Yep, another one. This was going to be a one-shot, but I couldn't get it out that way. So maybe this'll be something to work on. I don't know. Review and tell me what you think! Tell me what you want.

Warnings: drug abuse, murder, violence, stuff of that nature. Not a lot of fluff.

Enjoy!


Life was boring. So terribly boring, and the most frustrating thing about it was that he seemed to be the only thing that thought that. Looking around at the others, they always seemed occupied with something… Their crushes and their friends, or their month long relationships of which they always claim to be in love during. Boring. That was boring! But they didn't think so. They were all so wrapped up in the emotions, the so-called-rollercoaster. They liked the rise and falls, the happiness, followed by sadness. They liked starting fights, and making friends, and he didn't understand why. In the moment, sure, it captured his attention briefly, but for long term? No. How were there so many people on this retched earth? So many people who were able to float by, day to day, without realizing just how dull life was.
James settled back into his seat, drumming his fingers over the wood desk as classmates chattered around him. They were all so occupied, but their conversations weren't all that interesting. Discussing plans for the weekend; nothing fun, just stuff like seeing a movie, or going to some party. What was the fun of sitting in a theatre for two hours or whatever…? Just sitting and staring. WHY? And then a party, ah, well he could understand that one to some extent. But these people, they just wanted to drink to the point of blacking out; their only experience of it was looking up the pictures the following morning, only to feel absolutely dreadful whilst looking over the evidence of all the horrible acts that had occurred. Stupid, meaningless, boring. Pathetic. And they all seemed okay with it, and that was what bothered him, raising his gaze, his dark, sunken in eyes glancing about quickly before they landed on the teacher. He was just sitting at his desk, nothing else. Not even looking at his computer, or reading the book he had left flat out on his desk, just… sitting there. He'd thrown them all some stupid, boring packet and had told them all to do text-book work, and James immediately began to wonder how this man had a job at all. What was so important that he couldn't be bothered to stand up and teach? Clearly nothing, as he stared up at the ceiling, contemplating his overly dull life. Unmarried, he assumed judging from the lack of a ring on his finger, and bound to stay that way. He was in his late forties, just a few pounds away from being considered obese, and his hairline quickly receding. Divorced, he then decided, staring at the photo of kids set on his desk. His kids. They must have gotten their mothers genes, because aside from their blue eyes and dark hair, they looked nothing like him. Their facial structures, their smiles… Mother's, definitely. Lucky, them. No picture of a wife though, so he would assume divorced.

The man had never talked about his children before though, so he imagined it would be a touchy subject… Since many of the other teachers happily talked about their boring lives with their boring wives and husbands and their boring, stupid little bastards they claimed to have planned but were probably just the result of a broken condom. Boring. Stupid. But back to the point, this teacher, this man… No wife, not a care in the world for his own appearance it seemed, and not at all too pleased with his current stand with his children. Seemed like a horribly pathetic life, but he seemed to, at the very least, acknowledge it. Unlike the rest of these mentally retarded fucks that he had the misfortune of calling classmates. He was smart enough to realize he had a shitty life, with a shitty job, and James found himself able to respect him. For a short period of time of course, until the appreciation was dashed and his boredom resumed. "What are you staring at Mr. Mcgann? Finish your packet." His voice was thick with a Scottish accent, and for whatever reason he had never been able to appreciate the sound of it. Too throaty, and wavy; he didn't know how to describe it, but it wasn't as smooth as his own Irish lilt. Or an English accent, for the matter – too rough, too ugly. Or at least, his was. It matched his appearance and his life.
"I'm done, sir." James responded calmly, raising the packet for the man to see and flipping through the pages. He earned a grimace and a grunt before he was left alone, only for another sound to reach his ears. A chuckle. It wasn't coming from one of the nearby conversers, no, this was directed at him. He knew it was. And he turned to find Carl Powers staring him down, with dark brown eyes – though not as dark as his own – and hair, a smirk on his face. He was tolerable at best, but he was stupid, just like the rest of them. The only thing that made him mildly entertaining was how odd he was. He liked to play games, and James loved games. They continued to lock eyes for a few seconds more, holding their stares until one of the boys sitting by Carl punched him and began to tease him for his actions. James simply smirked bitterly and turned away.

