The Day After Chapter 14: The plan, a sonic the hedgehog fanfic

THE DAY AFTER

14. The plan.

[AMY, Sean Catlett]

I can't tell whether the rumbling inside of me is my stomach or the baby. My hand smacks my bare midsection involuntarily, probably leaving a giant red mark. I sigh deeply, along with ever present rumble, and I get up from the side of Rouge's bed. She stirs in her sleep.

She has the gun clutched to her chest. It's pointed right at her head.

The closet door is opened all the way.

The thoughts that flow through my head are: "Is it a boy or a girl?" "They are watching." "I'm starving." "Take out the garbage." "I love you." "Oh fuck you, I'm leaving." "It wont be long." "She looks alright." "I'd fuck her." "Pleasure grunt." "She can take care of herself?" "Boo hoo hoo." "Where were you when the brains were handed out?" "Fag." "Get food, you stupid bitch."

I'm not too sure what order they're supposed to go in, or at one point I really heard them, but right now, each word that pops into my head seems so far away, like it's a part of a history that demands to be remembered but that of which I'll never know for sure what really happened. I'm not even sure if it's my life I'm thinking about.

I start to dress, putting on my worn jeans, my torn black shirt from Temp-Sub, my sandals from the beach, no bra, and this weird hair-scrunchy thing from my trip to the beach.

I already know without looking that we have no money left, and for some reason I'm not in the mood to shoplift, so my options are somewhat limited.

In fact, I only have one choice.

Sandra. I can mooch off of her. I mean, she owes me some orgasms, so why not pay me money instead? It's closer to her means, anyway.

So, it's decided. I venture out into the world, leaving Rouge to herself,

Then . . . .

I get the strangest feeling . . . .

Something's wrong.

No, can't be.

Why would . . . .

I pick up the knife that I stuck in the wall last night, slipping it in my back pocket. It's not enough. I start searching the apartment for something, anything else . . . . . .

. . . . . . . .

When I walk out of the apartment, the time of day hits me in the face, blinding me. The last rays of sunlight arc out, tonguing the sky with razor sharp knives, cutting the dark clouds above. The bat in my hand suddenly seems like a toothpick, and I feel like an idiot holding it like it could do some damage, especially against some gun-wielding undercover government fucks, or a blood-sucking serial killer who is probably a vampire.

Each step I make scratches against the floor loudly, rolling tiny pebbles under the soft rubber of the sandal. The stairs circle around each other, repeating the same move over and over again. In reality I make no real progress. I just go in circles, but the feeling of moving down is enough to assure me that I am getting closer and closer.

With the night comes the cold. Even in the summer time the darkness feels as cold as snow.

Down three flights, and I pass not one single degenerate or scum or fabled creature of the night. The sounds of my rough footsteps and my labored, stressed, tired breathing echoes along the narrow shaft. If someone else was here, it would be the perfect opportunity to take advantage of me . . . . .

My heart beats faster. Blood pulses through me and goes where I wish it wouldn't go . . .

Back.

The past.

The phantom limb I have starts to itch, starting out as a mere tickle and escalating into an outright atmosphere entry. The scars on my back suddenly feel like they're on fire because of some fake army dropping napalm on top of it. Tiny ants crawl and bite. A giant branding iron sears my flesh. The glass shards of someone's 40 proof, thrown and broken bottle of alcohol works it way beneath my flesh with each thrust, digging deep, probably grazing a shard of my spine. Those biology classes I used to take oh so long ago start to drift in, and my legs go numb. For a second I think I'm paralyzed

. . . . . . . . . . I drag the bat along the ground like a giant ape searching for a mate, keeping as focused as possible. The noises of the outside seem so distant . . . . . . . . . .

the shard works its way into the marrow, but i'm only thinking about it and not feeling it

