A/N: (Updated on March 3, 2020) Happy 2020, everybody! :) Sorry for not updating in awhile. The holidays are ridiculous, like always *rolls eyes* and to be honest, life got in the way, too. Shoutout to the awesome seriousblahblah, Zevoros, Number Ten, and Guest for reviewing! You rock, my friends! ^_^
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seriousblahblah ––– Thanks! :) Hope you enjoy(ed) the story so far!
Zevoros ––– *shrug* You'd be amazed at the logic of people sometimes. Even the obvious doesn't affect them. Just take a look at what's going on in the real world. And when it comes to love, it's even worse. I'm sure you've heard of the phrase "Love makes people do crazy things (and things they're not proud of)". Yeah, that. lol.
Often, when we lose someone we love, regardless of how, it's never nice to our psyche. Of course, everybody reacts to trauma differently, but it all has the same common denominator: "I don't know what to do with this". That's why some people become numb inside, some cry, some psych out, (etc.), is because their mind is trying to process what just happened and it's trying to adapt to it. That's probably why Quigley is acting the way he is, is because that's how his mind is adapting to all this.
Maybe…maybe not… Let's find out. ;) About the cheating thing, that is true: people usually do tend to accuse the other of cheating if they're the one who cheated. But is it true in this story? Let's find out ;)
Lol, I know, right? XD Oh, the irony…
Thanks…it was. I'm over it now. It definitely wasn't easy in the beginning. I felt numb for the better part of the next few months. She died in March of 2017, on my birthday of all days, and I didn't feel anything inside, completely numb, going through the motions until…what, maybe Juneish of that year? Yeah, it wasn't fun. Trauma does interesting things to people. Like I said, I'm all better now, I can feel again, but never underestimate what your mind can do to you.
Ciao, Zevoros! Until next time… ;) \m/
Number Ten ––– Lol. Let's find out ;) She is, isn't she? *shrug* Like I told Zevoros, you'd be amazed at the logic of people sometimes. Even the obvious doesn't affect them. Just take a look at what's going on in the real world. And when it comes to love (and trauma), it's even worse. I'm sure you've heard of the phrase "Love makes people do crazy things (and things they're not proud of)". Yeah, that. lol.
Good eye! ^_^ It is The Tell Tale Heart, which is one of my favorites by Poe. Very fucked up story indeed, perfect for this story. lol.
Guest ––– Thanks! Hope you're enjoying the story so far. And as for your theories/predictions? Let's find out ;)
Aww, damn! :( I was hoping for an update to see if I was doing the story right and making you think. Guess I'll just have to pray that you didn't figure out who the killer is. Lol
Thanks. I think what helped me talk about it, other than to explain what trauma does to some people, is that somebody out there is probably going through something similar to what I've been through, and if they're reading this, then hopefully my story will help them get through it, help them realize that what they're experiencing is normal, especially if they feel numb inside. Although, you are correct about one thing: not everybody will be numb at such a sight. Some will cry, some will psych out. Not everybody will react the same way to something. So you are correct on that note. Yes, I used my experience to influence that scene, but I also need to keep in mind that not everybody is the same as me, reaction-wise.
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Disclaimer: Me no own ASOUE.
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Chapter 9
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Fire.
Fire everywhere.
The hottest, tallest flames he'd ever seen danced around him on all sides, too thick to run through without burning alive, too bright to see his freedom on the other side. His breathing quickened, sweat dripping from his face as he jerked his head in every direction for a way out. To his horror, there wasn't one, and the flames took this opportunity to close the gap between them. The heat grew worse–––unbearable was more like it–––and the next thing he knew was that he was watching his life flash–––er, flicker–––before his eyes from within the bowels of the fire.
His mother and father burning alive in what used to be home sweet home…
A wretched man hungry for his fortune…and his blood…
Arson after arson…
Death after death…
Years of misfortune and mayhem…
His best friend and new future both ripped away from him by a fiery plane accident…
And it all began with one thing…
That eye.
The eye that was tattooed on every volunteer's left ankle. The eye that stealthily hid the letters of the organization it represented within its image. The eye that stole his future and replaced it with its own. The eye that watched his agony since his adolescence, watched Violet burn alive at the dock on Ebullient Isle years later…
…And did nothing.
