Red as Roses
Chapter Five

White. The horrible familiar white filled his line of vision once again. But this time, it was not the endless hallway of white, or the stark white room stained by the dark red splotches. Instead, this time, he's in a white room, with a peculiar grand piano—that was white in color, and a complex mirror on one side of the rectangular room. He looked down to see himself wearing a white Victorian suit with black intricate designs of roses, a matching white pants with the similar designs—only in black, a pair of white Victorian dress shoes, and white gloves donned his hands. He was sitting on a white chair made out of leather, with his arms resting on the wooden arms with carved leaf-like lines, creating an elaborated design.

"Wh-what…?" Len stared down at his clothing with confusion. He slowly stood up from the chair, as he gazed around the peculiar room—confusion clearly written on his face. His eyes then landed on the piano, he slowly made his way towards it, and then he placed a gloved hand on top of it. Its wooden surface was smooth, with his gloved finger sliding across the stark white cover. Then, a slight movement from the corner of his eyes caught his attention. Turning his head, he stared at the overly-large mirror, and then his hand went back to his side as he slowly walked towards the mirror. The mirror stood from the floor until it reached the ceiling. Its frames were made out of silver, curving and twisting into a very complex design. Then his green eyes landed on the smooth surface of the glass standing right before him.

Reflected on the mirror was himself, however, the Len reflected off from the mirror was wearing a black variation of his garments. Also, his blond hair appeared darker than before, his skin lacked more of its color, and his eyes were much lighter, and more yellowish in color. Len felt a shiver ran down his spine as he stared at his reflection; his reflection's pupils were strangely slanted. Behind his reflection was a black version of the stark white room. However, the piano is ruined and destroyed, and the elegant velvet chair is lacking its limbs, splinters served as the only reminder of where the legs used to be. The walls were black, with patches of the wallpaper are peeling off like dead skin, and underneath the peeling patches was a wall that seemed to be made out of flesh, throbbing and beating like that of a heart's, pumping with dark purplish veins weaving across the organic wall. Len's spine ran cold as ice as he trained his eyes at the peculiar wall.

His heart banged against his ribcage, fastening and throbbing painfully, as the hair at the back of his neck stood on its ends, with goose-bumps crawling like a rash across his arms. His eyes finally left the wall and it landed back to his reflections yellowish, inhumaneyes. Len felt himself moving closer towards the mirror, until he was merely a few feet away from it. His hand rose on its own, he watched with slight fascination at the back his gloved hand as he placed it on top of the mirror's cold and smooth surface; his reflection did the same.

But then, red oddly seeped from the mirror, dripping down from beneath Len's hand. The blonde's eyes widened and he immediately pulled back his hand, somehow regaining control of his limbs. Red dampness filled his glove, sticky liquid dripped down from his palms and into the cuffs of his clothing. Then he turned back his attention at the mirror—his reflection stared down at him, chin raised proudly-mockingly, and his lips were curved up in a cold and vicious grin, with red dripping from the corner of his pale lips. Len can only stare in horror—he can only look in disbelief at the mirror. Slowly, he backed away, his body was trembling against his will, and his limbs can only shake while his knees weakened against his own weight. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and his throat seemed too dry and his clothes too hot and tight against his skin. Len can feel his insides wrenching and twisting in disgust as he continued to stare against his perverse doppelganger.

The reflection chuckled coldly, and it sent shivers against the blonde's spine, Len is sure it came from the mirror—even with his mouth open, his voice is stuck inside his own throat—, as the reflection slowly approached the glass. Len expected him to pass through the glass; however the reflection placed his black-gloved palms on top of the barrier with his forehead pressing against it. The glass prevented him to pass through, Len hoped.

"Hey." Len felt his body went stiff when the reflection spoke, mischief danced across the reflection's eyes, his lips still curved up into a nasty grin. "Can you play for her?" the reflection asked, his voice hoarse and raspy—as if unused to talking, his gloved finger pointed something behind Len. The blond hesitantly turned his head, following the direction the reflection is pointing at, which was the piano. The reflection purred, his rough voice vibrating by the base of his throat, his eyes lighting up with excitement, "Yes, yes! Play for her!"

