The LAST chapter guys! Wooh~!
Full Summary: Demyx is your average rookie detective, hoping to make a difference, but what happens when a new murderer emerges and Twilight Town's only hope lies within the hands of a convicted killer? A convicted killer whose heart seems as black as the pit he's dug himself into. Can Demyx find the murderer before it's too late, or will that convict steal his heart?
Rating: M for future things to come, language, and violence.
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies. I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this work, nor do I own the games and movies from which they came. I do, however, own the plot and would perfer not getting robbed.
Now, I would like to thank those of you who reviewed, favorited, and alerted! I love you~!
This chapter, like the last several, has not been beta-ed. If you happen to find anything extremely grammatically wrong, please let me know!
Enjoy! ^_^
"Are you sure you'd like to start your book tour a month early?" Ansem nodded at his manager's voice, making an affirmative sort of sound while continuing to stir at a cup of tea. "As long as you're sure."
"Of course I'm sure." The man replied, taking a sip of his drink and leaning back against one of his marble countertops. "I'm nearly finished with the next book already, which is months ahead of schedule, and it might be nice to get out of town for a bit. Besides, if I start so much earlier than expected, I should be able to spend more time at each location. It'll be good for sales, don't you think?"
His manager sighed, and he could just imagine her twirling a lock of hair around one of her thin fingers in that continuous way of hers. He knew that he was asking a lot of her with this, but he needed to leave. He couldn't just stay here and wait for the end. "I suppose that it would be. It'll give us more time to visit the local school systems anyway. And parents do like that. Showing a little incentive when it comes to children always helps with sales." Ansem narrowed his eyes at that, but didn't comment, preferring instead to take another sip of his quickly cooling tea. He loved children. They were minds to be captivated and informed; they were not bargaining tools for sales. "But even so, I won't be able to start your tour for at least another week. There are just too many appointments to set up without notice. Can't you just stay at home and finish your work with the next book? It'll be easier to finish while you're still at home and it'll give me the time to begin rescheduling parts of your tour."
"One more week?" Ansem raised a white-blond eyebrow, setting his cup aside and running his free hand through his hair desperately. "That's the soonest I can leave?" At his manager's confirmation, he let out a long, drawn sigh, letting his weight crumple against his countertop. "Then I suppose it will have to do."
"Why are you in such a hurry anyway, Ansem?" She asked, her tone soft and confused. And he didn't blame her for that. He had never once asked for a change in his scheduling. It was unusual for him to ever ask for any kind of change really, whether it be in a particular brand of water or his flight times. And this was such a large change— for anyone. He wanted to start his tour a month early. To her, it probably seemed to be a strange sort of request. To him, it was just something that he had to do.
He couldn't stay in Twilight Town.
He wasn't safe in Twilight Town.
But he couldn't let her know any of that. He couldn't tell her the real reason he had to leave. She knew about the murderer, of course, but he had already assured her that he was perfectly safe in his home with the doors locked and the security system on. She couldn't possibly know that he was coming for him. She couldn't possibly know that he feared for his life, that he had spent every waking second of the last few days constantly looking over his shoulder. She couldn't know, and he wouldn't let her know.
"Oh, there's really no reason. I just need a change of scenery is all." He forced a chuckle, faking a smile as well even though she couldn't see. "You know how trapped I feel whenever I'm forced to stay at home for too long. Everything just becomes so repetitive after a while."
She hummed thoughtfully. "You've always been a bit of a free spirit, haven't you? I wonder sometimes how you ever ended up in such a boring little town."
He smiled sadly, his aged eyes blank. "Because the people, my dear. It's always about the people." Yes, the wonderful people he had gotten hurt. The people that he loved so dearly, the ones that he always cared for, the ones that were rotting away in the city's morgue. The beautiful people that they had all lost because of his past mistakes. They were why he was here. They were why he had to leave.
She snorted in that amusing way of hers. "I can believe that. Anyway, I have a call waiting on the other line, so I need to go. I'll try for one week. Stay safe." And Ansem barely had enough time to repeat the sentiment before the phone clicked against his ear signaling the end of the call. He let out a long sigh much like the one from before, shaking his head to clear away his muddled thoughts and placing the phone back on its hook.