His blood began to pump hot and fast through his veins. He bared his teeth, balling his hands into fists as he watched the images cycle through again, reminding him that he was trapped, and not just by the fire around him. His life was theirs now…and nothing could change that. Nothing would change that…
No…
This ended now.
His eyes came alive with a twisted gleam, and his vision grew red. No… He wouldn't have any more of this. More than a decade was enough. Changes were already underway, and nothing was going to stop them from coming to fruition. He would make sure of it.
Just then, the fire wrapped all around him and squeezed like a giant, hellish hug. He cried out in ferocity and terror, thrashing all about in an attempt to break free. No! This fire wasn't going to stop him from getting his freedom back! Nothing was going to stop him from getting his freedom back! There was still time to start over again! He squirmed harder, his eyes becoming more psychotic, but the flames were too strong. His breaths became shallow, his vision became blurry, and his skin began to burn violently–––
With a deep, frightened gasp, Klaus jerked awake, shooting up in bed. He looked around, his breathing frantic and his face dripping with sweat.
"Oh! Forgive me, Master Klaus," came an apology from his left. "I didn't mean to alarm you."
Klaus looked to find a pair of digital blue eyes peering down at him remorsefully. "Edison!" he breathed, his eyes widening in astonishment. "Wh…what are you doing here? Wh…where've you been?"
"Forgive me for my lack of service as of late, Master Klaus, but I was out scouting the island for Master Violet," Edison explained. "She's been missing for two days."
Klaus blinked. Was he still dreaming? That would explain the uneasiness in his stomach and the awkwardness of the situation. "E…Edison…" he began, not knowing what to say. "Violet's dead."
Oddly enough, Edison tipped his head, confused. "Dead?" he repeated, trying to process Klaus's statement.
Klaus flinched, baffled. "You were there," he pointed out breathlessly. "You saw what happened to her."
Edison nodded. "Yes…I was," he replied. "I was assisting her aboard the plane with repairs two days ago, and my records indicate she's alive. However, she's nowhere to be found. That's why I was absent from my hospitality duties these past two days–––I was out looking for her." He paused, trying to solve the mystery as to why he and Klaus had differing observations about the same event. "Perhaps there is a flaw in your central processor unit, Master Klaus?" he proposed delicately. "My central processor unit is performing at optimal levels."
Klaus kept blinking at him. He had to be dreaming still. Violet…alive? What a dream come true that would be… With as much as he wanted to believe Edison's words, he knew better. His sister was dead–––he saw it with his own eyes at the funeral. Nobody could've survived that kind of physical trauma. Violet was gone–––no doubt about it.
…But, he had to commend her on one thing: her sense of humor. She was the first person he knew that built a robot capable of lying…or capable of "forgetting" things, like so many humans tried to do about certain things. And if it was to "forget" that his creator died, Klaus didn't blame him. He wished he could forget, too. Either way Violet programmed him, it was amusing. But that wasn't the important part. The important part was that Edison was alright after such an absence…
And he was ready to serve…
"I'm glad you're alright," Klaus said, trying to change the subject as he heaved himself out of bed and put his glasses on. His head was now pounding at Edison's claim, as he didn't know what to make of it. "I was worried about you."
"Thank you, Master Klaus," Edison said, his eyes' brightness softening at Klaus's concern for his well-being. "Your concern is noted." He watched as Klaus headed over to the desk to fetch his clothes. Shortly after throwing his white-ribbed tanktop on, Klaus looked at Edison to find him staring intently at his chest. "Master Klaus, what happened to your shirt?"
Klaus's throat tightened as blood rushed to his cheeks. "Uh, nothing…nothing," he said hurriedly, looking around the room for something else to focus on. He'd managed to wash the bloodstain out of the fabric, but he was inept at sewing. In fact, he was surprised that Edison didn't even bring up the big gash on his chest when he got out of bed…
"The integrity of the fabric has failed," Edison observed, pointing at the tear. "I wouldn't call that 'nothing', Master Klaus. Perhaps something weakened it? Someone?" Here, Klaus began to fidget, obviously disturbed by something. "An accident, maybe? Intentional? Self-infliction–––?"
"Edison! " Klaus yelled, and Edison jumped in surprise. "My shirt's fine! Okay?"