Len looked back at his—can he still call it his?—the reflection, with a confused expression. "H-her?" he questioned, his voice slightly cracking from nervousness.

The reflection smiled from ear to ear, bobbing his head like a child. "Yes, yes! Her! For her!"

"Wh-what are you talking about?" Len asked again, slowly backing away from the mirror, his dress shoes clacking against the white clear floor.

The reflection's eyes widened, his lips dropping into a frown, "What do you mean? For her! Why can't you play for her?" the reflection demanded, his voice lowering a few pitches. His eyes narrowed, glaring coldly at Len. "Play. Play. Play. PLAY!" the reflection growled, repeating the words over on over again.

Len winced at the harsh voice grinding in his ear drums. He tried to block the guttural voice, but his attempts were all in vain. "Stop! Stop it! Shut up!" he shouted, blocking his ears with his hands.

The reflection started to trash from behind the glass, his fists were pounding against the glass, a sharp crack resonated from the air, and it reminded Len of breaking bones. Then another followed, soon the mirror is laden with small cracks, with dark red liquid seeping at the edges, dripping along the slowly shattering surface like sweet syrup. The reflection held its head back, an inhuman cry rang in the air then the reflection stared back at Len smugly. He grinned, exposing teeth that seemed too sharp and a small giggle escaped the reflection's throat, and his hands began to claw on the mirror and much like the cracks, his giggling turned louder and higher pitched. Mad laughter echoed across the room, bouncing off the walls and reverberating hauntingly in Len's ears.

Len can only stare, frozen as the perverse copy laughed away as he clawed against the mirror. The glass was slowly falling apart, tearing away the fabric of the copy's glove, the shards embed themselves on the pale and sickly skin. The glass was stabbing deep and tearing away at the skin, searing through flesh and exposing small bones.

Idly, a small part of Len's brain mused that more blood seemed to have been pouring out of the mirror in a manner similar to water breaking through a cave wall. However, a larger part of Len's brain commanded that he should run away while he still can, but his body refused to move.

With a blood curling cry, the copy's hand passed through the glass. A nasty triumphant grin twisted itself on the fake's face and soon enough, deranged laughter escaped his lips.

"You're going to play for her, won't you Len?" Len can only stare, too deeply rooted on the floor to move away. Len can only stare at the hand with shards stabbing against the skin and some of the skin and flesh torn away. A peculiar air filled the room, Len can't identify what it is, but it is definitely not pleasant. With wide eyes and teeth glinting dangerously, giggles escaped the copy's mouth as he continued to question the blond. "You'll play for her, right?"

Then the copy pulled his hand away, shards fell on the floor, shattering and splintering into smaller shards. With another cry, the copy lunged at the mirror.

An ear-shattering crash pounded against Len's ears, shards of glass were flying from all directions, yet none seemed to have hit him, Len thought.

Then pain.

All Len knew that he was in pain, burning daggers are etching in his skin, and his own blood was boiling inside his veins. Something was pounding inside his head, he could feel his brain smashing against his own skull, and his eyes were on fire and his ears were shattering again and again. His heart is beating too fast, one moment it would stop then it would make a painful throb. He could hear laughter, but he paid it no heed as his bones all felt broken and splintering against his flesh. His whole body was on fire, with daggers digging inside his skin and piercing his innards. Even breathing is painful, for his lungs refused to move to their purpose, they would freeze then they would move involuntarily, his ribs are already crashing against his lungs. His stomach is already twisting itself already into knots, throbbing and wrenching painfully, with the distinct sound of mad laughter echoing like a broken record in a lost memory.

