Spiral
Chapter I: Damage
By EclipseKlutz

PG-13, T. Whichever you prefer.
Still deciding.

Disclaimer: Me no own. You no sue.

"...I know, you'd better believe that everything you do
You can't understand it or ever justify
I don't want to be your guide
But stay with me and think for a while again…"
Lacuna Coil: The Secret

August 13, 2009
0143 hours

He'd chosen the tiny bungalow by chance, deciding that as it was near a campus there was a chance he'd either be bombarded with a crowd of college kids or that he'd only have to hold a few students hostage within their home. The latter seemed more likely to take place, and so without much more hesitation he'd slipped through the door, surprised to find it already unlocked, and into the houseunder the cover of the overwhelming darkness.

It opened into the kitchen, a nice place despite its location. Slightly dirty linoleum flooring, originally colored a pasty white, was accented rather horribly by the pale peach walls; the far wall, which was only about three feet from where he was standing, was lined for a few feet by old counters bearing a microwave and a cheap coffemaker; a fridge stood in the corner, bleach-colored with a small freezer at the top, and beneath the sink embedded into a small portion of the countertops was a plastic trash can. Not far from this set-up was a small, round table and two very cheap chairs beside a few cans of paint. Apparently the inhabitant was planning on some redecoration, he couldn't help but check the colors; a smoky eggplant-purple and an off shade of gray. Not the colors he'd use... of course, he'd spent his college years in a frat house, not a rent-a-home.

He yawned and flicked on the light, pulling the blinds above the nearby window closed so as not to alert his presence to any late-night strollers. He was hungry, and that was a problem that took top priority. Hospital food was thoroughly inedible, and he'd been living off of it for the past three years... popcorn sounded nice.

After a moment of searching, he fished a bag from a drawer in the counters and tossed it unceremoniously into the microwave before punching in the time. Two minutes, forty-five seconds... he was not willing to wait idly around for that amount of time; he'd done enough waiting. Frowning to himself, he decided that exploring the remainder of the flat was a somewhat decent way of wasting his time.

The first door out branched into the bathroom, a small room that would be the location of any claustrophobic's nightmares held the usual furniture of the room: toilet, old shower, sink with a crack near the top, and a mirror. Nothing thrilling. Out of that room, he entered the living room, or a demo version of one. Like the rest of the place, it was small, holding only a ratted loveseat, a small television, a bookcase, and a portable radio. He didn't mind, it seemed cozy enough, even though he was tempted to wait around and see if a cat would stray in. It seemed like the place for a cat-person. From there, he entered the bedroom, still nothing interesting. A bed, a window, a nightstand, an alarm clock, and an open suitcase. The only thing that told him anything here was the fact that he'd invaded a female's apartment. Nothing interesting.

Defeated, he slouched back into the kitchen just in time for the microwave to announce the fact that it was finished artificially heating his meal. He pried open the door and reached in, his frown deepening when he saw the scorch marks along the side of the bag. Thrilling.

He was preparing himself to groan and complain to no one about his ruined "dinner" when the door creaked open and in slumped the damaged form of a girl, the one he assumed to be the owner of the bungalow he'd crashed. Her figure collapsed halfway through the door and she apparently lost her grip on the conscious world. By the state of her battered appearance, he was surprised she'd made it as far as she had; someone had obviously taken great, sadistic pleasure in beating her and it hadn't been the first time. Fresh bruises were already forming atop slightly older ones, although the attack had to have been recent-the blood on her newer scrapes had yet to harden.

He paused, and approached her tensely, as though unsure what to do. After a moment of contemplation and deciding that she needed help, he stuck his foot in front of the door, holding it open long enough for him to kneel down and pull the girl into his arms. He stood, shakily finding his balance and hastily made his way across the kitchen into the bathroom. Shifting her weight to one arm, he pulled open the shower door and fiddled with the knobs. Cold water, hot water? It didn't matter... He spun it one way, hoping he wouldn't burn to death or obtain hypothermia, and stepped inside, holding her beneath the rabid, pulsing flow of the water.

Awkwardly, he leaned over and snatched a washcloth from the nearby stand and started making feeble attempts to wash the blood from her forehead, deciding he'd move to the scrapes on her raw knuckles later. She choked out a cough, sputtering more of the vermilion fluid out of her system. He suppressed a sigh, realizing he ought to give the heroes more credit then he did, this was hard, irritating work. Her eyelids fluttered and she shifted in his arms, turning her face away from the onslaught of water. A small twitch, but she remained unconscious. His job done, he reached over and turned the faucet off, and stepped out of the shower, and set her down on the toilet seat as he grabbed the towel from the bar on the shower door. Wrapping it around her shoulders, he scooped her into his arms once more.

She was breathing a little easier now, but it'd take some more work; this, he was sure of. He padded across the family room, into the bedroom and dumped her on the bed without ceremony. As he turned to fish a blanket from the closet, he noticed the photograph. It was a simple one of a family of four standing outside their house on a sunny day... the same family who's images had been the first to be engraved into his mind. He turned, looking over at the girl, only now noticing the similarities: raven hair, milky pale skin, probably dark eyes... Violet Parr.

"Well, this sure is interesting," he murmured as he pulled a blanket from the top shelf. Draping it over her small figure, he looked back to the picture, and tipped it over. "Very interesting."

A/N: Hm. Still contemplating taking it down and redoing it. Again, writing it up on FF, so don't expect much, k? Also, can someone PLEASE review? I live by them, please don't deprive me of them.

Things will explain themselves later, assuming this version's still up. And I quit with the date and stuff, that was just to show the time difference from then and now.