Slowly, he slipped into his office, his footsteps nearly silent against the carpeting as he made his way down the hall. The light was already on— as he had recently taken to always leaving the lights on while he was away— and he could clearly see the clutter that covered his desk. He nearly smiled at it as he came closer, running his fingertips across the littering pages, the lettering lost in a sea of words. While what he had told his manager was certainly true, it didn't change the fact that he loved being home. The walls felt like a prison at times but that didn't make him ever really want to leave it. Home was his sanctuary; home was where he could always come back to. But not anymore.
Home wasn't safe anymore.
With a jerk, he pulled his hand back, cradling it to his chest as if he'd been burned. These words, these papers, these stories— they were his life's work. They were his pride, his joy, his gift to everyone else. But they were the monsters that had caused all of this. They were the beasts, the wretched product of his fingertips that had killed so many people. They were the cause; the reason that drove them all.
And they needed to be destroyed.
So that's what he did. He destroyed them. He pushed through the papers and the pages, ripping them into pieces, scattering them across the room. He pulled down his paintings, their frames cracking against the carpet with sickening creaks. And then he tore through his bookcases, pulling every single one down and slinging it into the opposite wall, watching with shaking hands as the fell to the floor, their spines bent in places, a page or two torn. They were monsters. They were his monsters. And they just needed to disappear. Why couldn't he make them just disappear? Why couldn't he erase his mistakes?
Finding nothing else to tear at, Ansem sank to the floor, every ounce of his previous adrenaline gone. He pulled his knees to his chest and hid his head in his hands, white-blond hair hanging haggardly around his face. He couldn't erase this. He was in too deep, too many people had died. Too many people had been hurt and he couldn't make it go away. He couldn't just tell them— it wouldn't help him and it wouldn't help those that were already gone. But what else was he supposed to do? What else could he do?
"My, my, what do we have here?" Ansem jolted, standing and pushing back against the nearest wall like a frightened animal. He was here. He was already here.
"What do you want?" He bit out, his chest heaving, adrenaline reawakening beneath his skin and screaming at him to run. Run far away and never come back.
The man in the doorway smirked that twisted smirk of his, leaning back against the door's frame like it was the most natural thing in the world. "And here I thought you were a gentleman, Ansem. Where have your manners gone?" He took a calculated step forward, letting his eyes sweep across the ruined room, one eyebrow raised. "Your housekeeping skills leave much to be desired. I remember how not so long ago you always kept a clean house. Where has that gone? The same place as your manners, maybe?" He mocked, that smirk of his growing to the point that it seemed to consume him, turning at his lips and pulling them upwards.
"What do you want?" Ansem repeated, gritting his teeth to hide his fear, his eyes trying to gauge the distance to the door— his one escape route, his one way out. If he could make it to the door, he could run. He might be able to escape. He might be able to live.
And that man just continued to smirk as he pulled a knife from his inner coat pocket, twisting it around his fingers and pulling it forward. "What do I want?" He scoffed, taking another step forward, his boots crinkling against the tattered pages that littered the ground. "I want you to pay for what you did. That isn't much to ask, now is it? I don't think so. Not after everything that's happened, not after all these things were ripped away from me."
Ansem swallowed thickly as he took a step closer, that knife still held in his hand. The door, the door, the door— he had to make it to the door. "If it's me you want, then why did you hurt the others? Why did you kill them?"
He laughed, a twisted, cruel sort of thing that dug at the author's bones and knotted in his stomach. "Because I had to make you understand, of course. I had to make you pay for what you did, and just killing you would be far too quick. Yes. Killing you would have been a mercy if I had done it so early. You would have never truly known what it meant. You would have never known what you had really stolen from me. Do you understand it now? Do you realize what you've caused?"
"I—"
"I don't want to hear it!" And suddenly, all that mock kindness, that fake sanity was gone, leaving behind nothing but raw anger, those lips twisting into a snarl, that knife shaking in his hand, acid dripping from his words. "You took everything away! You'll never understand! You'll never know like I know!"
He stopped, taking a deep breath with those lips still twisted, still angry and ugly, his voice shaking. "But that's fine. I'll make you understand. I'll show you what darkness truly is."
And Ansem felt the strangest need to laugh like a maniac, because this was his fault too. He'd created this monster.
