Author's Notes: So even though I've been super swamped, I took like half a day to read and write a bunch of fanfiction because it's like... therapeutic or something.
Cartman stood at his kitchen counter, a dead frog lying on a roughed up cutting board. The room was highly unsanitary, not a place you'd want to put your food. The smell of chemicals- most pungently formaldehyde- filled the room to the brim. Jars were strewn across every surface, some empty except for filth and mold running up the sides. Others held various disembodied parts of beasts suspended in a transparent concoctions.
When Cartman got his hands on the equipment, he himself took on a darker, manic air. It seemed as though he were pretending to give some sort of fragmented lecture on the science behind shocking a dead frog to make the muscles move. Kyle sat at the table, eyeing a more ambiguous body part floating in one of the jars with fascination and minor disgust, only catching bits and pieces of his deranged friend's whispering.
Suddenly, an idea struck Kyle, "Just making the thing move is elementary. Couldn't you bring it back to life?"
Cartman paused, dropping the tongs he was using to to hold up his frog. "I'm still sore from the last time I preformed that little trick. Besides..." he picked up the frog and waved it around a bit, the limbs flopping stiffly, "I think I fried this guy beyond repair. The key is the brain- That's where everything that makes you YOU is. There are some things I can fix... but the entire system is so complex. Thousands of synapsis connecting, just the right electrodes coursing through, communicating in just the right way..." Cartman trailed off, the frog falling to the ground with a wet plop. If he noticed, he didn't show it, instead of picking it up, simply continuing his odd rant in a far off voice, "I feel like a lot of people take it for granted... how perfectly our bodies are put together. Of course, there is some margin of error, but it's so minuscule. Yes, there's birth defects, disease, some bumps in the road, but so many are born with so little issue down to the atom. Nature is a genius! Maybe more so than us men can ever hope to be."
Kyle blinked, letting the words sink in. As oddly poetic as they sounded to him, he was also convinced that they were born of Cartman being slightly off his rocker from staying in the house too long. When was the last time he'd seen sunlight?
Kyle was about to query this just as Cartman went to retrieve his little roasted experiment. But in that same moment, a knock sounded from the door that made both men freeze in place.
"You," Cartman gestured frantically at Kyle with his frog, "Bedroom. Channel your inner Jew, and don't make a sound."
On his way out, Kyle punched him hard on the back of the shoulder for that little comment. "Not funny, asshole," he whispered. The last bit of him to be seen disappearing around the corner was his raised middle finger.
Cartman couldn't help but snort. It was moments like this that their dynamic seemed to be reverting back to how it had been in the past. It should've made him happy. That was what he wanted, right? ...Still, he couldn't help but worry Kyle's returning memory was destroying the strangely nice romantic air that had formed between them.
There was a second pounding on the door. "Fucking Christ! One minute!" Cartman shouted. When he was sure Kyle was settled, he swung the door open. He seriously considered shutting it immediately when he saw who it was. The urge was overpowered by interest.
Cartman put his hands on his hips sassily, "And what could you possibly want?"
Standing eye to eye with him was Wendy. If Cartman was an ounce more human, he might've noticed her eyes were red, and her face was down like she's been crying. "It's Stan."
Cartman frowned, still sour from their encounter a few nights prior, "Yeah. Your dumbshit fiancé. Did he drink himself into a coma yet?"
Ignoring the rude comment, she explained, "He... He came home from your house the other night, talking about some kind of nonsense that had really shaken him. He started drinking... and than... I heard a crash... He must've slipped..." Than uncharacristically of herself, Wendy started to choke on sobs, "He was unconscious when I found him... and... has a bad concussion."
"Jesus Christ," Cartman muttered, going to run a hand through his hair, but instead hitting himself in the face with a handful of dead frog. Recovering from his embarrassment quickly, he assessed the situation. Here was a woman in front of him who he hated, crying about a guy he was mad at. It might be different if Stan was dead or something. But he wasn't. So Cartman really, REALLY didn't care. He went to shut the door.
Wendy put her foot in the way, shoving it open again, "Look," she grated out firmly, the sadness that had stricken her only a second before mostly displaced, "I just wanted to ask you... When Stan came home that night, he told me something strange, and I wonder if you know something about it..."
A bad feeling set in Cartman's stomach. He narrowed his eyes, trying to keep his voice level, "And what might that be?"
