Burn the Evidence
Scene A
Disclaimer: Edward Scissorhands is not mine.
A/N: What sparked this little bout of insanity? Several things, actually, but the main was that I wanted something that deviates from the typical "Kim's granddaughter/OC character and Edward romance." I mean, the movie was not only one depicting our stereotypical world and how we never seem to like to stray from what we know and are accustomed to, but it was also one of romance. Usually with movies and mangas and things like that, I can see alternate pairings, but…not in this case. It was a forbidden, yet somehow pure and beautiful love, and it makes me sad to see anyone besides Kim with Edward. Other than that, quite frankly I needed a serious break from the routine. Also, I do realize that ES was supposed to never change and all that, but it made me bawl my eyes out to see Kim and Edward separate, so I'm bringing them together. Besides, this is just a fanfic, and I'm just a lowly fanfic author. I'm not really doing any injustice to the movie itself.
Also, on a side note, this is set right after the part in the movie where she tells all the neighbors Edward is dead as she holds a scissor arm. The little grandkid was never identified properly (besides as being her grandkid), so I'll go off this little tidbit. Oh, and we also don't know for sure if those scenes of Edward in the garden are actually flashbacks or not. C: Thank goodness for those loopholes!
Oh, and I'm sorry if the updates don't come so fast. Just…keep poking me and I'll go faster, guaranteed!
--------------------
Sometimes, when Edward willed it enough, he could dream delicately of Kim Boggs. She would appear to him in a wonderful world he had created, one of fantastic surroundings and beautiful things all around him, wearing that same white dress she had worn that fateful night. And she would dance up to him, laughing and twirling, bits of ice and snow in her hair. He would smile and laugh a little, too, reaching out his hands—real hands—to her and dancing with her slowly in the delightful utopia he created.
Other times, though, when Edward was feeling particularly sad or lonely, he would concoct bad, sinister dreams. Instead of dancing with her he would cut her with those bulky, awful scissor hands of his. She'd gasp and hold her hand, showing him what he had done, and then instantaneously, more cuts would appear on her until she was screaming and writhing under his attempts at consoling gestures, much like Kevin had.
Edward had just had one such dream. He had awoken with a start, scissor hands twitching and sliding together as he sat up and looked around, somehow hoping he was on Kim's (now ruptured beyond repair) bed filled with water. But on discovering he was not, in fact, back with the Boggs, he lay back and stared up at the dawn light pouring in through the holes in the rafters and roof.
It had been approximately three months since the fiasco that had left him mournfully bereft of Kim; he knew this because he was, in all honesty, counting the days that passed. He would mark a line with one of his blades on the wall every time that night fell, and every time thirty days passed, he would circle that group and strike another much longer line above that. And so far, there were three particularly long lines and three fat circles.
Winter hadn't long passed, but the ice sculptures Edward had worked so hard on to make look beautiful and happy had melted nonetheless. So instead he had to take up his hedge trimming once more, focusing all his attentions on restoring the hand in the garden he had butchered in his angry, confused, unbelievably frustrated state. It had grown out partly in the months he had left it unattended, and it looked much like it had before the Christmas Eve incident, if not for the fingers being a bit short. Also, he had replaced the ice sculpture of Kim with a landscape art of her. This time, though, he added a rose to the place where her hair would fall from her temple and tuck behind her ear, systematically replacing the dead, withering ones with new ones.
He still walked funny—even funnier still when he made his way down stairs or a slope of land of the sort. He pointed his scissors away from his body, more on instinct at the fault of bad experiences with the contraptions, and kept his back oddly rigid. Even when he was at ease he appeared to be tense about something by his body language, but then again, he never really looked in mirrors much. It made him depressed, and Edward hated being depressed—almost as much as he hated being alone. Though, as he had soon realized, the two came hand-in-hand all too often.