Then there was only pain, and Len knew nothing but pain. This excruciating pain that filled his very being, from the very tips of his fingers then to his aching limbs, seeping on his skin, coursing angrily in his veins, tearing through flesh and shattering his bones. There was nothing but pain that he could not bear—could not understand, what had he done to deserve such punishment? He can only wish for it to go away, to end it all… All he wanted is to die and end it all. Die and forever be free of the pain, free of this torture, free of the copy that laughed at his pain, and free of—

"Why won't you play for her?" The pain was gone, but there was only a voice. It questioned him, and soon, he knew everything about himself again—he can feel himself again, the confusion and pain was gone. Much like how abrupt it came, and then it was gone, only dull aching served as a reminder.

It was that voice, his copy's voice. The doppelganger's voice was so childish and dry and raspy, and oh so haunted and unused and so full of twisted curiosity that grated his ears.

"Play, Len! Play!" Then there was pain again, but not as severe as it was earlier, fortunately it is still not enough to make every breath and heartbeat painful. Len grinded his teeth together, his eyes tightly shut as his body curled into a tight ball. His hands were still clutching his head, his knees were pressed against jaw, and his arms were pressed against his body. The copy was talking to him—his voice was grating in his ears, jeering him on to play. It was horrible, Len decided, nails scratching against a chalkboard would sounded better than this.

A moan of pain escaped Len's lips, slowly, his skull began to pound, the ache becoming much more painful. There was only pain pounding against his skull, he did not know how long it took, but the pain stood at a standstill, never receding, never increasing until it was nothing more than a dull throb. Then a melody began to play. It was childish and a little clumsy, with notes hitting wrong keys and the tune losing its form, but it was strangely soothing. Soon enough, the pain began to go away as the mad laughter drowned against the music, washed away by the melody. As the music played, the throbbing ache in Len's head slowly leveled down. Not a moment longer, it was completely gone.

Hesitantly, Len cracked an eye open. Around him, a puddle of blood formed staining the pristine white room and his clothes. Shards of the mirror scattered chaotically in the room, each showing a single reflection, twisting, distorting, and multiplying, creating collages of the occupant of the room. The music was still there, it continued to play, and it came from the piano. Unsurely, Len's eyes lingered towards the piano as he propped himself on his elbows with his knees up, so that he may sit on the floor.

His eyes widened as he saw a blond child sitting right in front of the piano, his small fingers messily pressing the keys. He was playing the same tune Len had heard… Wait, where did he heard that melody?

"She used to play this song," the child said, his voice soft and small, and somehow sounded a little familiar to Len. "I can't play it properly… But I guess it could keep him away for a while," the child continued, his head never turning away from the piano. Len stood from the ground, brushing the invisible dust off his bloodstained white clothes. He looked around the room, and then he focused his eyes back at the child.

"Him?" Len asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"That guy," the child answered, never turning, his fingers never missing a beat as he pressed the piano's keys with his clumsy fingers. "The real you."

"W-what?" Len was horrified of the child's words. The real him? What—?

The child suddenly stopped, the melody hasn't yet reached its ending. "I forgot the next notes…" he mumbled, his voice small as he fingered the keys, trailing his fingers across the white keys. Len felt his heart fastened its beating as the child slowly turned his head, "How about you? Can you play for her?"

A lump stuck in the teen's throat as he can only gaze at the pit less sockets where the eyes of the child should lay. An abyss of darkness serves as his eyes, his sockets exposed and black with something throbbing and squelching inside that Len doesn't want to know. Blood was pouring down like tears down the child's cheeks. Perhaps those were his tears, stained red by the blood in those eyeless holes. Then the child smiled.

A pair of short cuts was on the edges of the child's lips, then his lips pulled itself up. Then the cuts began to tear away at the face, ripping the skin away, exposing the layers of flesh until it reached the bone. The cut ripped until it reached the ears, and Len can only look as his own body refused to move, paralyzed. The rip went on and on and it never stopped, veins were falling off and flesh piling down with the bone beginning to blacken and his face can only be twisted and turned as sticky yellow mucus poured down the floor that burnt the face and worms were crawling out of the sockets with teeth falling off as flies began to fly… And Len can never look away because that was his own face, and he—his own face is rotting before his very eyes—

Len woke with a jolt, his body springing up into a sitting position. He panted heavily as cold sticky sweat covered his skin. His heart banged against his chest, as he heaved the air with heavy breaths, inhaling and exhaling as he calmed himself down.

