Back by popular demand, ok, semi-popular, ok ok I just felt like putting up
another chapter so sue me! ^_^ So yah, here's the next chapter!
Disclaimer: I don't own Cowboy Bebop, but I do own my original character Obsession!
Obsession wasn't always like this. It may be hard to believe, but he was once what most would call a normal, model citizen. His name was Brad, Brad Jacobson, he adopted the title of "Obsession" later on. He used to work for the gate corporation as a trouble-shooter. Many called him some form of genius. His life was above average on its way to near perfection. He had a steady job that paid great, a house, and a beautiful fiancé by the name of, you guessed it, Jackalyne. If Brad had ever had any faults, they were these, he was far too clingy and dependent and he didn't handle rejection well. A very bad combination that would ultimately lead to his downfall.
It all started one day when he came home. He was so excited, he had been promoted to the head of his department which meant more money and that Jackalyne and he would be able to get married finally. He was floating on Cloud 9 as he unlocked his front door. However, who was there to meet him at the front door about to leave but Jackalyne. He asked her where she was going and when she would be back. She gave him the whole truth, bad idea. She was leaving him. She was tired of the phone calls at all hours to see if she was home, tired of being choked by affection, tired of this life, but most of all tired of Brad.
He had a perfectly calm expression on his face as Jackalyne turned and picked up her luggage. No anger on his face as she walked towards him and the door. Closer . . . . . . closer . . . . . .closer . . . . . .then all of a sudden, something in his head snapped. He grabbed the luggage out of Jackalyne's hands, throwing it at the wall. The suitcases broke open upon impact, clothes scattering all over the place. Jackalyne took off at a dead run towards the back door, running for her life. Brad was chasing after her with a mad look in his eyes. He tackled Jackalyne, turning her over face-up. He pinned her arms by her sides by putting his knees on her hands.
His hands wrapped around her throat and he began choking her, moving her head up and down as he did it. He kept chanting "You're Not Going To Leave ME!" over and over again, his hands still tight around her neck. Jackalyne was clawing at his hands, but no matter what she did, she couldn't stop him. With one final gasp and a snapping noise as her esophagus broke, she died. Brad just kept choking her, even after she was dead. Finally he seemed to get some sort of grip on himself and got off Jackalyne.
He went over to the phone and dialed 9-1-1. When the police officer answered the phone, Brad put on a shocked and grieving voice. "It's my fiancé . . . . She's . . . ." Brad started. He then looked from his hands over to Jackalyne. He had strangled her without thinking in any way to conceal that he did it. His fingerprints were all over her throat. What was he going to do? Then, a thought came to him. "It's my fiancé," he said. "She's dead! I-I just came home from work and there she was on the ground, h-her head chopped off."
"Ok sir, please calm down," the officer on the other line said. "We're on our way, we'll be there in a few minutes."
"Thank you" Brad said in a fake sad voice. He ran outside to his back yard as soon as he'd hung up the phone. He quickly found what he was looking for; leaning up against an old shed was a double-bladed axe. It was an antique that he'd picked up at some point for a reason that he couldn't remember. Still, now it had its use. He ran back inside and over to Jackalyne's body. Not thinking and not even bothering to line it up in any way, Brad lifted the axe over his head and swung. It was a very weak swing and the axe didn't even damage the spine. The only thing that it did was release a blood flow. It seeped from her neck, splattered on Brad's pants, and dripped from the axe. Brad stood there with his axe, totally unnerved by the gruesome sight. He brought the axe back over his head and swung even harder this time. This made a gash in the spine that went halfway through. Brad was starting to get paranoid; he could hear the cop cars coming from down the street. He swung the axe one more time at his ex-fiancé's neck and her head came clear off.
Brad looked down at Jackalyne's corpse. She had always been so full of life; it was almost funny to see her lying there dead. He began to chuckle to himself and went over and picked up Jackalyne's head. His chuckle turned into a mad laugh.
"It's not that funny you know," a voice said suddenly. Brad stopped his laugh and looked around the room, wide-eyed. It wasn't possible, that voice sounded exactly like Jackalyne! He looked down at the head that he held in his hands, could it be? He lifted the head up to meet his gaze.
