Title: And Then There Were Fewer
Author: Mynt Mint
Fandom: Glee, Season Two, AU
Genre: Mystery/Suspense
Rating: M
Warning(s): Character Death
Pairings: None in relation to plot
Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. If I did, you'd know. All characters and songs used in this fan fiction are the property of their rightful owners (i.e. not me). Title is taken from the Family Guy episode And Then There Were Fewer based off of Agatha Christies And Then There Were None.
Summary: The New Directions stay at a luxurious and deserted mansion at a stop off before reaching the airport to Nationals. But when they wake up to a murder scene, it is clear they are isolated from civilisation, stuck in large, dangerous house of the killer's domain. Time is of the essence, and the group must discover the identity of the murderer before they all become victims.
Authors Note: I'm just so evil in my plot ideas, I can't even. This is a test run, to see if anyone would like me to continue with this story. Even if you just anonymously review saying "Continue", it will be enough of a cue to keep my writing, so it's in your hands.
Also, this is AU in the fact that to reach the airport, they needed to stop for one night, but the accommodation is provided by the committee hosting Nationals, or so it seems. Relax, I see the contradiction there ;D .
"We're here!" Rachel announced joyously, bursting through the mahogany doors of a lavish mansion. "Wow, I wouldn't think they'd give us such a luxurious house considering we are only just finalists." She turned with a worried expression to the others behind her, who were also amazed by their accommodation. "Nationals must be more prestigious than we thought."
"Relax, Rach," Finn said, placing a soothing hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure we'll do fine at Nationals. After all, we have you."
"Oh enough of this lovey-dovey crap, the whole bloody bus ride here was full of it," Santana interrupted, barging in-between Finn and Rachel, breaking the deep connection they held with their eyes. She took a tentative glance around her, before waving her hand majestically. "Tonight! We live like kings!"
"Calm down, guys," Mr. Schue sighed, "We're only here for one night, don't go making a mess."
"We should all rest our voices and think of a song to perform at Nationals."
"Oh can it, Berry," Puck barked, negating her suggestion. "This place is huge, there's probably a thousand maids to clean up after every footstep we take."
"Actually, we got this whole place to ourselves," Mr. Schue explained, reading from the letter he was holding. "And it says we all have our designated rooms, and food is in the kitchen for whenever you're hungry."
"Man, can we eat now? I feel like I haven't eaten in days." Finn's eyes lit up at the mention of food, his stomach making it obvious of his starving condition.
"What are you talking about? You ate all my fruit on the ride here," Kurt quipped, walking into a corridor. "I'd bet the kitchen and dining room is this way – I can smell the tiles and stainless steel."
"All I can smell is carpet," Brittany mumbled as the group followed Kurt's direction.
The New Directions sat around a large rectangular dining table, eating carnivorously. The table could easily seat all of them and the mounds of food required to feed such a large bunch, but there was one question clouding Artie's mind that could not be quelled by lavishing amounts of food.
"So... does anyone know why we got a mansion to ourselves?" He asked, temporarily putting a stop to the clanking of cutlery.
"Because we're favourites for Nationals?" Kurt guessed humourlessly.
"I've been thinking about that too," Puck mused, "Did you see the bridge we had to cross to get here? I swear it was taken from the movies – wooden and creaky."
"Something's really weird..." Tina said with a hint of fear, "it doesn't make sense to give us this kind of accommodation before we've even got on a plane to New York."
"Guys, you gotta relax," Finn said airily, swallowing a mouthful of mashed potato. "We get to stay in this gigantic mansion because we need a place to stay for the night and it was here. I don't know why you're complaining, just loosen up and eat."
Mumbling agreements, the New Directions dropped the topic of discussion and continued eating.
Mr. Schue sat in the mansion's living room, looking over papers strewn across the coffee table. Among them was an Ohio newspaper, bearing the heading "WMHS Student David Karofsky announced missing." He had to get these permission slips and plane tickets in order for the flights to Nationals, or else the New Directions will lose before they even hit the airport tomorrow. Staring into the crackling flame of the fireplace, he mentally corrected himself.