Edison shrunk back in trepidation. "Y…Yes, Master Klaus," he squeaked, nodding.
Klaus glared at him, his breathing heavy and ominous. "What are you doing here?" he asked, much more calmly this time. "What do you need?"
Edison hesitated, fearing one more word would set his master off on an unstoppable, possibly violent, tirade. "I…um…wanted to check in and touch base with you," he replied carefully. "Let you know I'm alright."
Klaus growled irritably. "Why didn't you do that sooner?" he demanded tiredly. "Like, after the funeral?"
"I was out looking for Master Violet," Edison explained. "She was missing."
"Probably because she's dead, Edison!" Klaus screamed. "She's not missing! She's dead! …Goddamn it!" Klaus snatched a stapler off the desk and chucked it harshly at Edison, who let out a terrified yelp and ducked out of the way. Why was he not getting the concept? Did Violet even program him to know what 'dead' meant? Klaus sighed inwardly. Of course she did. His sister was extremely intelligent–––there was no way she'd program a robot not to know that…
But wait, if Violet programmed him to know what death was, then why was Edison playing dumb with him about his creator's demise? Was this what robot trauma looked like? Did he suffer so much damage in the plane accident that it actually messed up his central processing unit beyond repair? Did Violet actually program him to lie?
…Did somebody sabotage Edison?
Just then, the door flung open and in ran a frightened Isadora, her eyes red and her face smeared with tears. Without so much as a 'hello', she threw her arms around Klaus and clung to him as if she were hanging from a cliff.
Mouth open, ready to speak, but unsure of how to proceed and what to say, Klaus wrapped his arms around her and looked at Edison for some kind of clue. Edison merely shrugged, just as stunned as him. "Uhh…" Klaus started, hoping Isadora would stop sobbing into his chest long enough to fill him in on what was going on.
To his relief, Isadora pulled her face out of his chest and looked up into his eyes pleadingly, fighting to reign in her pain for a moment. "K-K-Klaus…" she blubbered. "D-D-Duncan…"
Fear flickered in Klaus's eyes. "What about Duncan?" he asked.
Isadora resumed crying. "He's dead!" she squeaked. "The killer struck again!"
Klaus felt his heart shatter at her suffering. He hated seeing her cry. What he wouldn't do to get her to stop… "What?" he whispered, his heart tightening in apprehension. Again? Already? He was still recovering from the massacre last night…and the plane accident… Well, one thing was certain: this killer wasn't playing. He was out for blood, and he wouldn't stop until he was the last one standing… And judging by his attacks' timing, he didn't want to wait and kill methodically–––he wanted to be the last one standing now.
"He did! Right in the foyer! Come on, I'll show you!"
Klaus looked over at Edison sternly. "Edison, wait here until I get back."
"Yes, Master Klaus," Edison nodded, hesitantly taking a seat on Klaus's bed.
Reluctantly letting go of her, Klaus hurried after Isadora into the hall. They didn't even make it a foot before crying out in surprise and terror, both ready to run back inside and lock the door. Already, there were two mutilated volunteers some distance apart from each other in the hallway, one just a few feet from Klaus's door. Nevertheless, they pressed on past the grisly sight. Klaus felt his stomach churn. How did he not hear them scream as they got brutally ripped apart? He wasn't that heavy of a sleeper… And what time was it? He forgot to check. It was pretty dark outside, judging by the lack of sunlight coming from the windows. But it wasn't the dead of night, either, as the darkness outside wasn't near as dark as midnight. So…early dawn, perhaps? Klaus sighed. He hated it when he didn't know about something, especially Maidenly Manor's killer. How could he stop him if he didn't know hardly anything about him? That sick creature was shrouded in secrecy, even with the lights on and volunteer body parts scattered all over the place. Not one clue was left behind in any of these murders, and come to think of it, he'd never even seen the guy face-to-face… He knew nothing about him.