K3YBLAD3
Sora let out a long sigh, brunette spikes seeming to droop as he tightened his grip around his Styrofoam coffee cup. Normally, he wouldn't mind being left behind so much. He was an analyst. Detective work was hardly his forte, and it was painfully obvious that he wasn't made for carrying a gun and chasing after criminals. But he would be lying if he said that it didn't bother him that he'd been left behind this time around. Larxene and Leon had gone back to the hotel to catch up on some sleep. He knew that they wouldn't sleep very much, but they both needed to relax a bit and he didn't blame them for leaving. Really, he didn't. He was fine with watching over Axel with Riku. He wasn't tired enough to sleep and he had had nothing better to do at the time. And it was under Leon's order that the two of them stay to watch the redhead. So, honestly, he was perfectly fine with being left at a hospital with Riku while the rest of the team slept.
He was not okay with being left at the hospital while Riku went back to the office. He was not in the least bit okay with that. He wasn't worried about Riku really. Riku was probably better than the rest of them combined when it came to combat of any sort, and he doubted that anyone would ever have the ability to sneak up on the other male. The chances of Riku getting hurt were slim. And of course, Sora did worry about what could happen. It was possible that Riku could get hurt— maybe even killed—but the brunette could easily push that to the back of his mind. That wasn't what really bothered him. What really bothered him was that Riku had gone back to the office to look over case files, while Sora was left to watch over Axel.
It made sense. Really, it did. The entire idea made perfect sense. Riku would be fine on his own; Axel would not. If something were to happen, the profiler would at least have a chance of getting away, while the redhead was still unhappily confined to a hospital bed. Sora could at least put up a bit of a fight if it came down to it, increasing Axel's chances exponentially. The logic behind it was perfectly reasonable. He understood it; he realized that he was needed here.
But still, it bothered him. With Riku, he could have at least felt useful. He could have done something. And maybe he wasn't a detective. Maybe he wasn't a high-crime profiler. But he wasn't useless. He could help in some way or another, even if it came down to just saving a few minutes by looking through old files. He could do something.
He sighed again, sinking a little further into the uncomfortable hospital chair. He supposed that it didn't really matter now. Riku had left over an hour ago and there had been no sense in arguing with him. For right now, he was stuck at the hospital working as Axel's makeshift security. He could deal with that. It was better than going back to the hotel in any case.
"This place makes me crazy." One brown eyebrow quirked, its owner's head lifting to stare at the redhead laid out on the bed in an attempt to escape his thoughts. Sora couldn't see his eyes, but he could tell by the way the other's head lolled back against the pillow and his airy tone that he was drained and frustrated. The brunette let out a rueful sort of smile, his lips quirking crookedly. What right did he have bemoaning being stuck here? What right did he have to complain? He could be just as confined as Axel; he could be dead like Roxas.
"You're only here for a few more days so the doctors can clear you for transfer." Sora stated, that smile still at his lips. Axel huffed at him in response. "You'll at least be closer to home after that."
"That's not the point." The redhead mumbled irritably, sitting up on his elbows and glaring at him with emerald eyes. It was obvious that he wasn't angry with him, simply exasperated. "This hospital, that hospital— they're all the same. I feel like I'm trapped here. I can't leave. I can't even get up out of bed." He huffed again, pulling at his bandages lightly as if to accentuate his point. "Do you have any idea how pathetic it is that I can't even get up to use the bathroom? Bedpans, Sora. Bedpans. And that's not even the worst of it!" He let himself fall back against the bed with a plop, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling at the ceiling.
Sora wanted to laugh, innocent blue eyes rolling as he brought himself to the foot of the other's bed, head tilted to the side. Axel refused to look at him, keeping those green eyes of his trained on the ceiling. But that was fine. Axel didn't have to look at him. "You know you're acting like you're ten, right?" He asked lightly, crossing his arms with mock authority.
"At least I'm not moping." Touché.
The analyst let out a drawn out sort of sigh, shaking his head and crawling onto the other's bed after placing his cup on the nearby table, making sure to be mindful of the redhead's wounds. Axel twitched, but said nothing as the brunette positioned himself so that he was sitting cross-legged at the foot of his bed. "This could have been a lot worse."
