A/N: ...
Thanks to the reviewers:
RavenForever: no time for long reply.
TNPD: Oh, nobody has a happy life.
Sarah: I know...I know...I hope she's okay too...
DAGL: Good.
mischeif-maker: I know you like my story, but how'd you get it to post three times? An interesting poem...
iluvdanbyrd: You know...if you'd only told me that Dan Byrd was the kid that played the young version of Collier on the show Any Day Now, I could have told you from the beginning "I DO KNOW WHO THAT IS, and yes, I concur, he is quite lovable." I do try to update fast.
bob: (FIRST TIME REVIEWER!!!!!! YAY) take a deep breath, calm down, yes, you are hyper.
MUSIC RECS: Bodies by Drowning Pool, For Whom the Bell Tolls by Metallica, Everything About You by Three Days Grace, or anything of that ilk...
Let the bodies hit the floor and...ENJOY!
Chapter 31: Striking A Match
Spinelli struggled beneath the grasp Mundy had around her neck, fighting, squirming, wanting to scream out, but unable to. She felt her muscles bruising, her blood cells breaking beneath his rough fingers, as he crushed the breath from out her lungs. The world was darkening, and she couldn't think clearly. This is TJ's fault, she told herself, somehow, someway; this had to be his fault. No, she commanded herself, don't think like that. Suddenly, the grasp loosened and Mundy perked up.
"Damn," he muttered, and Spinelli managed to refocus well enough to see that Mundy was distracted by something, looking to the distance, "Seems those little bastard classmates of ours are a little more resourceful than I originally thought." He pulled Spinelli up, dragging her with him and dropping her behind a stack of boxes, as helpless as she was to begin with, but at least she was sitting.
"What are...what are you going to do?" she whispered, as he picked up a large dark object leaning heavily against a wall of packaging. He raised it up into the light so that she could see the finer details of the shotgun. Her breath caught beneath a lump in her throat. He was serious about all of this.
"Don't worry, babe," he clucked her direction, "Looks like you have the privilege of living a bit longer than planned, but I will be getting back to you when hunting season is over. Now, be a good girl and keep your mouth shut." He ripped a piece of tape off the discarded roll and plastered it over her lips, patting her cheek before disappearing into the labyrinth of boxes. Of course, she had no intention of being there when he returned, as she worked on untangling her sweater.
-0-0-0-0-
Randall lifted himself from the ground, dusting off his knees and replacing his interesting tool of choice back in his sleeve. The others stared into the void that was the gym, and the foreboding darkness of it seemed to spill out onto the moonlit playground, over the wide-eyed group standing in the doorway.
"Ahem," Vince cleared his throat, stepping forward, "Spinelli?" he called into the darkness. Randall unhooked his gun, pulling it out and holding it in front of him, glancing into the darkness of the gym cautiously. Vince glowered at him, frowning, "Will you put that thing away?"
"What?" Randall smirked, "I'm not going to shoot you. I think there are bigger things to worry about then me holding a gun."
"Why's it such a mess in here?" Frances asked, peering inside the gym.
"That's all the equipment," Menlo explained in a slovenly slur of words, "They're reopening this gym...nope, wait, this school," he burst into giggles, and Butch dropped him to the ground by the wall.
"He's no help right now," Butch told the others, "It's better that he stays here."
"Okay, we go in groups," Gus took charge, "And search the gym. If anyone sees something...or if anything happens...just call, and we all run to the person who..."
"Can some of us, like, stay behind?" Ashley A. asked, frowning at the dark of the gym, "Like Ashley T. can't travel much further."
"Leave her with Menlo," Gretchen said, "But Spinelli is not answering and she may be in a difficult predicament that our long discussion is not helping." Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the gym, "Let's go."
"I'm with Randall!" Ashley B. spoke up, and then frowning, "Never thought I'd ever say those words."