"Jackalyne?" he asked almost cautiously, a 'lost little puppy' look in his eyes. For the longest time, silence, then . . . .
"Who else would it be stupid?" Jackalyne's voice filled Brad's head. Jackalyne's head was titled the smallest bit to the side on her stub of a neck, her lips parted as if she was about to talk, her un-seeing eyes staring straight into Brad's. It was almost as if she was taunting him in some way!
"Jackalyne . . . how?" Brad asked the head, as if expecting it to pop back to life any second.
"We don't exactly have time for your idiotic questions right now honey," Jackalyne's voice said, this time her words coming out of Brad's mouth. "The police will be here any second and you being the smart on, have just killed me. And worse, for no good reason . . ."
"You were going to leave me!" Brad shouted at Jackalyne's head, shaking it slightly as if that would do any good.
"You didn't let me finish," Jackalyne's voice said in a 'oh-you're-so- silly' voice. "I mean in their eyes! I know that I was wrong! How could I leave you?"
"Oh Jackalyne," Brad said hugging the head. "You always could make me smile."
"I know honey." Jackalyne's voice said. "But come on, you have to grab the axe and run, the police will be here soon!"
"But what about your body?" Brad said, motioning to the headless corpse on the ground.
"Leave it!" Jackalyne yelled. "We have no time!" Brad's face was screwed up with Jackalyne's anger and then it went to a face begging for mercy.
"Alright honey, I'm going." With that he picked up the axe and ran out the back door just as the police pulled up in front of the house.
Obsession woke with a start, sitting up straight in bed. Sweat was dripping from his forehead down past his eyes where they were mixed in with tears. Those same images haunted him night after night. Always the first kill, always remembering his loss. He was am monster and he was frequently reminded of it. All of his past obsessions, voices, swimming around inside his head, each one calling out, each one trying to be heard above the rest. They were his madness, his demons, they were him.
Obsession layed back on his elbows, running a hand through his hair and breathing deep. "Why must you haunt me like this?" Obsession asked the darkness that surrounded him. The darkness didn't answer Obsession back, and he hated it for that. And yet he loved it, in the darkness he could hide. Hide himself, hide his sins, hide the corpses. He was mad and he knew it . . . but he didn't care.
He slowly got up and out of bed and walked over to a small table that he had in the room. On it sat an over-stuffed picture frame with two candles on either side of it. The picture frame had originally sat on Brad's mantelpiece with a picture of Jackalyne as its only occupant. A few years ago, Obsession had gone back to his house to get it, on Jackalyne's request. Now, Jackalyne's picture was pushed all the way back in a stack of more then twenty pictures.
Obsession put in the picture of his latest desire in the picture frame whenever he found a new one, shoving the picture in front of the old. Before, there had been a picture of Carol sitting at an outside diner talking on her cell phone. Now however, that was replaced by a picture of Spike. Although, it was a picture of the back of his head. His face was turned a bit so you could see a sliver of his face, as if he were looking over his shoulder.
Obsession picked up the picture and stroked the glass where Spike's hair was. "Hello my angel," he whispered. He went back over to his bed and laid back down, putting the picture on the pillow next to him. He propped it up so that he was looking at it directly; it gave the illusion that Spike was lying right next to him. He scooted up so close that his breath caused the glass to fog over, hugging an invisible body that lay next to him. "Spike," he whispered. "My real man, my angel . . ." Obsession fell asleep staring at the picture, hugging air.
Meanwhile back on the Bebop, Spike was lying awake on the familiar yellow couch. It was late but still he couldn't close his eyes. He'd tried to sleep, he really had, but the whole fucking place still smelled like rotten head. Even though as soon as he'd gotten a hold on himself he's chucked that "Valentine" right out into space, it was no good. The smell still lingered and he had a sickening feeling in his stomach. He was being stalked, was he even being watched right now? He could almost feel eyes boring into the back of his head as he stared up at the ceiling fan.
"No Spike," he thought. "That's not how this guy works. He doesn't do hidden cameras. He just does spur of the moment snapshots and then . . ." It was what happened when he tired of Spike that he most feared. For Obsession never, NEVER, left his prey alive.