Just then, Klaus's eyes lit up. Scratch that–––he did know something about Maidenly Manor's killer…
He always struck at night…
/
The foyer of Maidenly Manor was uncomfortably silent, except for the deep, loud ticks coming from the enormous clock hanging above the living room fireplace. Quigley blinked at Duncan, who went from a lively, family-oriented journalist to a rigid, clay-like corpse within twenty-four hours. He couldn't believe it. The deed was done. His brother was dead, right there at the front doors. Not where he expected, but…
With some difficulty, he pulled the blade out of Duncan's throat and examined it, Duncan's corpse falling to the floor with a hollow thud!. That blade… For such an archaic artifact, it sure did its job well…
Impeccable work was more like it…
An eerie smile slowly spread across his face. Oh, what sweet bliss… It wasn't the bliss he would've felt if Violet were alive, but after these past two days, it would do. Anything to get his mind off his wife's charred remains, he'd do… Suddenly, he stiffened, his head snapping up.
Footsteps.
Behind him.
Faint, but just loud enough to give away the element of surprise.
Quigley whirled around and pointed the sword dangerously at who the footsteps belonged to. He flinched, blinking at the frightened volunteer who was headed toward the front doors. "Fiona!" he breathed, his eyes widening, lowering the sword and running over to her.
Fiona blinked at him, pondering whether or not to run or inquire her fellow associate about his oddly-houred fencing practice. "Quigley!?" she choked finally. "What are you doing here?"
"That's the wrong question," Quigley answered, leaning against the staircase railing, that creepy smile reappearing on his face. "The right one would be, 'What are you doing here?'"
"Going out to the woods to look for more mushrooms," Fiona replied. "It's damp, it's dark, it's warm out…perfect conditions for fungi to grow."
"Aren't you forgetting something?" Quigley asked, tipping his head knowingly, an unsettling twinkle in his eyes.
Fiona's face scrunched, puzzled. "No…what?"
"The killer's out right now. No telling where they'll be…"
Fiona swallowed nervously. "I think I know," she said after a pause, eyeing Quigley carefully. Here he was, at the crack of dawn, with his hood still up, acting really weird with a sword in his hand. And if that fact alone didn't stop her heart, the next observation did.
Blood!
There was blood on the sword's blade!
But wait…where did Quigley get a sword? He didn't own one, nor did he really care for them…
Never mind. She didn't care about the details. If she cared about the details for even a split second, she might be split in two. Immediately, she headed for the front doors, eager to get away from him.
"If you think I'm the killer, you're wrong."
Fiona stopped and looked around at Quigley, floored by his tone. He didn't sound psychotic anymore. Rather, he sounded like…him. The old him. The Quigley before the plane accident. "Then why are you up this early?" she asked.
"I'm looking for the killer."
Fiona flinched. "Why?"
Quigley blinked at her. "So they can pay for what they've done."
"Then why are you going around acting like you did it?"
"If you're scared of me, you won't want to be around me," Quigley explained. "If you're not around me, I can go look for the killer in peace without having other people get involved, possibly killed. Because if I simply tell you 'no, I'm innocent, I just want revenge, but don't come help me', then you'll come help me. Then I have to live with the fact that you got killed because of me. And I don't want that."
It was Fiona's turn to blink. Was her hypothesis wrong? Was Quigley actually innocent, and just on a hunt to avenge Violet? Obviously he was traumatized by what happened to her… She didn't blame him for what he was doing–––in fact, she'd do the same thing if it'd been Klaus that had been killed… "So…you're not the killer?" she asked after processing the sudden curveball.
"Only of the killer himself," Quigley gave her a twisted smirk, his eyes gleaming.
Fiona nodded, looking off to the side uneasily. "Or she…" she added quietly. She looked back at Quigley to find him staring longingly at her stomach, and it took her a moment to realize that he was also on the hunt to avenge someone else. "I…gotta go," she piped up, and resumed walking toward the front doors. Suddenly, she shrieked.
There, sprawled in front of the doors, was a lifeless Duncan, whatever blood left in his system oozing out onto the floor. Fiona's eyes bulged, her hands now in front of her face, horrified. "Duncan?!" she uttered hoarsely. No…it couldn't be. She took a moment to catch her breath, get a grip on her fear, then, she bravely walked over to settle her curiosity. Her throat swelled shut at her discovery, and soon it was hard for her to breathe, even without the putrid smell of death wafting up into her nostrils. She shook her head, as if it would change the outcome of the situation. No…this wasn't supposed to happen…
Fiona examined Duncan further. The only wound he had was on his neck–––a fatal stab through his throat, and it looked deep enough to reach his brain stem on the other side. Judging by the shape, length, and width of the wound, whatever punctured his skin was small and thin, and sharp if it reached his brain stem. Fiona's eyes widened in realization, and she looked over at the staircase.