"Mikey, stay here, you too Gus," Vince commanded, then seeing the frown crossing Gus's face, "You have a wife and child to get home to, Gus, I want you as out of danger as I can keep you. Besides, I need you guys to tell TJ what's up when he gets here." He looked back to the others, "Ashley A., Gretchen, Butch you guys come with me, the rest of you with...I guess...Randall. Stay close to each other." They entered the gym, splitting into the maze of box towers.
-0-0-
Shadows danced along the walls, and the silence was biting. Randall held the gun in front of him, his finger lax against the trigger. He closed his eyes, strained to listen. He was the best at his craft, he could hear a pin drop a floor down in an empty executive building, but in that large gym the echoes were playing tricks on his ears. He could hear the footfalls of Vince's group, as well as that of those following him. They were trying to move with stealth, but to his trained ears, they sounded clumsy, and too loud.
"Do you, like, know how to shoot that thing?" Ashley Q. asked in a harsh whisper that startled Randall.
"Yes," he breathed his reply.
"It has bullets, right? It's loaded, right?" Ashley B. piped up.
"Are you any good with it?" Ashley Q. demanded.
"Let's just say I can hit the broadside of a barn," Randall replied.
"Is that good or bad?"
"You're just joking, right?"
"How big is a barn, anyways?"
"Wasn't it nice of Vince, pairing us with two Ashleys?" Francis commented beneath his breath, receiving dangerous glares from both young women.
"I can't hear anything if you're all chatting," Randall hissed, "So can you all, please, be quiet."
"Hey, who put him in charge?" Ashley Q. demanded.
"I know I'm not taking orders from a snitch," Ashley B. spat.
"He's got the gun," Francis shrugged, "And more experience with this kind of thing."
"Yeah, doesn't change the fact that he's a snitch," Ashley Q. muttered.
"And badly dressed, black is so out."
"And the trench coat thing...overdone!"
"You have such good taste, Ashley B."
"As do you, Ashley Q."
"Let's never fight again."
"I know..."
"SHUT UP," Randall cried, and then froze in his steps. He'd seen something, someone, moving in the shadows. He searched the darkness with wary glances, heart pounding in his chest. He didn't really have any experience in this kind of thing. He was always the predator lurking in the shadows readying to strike, not the helpless prey cowering in the light of his coming death.
"What's the matter?" Francis whispered, close to Randall's ear.
"I saw something," he replied, "I don't think it was Spinelli. Too...large...masculine..." The gym seemed to grow colder, and they heard a slamming, quickly surmising that the front door had shut, trapping behind it what little light illuminated that large room.
"Why's it so dark in here?" Ashley Q. whimpered, "I can't see anything..." There was a sound of shuffling feet and a crash. "Ow," one of the Ashleys cried out.
"Don't move around," Randall told them, "No one move." He stepped forward, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dark, as that was what he was used to anyhow.
"Randall..." Francis called.
"Shh..." Randall hissed, then turned scanning the darkness, they were gone, all three of them.
-0-0-0-0-
Mikey perked up when he saw TJ, whose first interest seemed to be getting in the gym. He stepped into the dark doorway, breathlessly scanning the large room with the scouring eyes of a desperate man.
"Where's Spinelli?" he finally gasped.
"The others went in there, searching for her," Mikey explained, "Is it Clara?"
"No," TJ shook his head, "She wasn't alone. There's someone else...Spinelli, where is Spinelli?"
"She's still in there, Teej, the others are looking for her," Gus stepped in.
"Alright, they can add one more to the search party," TJ said determinedly.
"Fall the fools...they move to folly..." Menlo garbled.
"What's with him?" TJ frowned at the miserably chuckling form.
"He's drunk, as far as we can tell," Gus said, "You can't go in there, Teej, you look like you're past your limit. You can't keep going."
"Spinelli's in there, as is the rest of the gang, with a killer," TJ turned a glare on his two friends, "I'm going in."
"Then I'm coming with you," Gus told him.
"As am I," Mikey conceded, stepping next to the two shorter men.