~*~*~Well, that's it for that chapter! Well, whatcha think? Do I need help? As in psychological? Whatever, hope that you enjoyed, next one coming soon! ~*~*~
Disclaimer: I don't own Cowboy Bebop, but I do own my original character Obsession!
Obsession wasn't always like this. It may be hard to believe, but he was once what most would call a normal, model citizen. His name was Brad, Brad Jacobson, he adopted the title of "Obsession" later on. He used to work for the gate corporation as a trouble-shooter. Many called him some form of genius. His life was above average on its way to near perfection. He had a steady job that paid great, a house, and a beautiful fiancé by the name of, you guessed it, Jackalyne. If Brad had ever had any faults, they were these, he was far too clingy and dependent and he didn't handle rejection well. A very bad combination that would ultimately lead to his downfall.
It all started one day when he came home. He was so excited, he had been promoted to the head of his department which meant more money and that Jackalyne and he would be able to get married finally. He was floating on Cloud 9 as he unlocked his front door. However, who was there to meet him at the front door about to leave but Jackalyne. He asked her where she was going and when she would be back. She gave him the whole truth, bad idea. She was leaving him. She was tired of the phone calls at all hours to see if she was home, tired of being choked by affection, tired of this life, but most of all tired of Brad.
He had a perfectly calm expression on his face as Jackalyne turned and picked up her luggage. No anger on his face as she walked towards him and the door. Closer . . . . . . closer . . . . . .closer . . . . . .then all of a sudden, something in his head snapped. He grabbed the luggage out of Jackalyne's hands, throwing it at the wall. The suitcases broke open upon impact, clothes scattering all over the place. Jackalyne took off at a dead run towards the back door, running for her life. Brad was chasing after her with a mad look in his eyes. He tackled Jackalyne, turning her over face-up. He pinned her arms by her sides by putting his knees on her hands.
His hands wrapped around her throat and he began choking her, moving her head up and down as he did it. He kept chanting "You're Not Going To Leave ME!" over and over again, his hands still tight around her neck. Jackalyne was clawing at his hands, but no matter what she did, she couldn't stop him. With one final gasp and a snapping noise as her esophagus broke, she died. Brad just kept choking her, even after she was dead. Finally he seemed to get some sort of grip on himself and got off Jackalyne.
He went over to the phone and dialed 9-1-1. When the police officer answered the phone, Brad put on a shocked and grieving voice. "It's my fiancé . . . . She's . . . ." Brad started. He then looked from his hands over to Jackalyne. He had strangled her without thinking in any way to conceal that he did it. His fingerprints were all over her throat. What was he going to do? Then, a thought came to him. "It's my fiancé," he said. "She's dead! I-I just came home from work and there she was on the ground, h-her head chopped off."
"Ok sir, please calm down," the officer on the other line said. "We're on our way, we'll be there in a few minutes."
"Thank you" Brad said in a fake sad voice. He ran outside to his back yard as soon as he'd hung up the phone. He quickly found what he was looking for; leaning up against an old shed was a double-bladed axe. It was an antique that he'd picked up at some point for a reason that he couldn't remember. Still, now it had its use. He ran back inside and over to Jackalyne's body. Not thinking and not even bothering to line it up in any way, Brad lifted the axe over his head and swung. It was a very weak swing and the axe didn't even damage the spine. The only thing that it did was release a blood flow. It seeped from her neck, splattered on Brad's pants, and dripped from the axe. Brad stood there with his axe, totally unnerved by the gruesome sight. He brought the axe back over his head and swung even harder this time. This made a gash in the spine that went halfway through. Brad was starting to get paranoid; he could hear the cop cars coming from down the street. He swung the axe one more time at his ex-fiancé's neck and her head came clear off.
Brad looked down at Jackalyne's corpse. She had always been so full of life; it was almost funny to see her lying there dead. He began to chuckle to himself and went over and picked up Jackalyne's head. His chuckle turned into a mad laugh.
"It's not that funny you know," a voice said suddenly. Brad stopped his laugh and looked around the room, wide-eyed. It wasn't possible, that voice sounded exactly like Jackalyne! He looked down at the head that he held in his hands, could it be? He lifted the head up to meet his gaze.
"Jackalyne?" he asked almost cautiously, a 'lost little puppy' look in his eyes. For the longest time, silence, then . . . .