. . . . . . . .The superintendent has a strong right shoulder muscle and puts it to good use in front of his television set, wrapped in tin foil and spouting snow that looks vaguely like a woman. The dragging of the bat and the scraping of the dirt catch his attention, and when he looks at me, I say, "You'll have your rent in an hour," and I walk out . . . . . . .

and i start to cry. it hurts worse than anything and i thought that it would feel good. i mean, it's him. this is how it is in fucking folk lore, this is how the world should be. it should be magical. there should be no broken glass or bleeding or pain or whisperings that sound like threats. i expected some sort of massive burst of

. . . . . . The city moves but it isn't alive. On the surface it's gritty and beneath it's filled with what's on top. This single grain of Pandora's Box rolls on a downhill plane, gathering enough of whatever sticks to it until it's as big as a planet. Greasy organisms grow and become self aware. They reproduce and dig deeper. Self-discovery is really self-indulgence. Soon, the planet becomes the organisms it gave birth to. The planet sees itself as a small part of bigger world and it's a grain again. And not to worry, because there is always a downhill plane . . . . .

he starts thrusting harder and harder, going further in and further out each time to the point where it feels like I'm being hit with a blunt object low in the stomach. he seems to be enjoying himself, at least. fuck, this only makes me cry even harder, not even bothering to scratch the hell out of his back. i only lie on my back, arms lowered to the glass in defeat, sobbing and allowing the paralyzing pain, hoping that it will at least move upward. i end up staring up at the starry sky

. . . . It's a long walk, like I said, but it becomes nothing when I start to run. The feeling of dread rises like a balloon filled with helium. Sandra is in trouble. Somehow, she's in trouble and I have to save her or she dies. Someone wants her dead. Someone wants her dead. It's about here where I realize that someone is following me . . .

but i suppose that i don't count. after all, this isn't even for love. this is for revenge. this is for rejection. this is for telling him the truth. so what that makes it my fault that it happened? i could have continued living the

. . So now the exact places I pass become insignificant. My goal stretches further away. I check behind me to see man dressed in gangster street clothes trying to keep up, holding a hand to his ear. He has trouble keeping his baggy clothes from falling down to his ankles, obviously not used to the feel of a stalker .

It's a trap.

it was a trap

what is Was happening?

I stop dead in my tracks, listening intently to the sounds of the night. My back is turned to the follower, waiting for him to walk past me. Maybe he's just a vagrant, following someone else. The thing is, he holds his hands under his coat like he's going to pull a gun out.

what if I become pregnant? on the outside chance that it's the perfect time for the imperfect moment, what if something actually decides to provide consequence?

Stop.

i loved him, and I really did

Wait.

wasn't a childish infatuation but maybe it was even so i have the right to change

Run.

so I force myself to try to enjoy it

As fast as you can.

i can't

I lose my sandals, the gravel digging into the soles of my feet. My calves get pounded into my knee. My breathing grows dry and caked. The city runs faster and faster across my field of vision. Details get lost and only the primary colors register with me. This is what it must have been like for him.

the pain is like brimstone, cutting inside and running all the way back to my stomach. he jerks and groans and breaths hard on my face, collapsing on me, tired from the ordeal. the shards go deeper and I have to bite his shoulder to keep from crying out. his head blocks my view of the sky, the mask pulled up to the top of his head. he doesn't even bother to wear it anymore

It's easier to run away from problems than to turn around and face them. I would know. I've been doing it for years, even before Sonic went to jail.

and just when I think it's over

The road ahead becomes a tangled mess of concrete that the city was just too lazy to fix or care about. I doesn't really matter, though. This cobweb in the slums is no different than any arrow in the richest neighborhood. The kids are still dealers, the parents are still pushers, and the cops still don't give a shit.

it starts again. he can't keep himself up as high as before, but he starts thrusting again. i guess it was a myth about men not wanting to continue after

