A/N: Happy very late 2018 everybody! Finally! My store's remodel is OVER, but I have a new problem–––a new job: road construction. Yes, road construction, a phrase which here means "I have no time for writing in the summer." Lol. Sorry for not updating in forever. I promise, I still haven't forgotten about you guys! ;) Before we begin, I gotta thank the awesome Guest for reviewing! You're awesomesauce, man! ^_^ \m/
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Guest ––– YES, LET THE GAMES BEGIN! XD
Oh no, it's fine. :) What you said is true, though: ASOUE doesn't get a lot of traffic fanfiction-wise, especially the M section. Breaks my heart so much :( it's such an amazing series… I acknowledge your suggestion to lower the rating, but believe me, it's rated M for a reason. Just give it a few more chapters. ;) Lol
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Disclaimer: Me still no own ASOUE. Don't feel like getting creative with my disclaimers today :/ Maybe next chapter.
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Chapter 4
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"What?!" Quigley cried, springing up from his seat, horrified.
"I believe she said the plane ex–––" an old volunteer down the table started.
"I know what she said!" Quigley screamed viciously, glaring at him. Immediately, he flew back over to the doors he burst through earlier, his heart beginning to race.
"Quigley, wait for us!" Isadora hollered, she and Duncan (and the rest of the volunteers) getting up from the table and hurrying after him.
Quigley burst out the front door and booked it down to where Mason had parked his trolley. "Mason! Wait!" he yelled as loud as he could, just as he began to drive off.
Startled by his state of mania, Mason hit the brakes and looked around at him. "Quigley? No wait, Duncan. No wait–––"
Quigley flew on board. "Dock! Triple time! Now!" he barked.
"A-alright," Mason said, silencing all his questions and obediently flooring it.
Just before the trolley zoomed off down the road at an impressive speed, something lunged aboard, rocking it all about. His adrenaline levels making Mount Fraught look as tall as a molehill, Quigley whirled around to find his brother and sister panting uncontrollably in the back, the rest of the volunteers racing after the trolley in an attempt to board it to settle their curiosity.
"Donuts! Isadora!" he breathed.
"Why didn't you wait for us?" Isadora asked. "You're not the only one concerned about Violet!"
"There's no time to wait!" Quigley said, hanging onto one of the rungs above him. "Violet needs me!"
"She needs us, you dimwitted miscreant!" Duncan corrected him furiously, he and Isadora doing the same. "That's what friends are for!"
Quigley's upper lip curled into a bloodthirsty snarl. "Don't push me, Donuts…" he threatened darkly. "Or I'll push you off this trolley!"
Duncan gladly returned the gesture, remembering what Katey had said. All these years of buttoning up and being the good brother, evil had only won battle after battle, reaped spoil after spoil, and one of those spoils was the girl of his dreams…the future Mrs. Duncan Quagmire. Of all the things that had been taken from him that he rightfully deserved, this crossed the line. And to add insult to injury, it was by his own brother. He flashed back to what he'd carved inside the red herring he and Isadora were being smuggled out of the city in years ago. Before him was a similar herring, garbed in his usual dark red sweatshirt. Now it was time to carve that exact thing into him, only this time with much more passion…more hatred. Give him a permanent reminder of whose spoil she really was.
With a wrathful cry, Duncan lunged forward and tackled Quigley to the floor, the two beginning to wrestle mercilessly. Isadora jumped in surprise, not knowing what to do. The trolley was flying faster than anything she'd ever felt. So fast in fact that if she let go of the rung above her, she was positive she'd fall off. So fast that she was astonished her brothers hadn't fallen off yet.
"What the hell, Duncan?!" Quigley cried, socking him in the face. "What's your problem?!"
"You're my problem!" Duncan spat ferociously, an evil in his eyes he'd never seen before.
"That's news to me!" Quigley snapped sarcastically. "I meant, what's wrong with you?! You're never like this, and I didn't do anything!"
"Nothing's wrong with me!" Duncan kept the punches coming. A twisted feeling of satisfaction surged through his veins like a demented electricity as he watched blood begin to leak from his brother's nose and mouth. At last, life was beginning to drain from him. Only X amount of punches to go…then Violet would be all his. Unfortunately, he was so caught up in marveling his handiwork that Quigley saw his chance, slammed his head hard into his nose, and tackled him, both of them falling off the trolley onto a big steep hill.
The two crashed on the ground and rolled violently from the speed they were going, but when they finally came to a stop moments later, the two let go and looked at each other, the world spinning around them, both ready to throw up.
"Bastard!" Duncan screamed, tackling Quigley again, and the two resumed tumbling down the hill, wrestling along the way. This continued until they reached the very bottom a couple minutes later, only one thing making them stop brawling, and this was the unbearable heat of the sun. Or at least it felt like it. Quigley and Duncan looked to find the entire boarded-up town, and some parts of the hill, engulfed in a raging inferno at least fifty feet tall. Their jaws dropped in horror. Sure enough, the volunteer was right: nothing was left of the plane. Or this block. It was all history.