It was another dream.

A groan escaped Len's lips as he buried his face on his wet palms, his frame still shaking from shock. The dream was horrifying and grotesque as ever, and it left Len more frightened and confused than before. Questions swirled around his mind; what does his dreams meant? Why is he having those dreams anyway? Who is 'she'? What does that 'child' meant? What does he mean by 'the real you'? What is going on? Is it somehow related to his past?

His past…? Now that he thought of it, Len never wondered about his past. He feels rather apathetic about his past. He never really tried knowing about it.

Is he really a 'Hatsune'? Is he really related to them?

Len somehow felt this sudden emptiness within his chest, eating away at his very being. His past, why does it feel important now? He never bothered learning it, but why does he feel the need to know it now? What does his past really held? Who is he anyway? Len shivered as he wrapped his hands around him; he doesn't know a thing about his own self! He never knew a thing about his real identity—he was merely a shell of his past, an empty canvas void of its colors. What is his real color? Who is the real Len?

No… I never tried to know it before, why bother knowing it now? Len asked himself, his eyes boring holes on his wet and tangled sheets. With a heavy sigh, Len's arms dropped to his sides, and pushed the disturbing dream to the dark abyss of his mind, pushing it away, forgetting it like he always does. He felt a shiver racked his body, as the child's eye less sockets flashed before his eyes, making his heart throb fast once again. He violently shook his head, in attempt to drive the disturbing image away, and throwing it back to the dark pits of his mind, and to be forgotten like his other dreams that haunted him in his sleep.

Len took in calm breaths to relax his mind and body and to calm his distressed nerves. When he was sure his heart had slowed down, he turned his head to his yellow clock, and its blaring numbers announced that it was '3:03' in the morning. Len pursed his lips as he swung his legs to the side, wiping the beads of cold sweat sliding down his temples. His wet blond locks irritatingly stick to his skin. The blond treaded his way out the hall, and made his way down stairs to the kitchen. He stopped momentarily by the living room where he saw his mother, Meiko, slumped over the couch with empty cans of beer littered around her.

Len sighed once again, he went back upstairs and took Meiko's blanket from her room, then he returned back to the living room and stood over her. Len straightened the woman, and turned her into a more comfortable position, and then he draped the blanket over Meiko's form. A soft mumble escaped Meiko's lips as she turned to the other side, clutching the blanket in her arms as she curled into a fetal position.

The blond stared at the brunette; is Meiko really is his mother? He knew he had noticed this before, he knew that whenever he looks, and from what angle he looks, he could never find any resemblance between him, Meiko, and the twins. Oh, the twins pretty much looks like Meiko, with the shape of their head, until to the shape of their eyes. Meiko and the twins have pretty eyes. The twins probably inherited their eye color and their hair color from their deceased father. But Len, no matter where he looks, he doesn't look like them…

A growl escaped Len's lips, silently scolding himself just to forget about it; just forget about the possibility that he and the Hatsune aren't related.

Because it doesn't matter, Len thought to himself, it never mattered.

Len sighed heavily through his nose, as he made his way towards he kitchen to get a glass of water. After gulping it down, he checked the clock to learn that only a few minutes had passed. There was a lot of time to spare, and classes are still suspended (ever since the incident with Mr. Alex which happened two days ago). And still, Len doesn't want to return to sleep.

After all, he is 'slightly' frightened of the idea of returning to sleep.

What more grotesque images and disturbing personas will he meet in his dreams? Would there be something more demented other than the 'eye-less' child, and the dark 'demonic' entity?

A shudder ran down his spine. He doesn't want to return to sleep, that's for sure. Len turned to the stove and started to heat water. Coffee should keep him awake.