By now I can hear and feel the veins around my neck and head throbbing and raising against my skin. The knife seems fine in my belt but the bat is slowing me down. A fleeting thought flies past that I should ditch it, but then the cluster fuck of the streets turns into view, and as soon as I see a right turn, I take it. And with the vagrant in pursuit, I reach into my jeans, pull out the knife, and throw it into a garbage can.

the little leeway i was waiting for comes. i wrap my legs around sonic, taking him in completely. with tears forming in my eyes, i start to meet his thrusts halfway. "I just wanted you to know

"Fucking shit, how many of these are in this goddamn city?!" But I duck into it anyway. The walls throb with circulation. Moisture saturates and washes it all in a think paste. Somewhere I can hear moaning. I've forgotten all about Sandra when I lean my back against the brick of the alley and grip the bat to myself.

I wait

suddenly, unexpectedly, sonic bites down hard on my right

His face comes around the corner in slow motion, partly obscured from above by a short brimmed hat turned downwards and from below by the collar of his black coat. All I see is the very corner of the color of his eye before the edge of the bat connects.

i tell him stop. i tell him please stop.

I don't stop swinging for a long time, each hit being a resounding echoed scream of pounded flesh magnified to the point of tossing the Richter scale upside down.

stop

WHAM!

stop

WHAM!

stop it please.

Please stop.

wham, wham, wham.

A gun. Mother fucker had a gun on him. Mother fucker followed me because he was a cop.

i followed him because i thought i loved him

Secret agent.

Private investigator.

Whatever he was, I just bludgeoned him to shit with Tails' bat and then stole his gun.

This is either the luckiest or the worst night of my life.

he stops.

he pulls out.

he looks down at himself then back at me, then back into the door where he got the drugs, looks ahead to the entrance where he jumped me, and he lifts me from the pavement, grunting

Sandra.

"i just wanted you to know that i'm breaking up with you."

"what?!"

"well technically, we never were together. still . . . ."

"but . . . . why?!!"

"sonic, you're an asshole.

It's back to running. I cover a distance of about two blocks before I realize . . . .

Okay.

Calm down.

You've just ran as fast as you could in the opposite direction. You're overreacting.

She's probably not even there. She won't be in danger. Everything will be fine and dandy.

My vomit-like breathing slows to a crawl. I stare at the knife I threw in the garbage can, and I pick it up, pocketing it back and to the left. The gun goes in my right and to the front. The bat hangs loosely at my side.

And I start jogging towards our meeting place.

i hold onto the sky as long as i can, but sonic already has the door kicked in. he heaves me, rather lightly, onto a soft, lumpy mattress in the corner of whatever room this is. it's strangely darker than outside, but i pretend that the spots of blood on the ceiling are constellations. then his gloved hands are back on me, the leather rippling and sending shivers along my spine. i can feel my legs again

The apartment looks much different at night, more like a sinister enemy looming into the sky, watching its minions, making sure it all goes his way. Whenever I would have to sneak out of the house and venture across the roads of hell, I would always think of Robotnik. I would think about how things were so much better when he was always trying to kill us. Back when seeing each other fight and win was a refreshing change from the tedium of fame and fortune. Back when we weren't as stupid.

Back when seeing him was casual, and not so . . . . .

Personal.

"asshole?"

"yeah."

"how am i an asshole?"

"you always insult everyone! and you keep saying you're gonna snuff me if I don't start puttin' out!"

"i'm only kidding when i say that!!"

"and, let's see, you hardly ever talk to me . . ."

"i call you all the time!"

"yeah, but only when you want money for drugs!"

"that's bullshit and you know it."

"you're high right now!"

"not high. drunk. there's a difference."

"the point is, it's over between us. i'm moving on."

By the time I reach the fortress, the adrenaline pumps along at a cool, efficient pace. The shakes are gone. The bat, dripping the last drops of blood, feels as light as a toothpick again. I don't even think about breathing.

Our room is on the second floor. It has a view on the entrance side. The light is NEVER off.

Second floor window . . .