"He said that Kyle is alive."
That stupid son of a bitch. Cartman bit his lip. It was hard to keep a neutral expression as he slowly snarled out a reply, "You know. I might not have acted like it all the time, but Kyle was my friend," he told her darkly, "Don't come around here again asking me things like that. It's... disrespectful."
Unannounced to either Wendy or Cartman, the bedroom door slowly opened just a crack. Kyle peered out, trying to listen in on what was being said without being discovered.
An angry voice, "So, what... you're telling me he just made it up?"
Than Cartman, "Yeah. Dead bodies don't get up and start walking around..."
"You probably messed with him because you know he's in a weak position right now."
"You obviously don't know a damn thing about me. Your pansy-ass boyfriend just drunk himself delusional-"
There was a series of loud thuds, both parties cursing and yelling. Kyle's eyes widened. Without thinking, he ran out of hiding. "HEY," he yelled sternly. Automatically, Cartman and Wedny both jumped and froze in place. Wendy had Cartman's hair in her grasp, his body angled to make the impact of her fists harder on his face. Cartman held his fried frog body firmly against her cheek.
After a moment of silence, Cartman ground out, "Remember that thing about waiting in the back room?"
Kyle hesitated a few beats. Than theatrically frowned, "Your hour's up. If you want me to stay, you're going to have to pay double."
Cartman caught onto the game immediately. Internally, he cursed at how ingenious, but horribley embarrassing this was. The rose that shone on his cheeks was all too real as he stepped away from Wendy and met Kyle's mischievous gaze, "Fine, I'll pay for another hour. Just. Go back in the bedroom."
"Is she joining in?" Kyle pointed at Wedny, "That's extra."
"NO!" Wendy and Cartman squealed.
Kyle clicked his tongue, enjoying this act more than he should. He winked at a mortified Wendy, "Lady, if you've got a problem with him being with a man, you should see what he does with that frog."
Wendy choked as she watched the man disappear back down the hall.
She was sure that that had been Kyle, but maybe... Maybe Cartman's way of coping was finding a prostitute that looked just like him? Maybe that's who Stan saw and this was all just a misunderstanding?
...Or maybe she was getting played. Wendy smelled something odd in the air, and it wasn't formaldehyde or crisped frog flesh.
The light of the foyer was lit only by the flickering furnace, and the eerie light of the full moon shown distorted by the translucent blue curtains. Everything in the room, from the freshly waxed tile floor to the massive chandelier hanging before the grand staircase was dipped in a sinister blue.
The loud clicking of heals echoed throughout the room as a gorgeous woman paced anxiously across the floor, her sparkling gown dragging behind her. All of her features were pale and soft, a show of her power and riches. Even in her obvious nervous state, her hips still swayed with a practice grace and her head was held proudly high.
Wendy sat on the woman's couch, watching as the silky material moved against the curvature of her body. "Bebe?" She asked, once the silence had gone on longer than her nerves could stand.
The woman stopped her march, eyes glancing at Wendy. "You understand that what you're telling me is absolutely impossible?"
"He was there, Bebe... I checked. I saw him with my own eyes," Wendy bit her lip, "...What if he remembers, and starts to figure it out? Kyle isn't stupid..."
Bebe smiled. She had beautiful plump lips, but a hint of something devious twisted the corners of her mouth. The clanking heals started up once more, now deviating from their path to bring her inches away from Wendy. Bebe couldn't help but think that the woman on her couch, while not nearly as stunning as herself, was very pretty. Especially considering that she refused to adorn herself with makeup or jewels. Even Wendy's hair was a ratty, dark brown mess. But the look was all her own. It was a statement. Bebe carefully sat down next to this young fiery girl, putting a hand on her shoulder, "I thought you were supposed to be the smart one? Dead men don't remember things, dear."
Wendy pushed her hand away, sighing sadly, "I still feel awful about helping you. Kyle was a good man."
"Yes, yes. Everyone loved Kyle. I loved him more than anyone else, I think," Bebe chatted unthinkingly.
When Wendy bit her lip and looked glumly over to the side, Bebe lifted a thin gloved hand up, gently turning Wendy's face so they were eye to eye, "Hey... Don't worry so much. Your guilt is probably just making you see things. I'll go over to that inbred Cartman's house myself just to make sure. But I won't find anything," she chuckled darkly and leaned in toward Wendy, "You need to loosen up..."