"Let's go then." Together they entered the darkness. Menlo glanced over to their vanishing forms and looked to Ashley T. who was leaning against the school building, sleeping from what he could tell.
"We're doomed," he slurred. He startled when he heard the door slam shut, but the fear quickly subsided in his drunken stupor and he broke into laughter. There was giggling, like a young girl, caught on the wind and Menlo didn't realize it until he felt a sharp object plunge into his stomach. There was no pain, only this realization that there was a screwdriver protruding from within him. His vision was blurred, but he could make out the outline of the young woman squatting in front of him. He frowned, blood trickling down from his mouth to his chin. Her hand, caressed that chin, thumb smearing the warm blood. The woman came close to his ear, her breath cold as ice.
"To be honest," she said in a low whisper, "You were useless anyways. Mundy never should have trusted you."
"Mundy?" Menlo gurgled, "Where is..."
"Don't worry, he'll be fine. They'll all be fine." The tool was ripped from his stomach, taking a length of blood with it, that spilled across Menlo's legs. His eyes, uncomprehending, looked down to that blood. He felt, more than saw, the woman leave.
-0-0-0-0-
Gretchen trailed her hand along the boxes, staring ahead, but flickering her eyes back every now and then. Ashley A. clung to her, gripping her shirt in claw hands. They all heard the door slam shut, felt a falling in their hearts, as though hearing their one hope shatter and break.
"Vince," Gretchen whispered, "What do we do?"
"Keep looking for Spinelli," he said between gritted teeth, "Stay together." They followed one another closely, moving through the darkness of the gym. Stopped when laughter broke the silence. It started out as a soft giggle, but cracked into a maniacal uproar.
"Ring around the rosy...pocket full of posies...ashes, ashes...we all fall down..."
"We have to get out of here..." Ashley A. whispered, "We have to get out of here..."
"Calm down," Vince cried, "Just shush!"
"NO!" Ashley A. screamed, pulling away, "She's coming to kill us...I don't want to die..." She turned, taking off at a full sprint.
"Ashley A.," Vince called, taking off after her. They disappeared around the boxes. He wrapped his arms around her, dragging her to a halt, "Stop this," he whispered, "Just don't panic..." It was too late for that, of course, "We have to stay together."
"Vince?" Gretchen's voice called, but she sounded distant. How big was this gym, anyways? He turned, glancing around. He couldn't see anything, couldn't figure out where they were. He held tightly to Ashley A. whimpering in his grasp, and felt his way around, stumbled over a box.
"Ow," Ashley A. complained.
"Sorry," he released her, holding tightly to her arm. The laughter broke in again, and she jumped into his arms.
"I want to be home, in my nice apartment, with my handsome husband whom I love...I really love him...I want to tell him that I love him...I want to be home," she was whispering, her eyes tightly closed, "I want this to end...I want to go home..."
"You are home," was a soft whisper. The two jumped back, looking around, scanning the darkness with wide eyes. They didn't have time to react as the heavy boxes toppled upon them.
-0-0-0-0-
Francis felt a small hand slip into his own, a form sidle closer to him. His eyes looked around, searching for Randall, or anyone for that matter. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness, but there was little light to go by.
"Ashley B. is gone." Francis jumped, hearing that voice, but settled down, realizing it was only Ashley Q.
"I can't find Randall."
"I'm scared."
"We'll be okay." Francis led them forward, in the direction he assumed Randall had gone in. He stopped, scrunching his nose, "Do you...do you smell fire?"
"Don't say that," Ashley Q. hissed, "No, I don't."
"It smells like...it smells like smoke, like something burning."
"Shut up!"
"But..."
"I don't want to burn in here...not like Mary Anna." Ashley Q. stopped moving, and Francis searched the darkness, trying to make out her features, "I'm afraid. With everything going on...I'm afraid."
"We'll be..."