. . . . . . .

ten minutes of humping, he seems to regain his virility, and now it's even worse than before. he's thrusting harder and faster with a bigger tool, putting ferocity into it

It's official.

I'm fucked.

". . . . . . . who is he?"

"what?"

"who is it that's got you so fucking bitchy all of a sudden?!"

"bitchy?!!"

"yeah! you've been after me for years, just because one: i was rich, two: i was popular, three: because i was hot in red shoes. and now you're gonna throw years of devotion and acceptance away for the next new thing?! you little whore, you make me sick!!"

"at least he's not a drug addict who has friends that all hate him!!"

"are you fucking kidding me?! my friends love me!"

"news flash: none of them do! tails hates you, rouge hates you, and knuckles hates you worst of all!"

pause. the world flashes by as the slightest absorbing of words takes place. osmosis lifts the curtains of confusion and an epiphany strikes.

". . . . . it's him, isn't it?"

". . . . . . . ."

Long story short, the guy at the front desk now has hurt arm and a gun pointed at his head. I'm screaming at him to call the cops but he only stares at me with empty, confused eyes. In the dim light of the bottom floor the elevator huddles itself into the corner, shielded from visitors and housing unknown monsters. It's easy to decide that the stairs would be much faster.

it's late. i'm tired. i didn't get the job because i was "too short." the sun set three hours ago and the neighborhood i have to walk through to get home gives me the creeps. sonic used to take me here for long "romantic" walks, stressing all past-tense words because now it's all over with him. i thought i could escape every inch of the relationship, but fat chance. and as for motives or reasons, i didn't understand how this place could be anything but the perfect setting for a drug deal. i didn't know how right i was

The pounding of my feet become cushioned and drowned by the noise of a sticky enzyme grasping at my soles. The sound of the two surfaces breaking apart echo along the endlessly stretched paper-thin structure known as "the walls." The gun is drawn. The bat sways in the darkness. I feel a voice call out to me from far below, a place of which I had planned to leave behind, saying that the phone lines are down. This sucks. This is awful.

This is . . . . .

It.

the mask back pulls down over his face, the drunk high fading into a frozen expression. the result is worse than the real thing, but this way, i'm supposed to pretend it's not him doing this. the gloved hands rip off my skirt, my underwear, my shirt, my bra. i barely get over the shock to cry out

Last floor. Last chance. Last resort. Last door to the unknown. I cock the hammer back . . .

an alley. the same dark alley from which i found out the true meaning of these "walks." in the twilight hours of the evening the scene seemed rather harmless, almost sappy-comic-book style. the non-realistic dealings of a fabled super-hero fallen from grace. the drugs barely looked threatening. the act itself was not illegal in the least, and in fact, i would not have been effected if not for the stabbing pain of the discovery

The hallway opens up to screaming. The doors of sleeping tenants open and heads poke out, their angry poundings on the walls gone futile. Despite the light spilling into the crevasse, it's dark enough to feel like it's really a giant amoeba. Lack of light brings invitation for the pitch creatures to feed. And I'm stepping right through it. The only thing worse than moving too slow is having it hurt as well.

"f . . . . ."

"r . . . . ."

his hands don't feel like his.

that's not his face.

it's quite possible it was a trick of the light.

it's likely i'm being attacked and raped by a stranger.

but

those are his shoes

Room 308.

Right when I see the door I know it's locked.

Sandra's screams prompt me to raise the gun and shoot my way in. The recoil almost breaks my arm into itself. Wood and metal splinter and are cast aside. The door is kicked in a mere second later, a continuation of the same movement.

And then there's no light in the hall anymore.

"he's using you."

and she was right. both of them were.

so i took their advice.

and even the absolute-zero-cold of the city is a comfort rather than a distraction. even the prospect of being alone and poor isn't a problem. even being single cannot ruin the microcosm . . . .

even . . .

wait . . . .

is that

A smooth outline.

The piercing, non-stop, unbearable screaming.