Mikuo sat by the foot of the sofa—where his mother is sleeping—as his eyes were focused on the television's blaring screen. His fingers expertly pressed the right buttons to make his character execute a very complex combo of kicks and punches. Right by the wall at the side of the room, the clock blared with bright red numbers, '6:38 a.m.' was what it says. And yes, Mikuo plays as early as six—that is if he doesn't wake his mother. However, just as he was about to send the final attack to his opponent, the telephone took this moment to ring, its beeping made Mikuo cringed, fearing that it would wake his unconscious mother. Mikuo felt his heart fasten when Meiko twisted around the sofa, groaning and mumbling in her sleep.

Deciding that it would be best to answer the phone—as not to wake his mother—, Mikuo finally stood up and begrudgingly answered the phone, feeling a little irritated for disturbing him from his game.

"Hello?" Mikuo answered gruffly, his face held annoyance. However, his face gradually turned from irritation to surprise, "Yes, this is the Hatsune household… Oh… Okay…" Then the speaker hanged up, leaving Mikuo staring at the telephone's speaker with a dumbfounded expression on his face. It took him approximately two minutes to digest what the caller had said.

'Classes resumes today…'

"What?" Mikuo blurted out, disbelief present in his features, then clumsily replacing the phone back to its holder. Classes will resume today, that statement really caught the tealet off guard—he was at least expecting class to start again after a week after the incident with the locked classrooms and with Mr. Alex. But only a mere two days had passed, and now, classes will resume once again. With a heavy sigh, Mikuo saved his game and placed the game console back to its place. He then headed upstairs to wake his siblings, and to announce the 'horrifying' news.

Mikuo first went to his twin's room; he slowly approached his sleeping sister, his hand hovering over her shoulder—the male Hatsune hesitated as he debated with himself if waking his sister is a good idea or not, after all, Miku is not a princess whenever she wakes up, especially when someone dared to disturb her from her 'beauty' sleep. She could be a horrifying dragon rather than an elegant maiden.

Mikuo decided it's best to wake his twin later—or better yet, have Len wake her instead. Turning on his heels, Mikuo exited the room and headed farther down the hallway to Len's room. Mikuo placed his knuckles against the wooden door, hesitating whether to barge in like any sibling would or to knock and politely ask for entrance. Then again, Len could be asleep… Twisting the knob, Mikuo entered his brother's room without permission. His mouth opened to shout at Len to wake up, only to find his voice stuck in his throat as he saw Len sitting on his bed, wide awake.

Len turned his head to Mikuo with a thin brow raised, "What?" the blond asked.

For a moment, Mikuo actually forgot why he barged in to Len's room. "Uhh…" Mikuo mumbled 'intelligently' as he stared at Len—the blonde's hair was disheveled, and stood on different directions, there were dark bags under his eyes, his skin looked paler than usual, and his eyes were slightly wide and bloodshot. "Uhm… Oh… Ah, HSL called," Mikuo said, his eyes never leaving Len's slightly shaking form. "They said classes resumes today."

"Oh," was what Len replied, his hand brushed across his tousled locks.

"You don't look so good," Mikuo pointed out, taking note of Len's 'unattractive' appearance, "You look like you didn't sleep well… You' alright?"

"I'm fine," Len grumbled as he stood from his bed, and brushed pass Mikuo by the doorway and headed down to the bathroom.

"Sheesh," Mikuo rubbed the back of his neck as he watched his sibling's retreating back, also taking note that Len's acting grumpier than usual.

When the Hatsune trio arrived at HSL's compound, Len immediately left the twins and headed to his classroom, not leaving them with even just a simple wave or a goodbye. 'Len's sick,' was what the twins decided as they begrudgingly went to their own room. Students and fellow classmates greeted each other, murmuring words of greetings and sickly sweet nothings. Len glared up at them with disdain, as he trudged back at his desk at 1-Amon. Feeling disgusted at their exchange of words and foolish affections. Whispers and mindless chatter rang against the blonde's ear, students exchanging words about the incident which had occurred just a few days ago.

Not soon after, Gumo arrived, followed by Neru and Teto. The green-head had greeted Len as always, and the blond Hatsune would reply with a grunt of acknowledgement, then he turned his attention to the sky, ignoring Gumo and his classmates until it was lunch time. When the bell had rang, Len immediately headed to the library and he avoided Gumo and the girls—leaving the trio confused at his demeanor. When Len arrived at the library, he took a vacant seat by the window, and he pulled out a book from the shelves by random.