But Carl Powers wasn't there anymore. No, he was dead and gone, just as he should be.

Carl Powers was gay, undeniably. James didn't exactly consider himself under that category; he liked to think he was more just curious, open to try everything just to experience it, just to shut up his over-active mind. He wanted to solve every question his mind had to offer, and well, sleeping with a man wasn't all that horrible. Besides, nowadays seventeen was becoming way too late to lose one's virginity, so if he had to lose it with a man, he was totally fine with it. Besides, it wasn't horrid. It was tight, and a bit awkward as they fumbled in the boys locker room. They exchanged comments on how porno-cliché it all was, but the end result was pretty fantastic. Sex was a distraction he found rather pleasing, more pleasing than the puzzles his drunk of a mother offered him via advice from the doctors. And Carl seemed to be fine with being the object of his distractions, as the boy had his own frustrations to get out through sex. He wasn't entirely openly gay with his classmates, it seemed, which was all too predictable to James. But it made for an interesting situation behind closed doors… Up until that fateful day that Carl decided to turn on him.

"That's the faggot that tried groping me in the showers." Carl shouted, pointing down the hall at James who stood innocently at the end, blinking at the finger pointed at him. He didn't know what possessed the boy to go ahead and do this to him, not at first anyways. It clicked after a short few seconds. He remembered their last little meeting, and how they had heard a door open and close. James hadn't cared, but Carl spent ten minutes pacing back and forth, talking about what might happen. Well, he hadn't listed this as one of the possibilities, and James was more than a little thrown off by the change. And was it bad that made him a bit happy? To be caught off his guard? It was amusing, it was a distraction, and it wasn't as predictable as he had expected from his dear Carl.
Shame that James got into quite a bit of trouble for the false accusations, with friends of Carl's backing up the closeted-homosexual's lie. Apparently one of them had in fact walked in on them, only catching a glance before rushing out… Seems they hadn't seen enough to deduce that it had been purely consensual. Or they had, and simply decided to ignore the obvious fact that their friend was gay. Oh, idiots. All of them – absolute idiots.

That was what made for James' first night, where he felt alive. Truly, and completely alive. There had been a lot of trouble with the school, and his mother, but the end result was a slap on the wrist upon finding there wasn't enough evidence to get James into any more trouble than he already was. But after a few weeks of being suspended from school, he had returned with a plan.
He snuck into the boy's locker room once more whilst Carl was busy with his idiotic friends, easily slipping into his locker and taking out his usual necessities. His swimming trunks and goggles, as well as the medicinal cream he applied for his poor skin condition. It was shocking just how easy it had been for him to retrieve such a lethal poison, but it was a wonder what a little bit of money and a few displays of how crazy he had the capability of being could do for a person. So with that, he sprinkled death into the boy's cream, being sure to mix it in with a stirrer until it looked like its originally smooth, white state. He capped it and shoved it back into his locker along with everything else he had dug out. And that was when Carl came in, with two of his friends, shuffling down the aisles of lockers until they came across James just standing there, a small smile on his face.
"The fuck are you doing here?" One of the idiots behind Carl shouted loudly, making James grimace from the sound of his voice. If idiotic had a sound, it would be that. Carl's brows scrunched up, glancing back to his two friends before back to his ex-lover, if that was what they could even call each other. It had just been emotionless sex to cloud their minds, but nothing more. James held no feelings for the man before him, none at all. Though he thought for a moment, that perhaps this wasn't a good idea.

Not because he felt guilty, or regretful, but because he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to deal with police cluttering up this already annoying school with even more idiocy. But then Carl began to laugh. "Probably wants to try and apologize to me, right?" He cackled, making James arch a brow. Was he laughing at him? How could he possibly be laughing at him? Suddenly, the trouble seemed worth the death of Carl Powers.
"No, actually…" James hummed, offering him a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I was just here to wish you look during practice. Don't stay after too long, I know how you like to have the pool to yourself." There was a hint of threat in his voice, but Carl and his friends didn't seem to catch it, as they scoffed and continued to curse absurdly until James finally turned to leave. But he didn't actually leave, just made sure to stay out of sight, watching from the shadows as Carl went through with practice. He seemed off, constantly cramping up and complaining of numbness. He stopped twice to gather himself up until practice ended. But as always, he stayed, and once he was sure Carl was alone, James emerged.