"Yeah…I know." The redhead looked at him over his cheek bones, eyes downcast. He knew that things could have been a lot worse for him. He knew that, and he was thankful on some level that things truly hadn't been as bad as they could have been. He could be dead or burnt to the point of losing everything. Axel would at least be able to walk again, and he had the ability to take that hike with his brother once he healed. It was just the matter of healing that bothered him.
He hated the very idea of being confined. The idea of being dependent and weak.
That person that he was only days ago, that person that could only sit there and let the fire consume him— he didn't want to ever be that person again. He would make sure that he was never again that person. But what was he supposed to do now? What was he supposed to do now that he was in the same situation, bound and confined? He didn't know, and he doubted that anyone could answer that question for him.
Tapping his fingers against his forearms with some difficulty, he pushed his eyes back towards the ceiling, scowling at the blisteringly white tiles like they were keeping the answer just out of reach. After a moment or two, he exhaled, letting the warm air soundlessly escape through his nose. Just sitting here was stupid. He wanted to act. He wanted to put that man behind bars for what he did to Roxas and all the others, to him. And it didn't help that these wants of his were unobtainable. He was confined to a hospital. He could barely move, let alone track that man down and arrest him.
And it was a terrible feeling knowing that he couldn't do anything. Knowing that he had to rely on everyone else for everything.
The redhead jerked against his pillow at the sudden noise drumming against his ears, one slim eyebrow raising as the brunette fumbled for a moment, one lightly tanned hand pushing into his pocket and pulling out a sleek, black, company-issued cellphone. Interested, Axel pulled himself up, wincing slightly at the pain in his back but ignoring it in favor of watching the younger's face contort with one look at the name displayed across his phone's screen. "Demyx?" His nose crinkled ever so slightly, more out of confusion than anything else. "Why would he being calling?"
"Answer it." Emerald eyes narrowed, watching closely as Sora did as he was told, flipping the phone open and holding it next to his ear.
"Hel—" The word died in the brunette's throat, causing Axel to scowl as blue eyes began to widen. Whoever was on the other side of that phone line was rushing, the few words that the redhead could make out stringing together incoherently. And Sora's eyes just kept widening, his free hand beginning to tremble and knot around the bed sheets. "Wait, wait! I don't understand!" He spoke in a rush as well, words barely making it out before he was shocked into silence. His brows furrowed, listening intently.
Suddenly, the phone was snapped closed, Sora jumping from the bed and stumbling against the hospital tile as he re-pocketed his phone and sprinted towards the door. "I'll be back as soon as I can!"
And Axel could just watch as he left, the slamming of the door to his room echoing against his skull as he sunk back against his pillow.
K3YBLAD3
Demyx scowled into the darkness that surrounded the house, oceanic orbs trying to take in as many details as he could before it was too late. The lights were on in every room it seemed, a dull yellow peeking through curtains on both floors, the lawn illuminated by them all, the shadows revealed. It all looked normal enough. Maybe a bit too bright for this time of night, but still just as normal as it had days before when they'd come to speak with the author for the last time. But something was wrong. He could tell that something was wrong. The light in that building lied, and he was determined to figure out why.
Crouching beside him against the trees, Zexion fidgeted, his fingers knotted at impossible angles against his knees, those boney knuckles of his white and bloodless. He held his bottom lip in between two rows of teeth, a faint hint of blood running down his chin. Waiting. Those eyes of his just waiting for the right moment. The right moment to catch this man and gain his freedom.
The blond shook his head sharply, clearing it in just the slightest way before turning his gaze back towards the house. Ansem was in there. He was probably getting ready for bed, maybe already asleep. He probably had no idea that a murderer would be coming to his house tonight; he probably had no idea that he was the endgame.
But maybe he did. Maybe he did know that he was the one that he was after. Maybe he had known all along. The detective scrunched up his nose in disgust at the thought. Knowing… He hoped that Ansem didn't know. Otherwise, he could have stopped all of this so long ago. All those people wouldn't have had to die. If Ansem didn't know, then this was okay. Saving him from his fate was okay. But if he did— if he did know but let it all happen anyway— Demyx didn't know. He didn't know what to do if that was the case.
