1/09/2011 - Happy Birthday Severus Snape, aka The Half Blood Prince. Birthday buddy, this is our weekend. :-)
1/19/2011 - Happy Birthday, Gaara! :-) Hope you and my boyfriend enjoy your special day (I know my boyfriend will - I'm planning on giving him a very special present. Hopefully Sakura gives you yours within the next couple chapters).
To my readers - enjoy, and thank you! Your encouragement keeps me going.
To my son - may his dreams right now be filled with colors. May he develop a beautiful imagination. :-)
Without further ado...
A WhiteWalled Christmas
-CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE PUPPET MASTER-
The blond lay unconscious on the floor. It was clear that he wasn't going to answer Gaara's questions about Sakura - if he even knew. Gaara's mounting fears told him that she was in terrible danger.
Limping slightly, Gaara rounded the corner. He thought he had heard voices coming from this direction anyway...
Thump! Abruptly, he sat down in the middle of the hallway, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. His muscles seized up. Dammit, shit! Not now! Gaara growled at himself, and as if by an invisible force, he found himself standing. He looked around, but as always, he was alone.
Some time you pick to help me, he told the voice in his head, ...but thank you.
-0-
He found Sasuke tending to Suigetsu a little further in the hallway. "Gaara!" Suigetsu exclaimed when he saw him. Stoically, Sasuke turned to face the approaching man. His ivory face and ebony hair were flecked with blood, and Gaara found the sight oddly appropriate.
"What happened?" he demanded.
Suigetsu took a deep breath; his breath was still returning after being ruthlessly choked by Hidan. "Nurse Pinky and I were running the halls cuz Hidan and Deidara were after us, and they managed to take me down, so then Hidan was beating the shit out of me until Sasuke showed up-"
"Where's Hidan?" Gaara interrupted. Sasuke gazed at him sardonically, and Suigetsu pointed behind Gaara.
Mifune Hidan was hanging, unconscious, from one of the cell doors.
Gaara turned to look back at the duo. Suigetsu was snickering and wheezing alternately. "Sasuke did that?" he asked, incredulous.
"Well, let's just say that Hidan said some things Sasuke didn't like," he replied. At Sasuke's reprimanding look, he grudgingly continued, "...I helped him in the end. You know, with the propping Hidan up..."
Gaara sighed. "Where's Nurse Haruno?"
Suigetsu frowned. "Why? Have you seen her?"
"Not since Hidan went chasing after her." Gaara's brow furrowed worryingly. "When you got separated, where was she going?"
"To Juugo's cell."
It was the first time Gaara had heard Sasuke speak. Regardless of his amazement, he went over and swiftly grabbed the inmate by his shirt.
"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" Suigetsu cried hoarsely. "That guy's been through some tough shit, and you just jump him! And watch out, he's already pissed!"
"Juugo's cell," Gaara hissed, ignoring Suigetsu's defense of his buddy. "What were you thinking? What on Earth possessed you guys to send her to Juugo's cell?" He glared reprovingly at Suigetsu.
"Not on Earth, Gaara," Sasuke's measured voice answered him. "In hell."
-0-
Pain in her head...
Sakura heard soft singing as she woke up: "Exit light, enter night; take my hand – we're off to never-neverland!"
The smell of chemicals invaded her nose...
Funny, she thought as she recognized the voice. I always pictured him as a 'Master of Puppets' kind of guy. If we're talking Metallica, that is.
She hadn't realize she had spoken aloud until he answered her:
"True, I suppose 'Master of Puppets' would be a fairer choice for me. And what song would you have for Hidan? 'Asshole' by Denis Leary, I suppose?"
Sakura opened her eyes. For a moment, she thought she had been wrong. "Gaara!" she cried, relieved. She saw the mop of red hair.
The person chuckled.
And then cruel, cruel reality came crashing on her. It wasn't Gaara; it was the person who she had originally thought it was...
Red hair.
Short stature.
Pale complexion.
Russet eyes.
Fingers, with the nails painted black, slowly itching... This person was...
None other than...
Sasori.