"Hello." James smiled an all too sweet smile as he approached the male, who was preparing himself to dive in once more. Immediately the boy froze and shot up, turning paper-white at the sight of James.

"J-James…" He stuttered softly, his voice suddenly seeming so weak. Which then led him to realize that he wasn't different like he had originally assumed. No, he was as pathetic as the rest of them, boring, weak little things. Disgusting. "James… I've been trying to get you alone, but…" He swallowed hard, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He began to shake his head, stepping away from the edge of the pool. James caught sight of him stumbling a bit only to just barely catch himself and attempt to straighten himself out. "James, it wasn't my idea. Scott… He saw us, and… I…"

James began to laugh, "You weren't strong enough to open your mouth and say something?" He smiled, "Weakling, figures you'd be just as stupid as the rest of them." His voice was deep, dark, deadly, a void he was sure his Carl hadn't hear before. James was always the quiet one, the one with a soft voice and little to say. But he was done keeping quiet now, and this shut the other up, turning his face red with embarrassment or maybe anger. He couldn't be bothered to try and figure it out, because he didn't care. "I didn't think of you as anyone, for the record… I was bored, and you were frustrated with being gay. You were just a hole, and now you're boring. Boring like the rest of them." James was off in his own little world his voice lowering to just above a whisper as he grimly stared down at the tiled floor of the indoor pool, as he slowly stepped closer and closer to his first victim. "Why? Why are you so boring? Why is EVERYONE so boring? Carl, just… Answer that for me would you?" Jame's voice suddenly rose, and he could practically smell the fear radiating off his dear Carl as he began shaking, and it excited James to no end.
"I-… I don't know, I di-didn't… Why… what's wrong with you? What's… Why are you being like this?" That was the stupidest thing he had asked, and it only made James feel disgusting for having ever put his dick inside of him. Oh, he really should raise his standards.
"Stop talking. You give me a headache now… I didn't realize it before, but you're just as stupid, just as boring. I thought you would entertain me, but you don't…" He sighed dramatically, looking to the other. "How are you feeling?" He asked suddenly, his once dark face now alight with a smile, as Carl stood there; seemingly unaware of how close he had stepped back towards the pool's edge. He could see his muscles straining, see them trying to figure out what was happening to his body.
"What?" Carl breathed, clearing his throat. He didn't feel good.
"Well, I just mean, you should be really feeling it by now." James raised his arm, checking the watch strapped to his wrist, "I'd say you haven't gotten long before your body just gives out entirely." He offered a sickeningly sweet smile as Carl took one more step back before James was able to watch his legs give in, sending him tumbling backward into the water with a loud splash and a yell. There was a struggle at first, the boy using what mobility he had left to kick and writhe until slowly he lost all ability to move. And that was when James got to see his first death, had a taste of the first kill. He watched through the layer of water as the light left Carl's pathetic brown eyes, watched as his body floated around unmoving… He stood there watching for twenty minutes before he finally looked away, only to find himself staring at a pair of shoes off to the side. Carl's beloved sneakers. He then returned home with them, as a memento of the glorious night.

The cops were of course there the next day, muddling the area with their stupidity. They remained there for a couple of days, questioning students. They even questioned him, and it really surprised him they wouldn't immediately consider him a suspect seeing as how the circumstances beforehand would have led most to believe that to be the case. But no, they didn't even spare him a second glance, and oddly enough, that angered him. A small part of him wanted to be caught; he wanted to be praised for this genius, for his strength. He wanted people to look at him and fear him and be confused and shocked and scared. But no one thought to question him twice. No one thought it was sweet, quiet James Mcgann. And even more so, no one questioned the missing shoes. No one thought it was odd that there were no shoes in the locker and no shoes in the pool. No one. Not a single cop or detective or anyone, because they were all so bloody stupid. No one, except for one person.

