I know, I know. It's been a while. But I had to finish the story, and then my computer died and I lost my files. Again, this is my last story. Please don't shoot me after this chapter. Please.
Chapter Six: When Darkness Falls
Kline's POV
It had been three days since my removal from London and my new home in St. Ives seemed way better. I mean, how many captives get their own TV with cable? I know Marie said it was because Amelia and Fredrick would be spending a lot of time in there with me, but I think that way deep down in that rotten heart of hers was a sprig of good will. Either that or an immense love of cable.
She wasn't lying, though, when she said that Amelia and Fredrick would be spending a lot of time with me. They were in their all the time. As in, all the time. As in, twenty-four/seven. As in, disease-like all the time. I think I got my point across. They didn't go away. Yeah, you're not stupid. You understand.
That wasn't exactly a bad thing, though. Amelia was kinda fun to be around. She would bring games from what I now deemed "the outside world" and we would play. She brought a deck of cards, explaining that she had stolen it from that weird gunwoman, Ace, when she had stopped by. She brought pick-up sticks, explaining that she had stolen them from her little sister. She brought a new game of Clue, explaining that she had stolen it from a house nearby.
As you can guess, Amelia is a thief.
Frederick was less fun. He didn't talk much, but when he did he didn't stop until all possible facts were rattled off. I mean, I once made a joke about the fattest woman on Earth and he rattled off her name, weight, height, age, and which page she could be found on in the Guiness Book of World Records. How's that for encyclopedic knowledge? He was better with info on people, though, I quickly found out. I could ask him about one of the criminals in the vicinity, and he would rattle off obscure facts, like that they liked their porridge lumpy and that they wore toe socks when alone.
Frederick is a blackmailer, duh.
So, within three days I had learned every bit of info on every single criminal in London and the surrounding areas. I even knew about some American criminals that Marie worked with. The person I was most interested in learning about, though, was this guy named Jeffery. Now, this guy was way interesting. A complete moron, but his connections were way interesting. Frederick told me that he was Sherlock's step brother.
Now, isn't that cool? I mean, greatest detective on Earth has a criminal for a brother! How is that for irony. Frederick told me he was in jail now, but I didn't really care. Learning about him was awesome. I'm pretty sure Holmes doesn't know as much about the weirdo as I do. And trust me, anything I can hold over Holmes is a miracle.
Yes, I spent a lot of time thinking deep thoughts. Can you blame me? I couldn't play Clue all the time. I couldn't talk to Frederick all the time. And I know this is a scary thought, but I can't watch TV all the time. You get into reruns after a while. I spent most of my days thinking about my friends, primarily Jenny and Christine. Major duh. Those are my closest friends. As if you couldn't figure that out.
I spent a lot of time going over my first case with Christine. I had solved plenty of little crimes before. I solved theft crimes mostly, and some blackmailing crimes. I wasn't really into arson, or murder. Until some cheerleader chick had gotten herself killed. Christine had tracked me down the day after her death and practically forced me to help her out with it.
Can you imagine? Christine was, like, thirteen when that happened. She was 5'3. I was 5'8. Still, with her hair sticking out in every direction, her reading glasses down on the tip of her nose, her lips pursed into a thin smile, she was a pretty frightening sight. You would have agreed to help her too, if you had been in my spot.
We solved the case, of course. That's right, we rock! Oh yeah, go us! Police were pretty upset. Threatened to arrest us. We agreed to stick to small things after that. (AN- I know this goes against what K first told H when they met, but do you really think they would have told him the absolute truth right off the bat?)
As for me meeting Jenny, that was fun. I slammed into her as we were trying to go through the same door at the same time. My books went flying, she went flying... I was more concerned about my books. She was pretty ticked. I ended up buying lunch for her just to make it up. We had an interesting discussion about flutes. As it turned out, she was a musician as well, so we talked about band all the time. It was even better when we discovered we had mutual friends. We hit it off almost instantly. Literally hit it off. Get it? Hit... I ran into her... hit off? Ah, never mind.
It was Monday afternoon that I sat contemplating all this, the TV off and Amelia and Frederick playing Clue next to my bed. Frederick was losing, but threatened to tell Marie something about her, so Amelia gave up. I cheered Frederick on for his resourcefulness. Amelia scowled at me, and then asked me to play a game of pick-up sticks with her.
And that is how weird gunwoman found us when she stormed into my cell. Her black hair was limper than last time, and she was now wearing a long, gray trench coat (I told you, criminals like the dramatics!), but otherwise she hadn't changed much. Oh, yeah, and she was seething with rage.
"Where's Marie?" she snapped at Amelia. Amelia scowled at her.
"Careful where you walk. We're playing pick-up sticks down here."
Weird gunwoman (Ace?) sneered at Amelia and kicked our sticks aside. I sat up and glared at her.
"Hey! I was winning!" I exclaimed, indignant. I think Ace might have rolled her eyes, but I couldn't tell through the sunglasses.
"Where's Marie?" she repeated. Amelia shrugged and began picking up the sticks and putting them away. Frederick stood up.
"I'll go get her."