"Don't tell me we'll be okay, Francis, because none of us are okay," Ashley Q. snapped. A scream cut through the gym, and everything seemed to fall still, "That was Ashley A.," Ashley Q. whispered dully, "What if she's dead?"
"Then we better not join her," Francis told her, pushing forward. He didn't mean to be harsh, he was simply afraid for the blonde Ashley's well being, "We have to keep moving." They heard the sound of scraping, a low humming of a song they didn't recognize, and giggling, a childish chortle.
"Francis," Ashley Q. whispered, "Can I confess something to you?"
"No," was the snappish reply, "Because confessions mean you're giving up, and I for one, am not giving up. We have to find Randall, or Spinelli, or one of the others...god...where's the damn light switch in this place?"
"Menlo said the electricity's not up anyways. Not at night, at least," Ashley Q. whispered, "It saves the school energy and money." There was the sound of something cracking, breaking under a misplaced footstep. Ashley Q. froze, losing her clutch on Francis's hand. Her eyes fell to the ground, her mouth forming a silent scream. A doll's small glass eye stared up at her, seeming to emit a source of light all it's own. The rest of the doll's face was smashed beneath her foot. She felt someone's arms wrap protectively around her, falling to the ground, felt something breeze by her face, heard the sick thud of flesh splitting, the smell of blood, splattered along her blouse and bare skin. She closed her mouth, closed her eyes, lay motionless under the heavy limp weight atop her. She didn't want to see, was afraid of what she might see, the only sounds she could hear were that of retreating footsteps and her own heart pounding furiously in her chest.
-0-0-0-0-
Randall moved swiftly, silently, gun held tautly, eyes at ready. Something wasn't right, he could feel the musty air of the gym prickling at his neck, stingy, thick, and warm. Smoke, tickled his nose, reminded him of the cigarettes he was out of, that he was craving at that moment. He was struggling to make sense of what little he could see and everything he could hear. Laughter, motion, shuffling, movement, talking, screaming, it sounded like a goddamned haunted house. He braced himself against the light breeze billowing through the gym, where it was coming from, he couldn't tell. A window was probably open somewhere.
Everything seemed to fall still at once. Goosebumps ran a course up Randall's arms, and the curled hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He hated his curly locks, cursed his father for them. He hated everything his father gave him, most particularly, his life.
More motion, closer, dodging in the shadows. The whole gym was in shadows. There was a smell, a thick smell of smoke, and Randall turned in time to dodge a preemptive attack. He fell to the ground, startled, rolling to his feet once more but his attacker was gone. He prodded the darkness with a wary stare, glancing nervously about. Attacker back in view, a fist swinging Randall's way. An easy dodge for the well-trained agent. Strike after strike, dodge, a game of parries until both found safe harbor behind twin towers of boxes. Movement was dangerous, too easily giving away a position. Randall heard the sound of a scream, felt his heart leap into his throat, and heard a soft giggling close to his ear. A whimsical jab into his back, blood trickling to the ground. He stumbled forward; gasping, biting his lower lip to keep from crying out, keep from betraying his position. He turned to the ghostly figure, almost childlike glowering at him, blood stained hands and satanic grin.
He heard too late the cocking of a gun, and the deathly report echoed through the gym. He fell to his knees, blood pooling beneath him, staring in confusion at the ghost before him. She stepped forward, ran her fingers through his curls that he hated, pulled his head back, whispering into his ear.
"In death, there are no secrets to snitch..." were her words of ice, and she disappeared with the world that faded fast. Randall slumped against a box, hand clutching his side. A bullet had been there once before...a picture of a little girl at a park filled his mind...a smiling youth stained with blood...
A young man's form slinked from the shadows, shotgun in hand, and cigarette in the other. The cigarette was flicked through the air, landing in the puddle of red and sizzling slightly. A smirk played across thin whiskered lips.