He had dark, unruly hair with high cheek bones and pale eyes. He looked almost like a ghost, a sight to cringe at, at first, until he was able to take a second look and realize he was actually quite beautiful. His structure was so well carved out, and his eyes… as freakishly light as they were, were absolutely astonishing. Especially the way they flickered this way and that, taking in anything and everything, examining everything… He didn't need to look at him very long to know he was different, and the fact he was questioning the shoes? Well, that was a red flag right there. And it angered him that no one listened to him, that no one gave him a second glance either. He continued to shout about the shoes, about how they must mean something, they must connect in some way, but the cops just shrugged him off. No one listened to him. No one.
"What are you talking about? The shoes?" James was morbidly curious as to what theory this seemingly deranged boy had, who seemed absolutely furious at how the cops refused to listen to him. He could understand the frustration, staring at this boy with his dark eyes, that for once were sparkling with slight entertainment at the appearance of this stranger.
"Carl Power's shoes! Where are there? They weren't on the body! They weren't in the locker, or in the pool, or anywhere in sight! Doesn't anybody find this odd?" No one did, apparently, no one except for this boy. James found it hard not to smile, as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

"So what if his shoes are missing, they're just shoes…" James hummed with mock-boredom, of which the boy didn't seem to quite catch as he waved him off furiously and began to walk off.
"Oh, you're an idiot!" He called out, "Just like all the cops. It means something! He was murdered! He didn't drown." James had never once been called an idiot in all his life, so he was a bit taken back by the comment, but even more so to the fact that he had figured it out. Everyone assumed Carl Powers had drowned… But not him. He was different.

He didn't go to this school, and no one knew his name. They just called him 'that-crazy-kid-thinking-the-shoes-meant-something'. But none of them knew how right that boy had been, no one. Carl Powers was dead, and James was left off the hook… But his mind was wrapped around that boy. Who was he? How did he know? How did he see what no one else saw? He was smart, though he was hoping that wasn't just James becoming desperate to find someone as intelligent as himself. It could just be his mind reaching out, trying to grasp to whatever person seemed good enough, good enough to distract him… But James could see something in that boy. Something different. Something exciting.
But it wasn't helping his already overly active mind. He found himself in the bathroom just a few days later, two in the morning with not a wink of sleep. He was staring into his reflection, his eyes dark and circled by bags. It was what happened when you didn't sleep, he supposed. He ran a hand down his face, beginning to walk in circles about the tiny, dirty bathroom, his mind racing with thoughts of pale eyes and curly dark hair. Was it possible for someone else to be like him? He wasn't sure whether he should be threatened or not, that someone might be just like him, someone stepping into his turf. But then again, did he really have any turf? He hardly spoke, just made silent judgments on people based on how they held themselves. Which was poorly, nine out of ten times. He did all his classwork, aced all his tests, but never really did much else. Just sat there day to day, going through the motions of his boring life, coming home to his mother passed out in the living room, to a dirty flat crawling with disease and bugs. Horrid.
So perhaps this was what he needed, someone like… that boy. Someone who understood what it was like? You're getting ahead of yourself his mind whispered, it may have just been a lucky guess? He could just be plain and simple, and you're just desperate. James grimaced, "I thought that already." He barked back under his breath, as he sat himself on the edge of the tub, dropping his head into his hands. His forehead was sticky with cold sweat. He looked deranged, not intelligent. You're looking into him too much. You're desperate. "Desperate, desperate, desperate." James repeated aloud, "I'm not desperate, I'm BORED." He growled out as he quickly stood up and stretched out his arms, groaning. "Bloody Carl Powers. He ruined everything; I was okay with keeping quiet, keeping to myself, silently hating everything. Now I'm not. Now I'm ruined. My mind is ruined. Everything is ruined. I'm so bored. I can't stop thinking. I can't sleep, or eat, or rest. I can't stop moving. I can't!" He found himself pacing back and forth until a loud knock was heard from outside the door.
"James?" His mother's voice sounded tired, yet angered. "James! Who are you talking to? What are you doing?" She continued to knock, as though that would make her son listen. James just stared for a few moments, wondering what would happen if he just stood there and waited. It seemed momentarily entertaining, but even that couldn't occupy him very long.
"I can't sleep." James answered softly, his eyes never once flickering away from the center of the door, staring blankly, tiredly.
"James, come out here." She grumbled, "You have sleeping pills!" He snorted at the reminder.
"They don't work." He argued, "None of it works. Just leave me alone, I need to think." He turned, grasping the handle to the shower and turning it on, the sound of running water filling the bathroom, just enough to drown out his mother's insistent banging.