"No…" Quigley uttered hoarsely, shaking his head, refusing to believe what was before him. Already sweat began pouring down his face, and that wasn't because of his and Duncan's little spat. Immediately, he sprung up from the ground and flew over to the enormous wall of fire just down the dock. "Violet!" he cried, his eyes wet with tears, and not just from all the smoke. "Violet!" He scanned every inch of the perimeter for any sign of his beloved. After catching his breath and shaking off the shock, Duncan followed after him.
"H…Help meee…" a feeble voice wheezed pleadingly, a borderline skeletal, blackened hand stretching out from underneath a chunk of one of the wings.
To Duncan's surprise, Quigley ignored the volunteer's plea and kept running, looking all around wildly for Violet. He glared at him. With as much as he loved Violet, he knew there was no excuse to not help another volunteer in need. Duncan hurried over to the volunteer, and at once the heat grew even more torturous, so bad that he couldn't keep his eyes open. In fact, if he hadn't have known better, he could've sworn he was on fire. "Hang on! I'm gonna get you outta there!" he called over the raging flames.
"Violet!" Quigley screamed, his lungs burning. "Violet!"
"Help! Assistance please!" a frantic robotic voice hollered from just a little farther down.
Quigley's eyes widened, his ears perking up. "Edison?" he yelled. "Edison, is that you?"
"Master Quigley?" the robotic voice replied, a touch relieved. "Is that you? It is I, Edison Tesla, your Very-own Facilitative Deputy. I need help!"
"Hang on, I'm coming!" Quigley kicked it into his highest gear possible. He cut through the thick cloud of black smoke like a knife and hurried up to Edison, who appeared to be hacking at one of the giant propellers with his built-in machete. But it wasn't this that had him horrified. It was who was trapped under the propeller. Severely burned, blackened, and unrecognizable, much like the other volunteer, was another volunteer. And if Edison was trying to get them out, he had a pretty good guess at who it was.
"VIOLET!" Quigley scrambled over to her, hysteria washing over him. He knelt down to look into her beautiful dark eyes, to assure her that Prince Charming was here. Everything was going to be alright.
"My machete isn't working," Edison concluded, shame in his eyes. "Perhaps my welder will be of better assistance?"
"Try everything!" Quigley ordered, fighting not to sound desperate. He looked down to find Violet looking back up at him weakly. "Don't worry, beautiful, we'll get you outta here," he told her soothingly, stroking her oozy, prune-like cheek.
Violet merely looked back up at him without a word.
"Duncan!" Yes, he was willing to bury the hatchet for a moment. With as much as he hated to admit it, he couldn't do this alone. He needed all the help he could get. "Duncan, help! I found Violet!"
The fire roared beside him for awhile, and just when he was about to give up on that plan, Duncan came flying into view, his face blackened, sweaty, and determined.
Quigley sighed with relief. "Edison, weld through this blade! Duncan and I'll pull it off her!" He looked at Duncan, who came flying up to him, mortified at what he'd found. "Duncan, come on, help me get this off her! Pull!" The two brothers began pulling with all their might on the blade Edison began cutting through feverishly. Thankfully, it had been so weakened by the explosion, it was a lot easier to cut through, to Edison's surprise, and it was a lot easier to pull apart from the rest of the blade, to the Quagmire brothers' surprise. Before long, Edison finished cutting off a chunk of the propeller blade trapping his creator, and after what felt like an eternity, the three managed to heave it off to the side into a flaming heap of debris.
"Violet!" Quigley cried, the three rushing back over to her. He dropped to his knees beside her and looked down at her bottom half, which, to his horror, was eerie, blackened bones.
Edison activated an array of medical equipment and placed it on certain parts of Violet's body. He was quiet for a moment, watching the screen on his wrist intently. "…No life signs detected," he reported softly, looking up at her mournfully.
"NOOOOOOO!" Quigley wailed, slamming his fist on the dock, tears pouring down his sooty cheeks. "NOOOOOOO! VIOLET, NO-O-O-OOOOOOO!"
The rest was a blur to Duncan, time practically stopping as he blinked at his beloved in front of him, too numb to react in any way. All of that fighting…and for what? Nothing. It didn't matter what Quigley did now. It didn't matter what he did now. Either way, both of them were going to win at a losing game. He found his mind wandering back to Prufrock, where he'd first met her. In the cafeteria, amongst the calamity of cakesniffers. He'd always been the shy type, never one to get in a fight, and he was perfectly okay with that, but for once, he was glad he took after Quigley and stood up to Carmelita that day. He couldn't imagine where he'd be today if he hadn't have said something.
But…was it really all worth it? To stand up for a girl he'd never get to kiss? Never get to hold? Never get to marry and spend the rest of his life with? And, of all things, to watch that same girl fall for his brother instead? Was this all just wasted time? Some might see it that way, perhaps. But to him, it was worth every tear, every ounce of pain that plagued him on a daily basis. And if he could, he'd do it all over again, just to see her one last time.