Ace nodded her thanks and sat down on a bed, picking up the remote control and flipping the TV on. She sneered at the cartoons that appeared on the screen and flipped through the channels, apparently looking for something she liked. I'm sorry, but what is wrong with cartoons? I don't have anything against them, do you? I think they're kinda funny. So sue me.
"So... how are you?" I asked, leaning against the wall and looking at Ace. Ace looked startled, and her hand flew to her sunglasses. I raised an eyebrow. Weirdo.
"I'm fine. You?" she asked after a moments hesitation.
"Oh, hey, I was great until you pulled that stupid stunt of telling people where I was. I got slapped and punched for that. Otherwise, yeah, great. Nice cell, great food, good company. Or rather, there was until a moment ago," I stated. Ace's lips pulled back into a sneer of disgust, and she ignored me. Well, that was better than being slapped. And Marie said this chick liked me?
Marie breezed in, closely followed by Frederick, who shut the door. I swore mentally. One of these days, they would forget, and I would make a break for it. Where I would go, I didn't know. The town was probably crawling with Marie's lackies. Still, it would be a good try, right?
"Yes?" Marie drawled coolly. Ace stood up, dwarfing Marie by a couple of inches. Her face contorted with rage and she pulled a newspaper from her trench coat.
"This! It says that someone was murdered by a razor sharp ace of spades card!" Ace shrieked, absolutely furious. Marie regarded her coolly.
"So?"
"That's my calling card. I'm going to be blamed for this," Ace said, now calm and deadly. I watched with interest. Come on, this could be pretty cool! As if you wouldn't watch. I wished I had some popcorn.
"Is that a problem? You already have other deaths on your plate, my dear Ace."
"Yes, but I killed them. I didn't get the pleasure of killing Felicia Gardens," spat Ace. Marie shrugged.
"It can't be helped. And don't you think I'm paying you enough for your new assignment? Don't you get the pleasure of tracking and murdering an accomplished detective?" Marie purred. I stiffened up a bit. They were talking about Christine. I prayed that Ace hadn't caught her yet.
Ace smiled thinly. "Ah yes... her... well, she put up a good chase. I caught her two days ago, though. Not as good of a fight, I'm afraid. She squealed like a little child, and then wouldn't give me the pleasure of screaming. Not once. I have photographs."
Marie reached out eagerly. "Let me see!"
Ace pulled out a packet of photos and held them out. As soon as Marie was about to grab them, she drew back. "Not until you apologize."
"I'm sorry," Marie said, sounding sincere. I knew that she was only saying it to get the photos.
"You're only saying that to get the photos," Ace snapped, thinking along the same lines as me. Were I not frozen in terror, I would have said something witty.
"Exactly what I was thinking," I said. Ok, not so frozen in terror and not so witty. Eh. Can't be perfect. Ace shot me a disgusted look and tossed the packet to Marie, who grabbed them eagerly. She flipped through them rapidly, a small smile on her face. She returned them, still smiling.
"So she's dead, then?"
"Oh yes. Quite."
My mouth dropped open in horror and shock. Christine was dead? Cautious Christine? Clever Christine? Cunning Christine? Kinky Christine- wait, that one didn't work. She definitely was not kinky. Gross. I slapped my mind for thinking such things, and then went back to mourning.
I found myself standing up quite calmly and asking to see the photos. Ace looked at me, surprised, but handed them over.
The first photo was just of Christine reading in what appeared to be a hotel. She was wearing a black sweater and black jeans. It looked as though the picture were taken through a window. I deduced that this must have been right before the attack.
The next photo was of Christine tied and gagged. The background was rather plain- gray, cement walls. It looked a little like my old cell. She didn't look scared. Her dark blue eyes were furious, and I imagined that if she got loose, she would attack her captor and rip her to shreds.
The third picture was a bit scarier, at least to me. Christine looked defeated. A long cut ran along her cheek and was bleeding heavily for the picture. Her hands were covered in blood also. Her lips were cracked and bleeding. Her black sweater was covered in dirt and blood.
The fourth picture made me fight back tears. There wasn't much in the picture. Just Christine leaning against a wall, and a gun being pressed to her head.
I had to gather up enough nerve to look at the last picture. Taking a deep breath, I studied it. Christine was laying sideways. Blood was... everywhere. Everywhere. The cement wall was no longer gray. It was red. My stomach quavered. Christine's black clothes were drenched in the red substance. Her hair was gross, and lay over her face. What was worse, there were chunks in her hair. Gray matter.
I shoved the pictures back at Ace and ran over to an unoccupied corner of the room and threw up quiet violently. I heaved everything that was in my stomach, and maybe a little more. A few stray tears trickled down my cheeks, and I licked them. I heard people laughing from behind me while I studied my vomit. A red haze began to seep over my eyes, and I stood and turned around.
Ace was cackling, a weird, witch-like laugh. Her hand wasn't on her gun. I watched her for a second longer before launching myself at her. She didn't have a chance. I tackled her before she even realized what was happening. I punched her a few times in the stomach, once in the face. I reached for her gun. I was going to kill her. I was angry. I was tough. I was distraught. I was-
Pinned down with a gun pointed at me. Ace was sitting on top of me, a silver pistol positioned in the middle of my forehead. Her other hand held my arms at my sides. Her sunglasses glinted in the eerie florescent light.