It continued like this for weeks. He would go days without sleep before inevitably passing out, only to wake just hours later to repeat the same process. His mother had taken him to a new doctor, prescribing him stronger pills. They didn't work that well either, just made him feel depressed, and a bit drowsy. But he still never slept. Just usually sat in bed and stared at the wall across from him, just waiting for something, anything to happen. The days until his graduation were fast approaching, and he was somewhat eager to get it done and over with. High school was boring, and at least with the welcoming of college he could find himself somewhere new. Somewhere that hopefully had more to offer. Thanks to his scholarships money wasn't too big of an issue, and he really was opened to limitless possibilities. A decent school in London, that would be nice. Somewhere in the bustling city, a place that was always moving always had something going on. That would be nice. Somewhere constantly distracting.

And that was exactly what he did. He left his life behind, never once looking back to his mother or his ex-classmates. It was nice in the beginning, settling into the campus of Kings College, where he chose to major in Psychology. He found it amusing in a bitter kind of way, and a bit ironic, but apparently it was a thing that those who were already fucked up found themselves absolutely in love with Psychology classes. But the classes grew boring after a couple of days, because he knew it all. The lectures weren't as fun; the textbooks ran out of information, and things had once again lost their shine. Seems moving somewhere else hadn't done much for him in the least, the high it gave him had only lasted a few short days before he was left anxious writhing in bed all night, trying to ease his mind. His roommate, of course, was fed up with him. A moronic bloke, who wasn't nearly as smart as he claimed to be. His rich daddy had probably bought him a place in the school, and it was no shock to James when the guy took off after a couple of days of listening to him talk to himself in the middle of the night. Apparently he got scared off. "Coward." He huffed in the silence of his room, as he lay along the bed, surrounded by opened textbooks and papers covered in writing. Nothing more to do. Why was there nothing more to do?
And it was during his first few weeks of college that he found something magical, something no simple shag or a puzzle could compete with. It wasn't marijuana or booze, but instead something so much more soothing, so much more beautiful. It was a copper colored liquid that swished about in a tiny bottle, this way and that, as it was displayed before him. And the process itself was quite distracting, and entertaining, and it kept him calm. The routine of it all, it relaxed him. Unwrapping the syringe, tying up his arm, tapping the inside of his elbow and eying his beautiful, big, blue vein. It bulged out, begging to be abused, and his mind urged him on. Do it, do it, do it. And so he did, he stabbed into himself, feeling warmth push through him, shooting through his veins and easing him back against the bathroom wall of the sleazy club. It filled him with fire and ice, and sent him sliding down to the floor in bliss as he sat there in amazement. His mind was quiet. For the first time, for as long as he could remember, his mind was quiet, and he could breathe. He did just that, inhaling loudly and slowly closing his eyes before exhaling. Everything felt so beautiful.