He wanted to help people. He would probably always want to help people. But if Ansem had known all along and had just been lying, playing with them since the very beginning, he didn't know if he truly wanted to help him. His life wouldn't bring back those that were lost. It wouldn't fix things or make them any easier to bear. He knew that; he understood that. But that didn't change the fact that it would be what he deserved if he'd done all of this on purpose, if he'd just let it drag on needlessly as some sort of morbid game.
He shook his head again, eyes squeezing shut at the thought. No. No. That was wrong. Those bodies, those people— no one deserved that. No one deserved to die like that no matter what they had or had not done. No matter what they did or did not know. What was wrong with him? Why would he even think that? He had seen the bodies— the mangled pieces, the lifeless eyes, that sweet little girl that never even had a chance— and he had seen the people left behind. He'd seen them all. Every last one of them even worse off than the last. No one deserved what happened to them. No one deserved to have those words etched into them. And no one truly deserved to die.
He believed that with everything he had, and it wasn't going to change now. He wouldn't allow it. He wouldn't be the person that just let things happen. He would be who he was until the very end. And he would save someone. Even if that person didn't really deserve to be saved, he would save them because that was who he was.
And if he just kept believing that, then maybe it would never change.
"They're taking too long."
Oceanic orbs opened, spots dancing before them as they returned to the closed door. He could see Zexion in his peripheral vision, his pale skin glowing in the moonlight, deep blue eyes visible and narrowed. With little hesitation, Demyx grabbed his hand without taking his eyes away, smoothing his fingers across the other's knotted digits, straightening them and lacing them together with his own so that they were loosely holding hands.
"They'll be here as soon as they can." He assured him quietly, his voice nearly a whisper against the wind. "It shouldn't be much longer." The younger's fingers tightened against his hand, but the criminal didn't bother to reply. Demyx wasn't surprised.
The two of them had been waiting for the others for nearly an hour, Demyx's car hidden amongst the trees while they stood at the edge of the woods surrounding the house. And it was so very wrong because they were just standing there, waiting, and there hadn't been a sound. Not one sound had come out of that house. He didn't know what he had been expected— everything, nothing, something— but he knew that this was not natural. There was always something. A bird landing on the roof, porch swings swaying with the wind, wood creaking as the house settled, the sound of a television from inside— there was always something that made it alive. But this, this had nothing.
It was just light and dark, the door and the trees.
It was too quiet, and it was making him anxious, jittery with no apparent reason. And the quiet had him wanting to rush, wanting to make his way inside before it was time. They needed to wait for backup before they made their way inside. It was too risky going in alone, especially since Demyx was so inexperienced with handguns and Zexion didn't even have one. Backup would fix that problem. If all went well, the two of them wouldn't even have to go in.
But Demyx didn't really want that because he wanted to save someone. He wanted to be the one that did it. He wanted to catch this bastard himself. He wanted to keep his promise. And he wasn't a child anymore— he could handle this. He would handle this no matter what happened.
And waiting outside like this just seemed so wrong because there was someone in that house that could be in danger, and it was so quiet outside. So very, very dead. So very, very wrong. But they weren't supposed to go inside. They could get hurt; they could get killed. Going in there could mean the end of them, but still, waiting was just wasting time. The killer could already be there. He could have killed him already, Ansem's body smashed against the walls, blood pooling and draining across his many pages of words. They could be too late. The killer could already be getting away, running around the back and disappearing into the woods while they just waited, the author's body bleeding out in the study. Maybe they would never catch him. Maybe he would get away with it all. All those bodies laid out in the morgue, nothing but pale, dead faces with lifeless eyes that had nothing left. They would nev—
A gut-wrenching scream pierced through the silence.
He ran.
With the worn soles of his shoes struggling to grip the ground beneath him, he ran, the criminal struggling to stay at his heels as he forced his way up the porch's wooded stairs and swung open the door. He didn't bother to stop until he was already halfway down the lit hallway, his breath ragged, his eyes wild as he searched. There was nothing. No sound, no movement. It was exactly as it had been only days before. Where had it come from? That scream had come from somewhere. He knew it had. But where?
A scuffle sounded from down the hall— a minute little sound that he just barely managed to catch— and he was off again, those soles of his sliding as he forced open the study door. And he stopped again, his oceanic eyes wide, his lips slightly parted.
