Even a Weasel Finds Love
A/N: FFFF I'M SO SORRY PLEASE DON'T HURT ME TRUST ME I PROBABLY CRIED MORE THAN ALL OF YOU DID CAUSE I HAD THIS PLANNED SINCE ABOUT THE FIRST CHAPTER SO IMAGINE HOW SAD I AM TO HAVE TO END THIS STORY SO SADLY. IF YOU CRY YOU CAN TELL ME AND WE CAN CRY TOGETHER OKAY? NOW I'M GONNA GO AND SADLY CRAWL BACK INTO MY HOLE IN THE GROUND.
BellaTheZombieSlayer1933: I'M SORRY *cries*
Sandycat5: YES THEY KISSED I'M SORRY I'M EVIL
Lone Loba: I FEEL HORRIBLE ABOUT EVERYONE CRYING
rainbowdash78657: THERE'S STILL THIS LEFT IT'S OKAY I'M SORRY.
UglyTurnip: Man I was wondering where you were! HRMMMM YES THERMOSTAT I WANNA BE ONE LET ME BE ONE
The very special guest: OH MY GOD MAN I LOVE YOU OK THANK YOU SO FUCKING MUCH MAN
I'M SORRY ABOUT THE LAST CHAPTER AND THIS ONE BUT IT'S NECESSARY
*cries in corner*
Epilogue
One year later...
The deaths of the notorious mobsters Salvatore DeLuca, Billy Handsome, and Michael Finn o' Leary were all that headed the newspapers for months after the incident.
It turns out they found the three men's dead bodies in the water under the Golden Gate bridge.
There were multiple bullets in each of them, and they had, as the media put it, been forced off of the bridge.
There were only a select few about the demise of Albert Arlington.
They said that where the authorities came, there was hardly anything left of him besides a few buttons from his coat and an abundance of blood and gore. It saddened and disgusted me greatly.
They knew it was him because he had also left his journal in the bloody pile.
The media said that he was bludgeoned to death by the three mobsters and thrown into the river, but he had managed to murder them too.
I know that isn't the truth. He was killed by something much worse.
What an unfitting end.
I decided to move far away from Alcatraz Island about a week after everything happened. My parents had felt sympathetic toward me and let me borrow enough money to move to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
That wasn't the only reason I moved. Every time I would look up at the prison or the Golden Gate bridge, the tragic and slightly happy memories of him would haunt my mind.
I would break down in apologetic tears every time, wishing I had stayed with him and done something to save his life.
My brother, Robert, had came over to visit about two months ago. He could tell something terrible had happened to my life, and so he moved in for a few weeks until I finally convinced him that it was nothing.
He left about two days ago to get something from his house. He said he'd be back soon.
He told my parents about my plight, and they have yet to give him their answer on what to do.
I walked over to the chair in my living room and slumped down into it. I looked down.
Albert Arlington.
He saved my life multiple times.
I saved his life multiple times, too.
Like when he was going to kill himself, a small voice whispered in my head.
And when Sal, Michael, and Billy betrayed him. Remember what he said? He said that you were the reason he managed to survive that long because he wondered if you were going to run back to see if he was alive.
I rubbed my face.
I could still remember how he screamed in intense pain as he fell. I ran back to him, fearing the worst.
There he was, lying on the ground, hardly moving. But he was still alive, and he was looking at you.
Sal, Michael, and Billy were already gone.
Even a weasel finds love. You know those were his final words to anyone.
I looked down, tears forming in my eyes.
It's been a year since this happened, and I'm still all worked up over it?
No, Helen. You're strong.
Everyone cries once in a while.
I quickly wiped the tears away.
He said maybe he'd see you one day. You can wait for that day. He'll be there.
And what if he isn't?
My inner voice didn't have an answer.
"Well, there's not much you can do about that, huh, Helen?"
I shook my head.
What, am I going crazy now?
Like Hell you are, Helen. Stop thinking about that day.
I closed my eyes, and thought about when we met for the first time.
When we talked in the Infirmary.
How our hands brushed when he handed me gauze.
How we held hands when Icarus was flown.
How he smiled at me when I ran over to his dying body.
The gentle kiss. It was very chaste, but was a bit more than a small peck.
Our first, and last, kiss. His voice rang in my head.
I glanced outside for a moment. It was storming heavily, the rain poured down from the skies like a waterfall. Lighting crackled in the distance. Thunder rumbled the earth.
I stood up and looked out the window, examining the nature. It made me forget about everything for a moment, but then, someone knocked on the door.
Robert did say he was going to be back in a day or so.
I wiped away my tears and rushed to greet him.
"Hey, Robert."
"Helen?"
I looked up.
He was still wearing the same hat. His coat, however, was brand-new, and he had a clean pair of khakis on. His brown loafers were polished perfectly.
He raised a fingerless-gloved hand.
"Albert?"
His blue and green eyes crinkled, and he grinned down at me.
"M-my mind's playing tricks on me." I tried to rationalize what was going on.
He shook his head. "Helen, I am alive. May I please come in?"
I nodded my head stupidly.
"W-wait a moment. You're dead!" I pointed a trembling finger at him.
His eyes filled with mirth for a brief moment.
"If I was dead, could I do this?"
He turned toward me and leaned in quickly. Our lips locked. His fingers entwined with mine, and he closed his eyes.
The kiss was gentle and comforting.
He quickly broke the kiss and placed a small peck on my cheek. He embraced me, rubbing my back as I fought a sob that was making its way up.
"But how...?" I managed to choke out.
He pulled back and looked at me. His brows knitted.
"I'm not sure."
The breeze from the storm outside crept inside my house from the open door.
I shivered, and looked up to him.
He was staring intensely at something outside.
His eyes widened, and he reached for something in his pocket.
"Helen, it's not safe here."
He pulled out his Ray Gun, and stood in front of me, protectively.
As if on que, the all-too-fammiliar moans of the undead rung in my ears.
I froze, horrified.
Albert took aim.
ERMEGEJEARSDZ I CAN'T FCKIGN SPEEL BUT ITFEELSSS SO NICE TO BEABLE TO END THIS WITH A FUCKIGN CLIFFHANGAH MWAHABAJAHAJGKEKFJSHEJGFUCKNOSTOPWITHTHETYPOS
HE'S ALIVE
LET ME EXPLAIN WITHOUT MAKING TYPOS:
Everytime I have zombies appear in my story, that signals the beginning of a round.
That means that whenever the zombies came to devour Albert, he was already downed. He couldn't get Afterlife.
So, how the FUCK did he make it out?
He didn't.
Oh, he was dead.
Something brought him back.
Something
(mermaid man voice) EEEEVVVIIILLLLLLL...
...
i'm just jk it was afterlife (w(b)itchcraft) lol and he had three bullets left and one of the fuckign zombles dropped a max ammoe and sheit so yea
Uh
that killed the moment
BUT IT ISN'T OVER YET
(this story is, but I have another one in the works)
I'm gonna make a pseudo-sequel (wut) that consists of the shitload of endings I had planned, oneshots I wrote to warm up my writing, chapters that didn't make the story, and ANYTHING ELSE YOU WANNA SEE (that means you can ask to read helen and weasel make out and i'd be like wut uhm ok i try i no good but mmmmkai)
and i left a little cliffhanger in case i wanted to make a sequel
I WANT TO FUCKIGN THANK EVERY ONE OF YOU ADORABLE LIL' SHITS WHO REVIEWED AND FAVORITED THIS STORY, INCLUDING THE TROLL jo mada BECAUSE HE IS ADORABLE BUT TERRIBLE AT TROLLING (take that)