Quigley was gone.
Fiona glared at the spot where they'd talked. She wasn't going to yell and run after him, as she craved some alone time in the woods with her craft far more than vigilante justice at the moment. But one thing was for sure…
Quigley was a fantastic actor…
/
Klaus and Isadora hurried down another hall, panting. To their surprise (and relief), the rest of the trip back to the foyer was…maidenly, bereft of volunteer body parts, and for that, they were thankful. They'd seen their share of carnage since their "induction" into V.F.D., but this particular "mission" took the cake. And the fact that one of their own was behind the whole thing was enough to make them never want to sleep again. Murders were happening every day, mass or minor, and if they didn't find a way off Ebullient Isle fast, then the whole island would become one giant graveyard. Then it would only be a matter of time before the killer found a way off Ebullient Isle and took that same horror to the V.F.D. Headquarters…
Klaus and Isadora raced up to the intersecting hallway just a few doors ahead when suddenly Klaus skidded to a stop, holding up his hand to stop Isadora. Isadora tipped her head, puzzled.
"What's wrong?" she asked quietly.
"Shh!" Klaus was quick to answer.
Footsteps.
Around the corner.
They were faint, thanks to the plush carpeting, but he could just barely make them out.
The killer was still out!
Immediately, Klaus got up against the wall and sidled up to the corner, Isadora following suit. His heart began to pound, sweat beading on his brow. He couldn't believe it–––this was it. His luck had run out. Any minute now, he'd be joining Violet in death, and Sunny and Beatrice would be on their own with nobody to take care of them except the volunteers.
No…
He wouldn't have it. He had to make it back to them. He didn't trust V.F.D. to take care of his family. They'd done enough.
Gathering up what little courage he had left, Klaus prepared to pounce. Closer the footsteps came…
Closer…
Closer…
Klaus's sweating intensified. Already he was trembling, and his vision began to blur a touch.
Suddenly, there was a creak, then a slam, and the hall went back to being deafeningly quiet.
Carefully, carefully, Klaus peeked his head around the corner, preparing for the worst.
Nothing.
Not a soul was in the hall but him and Isadora.
Klaus breathed a quivery sigh of relief. The killer had changed course. Perfect. That should give them enough time to check on Duncan and get back to their rooms. He looked around at Isadora, who was equally as sweaty and frightened. Judging by the look on her face, she must've heard the footsteps, too.
"Are they gone?" she dared to whisper.
Klaus nodded. "For now," he whispered back. "Let's hurry before he changes his mind."
They resumed their journey back to the foyer, which wasn't far at all, for the main staircase was right there around the corner. Klaus and Isadora tromped down the stairs and into the foyer to investigate the killer's recent project. Not a thing looked out of place…except for the body sprawled in front of the double doors. Isadora rushed over to it and got on her knees to give it a hug, tears sliding down her cheeks once more.
Klaus stood at the foot of the stairs and watched her agony unfold. "Duncan?" he uttered under his breath, the color draining from his face. He strode over to where the two were and got down next to Isadora. If she was crying this hard over a corpse, it had to be him. Questions popped up everywhere in his mind, and he struggled to figure out which mole to whack first. He didn't want to be rude and interrupt Isadora's mourning, but he also wanted to find out how Duncan was killed and if the killer left any clues behind. That, and he wanted to make it back to his room in one piece. Klaus examined what remained of his best friend. Not a scratch was on him, except for his neck. A sharp instrument had made a fatal pierce through his throat into the back of his neck, presumably nicking his brain stem. But that was it. No other clues besides that.
Klaus sat back on his feet, thinking hard. He recalled Duncan saying that he saw the killer and that he was dressed in a long black robe with an all-white theater mask wielding a machete. His eyes lit up in realization. Machete! The killer had to have slain Duncan! He checked the stabbing in Duncan's neck for confirmation. Suddenly, Klaus's face scrunched, baffled at his findings.
Machetes had large blades–––in length, width, height… The stabbing in Duncan's neck was much too small to be a machete's doing. It was a blade alright, but not the killer's. Either Duncan had misread what the killer's weapon of choice was in the heat of the moment, or he was lying. Hell, maybe this whole thing was staged! Maybe he killed himself in order to look innocent, but ultimately achieve his sick goal…whatever it was. …But, in order to do that, then somebody living would have to carry out his remaining wishes.