Blood rushed, pooled against the carpet, Ansem's fragile fingers shaking violently as they attempted to stop the bleeding at his throat. Bits and pieces of the ruby red liquid gathered at his fingertips and pushed through, running down his pale neck and staining his clothes. His would-be killer crouched over him, his knife pressed against his own chin, nasty eyes watching the blond in the doorway with an amused sort of interest.
Xehanort.
"My, my, my." The man laughed, fluidly bringing himself to his full height, that knife of his still touching at his chin, its handle covered in what Demyx wished was dye. "Have you come to save him?" He asked, still so very amused, mocking, laughing at him like everyone else did. The detective didn't bother to say anything, he just clamped his mouth shut, his fingers jittering against his sides. "Well, would you look at that, Ansem? Someone came to save you. Splendid, isn't it?" His laughter died off as he gave the author a kick to the side, smirking at the moan of pain that came from his defenseless victim. "But you don't deserve to be saved, do you?" When Ansem didn't reply, be put his boot against his bloodless hands, slowly lowering his weight, that smirk of his widening to impossible lengths as the blood began to pool all the faster, droplets of it forcing their way up through Ansem's mouth and splattering against his chin.
He was going to die. He was going to die. He was going to die. And Demyx could not let that happen. He could not watch this person leave too. He would not watch this person, listen to his gurgles as he died. He would not let Ansem become his parents. He would not be the one that had to see what was left once he was done. He wouldn't. Not this time. He wouldn't be powerless this time.
Shaking, breaths quickened against his rib cage, he felt for his gun, grabbing at it with nervous fingers and pushing it in front of him like they taught him in training. Xehanort stopped, removing his bloodied boot and tilting his head at him, eyes narrowing as they watched the gun move up and down, Demyx's grip unsteady as he felt for the trigger.
And strangely, the man just laughed, pushing his weight against his hip. "You don't want to shoot me." He said as the silence began to pass. "You don't want to kill me." His head tilted a bit more, light hairs falling in front of his face and hanging down haggardly. "Do you even know? If you knew what he did, you wouldn't really blame me. I'm sure you wouldn't. I can see it in your eyes." He laughed again, a little more humorless, a little less mocking. "You think he deserves to die, don't you? You think I'm right."
"Shut up!" His hands shook, his voice following along. No. No. No one deserved to die. No one deserved to die. He wouldn't let anyone die. It wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't going to happen. And what Ansem had done had been so wrong and he must have known and maybe he did deserve something. But he wasn't supposed to die. He didn't need to die. There was a better way. There was always a better way. "That's not what I think! I think you're a monster!"
Xehanort laughed again, the chuckles coming out of him with great gasps, that knife of his twisting in his grasp as he struggled to hold his middle. "Really, now? I'm the monster?" He rolled his eyes as soon as that terrible, despicable laughter passed. "And why is that? Why am I a monster?" He took a few steps closer so that he was directly between Demyx and Ansem, a smile gracing his lips as the blond didn't make a move, his body just continuing to shake. "Is it because I killed those people?" The detective took a sharp breath. Xehanort just smiled all the wider. "Do you want to know what it felt like? Do you want to know what I thought about as the light left their eyes? As I watched them die? I'll tell you, it was glorious." He brought himself closer as he spoke, the last bit spoken against the younger's ear, the blond shuddering, oceanic eyes frantic as they followed the murderer's movements.
"Oh, don't tell me you're disgusted by that." He pivoted around him, Demyx following him jerkily, that gun of his held in front of him. "You must really love it. Oh, yes. You must love it very much. Monsters like me— you're not disgusted at all."
The blond's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together. "You're wrong."
"Am I now?" He smirked, stepping closer and then further away again as Demyx's grip around the gun clenched, his finger locked against the trigger. "Then what about that other little monster? That little boy-toy you keep with you all the time." He let out anther merciless breath as the blond's breath hitched. "Hit a nerve, have I? Where is he, by the way? I know he came with you— oh, I have no doubt about that. Now, where is he hiding?"
"Leave him out of this."
The doctor let out another laugh, eyes narrowing before he lunged forward, grabbing at the blond's arm and pulling him against his chest, his knife against the lightly tanned throat, the gun shooting against the wall uselessly before he grabbed that too, sliding it towards the wall's opposite side.