That boy wasn't forgotten though, oh no. He was still there, in the back of his mind, clouded by the abuse of drugs and liquor, but still there. He didn't know a name, but he knew those eyes, and that unruly hair, and the image of his face remained there. The sound of his voice, chanting about the shoes. Oh, yes, the shoes. He still had them, carried them in his luggage and kept them there. Sometimes he would take them out when he was bored, and would just smile at them. Sometimes he would even talk to them, talk to them as if they were Carl himself. It kept him distracted every now and again. It was nice. But not as nice as the rush of a high. Nothing at that point in his life was more distracting than getting his fix, and sometimes, he even found the withdrawal that followed to be semi-entertaining. If only because the pain of it blurred his mind.
The drug also made people more tolerable. He woke up in the beds of strangers on more than one occasion, with women, with men, and sometimes both. He had exciting nights, and it didn't even cause his grades to slip. Never failed an exam, never failed to turn a paper in on time. James finally thought his life had turned around, he thought maybe he had found the answers to all his problems, a tiny bit of copper-colored substance, shot directly into his veins. A beautiful liquid that filled him with fire. He was doing great in school, he had a social life, and his mind wasn't getting the best of him. If he wasn't high, he was withdrawing, and either way he was at peace with his mind, either welcomed with comfortable waves of relaxation, or the gnawing need for more of that beautiful drug. Either way, he was distracted, either way, he should be happy. And he remained that way for some time…

And it should have stayed that way forever. Some idiotic sod had gave him a bad batch, which ultimately ruined his night after going two days without a fix. It ruined him entirely. Sent him spiraling into hysterics in the bathroom he had first started this whole thing in, screaming and shouting at a girl who had been clinging to him for the past few months. She considered herself his girlfriend, he simply considered her a willing hole. She was scared now, though. She didn't know James as his roommate had, she didn't know the James that Carl knew towards the end of his life. She knew high James, quiet James, happy James, distracted James. This James was not right, not okay, he was off, and it was obvious. "James, calm down, you have to relax. You have to sit down. Please sit down." She kept telling him to sit down, but he didn't want to sit down! What would that fix? What could that possibly fix? Waste of space. She's a waste of space. Everyone is a waste of space. The voices were back with a vengeance, fueling his drugged rage as he continued to circle the bathroom, the finicky little blonde girl having holed herself up in the corner. "James, you just need to relax. It'll get better once you relax." She shuddered, turning white as James froze and looked at her, face cold, eyes dead-looking.
"Will. You. Shut. UP!" He was tired of her voice, tired of her everything. He knew how easy it would be, to just kill her. To just press his thumbs against her windpipe and watch the light leave her eyes. Immediately he was reminded of the night Carl died, and he remembered how good he had felt. He had almost forgotten amidst the haze of drugs, just how wonderfully happy he had felt that night. He could feel it again, and it would be so easy. She was so weak. "You pathetic little whore, you've been nothing to me. Nothing." James hissed softly, as he began to approach her. Tears began to stain her cheeks as she shook her head.
"How could you say that?" James scoffed at the idiotic question.
"Oh don't be so cliché you bitch, you're a drug addicted whore and you've been nothing but a hole." Just like Carl, he had just been a hole. He died too. She would die, she was going to die. James was going to kill her, and everything was going to be okay, because something about bringing a person to the end of their lives made him feel better, made him feel okay. But she wasn't going to die tonight, oh no, the loud pounding on the door made sure of that.
"Can you two please end whatever little party you're having in there and get out? Some of us actually need to use the toilets." A voice called, making James twitch with agitation. The girl of course stole the chance and ran past him, yanking the door opened and running out, crying, and screaming. James rolled his eyes and turned, landing a fist into the hard, marbled walls.
"Fuck." He hissed, feeling the bones in his hands cry out in pain as he pulled away from the wall, turning at the sound of a stall closing. Whoever had been knocking at the door had gotten his wish, it seemed. "Couldn't wait five minutes?" James grumbled beneath his breath, not really meant to be heard as he turned to clean his hand in the dirty sink.
"Oh, I'm so sorry." The stranger's voice was dripping with sarcasm, "Didn't think you'd mind, having someone break up that fight you were having. Or well, it wasn't really a fight, was it? Just you screaming your bloody head off at some poor girl." There was a snort, and James felt his blood boiling in irritation.
"You don't know anything, so I'd think it's safe to say you should back off." James was in no mood tonight to play with strangers, or play nice, at the very least. He felt prepared to tear someone to shreds.
"Get a bad batch?" The voice mocked, "Shame." The sound of a flush followed the word, James taking this time to turn as the stall door flew open.