"TJ, I can't see anything..." a soft whine from nearby, "I'm really...I kind of...I'm a little afraid of the dark." The figure took to shadows again, alert again. Shotgun was raised, aim taken. The young man stepped into view, and while only his outline was visible, he was undoubtedly TJ. The man in shadows fired without hesitation, stepping back again, hearing cries of confusion in the darkness. He stepped forward, weaving through the boxes making his way to see his handiwork without his location revealed. He felt something sharp and broad bury itself in his stomach, the air escaping his lungs in one quick gasp. A figure stepped out, blonde strings of hair falling into dull malicious eyes. A demon in the darkness.
"Mundy, Mundy..." she whispered and the poor man drew his brow together in confusion.
"Who...? Why...?" he gurgled, blood worming its way up his throat, spilling out his lips. A delicate smile passed a neatly painted mouth.
"You tried to kill what was mine," was the simple answer, pleasantness hiding simmering rage, "You served my purpose well...but you tried to kill what was mine." The axe, as that was the sharp, broad object sunken into Mundy's gut, was withdrawn accompanied by an awful sucking noise. Blood spilled from the wound in a flowing waterfall and Mundy clutched the gaping wound, almost as an attempt to keep his insides from falling onto the floor. "If anyone's going to kill what's mine..." the woman continued, lifting the axe in her hands, "It's going to be me." She turned, leaving Mundy to fall against a stack of boxes, staring after her in confusion and aghast.
-0-0-0-0-
Spinelli pulled one arm from the sweater, fighting the urge to cry out a whoop of triumph, which wasn't hard considering the tape holding her mouth shut, and pulled the other arm forward and make quick work of the knot in the large fabric. She tossed the sweater to the side and gently removed the tape from her mouth, taking a deep satisfying breath. She pulled her legs up to her chest, making to undo the tape that bound her legs together. She was bothered by the noises she'd been hearing. The slamming of doors, the screaming, the soft giggles, the footfalls, the sounds of guns going off...cries of pain.
"Tsk, tsk..." a soft whisper in the darkness, "Poor broken doll..." The words were so soft...so gentle...so childlike. Spinelli looked up, searched the darkness.
"Who...who's there?"
"Shhh..." a gentle breeze of breath, "Poor little doll...poor, poor little doll...shattered into a million pieces...broken...so broken...it wasn't her fault, she didn't mean to."
"Who..." Spinelli attempted again, but her words caught in her throat. She went back to the tape around her ankles, went back to undoing it.
"Do you know...do you know what I'm searching for? Do you know what I want? What she wants? What daddy wanted? What we all want?" Spinelli didn't answer, the tape getting caught around her hands. "Perfection...we strive to be perfect, and in that, we are flawed. Because we search for perfection outside of us but it is already within us. And, because we are searching for this perfection, we fail to see it, and, in that, we fail to embrace it. I have learned to embrace my perfection, because I know, that my perfection is not for me to find, but for others to find within me. At least, that's what father always used to say...a fool, wasn't he? Of course, he also always used to say 'I'm sorry, but you're far perfect.' Life is a shame, isn't it? You're born; you spend your entire life searching for yourself, only to die, never fully realizing that you already have yourself. What is perfection? What is life? Perfection is like water, still and calm, until you drop a rock upon its surface. It ripples; it is imperfect, flawed. The illusion of clarity and smoothness is shattered to reveal the jutting rocks and dirt beneath. Those, of course, being the water's hidden secrets. Perfection is never simple. Not like life. Life is death. Life is like a fire, constantly burning, ripping through everything, engulfing all unprejudiced. But when there is nothing left to burn, nothing left to ingest; fire, like life, dies. See? Life is simple."
"Who are you?" Spinelli spat into the darkness. A figure stepped forward, small, thin and pale, a lit match held in front of her, revealing bloodied hands and blood stained cheeks.
"Mary Anna."
END A/N: I know it's short, I promise it'll be longer next chapter.
Please excuse any grammatical or typing errors, and PLEASE review.
Thanks for reading all you wonderful people, now I have ten minutes to get ready for work so...ROCK ON!