And all Demyx could do was slump against him, oceanic orbs as wide as saucers as he just watched Ansem's crumpled body bleed and bleed and bleed. He was dying and someone needed to help him and there was a knife against his throat. And he'd failed. He'd been played just like the idiot he was. It was all about talking and getting them closer, hitting his nerves and rendering him useless. What was he doing? Why was he here?
No one deserved this. No one ever deserved this.
"If I were you, I'd get that little monster of yours in here." He breathed against the shell of his ear, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, a shiver race down his spine. Defiantly, he kept his mouth shut, squeezing those eyes of his closed as the knife pushing against his throat with a bit more force, a thin red line beginning to drip, the streams of it running down his neck and staining his collar. And he was going to die. He knew he was going to die because he didn't know where Zexion had gone once they'd entered the house and he would not— he could not call him. He'd rather die than pull Zexion into this. It wasn't his job. He had no real obligation to be here. He didn't need to die for this.
Suddenly, the pressure against his neck disappeared, the man behind him laughing that terrible laughter, smirking that twisted smirk against his dirty blond hair. "It's nice to see you've made it." And Demyx could hear light footsteps against the carpet.
Oceanic eyes shot open, Zexion standing less than ten feet away, his deep blue eyes taking in the scene coolly. To an outsider, he would have looked indifferent to the blood staining the carpet in the corner, the detective held with a knife to his throat. But to Demyx— he could see. He could see the way the criminal's hands knotted against his sides, the way his eyes shifted between the blond and the gun, as if trying to gauge his chances of getting to the weapon before Demyx was already dead. From the way his lips thinned almost imperceptibly, Demyx could guess that they weren't very high.
"Why are you doing this?" Pale arms crossed, and the blond could feel the murderer tense against his back, his knife touching at his skin.
"Excuse me?" Xehanort ground out, his voice steeled against his skin.
Zexion shifted his weight to the side, eyes narrowing. "I asked why you were doing this." He reiterated, voice low.
The murderer stood up a little straighter, shoulder's pulling against his skin as he scowled. "Oh, I'm sure you know exactly why." He spat, that knife of his pressing down a little harder, Demyx's breath quickening just a little more. "That man took everything away. Everything."
The youngest shot the author a quick glance, his body barely even twitching now— probably too far gone to ever come back— and then brought his eyes back, shrugged nonchalantly. "So he stole from you. Big deal."
"Why you—!" Xehanort shook his head sharply, pushing the blond away just the barest amount, his nasty eyes zeroing in on the criminal angrily. "Do you even understand what it feels like? Do you even realize what he took from me?" He waved the knife wildly, slashing it through the air carelessly.
The criminal shrugged again, and Demyx could see the way his knuckles were turning white from nervously grabbing his forearms. "Money. Fame. Respect."
"Exactly! And he took it away!" He screamed, fists clenching, that knife waving, wild with movement. "It was mine. Mine. My idea, my story! I was the one who came up with it!"
"You trusted him and he betrayed you, is that it?" Zexion laughed, his voice mocking, the tone so close to that of Xehanort's. "Is that it?" He laughed even harder, grabbing at his sides much like the other had done, rolling his eyes derisively. "You're not special." He smiled, little white teeth showing through. "And once this is all over, you'll still be nothing."
The killer let out a barbaric growl, flinging the blond to the side as he rushed forward, his knife thrust frontward as he moved towards the motionless other. And even as Demyx saw the gush of red out of the corner of his eye, heard the sickening crunch of bodies hitting the floor, he knew what he had to do.
The sound of a gunshot echoed against the walls.
And then there was nothing but red.
K3YBLAD3
When the rest of the team arrived an hour later, they were too late. All they could do was call the ambulance and wait, watching as a shaking Demyx cradled a bloodied criminal to his chest, whispering soothing nonsense against his ear.
K3YBLAD3
The Ansem Report, Page 4
After killing twenty victims (including one cat) and wounding two others, the suspect was finally taken down by Demyx Wendell at 11:32 p.m. in the home of Ansem Wise by a single gunshot wound to the head. While unavailable for questioning, the case detectives were able to accurately conclude his motive for the killings.
Each victim (with the exception of one Zexion Schewyer) was killed or wounded in response to the popular book series 'Kingdom Hearts' written by Ansem Wise. Each keyblade within the book was used as a guideline for the characteristics of the victim. After a short investigation, it has been concluded that Xehanort Zeel was the original author of the first book found within the 'Kingdom Hearts' Series. His motive has thus been concluded as revenge against Mr. Wise for stealing his book. The motive for each individual victim may never be fully known.