-0-
He chuckled at her shocked expression. "How nice to see you awake, Nurse Sakura."
She was tied to a wall, she realized. This wasn't good. Think fast, Sakura, she pushed herself.
She nodded, trying to appear calm. "Good evening, Sasori," she said. "I didn't realize you were a Metallica fan," she added, almost as an afterthought.
"Likewise, Nurse Sakura..."
"Nurse Haruno, please." She corrected him automatically, then her eyes widened at her boldness. Especially when she was the one tied up. "Why that song?" she asked hastily.
"Well, I think you know where I hail from, Nurse Haruno. The Village of..."
"Sand," Sakura replied.
Weeks earlier, when Temari had shown her the files, she had thought it prudent to return later - not just to read up on Gaara's files, but on all her patients.
"You went by a nickname in your hometown, didn't you?" Sakura said, rememebering. "It was..."
"Akasuna no Sasori, yes," said the puppeteer. "Sasori of the Red Sands."
"Why did they call you that?" she asked.
"For my crimes." He continued, "Once they were discovered. They gave me that unfortunate nickname. They said I painted the sand red with the blood of my victims," he tilted his head and saw that the nurse seemed genuinely interested. "But that is a story quite old, quite long, and not quite the reason you are here."
"Why do you have me here?" she asked softly.
His voice dropped, almost conspiratorily. "The Leader wants me to find out some information from you."
"Information?" she whispered back, though she was unsure why, "Are you sure I would be able to help?"
"Yes," he replied. "Leader-sama wants to know the way out."
She laughed incredulously. "And what if I don't tell you?" She was bluffing; having not found a way out herself was more than enough evidence to prove to Akatsuki that she didn't know. But she wanted to see what he said ...and possibly delay the conversation a little longer while she figured out a way out of this...
Her thoughts were rambling.
He laughed back, seemingly carefree. "I don't really care," he replied, casually turning away to find something. When he turned back around, she couldn't help but gasp.
He had a scalpel in his hand.
"I could torture you to talk, or I could simply assume you don't know anything and kill you ...but information is not my goal."
"Really? What is?"
"Art," he said simply.
"Art?" she repeated. "What kind? Like Deidara's?" Then she mentally kicked herself for asking about a terrorist bomber's version of art.
Sasori scoffed. "Like that could be called art. Fine art is something that is left long into the future ...eternal beauty." He scowled at something unseen. "I hope those fools who confiscated my art are appreciating it somewhere..."
Sakura wondered where he was going with this.
"But back to the matter at hand." When she looked up, there was a predatory gleam in his eyes. Abruptly he cut the ropes holding her to the walls and stood back for a moment, waiting to see what she would do next. Instinctively she reached up for the front of her scrubs ...only to find them empty. "Looking for this?" he asked.
Sakura's eyes widened as he held up the syringe that had been in her pocket. He shook his head, and in the next instant he was standing over her, inserting the needle into her vein and swiftly lifting her onto the table in the center of the dimly lit room.
Sakura passed out. The redheaded man looked down at where she lay on the sterile table. He lightly brushed a lock of pink hair from her forehead.
"Well, my puppet… Let's begin."
-0-
He needed to find a way out. It drove him stir crazy to be down here, in the dark. In this cold, dark, cramped space.
Like his coffin.
Yes, he had been buried alive, and subsequently dug his own way out of his grave.
The bitter years flowed back in the stench of mold and damp, cool earth. It was packed tightly around the prison walls, like gums around a particularly stubborn wisdom tooth. He knew he must be beneath ground level. But because of Konoha's location in a higher elevation - a forested plateau, as it were, near a mountain chain - he took comfort in the fact that at least he was above sea level.
At least they didn't cremate me... he thought.
But such thoughts knew no "thank goodness" nor "thank God". He did not thank goodness or God; he did not thank anything. He did not believe in goodness. And there was no God. Not since they betrayed him.
Sighing, he continued searching the dark, for the secret door out of this grave...
-0-
That soft voice again, she thought as she slowly regained consciousness for the third time that night.