"Who else would it be stupid?" Jackalyne's voice filled Brad's head. Jackalyne's head was titled the smallest bit to the side on her stub of a neck, her lips parted as if she was about to talk, her un-seeing eyes staring straight into Brad's. It was almost as if she was taunting him in some way!
"Jackalyne . . . how?" Brad asked the head, as if expecting it to pop back to life any second.
"We don't exactly have time for your idiotic questions right now honey," Jackalyne's voice said, this time her words coming out of Brad's mouth. "The police will be here any second and you being the smart on, have just killed me. And worse, for no good reason . . ."
"You were going to leave me!" Brad shouted at Jackalyne's head, shaking it slightly as if that would do any good.
"You didn't let me finish," Jackalyne's voice said in a 'oh-you're-so- silly' voice. "I mean in their eyes! I know that I was wrong! How could I leave you?"
"Oh Jackalyne," Brad said hugging the head. "You always could make me smile."
"I know honey." Jackalyne's voice said. "But come on, you have to grab the axe and run, the police will be here soon!"
"But what about your body?" Brad said, motioning to the headless corpse on the ground.
"Leave it!" Jackalyne yelled. "We have no time!" Brad's face was screwed up with Jackalyne's anger and then it went to a face begging for mercy.
"Alright honey, I'm going." With that he picked up the axe and ran out the back door just as the police pulled up in front of the house.
Obsession woke with a start, sitting up straight in bed. Sweat was dripping from his forehead down past his eyes where they were mixed in with tears. Those same images haunted him night after night. Always the first kill, always remembering his loss. He was am monster and he was frequently reminded of it. All of his past obsessions, voices, swimming around inside his head, each one calling out, each one trying to be heard above the rest. They were his madness, his demons, they were him.
Obsession layed back on his elbows, running a hand through his hair and breathing deep. "Why must you haunt me like this?" Obsession asked the darkness that surrounded him. The darkness didn't answer Obsession back, and he hated it for that. And yet he loved it, in the darkness he could hide. Hide himself, hide his sins, hide the corpses. He was mad and he knew it . . . but he didn't care.
He slowly got up and out of bed and walked over to a small table that he had in the room. On it sat an over-stuffed picture frame with two candles on either side of it. The picture frame had originally sat on Brad's mantelpiece with a picture of Jackalyne as its only occupant. A few years ago, Obsession had gone back to his house to get it, on Jackalyne's request. Now, Jackalyne's picture was pushed all the way back in a stack of more then twenty pictures.
Obsession put in the picture of his latest desire in the picture frame whenever he found a new one, shoving the picture in front of the old. Before, there had been a picture of Carol sitting at an outside diner talking on her cell phone. Now however, that was replaced by a picture of Spike. Although, it was a picture of the back of his head. His face was turned a bit so you could see a sliver of his face, as if he were looking over his shoulder.
Obsession picked up the picture and stroked the glass where Spike's hair was. "Hello my angel," he whispered. He went back over to his bed and laid back down, putting the picture on the pillow next to him. He propped it up so that he was looking at it directly; it gave the illusion that Spike was lying right next to him. He scooted up so close that his breath caused the glass to fog over, hugging an invisible body that lay next to him. "Spike," he whispered. "My real man, my angel . . ." Obsession fell asleep staring at the picture, hugging air.
Meanwhile back on the Bebop, Spike was lying awake on the familiar yellow couch. It was late but still he couldn't close his eyes. He'd tried to sleep, he really had, but the whole fucking place still smelled like rotten head. Even though as soon as he'd gotten a hold on himself he's chucked that "Valentine" right out into space, it was no good. The smell still lingered and he had a sickening feeling in his stomach. He was being stalked, was he even being watched right now? He could almost feel eyes boring into the back of his head as he stared up at the ceiling fan.
"No Spike," he thought. "That's not how this guy works. He doesn't do hidden cameras. He just does spur of the moment snapshots and then . . ." It was what happened when he tired of Spike that he most feared. For Obsession never, NEVER, left his prey alive.
~*~*~Well, that's it for that chapter! Well, whatcha think? Do I need help? As in psychological? Whatever, hope that you enjoyed, next one coming soon! ~*~*~