Authors note: feel free to skip.
Wow! Nearly 2 years later and I'm a little surprised people are still reading this silly little fic! Not to get too personal but I started this with my then-best-friend Greg and now down the line I'm happy to say we're together and I can credit at least a little of that to our joint effort on this story. I believe it was the start of something great. Anyway, now that I'm a bit older I realize I should address some issues I thought of while re-reading this story. The first thing I want to say is if you're still interested in this story you're in luck because I feel like it's only right to finish it. Next, I do not intend to glorify the (fictional) story of Masky and his murderous tendencies, I was interested in the story when I started writing this fic and I feel I should continue writing this story as if I were still in 2015. Lastly, I did change details and reference Marble Hornets later on. If any alteration to the canon Masky story/Marble Hornets offends you, I'd advise you don't read this. However, if you're still interested I won't keep you any longer! Enjoy.
I wake to another throbbing in my head. My memory's fuzzy but I can remember my creep of a professor forcing himself on me in his gross old divorced white guy house, the thought alone makes me gag. Well I think of gagging, I'd actually do it if my throat wasn't drier than the Sahara. I look around; the place I'm in is cold in every sense of the word. The lights are blue and so powerful I can hear their buzzing, at least I think I do, it could be my head too. The air conditioning bill in this place must be through the roof-every pore on my skin is standing on edge because of the temperature and the fact my only protection is a flimsy nightgown. I can thank my professor for that. I swear to you next time I see that pervert he's going to be unemployed, hopefully behind bars if the police decide to do their job, with a busted nose, bloody lip and a black eye. Back to the present, I try to move but leather straps are holding me onto some sort of medical table. The room is otherwise empty but I'm almost certain I can see a table with medical equipment on it. I squint and adjust my vision to clearly make out a syringe and a scalpel. Well, I'm either finally getting those breast implants I've always wanted or this is the end of the line for me. Okay, you're probably wondering why I'm so calm and collected when I know there's a large possibility that this medical table is going to become my casket. Well, this isn't my first rodeo. I'm a survivor and a firm believer that I always find a way out. It's still insane that in less than 24 hours my life has gone from at best, drama-filled to at the very least, murderville. However, no matter where I've found or find myself, I've never lost who I am and I don't plan to. Speaking of plans, I try to wrestle out of my bonds to no avail. They're too tight; I realize I need that scalpel. It's no less than a few feet away from the edge of the table I'm lying on so I attempted to use my feet to latch onto it-again, to no avail.
"Of all the times to be short" I groan to no one.
I begin to shake violently back and forth to get out, and the straps actually seem to loosen! I feel hope filling my body, giving it enough adrenaline to keep shaking. I'm about halfway loose when I hear the door creak open. Okay, all hope is gone; time to play dead.
I lie back and close my eyes giving myself time to devise a new strategy to find out where I am, but more importantly how to get the hell out.
I hear uneven breathing over me for a short second before I hear footsteps at the edge of the table. Next I make out the sound of wheels rolling toward me before they stop and the breathing becomes audible again. I don't dare move.
"I like when my puppies play dead," a raspy voice almost whispers as I feel a cold blade across my face.
Alright, I'm busted but at least I'm busted with a plan. Whoever this is hasn't noticed I'm free enough to grab his blade from him. I take in a silent breath before I open my eyes and nearly faint again when I see deep red eyes piercing mine. No lids, just deep crimson evil orbs. I move my own eyes up and down and notice the striking ivory skin and jet black hair on the thing standing over me. Before I have a chance to speak I silence myself. That's when I notice the joker-like smile on whoever is in front of me. I'm shocked and scarred, yes, but determined and cunning are two other adjectives you could use. I suck in a breath, close my eyes ever so slightly and whimper like the puppy he thinks I am. Time to stall until I can think of something genius.
"Oh Mr. Smile Man please don't hurt me, I have a wife and kids!" I declare in a half-real, half-fake whimper.
He stares back and if he could squint in confusion, I'd imagine he would be right now. "You think you're funny?!" he spits at me.
"No, I just-please don't hurt me" I wail, almost taking on the accent of a southern belle.
"I'm going to hurt you like you've never been hurt before, just because you want to get smart with me", I can hear the anger in the last word as he leans in and uses the scalpel to lift my ratty hair up.
"Wait-he loses the fit of rage I could hear boiling in his last sentence-are you Miriam? As in, dead Miriam? Boss is going to be in stitches over this!" he chuckles close enough to my face I can smell his disgusting graveyard breath.
"Yes I am, is there any reason you and every other psycho killer in this city know my name? What am I your 'damsel in distress poster girl'?" I say with a roll of my eyes.