"Nice to see you're finally joining us. Isn't it, Nurse Haruno?" A soft, amused laugh.
"Sasori..." she started.
"Or should I call you ...Sakura?"
She shuddered, memories of his hands suddenly returning. He had felt her up during the Art Room mutiny, and at first she had been too oblivious to notice it. I thought, she recalled in disgust, that he had been searching for my keys.
It was then that she noticed she had been strapped to a table.
And that she wasn't wearing any clothes.
Uncontrollably, her body began to shake as Sasori kept an appraising gaze on her.
"Wh-what did you do to me?" Sakura stammered.
The redhead smiled. "So impatient, yet you get to the point. Very well, since you don't like to be kept waiting..." He picked up a speculum. "I was examining you."
When Sakura looked closer, she could see the slight sheen on the tool that indicated it had been used. "Y-you bastard..." she whispered, horrified.
What was it with him and Kabuto and their sick doctor-patient fantasies?
As if reading her thoughts, Sasori answered: "I thought you might appreciate not being awake. Consider it a pointless kindness for you, considering what is next. A last request granted, if you will."
Sakura glared. "Explain."
The redhead smiled again. Sakura would have noted the almost lazy smile on his face as that of a farmboy reclining in an idyllic setting, once before, but now, in light of her new position, she could see clearer. That same lazy smile was that of the devil, the redness of his hair the devil's own fingers painting her captor in blood. She had little doubt that he intended to bathe in her blood tonight.
But still, she could not believe that- that monster had...
"I admit to my own weakness, Sakura. I found you attractive. I typically do not find people attractive, let alone pursue them. My anti-social nature sees to that." His lips quirked, stating ironically, "Or perhaps I am too social, with the number of bodies I have killed. My puppet collection is beautiful, Nurse Sakura. Too bad I never let anyone see it ...until after they join it. I am never quite alone ...or rather, I wasn't, before they took my art away from me." Sasori's voice became cold. "Then I was stuck here in a rotting cell for the past three years, surrounded by victims who kept on living. I don't like to be kept waiting," he said.
Sakura's eyelids fluttered.
"Oh, is the sedative still affecting you? Yes, I imagine you had already figured you would not be leaving here tonight. Alive."
Her eyes suddenly opened wide in terror at his acknowledgment.
Sasori sighed. "I usually don't talk at length either ...another pointless thing. But I am sure that I won't be worried about this by the end of the night. You should be honored. I can make anyone into a puppet - if I want them. If they fit the quality of my collection. You do."
Sakura's insides turned cold. "You're turning me into a puppet."
Sasori's contented look reappeared on his face. "I would like to. I could get started and see how far I can go. If Leader-sama lets me, I'll carry you with me. But I am sure I should lighten the load somewhat first."
Sakura paled. "What do you mean?"
Sasori smiled a bloodthirsty smile, "Your organs, Sakura," and he held up a scalpel for her to see.
-0-
After tinkering with puppets for so long, he grew to wonder of their likeness towards humans. If his parents had come back alive from their mission, would he have become so obsessed with something so humanoid? Humanoid, but lifeless. He had never seen their bodies anyway; he was five years old, and his grandmother had told him that they would be home soon... Yet by the time she told him the news, they were dead and rotten, and all he could do was bury them. And then kill his grandmother, when he was fifteen years old, for making him wait for them for so long. But she had been worth it, anyway. As a memento to himself - for his skilled grandmother was the one who taught him the wonders of puppetry. His first kill - and his first human puppet.
From then onward, he had been in the habit of killing and preserving humans, wondering if, perhaps, he were granting them an immortality of sorts. One even more honorable than the indecipherable bitumen-covered mummies of the Pharaohs. For within his preserved works, you could still see their faces.
It would have been a sweet gift, if he had loved ones - or even friends he respected, really. The Akatsuki were coworkers to him, no one to get worked up over, and none of them had loved ones of whom to speak. He could have made them mummies of their favorite people. But no one would cherish such a gift. They would not be touched, but horrified. And besides, Sasori lacked the empathy to give them such a display of affection. And anyway, he preferred the mechanics of a puppet to the lifelessness of a mummy. Mummies could not be manipulated as puppets could.