Wait!
That would mean…
There are two killers!
Klaus gulped, his heart pounding. Two killers. He shook his head, unable to believe it. Who in their right mind would possibly consider volunteering to be that sick creature's accomplice? With difficulty, he looked over at Isadora for an answer… She merely kept sobbing into Duncan's sweater.
After chewing on such a possibility, Klaus dismissed it with a shake of his head. No. Impossible. Duncan would never do anything that crazy. Sure, he'd seen volunteers do drastic things in drastic measures, but Duncan was never the type to do such a thing, regardless of the situation's severity. A family man like him couldn't have been behind all this bloodshed…
…Could he?
Klaus let out a shaky sigh, disturbed by the past few days. He couldn't take it anymore. Violet and Duncan were already gone, in addition to many more volunteers. How many more had to die before somebody got the point?
As Isadora continued to mourn over her oldest brother, Klaus took one final look around the area. The killer had to have left a clue somewhere. A stabbing through Duncan's neck wasn't enough of a lead. Just then, something caught Klaus's eye.
The closet just past the double doors in front of the staircase.
The door was open…just a crack.
Immediately, Klaus got up and hurried over to it, swallowing nervously. Guess somebody didn't cover their tracks well… Taking a deep breath, he yanked the door open, praying the killer wasn't behind it spying on them.
Nothing.
Nothing but coats and hats hanging on the racks, some of which would never been worn again.
Klaus sighed, relieved, then shut the door and walked back over to Isadora. Well, somebody was down here in the closet sometime during the night. Hiding from the killer, perhaps? Or were they spying on someone? And if they were spying, who were they spying on? The killer? Duncan? Them, and they just barely got away before he noticed? That was another mystery to solve.
There had to be more clues… He probably just wasn't looking hard enough…or too hard that he missed something. Whichever it was, he didn't have a lead. Well, not a strong one at least. There had to be something that would give him a push in the right direction…
Isadora, still crying, though not as hard as before, stroked Duncan's hair. Klaus still couldn't believe she could make out who it was in all the darkness. That corpse could've been any volunteer's…
Suddenly, something hit Klaus hard. He'd just realized something. Something quite odd…
Duncan was the only volunteer still in one piece after death…
He wasn't brutally torn apart or slain in an abhorrent fashion. All the other volunteers that'd been killed had. Whoever the killer was had a tremendous amount of respect for him in some way…
Same as the first time, Klaus looked at Isadora with difficulty. No… Not a sweet, innocent girl like her… He wouldn't know what to do if she'd planned all this. He shook his head, dismissing the thought. No. She couldn't have planned all this. Isadora couldn't have taken on all those combat majors at once, let alone tear them apart and hang them by their own intestines. No offense to her, but she was weak–––physically incapable of performing such a feat. She wouldn't stand a chance. And judging by her fainting at the carnage yesterday morning, it didn't look staged. If she'd faked it, then she would've taken care not to hit her head when she fell back. She was knocked out cold–––he could feel the huge lump on the back of her head when he'd carried her up the stairs. It was real alright. So it couldn't possibly have been her doing all along…
…Could it?
"Caw! Caw!" Tap, tap!
Isadora finally picked her head up off of Duncan and looked with Klaus to find a lone crow perched on the windowsill outside the window in the living room. But it wasn't this that surprised the two–––it was what was wrapped around its leg that had their attention.
Isadora's eyes widened. After a sudden flashback to her captivity in the Village of Fowl Devotees, she wiped her tears, got up, and ran over to the window to let the crow inside, Klaus running after her. This crow wasn't just an ordinary crow–––this crow was a V.F.D. carrier crow! That bird was their ticket off Ebullient Isle and out of the killer's reach! She unlatched the window and it swung open. With a satisfied squawk, the crow hopped inside and looked up at her gratefully with its beady black eyes. Isadora untied the parcel from the bird's foot, opened it, and read what was typed on it, Klaus peering over her shoulder to read with her.
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TO: Volunteers on Ebullient Isle
FROM: V.F.D. Headquarters
July 7 || 17:32 hours
.