His fury lights up his eyes to a whole new shade of red if that were possible. He continues to stare into my soul as he moves the scalpel resting on my chin down my neck and onto the top of my shoulder, gradually applying more pressure until he starts to draw blood at my forearm. I squirm and suppress the urge to whimper, instead opting to suck in my lips and move my eyes away from his. As he moves to my hand I seize the opportunity to quickly grab the blade as it looms over my palm. I easily pull it out of his sweaty hands, I'm thankful everything came together enough that he wasn't holding onto the tiny blade with a death grip. I grab the blade and firmly lodge it in his throat. He chokes and his blood spills onto me, making me into some sort of botched scream queen Carrie rip-off.
"You bitch!" he chokes out as he rips the blade from his throat to stab me. I'm about a millisecond quicker though, and dodge to the left. His hand comes crashing down on my throat as he forces me still and holds the blade over my heart. I prepared myself for a cold and hopeless death, until I hear a shout from the open door, giving me just enough hope to want to keep fighting.
"Jeff, stop! Let go of her! She's one of us!" the familiar voice I heard in my school's parking lot shouts.
My would-be killer turns to the door with the speed of a leopard, with his permanent grin and the scalpel pointed in Mask's direction: "listen one direction, your little crush almost crushed my trachea, 'one of us' would never pull that shit. Talk to our superior about your feelings later. Daddy's has a bitch to skin." Jeff moves the blade to my throat as I glare at him. Mask moves toward us.
"Look Jeff I know you don't really get what we do here, but when I say 'stop she's one of us' I mean stop waving the fucking blade around like you're insane", spits Masky in a new tone of voice I hadn't imagine could come from him, despite his attempted murder on me.
"I am insane you moron!" spits Jeff in his petty battle of wits.
"Girls, girls you're both pretty. Can someone untie me or at least kill me? I'm tired of this high school drama, I'm pretty close to stealing back that blade and jamming it in my own throat," I say, sarcastically. The snarky retort caused both of the Halloween-costume clad men in front of me to look back from their argument. Masky looked around, unsure of what to do and the confusion in the air only thickened when Jeff bursted into maniacal laughter.
"Now she's a keeper! Let me get you get out of those leather straps and maybe someday into more comfortable ones, darlin'". Jeff choked out through his sickening laughter.
Masky was insecure about Jeff untying me, even I could tell, but I also could tell he knew better than to push his luck. The thought was annoying at best that I was lying here while this freaks' cold hands roughly freed me. I was alive after all, but annoyance turned to fury when he slipped his freezing hand onto my inner thigh.
He had already released my arms so without thinking I lifted my still bleeding arm and threw my hand against his face in a haunting slap.
"Trying your lucky, baby girl" Jeff groaned as he squeezed my upper thigh. "But, I'd be a liar if I said I didn't like playing rough".
Mask stepped in: "That's enough, Christian Grey. Get out of here, go to sleep or something".
Jeff was enjoying the situation too much, but retreated anyway with a grunt. However, not before snapping his gaze back to me: "This isn't over, pet". His words echoed in my mind even after he left. Was I seriously some skinny, boobless, Elvira to these creeps? What ever happened to a quiet life filled with an obligatory loveless, relationship and a small business? Hell, a week ago my friends thought that life was weird. I laid in my outrage, still secured by a few final straps, spanning across from my hips to my feet.
Mask made his way to me, and I realized I could see his eyes through the mask in this lighting. Hazel orbs filled with sorrow, surprising coming from a murderer. "I'm sorry for him, he's a little-"
"Insane", I finished. "Just get me out of here, believe it or not I got places to be and one hell of a sob story to cook up for my boss and my customers".
"Customers?" Mask asked curiously, still undoing my straps.
"Relax, I'm not a hooker. Nothing against them, I bet there's one somewhere in my exact situation. I'm a baker, small business to pay the water bill. Not that you'd understand, what is this, some sort of murder half-way house?" I say in between breaths, now clutching my wound.
"You might want to stay for dinner, I'll explain everything", Mask calmly replies undoing my last strap. He offers me his hand and I glare, attempting to hoist myself up with my legs before falling back. I give in as I take my bloody hand and tuck it into his gloved one. I'm pulled to my feet in a second thanks to his strong grip.
"Thanks, for this, helping me. That's really sweet even though I'm getting a Stockholm syndrome vibe from you and your buddy. I must've been high on the adrenaline to ever thank you for keeping me alive earlier today. Truly though, I am thankful for you and your actions in the last 5 minutes. Rain check on dinner, though, sorry". I finish as I begin my way to the door after pulling myself together.
Mask sighs and snaps back: "I suppose you'll find your own way out of the 'murder half-way house' and back home, then?"
I turn back, realizing he's manipulating me. Still, he has a point. "Alright, one dinner, you get me home alive, or you're dead".
Masky grins behind his well, mask.
I try to muster a sassy smile, but I wince as soon as the thought makes it to my face: "Not to be a bad guest or anything, but can you maybe get me a Band-Aid, water and a change of clothes? I'm kind of thirsty bait for you thirsty Bate's Motel knockoffs".
Mask nods and leads the way. The past day or so has been a freak show; I'm just praying this dinner is at least better than the one I shared with Parker.