"Did you know, Nurse Sakura, that I see people in black and white and shades of grey before I kill them ...and only then, do they burst forth in marvelous colors?"
He held up another syringe and felt a twinge of amusement when Sakura looked scared. "Well, and occasional patches of red," he leered dangerously at her. Terror struck Sakura as she realized how much she associated that particular color with him - his nickname, his red hair, his bloodlust-
"Time to find out what shade your hair really is."
The nurse started screaming, and he had to admit she looked appealing with her face alight with fear...
He drugged her. The sedative worked, though Sakura was still conscious. In a more-or-less semi-lucid state.
The body needed to relax before the procedure began. A couple hundred milligrams of morphine ought to do it, in a little while...
If only he could turn Nurse Haruno into a puppet - but it was against Leader-sama's orders. What a shame. Perhaps he could take her with him when they left and make one out of her later. Eh, but that was unnecessary. Was there really such a deficit of victims outside the prison walls, that he needed to bring one with him - albeit one with such unique pink hair (Pink, he deduced, since her hair was a faint shade of red in his eyes)? Pathetic.
But then again, what Leader-sama didn't know couldn't hurt him. And there was no saying that he had to admit that he had actually found Sakura...
He bent close to her and whispered dark lyrics in her ear:
"Hush, little baby, don't say a word -
And nevermind that noise you heard.
It's just the beasts under your bed,
In the closet, and in your head!"
Might as well enjoy her while she lasts...
-0-
Gaara stood outside of the solitary confinement cells. He had been (mistakenly) to Juugo's cells, only to backtrack and clarify what Sasuke and Suigetsu had been talking about. He, too, had seen Juugo running for solitary confinement. If only he had gone there first...
There were signs of a scuffle on the ground outside the last cell - smears of blood. And one unconscious, tall, no-longer-homicidal inmate lying on the floor inside.
No Sakura.
Slowly, Gaara turned. It was all he could do not to wail or otherwise despair. Though he felt it, deep in his heart...
She's not here.
-0-
Author's Note: More soon, I hope.
Note to Anon: You're right, people with schizophrenia typically are not 'possessed' by their voices, in that they don't switch between people. But you might notice that Gaara never speaks in first person as Shukaku - he always refers to Shukaku as another person, e.g. : "You have lovely, fleshy wrists. The demon in my head wants to cut them." I tend to think of Gaara, in this story, as being able to resonate a little too closely with Shukaku, and maybe subconsciously struggles with taking on Shukaku's identity himself due to what he did (which was always while he was high off of a potent cactus, where anything can happen in your mind). In other words, he thinks that only a monster would kill someone so bloodily, and he hears Shukaku's (who is a monster) voice - so he wonders if maybe he really is Shukaku on some level. Is that Dissociative Identity Disorder? Good question. I thought that folks with DID aren't aware of their other personalities, but that's not something I know of personally. There are also many different types of schizophrenia. I would also like to think that while Tsunade knows that Gaara hears Shukaku in his head, that Gaara has only really opened up to Sakura (and maybe Kankuro) in this way before, when he tries to communicate Shukaku's thoughts. Perhaps schizophrenia seems like the wrong diagnosis for Gaara? It could be.
I also consider this to be a tribute to my boyfriend, who has (according to the psychiatrists) disorganized schizophrenia. His episodes never lead to him feeling "possessed" like Gaara does, but he does often times become convinced that the voices speak the absolute truth. I was formerly diagnosed with schizophrenia because of the little gremlins I hear sometimes (been hearing them since I was ten years old), and my conviction that they can really hurt me... but they later decided I have PTSD. What is Gaara's diagnosis? No one, not even the medical community, really knows. They're just labels on only one part of who a person really is.
I thank you for bringing this up and encourage us to keep debating on it. Labels, in particular mental illness ones, are something I always struggle with. I hope I am able to present the characters in such a way that transcends their respective mental illnesses.