Mustering up every bit of courage, Duncan took his first step back into the real world, time resuming at last, and headed over to where his brother knelt in stunned silence. Carefully, he scooped Violet's feather-light corpse up into his arms and made his way back down the dock, positive this would break Quigley's trance…and his neck. But to his surprise, Quigley remained on his knees, statue-still, too numb to protest against whose arms his world was in at the moment.
"Quigley?" Duncan said, amazed that his lungs hadn't dried up from all the smoke inhalation. "You coming?"
Quigley merely blinked at where Violet had lie, speechless.
"It appears Master Quigley is more traumatized than we thought," Edison analyzed, then looked over at Duncan. "Should I carry him?"
"That's not necessary," Duncan replied, shaking his head. "But it does look like he might need some help getting inside."
"Yes, Master Duncan," Edison nodded. "I'll help him to his room."
"Thank you, Edison."
"My pleasure." Edison turned and walked over to his assignment as Duncan resumed walking. He looked down at Violet, all crusty and oozy in his hands, an indescribable but stomach-turning odor wafting into his nose. He shivered. Was this what death smelled like? Was this what his parents looked like after the Quagmire fire? Did she die on the spot, quick and painless? Or did she suffer as bad as she looked? These and more questions bounced around in his head, unable to catch a break for even a minute.
When he reached the sidewalk, he found a herd of volunteers surveying the scene like frightened cattle. They too had been overwhelmed by the sights, smells, and sounds of tragedy. But when their eyes fell on him and Violet, their faces paled, and before long they were in a trance just like he'd been in earlier.
"Is that…?" one volunteer choked through his shock.
"Is that my Todd?" another volunteer sobbed, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Duncan shook his head, his insides still numb, and his face still expressionless. "It's Violet," he managed to grunt, and kept walking.
The volunteers gasped and began murmuring frantically amongst each other. He could hear Quigley's tortured cries not far behind him, Edison doing his best to console him. Normally, this would've brought him a sick satisfaction to hear his younger brother cry like this over losing Violet, but not this time. This time was different. There had been a flaw in making his utopian dream come true. The planned scenario would've been Quigley crying like this over losing Violet to him, not fire. And since the subject of his objective had perished, there was nothing to laugh about now. His dream had been shattered entirely, officially unobtainable by the hand of a horrific accident.
…In fact, he kind of felt sorry for Quigley…
Suddenly, Duncan lurched forward violently and crashed on the ground, Violet's remains flying out of his hands. He looked around wildly for any sight of what he'd tripped over, but instead he saw Quigley standing over him with a demonic glare. "Get your hands off her," he hissed terribly through clenched teeth, then he walked over to Violet's remains and scooped them up in his arms gingerly, the bloodthirsty look in his eye replaced by one of pure torture. She was still staring up at the sky with her burned face blank, but her eyes, however, looked pleading…almost as if she were begging for something.
Quigley shivered, letting an agonized noise escape his lips as he carried her up to the trolley, where Mason and Isadora were waiting for them. He could picture her tinkering away at some malfunctioned part of the plane, doing what she did best. He could picture the plane exploding into an enormous ball of fire, consuming every inch of her body. He could picture the flames eating away at her flesh as she screamed for his help, for her Prince Charming to come save her from her misery. And after seeing the look in her eyes, his worst fears had been confirmed: her death wasn't quick and painless. Rather, she'd died begging for help…begging for someone to get her out from under the plane propeller while she burned alive.
…But he was too late.
"Good God, what happened?" Mason asked, his voice trembling as Quigley and Duncan climbed aboard the trolley.
"Just drive, Mason," Quigley choked, tears welling up in his eyes again.
"A-alright." Mason leaned out the window to look at the other volunteers. "Alright, volunteers, everybody climb aboard," he called. "Don't want anyone else getting hurt."
Obediently, the group of volunteers climbed aboard and took a seat. When everyone was settled, Mason drove off and Isadora, who'd taken a seat next to Quigley, looked at him, in a trance just like everyone else. "I'm so sorry, Quigley," she whispered finally, shaking her head slowly, unable to take her eyes off what once was her best friend.
"It's fine, Isadora," Quigley sniffed. He stared down at Violet's left hand, where a gold band was wrapped around her ring finger, the giant glistening sapphire now sullied by soot and blood. All that time spent planning…carefully mapping out how he wanted his love to look on her hand when she showed it to the world…wasted. But he wouldn't take it off her hand. No sir. She was his girl, even though she'd passed and would never hold him again. And if the world could never see that again, at least he could bury her with it so she could show the whole graveyard that she was still taken.
Duncan, who'd sat across the aisle from them, looked over to find Quigley rubbing Violet's stomach in a slow, clockwise motion. Isadora picked up on this behavior too and tipped her head, just as puzzled as Duncan. "What are you doing?" she asked delicately, though, honestly, it sounded like a stupid question to her. He's mourning, Isadora, duh, she thought.
Quigley looked at her, his eyes red from a combination of smoke, anger, and pain. He took a deep, quivery breath and sighed, wiping his face, which was soaked from crying. "She was pregnant…" he admitted quietly.