His feet touched the cold, dusty ground of the first floor, and he walked carefully to the huge door as he always did, his leather outfit squeaking with every step. It seemed his life was becoming much too routine for his tastes as of late: dream of Kim—whether good or bad, though usually the latter, wake up and think back for a minute on his life with the Boggs, get up and walk awkwardly down the stairs, reproachfully enter his own garden, then proceed to trim the hedges until about nightfall or sometimes earlier.
Where was the excitement in that? Where was the fun—the joy—in being alone snipping at bushes on a deserted mansion atop some big hill?
Many a time he had asked himself this question, lingering momentarily at the front gate and gently fondling the iron bars, before answering always with the same thing: he was dangerous; he was different; he was Edward Scissorhands. The thought of being happy again was just as preposterous as the looming hope in his mind that someday he would see—and love—Kim once more, just like in his reveries. Nevertheless, Edward was a determined young…creation, and he had all the time in the world to wait for his dreams to come true.
Although, he sincerely wished that the nightmares would never become a reality, for if they did, he didn't know what he would do. And with that he clipped off a stray leaf sticking out from the hedge design of the beautiful Kim in her white dress, smiling slightly in spite of himself.
- - -
Kim admitted it without regret—she still had that white dress. She hadn't worn it since, and hadn't washed it for that matter, either, but she still had it. It hung on a hanger in the back of her closet, inside its plastic case, the dark mahogany of her dried blood sharply contrasting with the purity of the rest of it. Besides, it was the only thing that she had left to remind her of Edward. Well, that and "his" scissor hand, which she had selfishly taken home so that, as hard as she would try, she would never forget him.
It had been three months and six days since she had seen him. Three months and six days since she'd hugged him, since she'd realized that he smelled pleasantly of leather and the detergent her mother used for clothes, and that he was actually quite…warm despite his cold exterior appearance.
She could still feel herself wrapped tight around him at night as she lay there, sometimes. Of course, her destroyed water bed had been replaced but, like the dress and the scissor hand, she had absolutely insisted that she keep the punctured rubber folded and stored in her closet. Anything and everything that could ever possibly remind her that Edward was still up there in that mansion up on the hill she kept. Even the little things, like his torn plainclothes she had collected before any of the neighbors could. She kept those folded neat in her bottom drawer of her dresser.
She sighed as she lay in bed, ignoring the morning light filtering through the blinds and into her room. She wished for nothing more than to be with him. Three months and six days ago seemed like ten years ago now, and try as she might, she couldn't help but steal secretive glances to the mansion on the hill sometimes.
Stray thoughts would haunt her, sometimes. "We could live in secret" and "we could run away from it all, and just live and love together" constantly plagued her, even reducing her to tears at the possibilities at times.
She got up out of bed finally, and moved to look in her mirror. She looked exactly the same, except that she had fleshed out a little more. She wasn't fat, just slightly thicker than she had been.
A pang struck her heart when she looked into the corner of the mirror where she had first seen Edward lying on her bed in her dad's pajamas with that scared look on his face. What a terrible, terrible way to first meet someone as gentle, meek, and wonderful as him.
Suddenly feeling determined and empowered, she slammed a palm on her dresser. She would get back to Edward! If she didn't, she'd surely die. She'd surely wither and collapse one day. Throwing her clothes on, she hauled off towards the bathroom to brush her teeth and do her hair.
She would live with him, she would love him, and dammit, she'd get his hands FIXED!
Her actions slowed considerably and the frenetic way she scrubbed at her teeth with the toothbrush halted to a steady rate when she realized that all this couldn't be done within just a day. It would take weeks of planning—weeks of calling people and befriending them in the nearby cities, of buying her own car, of setting it up to give Edward an identity. But how in God's name would she be able to hide those hands of his? Surely everyone in the at least the county knew who he was by now, right?
She picked up a colorful ad that came from the daily paper as she spit and rinsed her mouth. One of the many advertisements was for coats for odd-ended men. Slowly, a smile crossed her, and she stuffed the ad into her pocket, yelling to her mother that she was going out and taking the car for a little while.