Sandra's hair is such a bright shade of brown that she glows from the city lights. That and her eyes are wide enough with fear that what looks like these giant saucers of milk quiver and shake about seven feet off the ground. A giant beam of an arm vibrates and blows bright red, the faint sound of static electricity powering up. An engine whirs. Something hisses. Connected to the opposite of the beam of light are two giant red eyes, glowing in the dark. The gun already raised, I aim carefully, then I squint my eyes and I squeeze the trigger.

Flash.

The echo makes it seem like more than one, and it the light of the muzzle flash the clear face of another pair of glowing red eyes comes rushing forward. Along with the flash is a pinch, more painful than a sharp hanger crushing an egg. The two beings, they look so familiar . . . .

Oh shit.

knuckles

"yes."

it's knuckles

did i do the right thing in telling him?

obviously not

Dark again.

It's hissing at me, a horrible gasping halfway between a breath and a whistle. Between the sounds of whirring machines and Sandra's screams, I hear a body drop to the floor and glass breaking. The other pair of eyes falls through the window and out of sight, grinding greasy gears the entire way.

One down.

How many left?

The new menace is gone, but wind starts to rush behind me, sucked into a seemingly focal point just in front of me. A clinking of metal . . . .

SHIT!

Splinters of wood rain down on me, the center and head of the bad completely shattered by the impact. I'm thrown back out of the apartment, sliding across the floor. in one swift motion the gun is brought up again and i fire

"Sonic?!"

i forgot.

this is his connection.

this is his dealer.

why is he staring at me?

he's mad.

he's still mad at me.

i don't get it.

if i don't mean shit to him, why is he . . . .

is that a mask?

and my first reaction was to hold the bat with both hands in front of me

it saved my life

"what are you . . . doing?"

a step forward.

the mask he slips on reveals no emotion. the only thing i see is his eyes, and from the looks of it, he's already had his hit.

and then he grabs me

In one swift motion the gun is brought up again and I fire.

Flash.

Another glimpse. His back. His back is turned to me, then he falls, struck.

Darkness.

Robotnik. This is his work. Not a creation, but a stolen life.

Robotosization.

Who'd he get this time?

Fuck you.

Again, the shot is dead on, the recoil now minimal, and I get up, gritting my teeth, the broken bat merely splinters in my clenched fist, I dive towards the screaming.

I end up rolling next to Sandra, still screaming and clutching her neck.

"SHHH! It's me!"

Realization hits. She shivers but calms down a little, lowering octaves. Her arms warp around my neck and I stand up.

He's already waiting for us, hissing violently, outline stretching outwards, moving forward. I raise the gun and start backing up but I hear the turbines again . . . .

i'm already on the gravel, too surprised to cry out and fight back. my purse goes flying down the ally being me. strong, gloved hands

gloves?!!!

gloved hands press on my shoulders and pin me. a forever smiling white face hovers above, leering a strong lack of emotion. the broken bottom of a beer bottle shatters under me

So I turn around to find Black hovering outside the window, brilliant red flame illuminating the apartment in a demonic shade of black. His arms fall to his sides, and he moves forward. I lower the gun.

Sandra and I run to the left, where I dredge up the desperate hope that the bathroom will provide safety . .

Red drops in front of me, clenching his metal fists in rage, hissing unbearably. Sandra, hiding behind me, gripping my shoulders, screams "Shoot it!" so I raise the

CRACK!!!

My right shoulder shatters like glass, a product of Red's oh-so-familiar fists attacking. The trigger still gets pulled but the shot goes wild, missing the target.

Flash.

Why the fuck is he so familiar?!!

Clutching my arm, I watch as he stands there, stoic and still hissing over the roar of the red glow of the jetpack outside, staring right through me at . . . .

Computing.

Calculating.

Striking.

He reels for another uppercut, bending down low to the ground and sucking in air for thrust. Straining, ignoring the stars, I force my arm around and fire when it comes close.