Before they hit the airport today.
Looking at the grandfather clock, he confirmed it was two o'clock. His eyelids were notably heavier than they were when he was fully rested, so naturally he didn't notice the lurking figure by the doorway. He continued flipping through papers until an impatient cough sounded, echoing through the room. Mr. Schue twitched a little in fear, realizing someone was watching him.
"Who's there?" He asked, not moving from his spot.
"It's just me," a voice responded, the figure stepping out of the shadows and fully into the room.
"For the love of God, you scared the hell out of me," Mr. Schue yawned, seeing one of his students he rubbed a hand over his brow. "Why are you up so late? You should be in bed, we have a plane to catch tomorrow."
"I know," his student assured with small smile, "I just couldn't help but think why we were given such an extravagant bed and breakfast. And I know why we did." They stated firmly.
"Didn't Finn sort this out at dinner? We should all be thank-"
"The reason, and the only reason," the individual continued fiercely, "we acquired such a lavishing retreat is for one of us to take action, and bring their revenge bear fruit."
"The what?"
"One of us – me – planned such an elaborate scheme, just to relay the thanks I owe you for abandoning me months ago. And then you all welcomed me back with open arms, it was even more insulting. I just leave and everyone forgets, and when I come back we're all just best friends again."
"We're not just best friends," Mr. Schue said quietly, "we're all one big family...!"
The figure pulled their hand out from behind their back, showcasing a large butcher's knife, lodging Mr. Schue's words in his throat.
"We're a family, and you all treated me like the adopted child. With pity."
"We didn't," Mr. Schue began to panic. His adversary was slowly approaching, and from the twitch in their eye their intentions were clear. "Put down the knife." He commanded, standing up to his full height. The sleep was scared out of him and he was as alert as ever.
"But I need it," was the eerily calm response. Mr. Schue copied his opposition's steps, walking backward for each one forward until his back came into contact with the hard mantelpiece.
"Shit, stop! Don't-Don't come any closer!" He tried to make his voice loud and intimidating, but his form was shaking and he was silently whimpering.
"Why should I?" His acquaintance had now reached him, and they were toying with the tip of the knife with a finger. "You're just the first. With you gone I can take the rest without a leader."
"But-But why?" Mr. Schue gasped as he felt the knife gently rest on his sternum. He tightly closed his eyes, and securely gripping the mantelpiece, his breathing became hitched with sobs. He thought of everything – the kids, the school, Emma, his job. Hell, even his ex-wife and Sue, even them. The thoughts of everything that he was leaving behind replaying in his mind, and he felt the taunting tip of the blade pierce his skin slightly. He let out a whine of pain as the knife slowly crept into his skin, inch by inch. Even with the fireplace at his legs had he never felt so cold.
"Because." The knife was forced into Mr. Schue, only the hilt protruding. The victim's eyes opened wide as the blade was removed with a swift motion. Mr. Schue's mouth was gargling words, but unable to pronounce anything audible. His upright position abruptly cowered into a hovering one. His last breath escaped his lips and his eyes slowly shut. He slowly slid down the wall, resting peacefully against the fire.
Should I continue this?
This is just an idea, but I would like your opinion with whether I should keep writing. I have plans for it, put please tell me if you enjoyed reading this.
Also, the reason Mr. Schue is resting against the fireplace and not falling into it is because a screen is separating them. I have one like that in my house, so it's plausible.
And I'd love to know who you think the murderer is. If my characterisation is right it might be solvable. But why? I know why. And Kurt being able to smell the kitchen? It was meant to be he could smell the stainless steel and tiles and all that because he cooks a lot and is adept at textiles used for the kitchen but whatevers.
For every review I receive I squeal a little with joy... and I'm a guy.