Pale eyes locked with his dark orbs, and James felt his stomach begin to twist. Emotions, they were petty little things he very little paid attention to, but this nagging sensation was undeniable as he stared down the boy he hadn't been able to stop thinking about since the day little Carl died. They were glassy and faded, his pupils blown wide open, alerting Jim to the fact he wasn't the only one who had gotten himself trapped in the swirl of drug abuse once having reached college.
He didn't look like the drugs type though, not at all. Unlike James who was dressed in a black tank top and a pair of ratty old jeans with worn down sneakers, the boy before him was dressed impeccably. A black dress shirt buttoned up to the two last buttons, with black dress pants and black Oxford shoes. He looked like a fancy, rich boy, and James wasn't sure if he liked him much because of it. But those eyes, that hair. It was undeniable. This was him. It had to be him.
"You're him… The shoes guy…" James drawled, swallowing hard as he leaned back against the sinks. "You're that boy…" He felt like a zombie now, no longer fueled by adrenaline and drugs, but calmed by the familiar face, and absolutely worn out by the discovery itself and unable to keep himself from flashing a near-crazed smile. "The one that was there… about Carl Powers…"

The boy cocked a brow, blinking a few times, as though needing a second to register what had been said. "Ah, you're that bloke…" The other hummed, seemingly uninterested as he passed James to get to the sink. James noticed the sudden agitated look upon the other's face, as though recalling the day and still being displeased with the fact no one had listened to him. He could understand that.
"James…" He hummed in response, figuring a name was needed.
"I don't care." Oh. Nice guy, he was, huh? James continued to smile that smile as he turned to face the man, folding his skinny arms over his chest and tilting his head to the side.
"You should. I was the only one that heard you out after all." James reminded with a snort, "Shoes, shoes, shoes. You ever find those stupid shoes?" He felt sickeningly amused by this, a good change in his night, because he had his shoes back home, in a box, beneath his bed. It made his smile grow.
"No, no one did." The boy grumbled, "Idiots. All of them. It was clear it was murder, but they chose to just pick and choose facts, because it's easier for them to just write it off as some drowning victim. Idiots." James could see the cogs turning in his head, how fast he was thinking, he was talking fast too. He was on another drug, a drug that made him think more. He was like James, just like him, he could see it in his eyes and it was fabulous. But it seemed the other didn't mind the natural rush his mind provided, didn't mind the thoughts racing through his head. He seemed to enjoy it, in fact… And James found himself slightly envious.

"How did you deduce it was murder?" James asked out of morbid curiosity, leaning against the wall beside the other as the man scrubbed his hands clean, like he had just been digging through mud and was trying to scrape off every last bit of dirt. They were being scrubbed raw. "The police said there was no sign of him being held under, seemed he just fell in and had a seizure, couldn't get out, and drowned." He smiled a bit.
"It's obvious." The guy hissed, looking to him like he was a moron before turning back to his hands, "He was the only one in the pool the only one. No one was around? Why was he there? Alone? There was no past conditions of seizures. He had a skin condition, apparently, but he never just froze up. His coach issued a statement claiming he was off the whole day, but what caused it? Just suddenly his body wanted to stop working? No, someone did that to him, I know someone did that to him. And they wanted a trophy… Whoever murdered him took his shoes, and I think not only was it a trophy, but he wanted someone to notice. He wanted to be found. He wanted to be praised." Oh, he was good. James' smile grew.
"How did you know it was a 'he'? A girl couldn't kill him? A bit sexist." James teased, chuckling. The other didn't seem as amused.
"Reasonable. The boy was gay, after all, so perhaps a disgruntled girl he shot down killed him, but it's unlikely. More likely someone he actually had slept with. It was clear his peers didn't approve, no one in that school really seemed opened to the idea of homosexuality except for the few in the closet… But they wouldn't dare express such feelings in front of their friends. It could be a friend, who found out, disgusted enough to act on it… But no, the way he died, it must have been a poison, he wasn't held down. Someone sinister, someone smart. Not some idiotic homophobe, no, this boy was smart. And it was a boy, I know it was, has to be. Someone he slept with, more likely, or another homosexual whom he betrayed even." He was thinking now, bringing up old memories, and it was clear in his eyes, and James had never been more excited. This boy was smart. He knew things, no one knew things, but he did!