Flash.

Flash

a . . . . . . . . . . . metal dreds?

S on target

Bathroom.

Goal.

I practically heave me and Sandra inside the confines of the walls, rolling deep. The window where we were explodes and Black hovers inside, scorching the carpet to fire. Red starts to get up.

I slam the door right as it goes dark again.

and he just stares at me for a second

slowly i reach up and lift the mask off his face . . . . . . … . . . . ..

stares

breathing hard, and with a slow hand he starts to

I turn to Sandra, eyes glowing with fear, and she says, "I don't want to die. Don't let them hurt me," over and over.

The only exit is back where we came. There is no window. The only thing in the room besides the rusty toilet is the rusty tub. What the fuck was I thinking?

I kiss her.

Then,

"We're dead."

faster

it's Sonic

i've always

i've always thought

well

maybe if i pretend

if it Knuckles, it'll be

god

chance

i fake it.

i release. he does too. big deal.

and it feels worse than being stabbed in the back

he starts up again

the gloves come off

fast

faster

someone bursts into the room, bellowing rage

The doors busts open, Black's outline coming in first and getting thrown back by the first two shots, flash-flash-flash 2x, and Red comes in second before it goes dark again

Permanently.

Click.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Red's outline jumps into the air, ready to land on top of me, the hiss echoing within the confines, and I roll out of the way, coming up as he comes pounding on the floor, shaking the foundation. Black comes into the room and heads for Sandra, huddled in the tub against the wall. His right arm outstretches and reaches . . . . .

I use both hands. The gun comes down like a club on his arm, jarring my wrists and shooting pain up my neck. My shoulder begins to work even less, so I just toss the gun and unsheathe the knife with my left, wrapping what's left of my right around his. Just as Black turns to look at me, I grip and bring it down as hard as I can . . .

Red takes my legs out from under me. I land on the side of my head, taking the knife with me. The faint sound of an internal warning light reaches my ears, and before I can get up Red is on top of me, pinning me to the floor so low that my chest

i ask him what he's doing

he doesn't answer

and he thrusts inside me, grunting and pushing further and further

I inhale the thick odor of oil and grease, and I grunt and try to lift him off of me. No use. His sharp fists

GLOVES?!!!

pin into the floor, keeping him rigid. Metallic strips from his head brush my face, they're sharp and they cut like razor blades, and he stares me down at me. I breathe in and I smell something that's faintly organic . .

And the knife in my good arm thrusts into his belly, bending and twisting against metal. Red makes no move to attack as I stab, stab, stab into him, pulling out and going inside, further and further, faster and faster. I move for all vital organs and I get no reaction.

I have a view over his shoulder to Sandra in the tub, now gripped by the neck in Black's busted arm. She screams loud and kicks her legs against the walls, knees hitting before feet, her other arm trying to hit him in the face, but all of this doesn't last long. As my stabs become more and more frantic and I grunt more and more desperately, her scream fades as the arms powers up again and then . .

Blood goes everywhere. It splashes across my face and flows onto the floor where I'm pinned. I spit and choke. I can't breathe. Black stays pinned in the same position and my stabs slacken. Sandra's kicks cease, but her blood doesn't. Her eyes lose their light, and all that is inside her pours out of Black's busted arm, onto Red's back and down my face. The squirting of blood stays constant for about thirty seconds until the flow slackens, spurting and emptying. Black shakes his arm, shuddering Sandra's slumped form. Her body drops to the tub with a loud thump. Black leaves the room, while it takes Red at least ten seconds longer to stop staring at me and get up and leave.

I stay on the floor, bathed in Sandra's blood, and just before I pass out, I think about how beautiful the stars would look on a night like this, but it's obscured by the roof and the amount of red still in the room.

i just wanted you to know . . . . . i'm sorry."

To be continued. Reviews are appreciated. Oh, and visit our site: http://tdaproject.tripod.com.