows. You're close. You can feel your heart start to thump just a little harder as you reach for the door.
Are those hinges? Force this place must be older than dirt.
Its a cantina, and its seen better days. The interior is so smoky and dimly lit you can't quite see the far wall but as your boots begin to stick to the threadbare carpet you decide maybe its a good thing. The barkeep is green and tentacled and doesn't bother to look at you as he grunts out a price while shoving a dingy glass filled with some purple liquid at you.
If the glass is anything like the rest of this place its never been washed.
The bar is empty except for a small group at the far end. You find the corner table with the best view. The enemy you can't see is the one you have to fear the most.
You settle in to wait. You're so close your palms have started to sweat a little under your gloves.
Something is about to start. The air thickens with anticipation, and the handful of other patrons are starting to gather around a dark area across from the bar. The tugging feeling in your gut has you leaning forward, right hand hovering near your blaster as your heart tries to claw its way out your esophagus. An old stereo crackles to life, whispering out music you've never heard before but none of it matters when a spotlight illuminates a stage in the smoky haze.
Under the helmet your mouth is hanging open because this one is close enough to be her twin. You've only seen one other Twi'lek with skin that shade of blue.
For a split second you're back in the humid hell of Felucia where bodies rotted away in hours and the smell never quite left. And there she is throwing a quick look over her shoulder at you, the last time before -
Involuntarily your lungs gasp for breath and bring you back to the rickety chair in a filthy old bar. The living ghost on stage starts to move and you forget where you are again as she slides the plain brown robe slowly off her shoulders. Your brothers had always ribbed you about how beautiful your General was, and you swore it didn't matter to you but as that Jedi brown robe pools around the dancer's blue feet on stage your cock starts to twitch and you remember every moment a blue curve distracted you in the past.
Shame wells up in your bowels. There's something wrong with you. Your General is dead. You shot her.
You shot her and you still can't help wanting to touch yourself while her doppelganger gets naked in front of you.
Not even your brothers would understand.
You stop caring as the girl in front of you starts to touch herself and writhe around on the stage and your cock begins to throb. In your head she's Jedi Knight Aayla Secura doing all the things you didn't allow yourself to think about.
Your hand is under the table loosening your armor before you realize it.
The darkest corner of a hazy bar and no one is looking anyway. Fuck it.
The dancer is finally shimmying out of the metal slave girl panties and its years of pent up want filling your hand, making your teeth draw blood as you bite back the groans.
This is the dreams you weren't allowed to have, a Jedi worth so much more than you touching her wet pussy in front of you.
She looks straight at you and its Aayla's face she wears. You would swear she's wet for you and the rest fades away into the haze – dingy bar, the other patrons, even the music. Its just you and her.
Nothing else.
The dingy glass is still full but you leave it on the table as you silently creep toward the small door she left through. Another girl is on stage, she isn't blue and doesn't matter to you but the rest of the bar doesn't spare you so much as a glance.
You have to follow her.
You aren't done yet.
The back area is a rustic hallway with rooms smaller than some lockers you've seen. She isn't in them so you keep going. The back door is open, letting light into an alley and you've found her. The rain has stopped and she is turned away from you, again wrapped in brown robes.
Jedi robes.
You fucking hate those robes and the Order they stand for. All their righteous talk and army of slaves. They are your makers, the reason for your clone existence and you remember every one of your brothers who died for them.
You remember each body you stepped over.
You are a weapon, created to kill. Not to want. Not to dream. Not to regret. You like it best that way. It is your freedom.
Every scream you've ever heard echoes in your ears.
The girl doesn't have time to scream as she falls. The blaster smokes in your hand and you should be turning away before someone comes to investigate but you have to check, to be sure. Your footfalls are thunder in your ears as you are draw closer - Get away someone will find you, here away from your post - but you have to see.
An uneasy feeling grows on your shoulders as the toe of your black boot rolls the body over, and its wrong.
No. It was - I saw her. Her.
The blue is the first thing your stunned mind registers, because the body at your feet isn't blue at all but a sallow shade of green. And the face...
Raw boned and thick lipped the face is all wrong.
No.
Rage blurs your eyes, when it clears all that remains is sodden and red. The face is no more.
Its time to leave, and your steps are swift and silent as you move away. The tugging inside you eases somewhat but it feels like failure, just as every other time. She is still with you, blue just on the edge of your vision, and muffled laughter you can barely hear.
General...
Next time, you tell yourself, you will be satisfied.
Next time she will stay dead and it will be enough.
You will be free.
Next time.
Moving on is easy. It's staying moved on that's trickier.
― Katerina Stoykova Klemer
A/N:Yes SerialKiller!Bly. I should lay off the Dexter. Its different. Feel free to love it or hate it.