Truden, Kane, Penner and Harrow all sat in the small room, staring at the TV screen. Chester's tape was being played over and over, due to Penner's love of abusing the replay button, and by now Truden could recite it by complete memory.

They were at the point where the mailbox exploded, and Truden was keeping her eye on the purple lamp in the background. The the camera shifted to see the remains of the mailbox and when the lamp went out of the frame, she kept her eyes in the spot where it used to be. The camera then went back to its original position, and Truden stood up and started shouting, "Look! Look! Penner, rewind to before the mailbox and pause it!"

The blond rookie obeyed, and the others stared questioningly at Cassandra. "What's wrong?" Kane asked.

"Watch the lamp, you morons, watch the fucking lamp!" Truden growled, pointing to the screen as she stepped beside it. "Look. It's there now... and after the mailbox explodes... it's gone. And look how it lights up before the mailbox goes ka-boom!"

"Power glitch?" the Captain suggested, raising his hand.

"It can't be," Truden muttered more to herself than anyone.

"Maybe someone made the mailbox explode, took the lamp, and killed the kid," Kane offered.

Truden shook her head. "It happened too fast. And besides, the autopsy didn't show any signs of cranial trauma. The idea of him being killed with a lamp is as good as trumped."

The investigators looked down in thought, each one of them stumped. A strange silence developed before Kane piped up, "He said that someone- most likely the killer- was floating."

The Captain nodded. "How could that have been possible?"

"Jet-packs?" Penner asked. When everyone looked at her stupidly, she looked down. "I'll shut up now."

"You do that," Truden ordered. "A jet pack's noise would have been picked up by the camera's microphone, and there weren't even any burn marks anywhere."

The Captain's left eyebrow lifted. "Not even on the walls?"

"No... not yet, anyway," Kane responded.

Penner, bored by the conversation, pressed the replay button. Right after the explosion, the Captain heard a subtle popping sound, followed by Chester's inquiry about floating and his screams of terror. Jumping up, he shouted, "Penner, replay that part! Everyone else, listen closely!"

They obeyed, and Truden narrowed her eyes. "What the hell was that pop?" she asked, crossing her arms. "God, this bastard is sick!"

"Thank you, Captain Obvious!" Kane saluted, earning himself a hateful glare from his raven-haired partner. He looked down, following the blond rookie's example as Truden sighed.

"Captain... I'm starting to think our killer isn't that Timmy kid."

"And why would you say that?"

"This monster can't be human."

:::

In these pages I inscribe the words to come last before the two deaths that are to follow. The first, a death for revenge; the second, a death for relief.

Foop has long left to explore his homeworld, and I am, once again and for the last time, left alone. Upon the hand this quill is held in are two rings, in a contrast to the single ring on my left. Though the quantity differs, they celebrate the same thing: my love, her love, our love.

When finishing this first death I shall toss this page into the flames that consume the second life (before allowing this to happen, the spirits within me will be released so they do not perish as well) so that my wife may read the words I have written to her. They shall appear in smoke, which is what paper is to us living beings. In dark places in the smoke she shall find my words, my heart, my soul (if I do indeed have one for her to see).

Anti-Wanda, look upon this chain of events not as an unfortunate end, but a new beginning for us. We shall rise above the others, even in untimely death, for there are very few who ever dared to challenge us when we lived. Those few ended up dead, like my half-breed son.

Before laying eyes on you, I had thought love to be something foolish and illogical... but you, my beloved, convinced me otherwise. Never before had I seen something so flawless, so divine. I had not known that something so bent to darkness as an Anti-Fairy could ever be so angelic. Strange how a mere glance can change one's mind entirely, would you not agree?

Within moments of you reading these words, we will be together again.

Eternally Yours,

Anti-Cosmo

:::

"When do you think Wanda's due?" Timmy asked as he entered the hospital again with Jorgen.

Jorgen shrugged. "I have no idea, Turner. Poof was a premature birth. A normal fairy birth takes around five months."

"It's been two now."

"Yes. Yes, it has." Jorgen sounded calm, but he was really starting to panic. Anti-Cosmo had told him he was planning on killing Juandissimo; he had also mentioned a second death, but he hadn't elaborated on it for some reason. He looked up at the ceiling in thought, letting a small, almost pitiful sigh escape him. Nobody had done anything to deserve what was happening to them and what was to come (except, of course, Juandissimo; he deserved everything he got!). Wanda never deserved to die, and Cosmo didn't deserve to lose the love of his life. Aside from Mama Cosma, Jorgen was Cosmo's closest relative (despite being a very, very distant cousin), and Jorgen knew he would have to deal with the weeping emerald fairy when Wanda gave birth.

It was something he wasn't really willing to do.

"Jorgen," Timmy said suddenly after a long silence developed, "I don't want Wanda to die. All she's done is fight, more for others than herself, and what does she get?"

"Death," the two of them said simultaneously.

:::

This chapter is really short because the next one will be very, very lengthy, mostly because it's another flashback chapter.

~Mikichu