"Go ahead!" I shrieked, trying to pull myself loose. "Shoot me! Watch my brains splatter everywhere!"
Ace cackled again and then leaned closer to me. She kept the gun steady, I noted with small traces of dismay.
"She didn't scream once... not even when her brains flew everywhere."
I let out a rather feral yell and flipped Ace over on her back. Her gun went clattering out of reach while I punched her, straddling her on her stomach. I reached for her sunglasses, ready to rip them off and see what deformity lay beneath them. Perhaps she had burn scars like Marie.
Ace, however, had other plans. She pulled her knee towards her body, which slammed into my back. I lost balance and collapsed on top of her, momentarily letting go of her arms while I caught myself. Bad thing. I found myself pinned against the wall, her big gun, the one she wore on her waist, shoved into my stomach.
"Are you done?" Ace snarled. I tried to kick her, but she leapt nimbly out of the way. I made a wild grab for her sunglasses again. I wanted to see her deformity and mock her. Ace moved her head just in time.
"Leave my sunglasses alone," she snapped. I tried one more time, but then gave up. I was defeated. Ace let me go and I fell to the ground like a sack of fat elephants. Ace started to walk away, but I grabbed her ankle.
"I bet you're hideous beneath those sunglasses. I bet you're an ugly cretin."
Ace turned her head quickly and kicked me in the gut. I fell sideways, and she kicked me in the ribs. With a grunt, I curled in on myself. Again, she kicked me. This time in the head. I fell into unconsciousness gladly.
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I woke hours later. I had been placed on my bed, on top of the covers. Someone was sitting next to me, dragging a cool cloth across my head. I opened my eyes slowly, and Amelia came into focus, a look of concern on her face.
"Are you all right?" she asked softly. I watched her a moment more before shoving her hand away and sitting up. I pulled my knees up to my chin and looked at my shoes.
"What do you care?" I asked harshly. Amelia sighed from next to me and brushed a few strands out of my face.
"You're old enough to be my child," she said softly. I glanced at her sharply. Jeez, how old was this girl, forty?
"How old are you?" I questioned. Amelia smiled.
"I'm thirty," she replied. "I know I don't look it. But I am."
"But," I stammered, "but that would make you fourteen when you had a child!"
Amelia nodded. "How do you think I turned to crime? I needed to support my Brian."
"What happened to him?"
"He was killed when he was eight by Marie's group of hoodlums."
I stared at her in shock. "Then why are you working for her?"
"I was working for her only opposition at the time. It was her threat. Join my side or everyone you care about dies."
I put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder before remembering that I was talking to a criminal. I drew away instantly. I didn't care about this woman. She was on the side that had killed... her. Killed her. Killed Christine.
I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't show sorrow in front of them. I hated them. I wanted them all to die. I didn't cry, anyway. I was too strong to cry. I never let anyone see my emotions. I was famous for it.
"God... I want to die," I choked out, tears welling up in my eyes. Christine was gone. I wasn't going to see her again. Never laughing, never frowning... I would never fight with her again, or go through one of our moods. I would never giggle about a cute guy only to see her roll her eyes. I would never stare off into space bored as she explained why love was ridiculous at our age. I would never see her dissolve into a helpless grin as we rode around on my four-wheeler back home. I would never hear her shriek when we nearly run into a tree. I would never... never... just never.
Amelia must have sensed my distress, because she stood up quickly and gestured for Frederick to open the door.
"We'll leave you alone for a while. We're locking you in, so don't try anything foolish."
I nodded mutely at her, still seeing a silent film show in my head. Amelia and Frederick practically ran out the door, leaving me to do whatever I wanted.
I looked at the games Amelia had left in the room. Cards, pick-up sticks, and Clue. While tears streamed down my face, I ripped up every single card in the deck, paying more maliciousness to the aces. I snapped the pick-up sticks in two as I sobbed. It was in deadly calm that I mutilated the Clue pieces and board.
Finally, a half hour after my tirade began, I sat back down on my bed. I was going to get Ace. No matter what it took. I was going to kill her or Marie. Either one. I would get my revenge.
I started laughing all of a sudden at a memory. Christine and I had been watching an action/adventure movie, and I had been all with it and everything. She looked bored, and I had asked why. She explained to me that "the good guys never die".
"Guess what Christine? You were wrong. The good guys do die! They die all the time!" I said shakily. I started to get angry. "They die every day! Every day! You were wrong! You lied to me! You told me the good guys don't die! I hate you! Liar!" I screamed.
Christine was wrong. The good guys died all the time. But nobody wants to acknowledge it.
Don't hurt me!!! Someone had to die... you can review and tell me how upset you are, or you can review and say how relieved you are that Christine is dead. If you do the latter, I'm coming after you. I was really fond of Christine... eh. Well, we all have to move on. She's dead, boo hoo, sob, ok! Moving on.