He rested his jaw against his palm, and mindlessly skimmed through the book—which was a collection of short stories and poems of a certain author. Len found the written works to be quite… demented and horrifying; seeing that almost all of it is about death, obsessions, insanity, and paranoia.

"Didn't know you like Edgar Allan Poe," an all too familiar voice chirped in. With a groan of annoyance, Len looked up, not at all surprised to see Gumo beaming at him with his idiotic smile. "He's twisted, isn't he?" Gumo said, as he sat right across Len.

Len pursed his lips, "Not really," he mumbled, which made the green-head stare at him with wide eyes, and a horrified expression on his face. Len at first felt confused, then realization—Len mentally slapped himself for answering vaguely, "N-no! What I meant is that I don't really know much about Edgar Waller…"

"Edgar Allan Poe."

"Hn, whatever."

Gumo pouted, as he flipped through the book that he is holding. "You know, the classroom incident has been bugging me for the last two days," Gumo said, yet his eyes were focused on the block of texts of the book. Len remained silent, the green-head took this moment to continue. "They said that Mr. Alex is dead, even before Mr. Wallace saw him."

Len slowly looked up from his book, and gave Gumo weird look. "You mean… Someone killed him?" Len asked slowly, feeling a little strange that he is actually talking to Gumo, though he pushed the feeling down.

Gumo made a grim look, as he shook his head, his long green bangs swaying and following Gumo's head movement. "Not really… They said that they found Mr. Alex with injuries like he had fallen from a building," Gumo deadpanned, a serious look on his face. Len stared at him blankly, taking his words lightly. Of course, how could someone receive injuries like they fallen from a building, when they found the body on the highest floor in the school's compound? It was impossible! "It's so strange… I swear, Len!" Gumo swore, slapping his palm on the wooden table, "I'm not joking!"

The blond scoffed, "Impossible. If that were to happen, someone must've pushed him and brought him back to the roof," Len said, lightly shaking his head then returning his attention to the book that he is holding.

Gumo pursed his lips, creating a straight line, with the sides creasing as he did so. "But Len! I'm not lying!" the green-head insisted, "And besides! If someone did push Mr. Alex, why bring him back up to the roof? I mean, someone would notice him if he did so. And, wouldn't there be blood if he dragged the body up to the roof?"

"He must've cleaned the evidence," Len replied, his voice lacking its emotions as usual.

"Why would he?" Gumo questioned, once again banging his fist against the wooden table, with his brows raised as if challenging Len.

Len frowned, "Its evidence. A culprit makes sure he doesn't leave any evidence," he replied, staring up from his book and gave Gumo a cold look. "Why would his death matter anyway?"

Gumo blinked at Len's apathetic nature, "Someone just died in our school, Len! In our school! Doesn't that scare you?" Gumo asked, slightly exaggerating his voice and gave emphasis to the word 'you'.

The blonde's face remained blank, as his mind processed for a reply. "It doesn't matter…" Len said slowly, "As long as it doesn't concerns me, I don't care."

The green-head stared at his friend, wondering if Len is right in the mind… Then again, is he actually sane in the first place?

A/N: Hey, guys! What? You're expecting an update from 'untitled'? *shot*

Yeah, well I'm just taking a break from 'untitled' and I just thought of updating Red as Roses. So… What do you guys think of this chapter? :D

Also, I want to introduce my Beta-Reader/Editor. Her pen name is: A Dedication To The End. She is my friend here in FF. net, and also my friend in real life. (Pinoy din siya XD) So, if you guys are kinda wondering that my writing style is a little off, well, you can blame her because she's the one editing this (LOL). And if you're interested to see her fics, just go and search her up (though her fics are in the Kingdom Hearts fandom, so yeah… If you're a fan of KH, then I suggest you guys to check her).

Review and give me your thoughts, or leave a constructive criticism, or a flame.