"What's your name?" James finally asked, but the other was off in his own little world, ignoring the question as he stepped away from the sink and began to pace, looking frantic as he continued to spout out theories,
"Oh, this killer was smart. He felt betrayed, probably because he liked the guy, more likely because Carl turned on him. Carl hadn't wanted to be found out about his homosexuality, probably picked on the poor sod in front of his friends. He picked on the wrong guy though, didn't he?" He laughed, "Oh, oh, this Carl was an idiot; he turned on the wrong person… This person knew how to get his hands on things, at such a young age… Oh…" He continued to chuckle, not paying any mind to James as he went on pacing and talking, "But a poison, it must be a poison, but how? They didn't find any, but then again, they probably hadn't been looking for it. Something undetectable then, but something dangerous. The poison wasn't what killed him though, no, no, it paralyzed him. He fell into the water and couldn't get out because the drug kept him from doing so. The coach said he was freezing up all night and had difficulty… Carl stayed after to practice some more, and…" His eyes were alight with new information, and it was the most beautiful thing James had ever seen. Someone actually thinking. It was brilliant! "The killer returned to take the shoes, after he had died. He has the shoes. Still has them, I'm sure, he wouldn't just throw something like that out, oh, no." He finally acknowledged James' presence, smirking.
"And you think you're right? You're not a cop, how come some kid can get all this but a professional just labels it as an accident? You think you're that smart?" James tilted his head to the side, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. This was fun, the most fun he had had in a while.
"Oh, don't be boring," He hissed, "Cops are idiots, all of them are. They just wanted to call it an accident so they could go home early. No one wanted to deal with a murder investigation; they were lazy and stupid and chose not to look into it. "

"That's it then, huh? Carl was murdered?" James smiled, "Some disgruntled lover killed him? Seems cheesy," He chuckled softly, running a hand through his short, dark hair as he spoke, shaking his head. "Carl was a bit of a bully though, an idiotic one. I'm not surprised someone put him out of his misery. His friends had been assholes to him," James recalled with a roll of his eyes, "How did you know he was gay, though?" James dared ask, arching a brow.
"Never had a girlfriend, from what I've heard. Often hung around men. Then of course the cops talked to the parents and they of course mentioned finding gay pornography in his room after his death. Then the cops started to consider it a suicide…" A roll of his eyes, "They can't just think, can they?" James smiled at that question, nodding his head.
"No, they can't." Then he was fully acknowledged again, and their eyes met. Slowly, the other boys face softened and a look of amusement touched his eyes.
"Oh, I see," He said, chuckling, "You knew it too, didn't you? Just asking me these questions to see if I could think… You can think, can't you? Not now, you're too high. You don't like to think," He was looked over, "You hate thinking, it ruins you. Don't sleep, so you take drugs to help you." He was amused, "A bit pathetic, don't you think?" James wasn't a fan of the words the other chose to use, and narrowed his eyes, his smile dropping immediately.
"I am not pathetic." He stated dangerously.
"Oh, and mood swings," The man laughed, "Unstable, drug abuser, but terribly intelligent. Probably had a therapist and a psychiatrist at some point, yeah? Stop your medication but they weren't working well enough? Ah, but what's your diagnosis then?" He stepped towards James, looking him over again, "Tricky, tricky…" This was all a game to him, and it was alluring to James even if the other was digging him opened in the most uncomfortable fashion.

"For your own well-being, I suggest you not try and analyze me." James warned, eyes narrowed, but there was a hint of amusement at the edge of it all, and the other read into that.
"Oh, that's not true. You want to be found out, I can see it in your eyes. You're bored." The other stopped short, just a foot away from James, "Sherlock Holmes." He nodded, "Be seeing you." He turned on his heel and left James standing there, biting on his bottom lip in contemplation as he stared after him.
"Sherlock Holmes…" He breathed, smirking, "What an ugly name."


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