Xehanort Zeel's affects, along with those of Ansem Wise, have been prepared for sale by the Twilight Town Police Force. All funds resulting from the sales will be equally distributed amongst the families of the victims. A memorial has also been commissioned by the Twilight Town Council and will begin construction within the year with a portion of the town's beautification funding.
All detectives assigned to the case have been granted early retirement if they so wish.
Department Head,
Saix Bianchi
K3YBLAD3
Chapped lips let out a content sort of sigh as their owner ran his hand through his dirty blond hair, grimacing a bit at the feel of the greasy strands. He hadn't had the ability to wash it for a while, all of his clothes stuffed into a suitcase, all of his time spent in a hospital. But he was okay with that. He'd been worse places.
Humming a lively tune, he grabbed the filled cups from the miniature kitchenette, spinning on his heel and making his way back towards the bed positioned in one of the room's corners, the small form cuddled against the pillows, a thick tome positioned in his lap. And he couldn't help but smile as he took the seat at the bed's side. Quietly, he took a sip of his coffee, handing the younger his cup of water when he glanced at him between pages. The wounded didn't bother to say anything as he took the cup, holding it lovingly between his shaking palms before gingerly swallowing a bit, giving it back to the older once he was done.
Demyx smiled as he took the thing, holding it next to his own and propping his chin against the bed's side, his eyes taking in the bandages that graced the other's otherwise bare hip bones beneath the sheet. By his head, barely hidden by the powder blue hospital gown, he knew there were more bandages, covering the bruised and torn skin along the other's rib cage. And there were more. More bandages gracing the underside of one arm, more covering the side of his neck, another one plastered on his cheekbone. But that was okay. Bandages were okay. He'd gotten the wounds that those bandages so painstakingly covered while saving him, protecting him. And that meant everything in the world.
"Hey." Demyx muttered, his grip tightening around the cups in his hands, his chin balanced against the bed. The younger flipped a page in his book, but he knew that he was listening. "I love you."
And Zexion just smiled.
A/N: Okay, raise of hands, how many people thought I killed Zexion? Yeah. That's what I thought.
Anyway, I'm actually strangely happy with this. It took a lot longer to write than it probably should have (and I literally wrote out the last half of this in less than four hours) because the first parts of it...not enjoyable for me at all really. There just seemed to be something wrong. But, honestly, I like the finished product, even though I'm not entirely happy with the whole thing (like the word "hey" there at the end. You have no idea how long I fought with that word).
I tried to get all the pieces of the case out that I could so that it would all come together. In short, Xehanort trusted Ansem with his book idea, but Ansem then betrayed his trust and stole it from him. In betraying that trust, Xehanort saw him as a liar that needed to "pay" for what he did, Ansem being the ultimate prize for himself as his revenge (thus the chapter name). When Demyx fleetingly said "...with Axel and his brother at my heels," Zexion was reminded of the letter "B" which could stand for "brother". Xemnas has labeled his brother, Xehanort, as the killer chapters before.
Also, when Zexion says in this chapter that Xehanort's not special, he's referring to himself as well because Lexaeus was someone who he trusted that turned on him.
If you have any more questions about anything or just want something cleared up, let me know and I'll get back to you as soon as I can!
Production: Only the epilogue left at this point. I'm planning on it basically just being a bunch of snippets from after the case, most likely stretching out for a few years. (Fluff. Monsterous amounts of fluff most likely). It shouldn't take very long at all, since it will probably be shorter, so plan on it being up by sometime on or before the 31st.
Quiz Winner(s): Reading wanderer (I read your review and I was like "They know!"), me malum, dancingsilverwolf, and sakuraXdrops. I seriously shouldn't have given out so many clues. Or something...
Quiz: None since the last bit really isn't related to the rest of this at all. But~ tell me, what's been your favorite part of this story? I'm trying to work on certain aspects of stories, so it'd be nice to get some feedback on what people like the most, whether it be a particular scene or a specific character. Anything really.
A Little Word Math For You: Reviews = Motivation Motivation + Time = New Chapters. ^_^