Fellow associates,
We've gone several days without contact
from Volunteer T or anyone else. We're anxious
that our enemies have compromised the safety
of one of our few safe places. Please respond ASAP
so we do not fear the worst. Thank you, and be safe.
.
The world is quiet here
Tim Fletcher
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"They wrote this twelve hours ago," Klaus observed, then looked at Isadora.
Isadora didn't answer, but she immediately began rummaging around in her pocket for something. She pulled out her notebook and pencil, flipped it open to a blank page, and scribbled a reply.
.
SABOTAGE, APHONIC, SLAUGHTER
.
Klaus began to fidget, his heart racing again. That was…an interesting choice of words. Enough to make him sweat. Why didn't she just say 'Help'? Even if the enemy did intercept their message, 'Help' could mean anything from 'save us from this mysterious, sick-minded killer' to 'save us from this horrible violin recital we were forced to attend'. Either way, its intention would be vague and it wouldn't compromise their safety further than it already was. So why didn't she just write that instead?
Unless…
Isadora tore out the page, shoved her notebook and pencil back in her pocket, and tied her reply to the crow's foot. However, the crow didn't move. It merely looked up at them as if they were forgetting something.
"I'm sorry, we don't have a tip," Isadora apologized sweetly with a shrug. "But we'll make it up to you, I promise. Right now, we need you to get this back to Tim ASAP. Otherwise, we won't be alive to make it up to you."
The crow gave them a gravelly squawk in understanding, then it hopped back out onto the windowsill and took flight.
Klaus and Isadora watched their only hope flap off into the distance. Klaus pursed his lips, pondering what to do next. This was unexpected… Assuming the crow made it to HQ with their reply, time was running out, and it wouldn't be long before "reinforcements" arrived…
Isadora closed the window and smiled at Klaus. "That was unexpected…" she chuckled.
"Yeah, it was," Klaus agreed feebly.
Isadora tipped her head, curious. "Are you alright?" she asked. "You look…guilty."
"Me?" Klaus shook his head with an amused chuckle. "No, why?"
"Just worried about you," Isadora replied with a shrug. "You've been acting very different lately."
"No, I'm not," Klaus grunted.
"Yes, you are," Isadora insisted knowingly. "You're getting into more fights with Fiona, you're acting jumpy–––aside from the killer, and you've been up at odd hours of the night, like now." She paused to let her realizations sink in, then she took his hand in hers and patted it. "What's going on, Klaus?"
Klaus began to tremble as he rubbed the foot-long scar on his chest. The pressure grew more and more unbearable with every passing second. Suddenly, without thinking, he blurted, "You're the killer, aren't you?"
Isadora flinched, taken aback. Klaus breathed an inward sigh of relief, as her reaction, surprisingly, wasn't like Fiona's. "No," she replied, shaking her head. "Is that what's bothering you so much? Is that you think I'm the killer?"
"You're up at odd hours of the night, too," Klaus shot back at once.
"We've all been up at odd hours of the night," Isadora pointed out patiently. "And the killer roaming around doesn't help, either."
"So why were you singling me out, huh?" Klaus's sweating worsened.
"I wasn't singling you out. I was just making an observation. That isn't like you, and I'm concerned. I want to help you, Klaus."
Klaus blinked, reigning his aggression back in. She wasn't lying. He could see it in her eyes. She was being sincere. A pang of guilt shot through him. "I…thanks," he muttered, looking away, embarrassed.
Isadora smiled halfheartedly in understanding. She had a strong feeling that it wasn't just the killer that sparked his odd behavior. And she had a pretty good guess as to what it was… "I'm so sorry about Violet, Klaus," she said after a minute, shaking her head. "I know exactly how you feel." Here, she looked over at Duncan's corpse, tears welling up in her eyes again.
Klaus winced, tears coming to his eyes now. He couldn't believe what he'd done… He stared out the window, watching the first few rays of sunlight poke through the trees. What a beautiful sight…he was positive he wouldn't get to see another one. "So…you're not the killer?" he choked finally, shaking worse than the leaves in the wind.
Isadora looked back at Klaus, who was still staring out the window, tears streaming down his cheeks. "No," she shook her head. "If I was the killer, I wouldn't have hidden 'SOS' in the note. I would've said 'Everything's fine'."