Their glossed, thick lips opened to one another. Passion mixed with an enticing shame washed over Wendy as she dove herself further into the rough kiss. Bebe's generous chest was squeezed by the pressure of the two girl's bodies melting together. Her pair of hot smooth tits were threatening to completely pop out of the low cut dress top.
The sound of the large door creaking open drove the two ladies apart. They both worked to compose themselves, Bebe fixing her hair and cleavage, and Wendy attempting to rub Bebe's lip gloss off her face. The steps approached, and finally made their way to the surprised couple.
Clyde raised an eyebrow at the two shaken girls, who smiled back at him manically to hide their previous actions. "Is everything okay?" he asked them slowly.
"Of course, darling. Everything is fine," Bebe laughed plastically, flipping her hair around, "Just us girls enjoying some girl-talk."
Clyde's eyes dropped to Bebe's boobs, and any suspicions he might've had instantly melted into hormonal stupidity. "Well, come to bed when your done..." he muttered, scratching his head and starting to find his way out. Images of his face shoved in his wife's hot breasts rang through his mind. With his eyes still glued to Bebe's chest, he ended up hitting the wall on his way back to the door.
When the click of the door shutting reached them, and Clyde's footsteps died away completely, Bebe rolled her eyes in disgust. "Men are pigs," she told Wendy, "But we're living in their world. Us women can't do a thing but leach off of their success."
Wendy knew she didn't agree with Bebe. To say that women couldn't do anything really bristled her inner feminist. It was better not to cross Bebe, though. She'd learned that the hard way. Besides, she was definitely right about it being a man's world, and boy were there some bad men holding the world's reigns. But that didn't mean that every male was evil down to the core. Wendy really truly loved Stan, and she had considered Kyle a close friend. The more she contemplated her deed, the worse she felt.
Maybe she was letting Bebe get to her a little too much. All she'd done was act as a middleman for Bebe and an old friend she knew would have a good, untraceable poison for sale. At the time, Wendy hadn't even known who would fall victim to the poison's use. Still, Bebe held everything over her head, made her feel as if they were in the situation together. Partners in crime.
It genuinely made her feel awful, but on top of that, there was the constant underlying fear of getting caught. What if Kyle really was somehow back? What if he remembered everything and put the pieces together? As horrible as she felt, Wendy had to think about her loved ones. The people she'd killed for in the first place. She gently ran a palm along her stomach, thinking of her poor, abused fiancée.
As he trudged parallel to the thick iron gate that enclosed the cemetery, Stan thought back to earlier that day with disgust.
"One more time son, tell me what happened. Slower."
Stan grit his teeth at the infuriating man in front of him, who didn't seem to realize how dire their situation was.
Constable Harrison Yates stared the young man in front of him down. News spread quick in the small town, so he was well aware of what the kid had just gone through. It sickened him that youth always had to turn to drugs in times of distress. Yates knew the signs. Shaking, tugging at his hair. Underneath his overcoat, the constable could see the kid still had on his pajamas, despite it being well past noon. Not to mention the nonsense he was spewing.
Stan took a harsh breath in, massaging the bridge of his nose, "Look. I know how this sounds, but if you just search Eric Cartman's house-"
"Right..." Yates stressed condescendingly, "and what was that bit about your wife?"
"My finance knocked me out," Stan reasserted, than looked around as if worried Wendy was watching from the corner, "She's got the doctor convinced that it's all in my head, but I know I'm in my right mind."
"Ha!" Yates laughed heartily and shook his head, "A WOMAN knocked a strong young bull like you out? Son, you must have some pretty serious brain damage from that fall you took."
Stan grunted in frustration, but quickly straitened up, repeating, "Fine. FINE," exasperatedly a few times before heading towards the door, "If you won't help me, I'll find someone who will."
Stan saw it all so clearly now. He'd tried to go about fixing things all wrong. It didn't matter that the constable was a useless, destructively misogynistic bigot. There were laws above man that Cartman had broken. The highest spire of the church came into view behind a thicket of trees and a light sprinkling of snow swirling through the air.
...And this time, he would make sure he had irrefutable evidence of his case. There wouldn't be a person in town who didn't know the truth.
Author's Notes: Oops, I think my lesbian is showing. Heh. So... I'm hoping it will be easier to get the rest of this out, because I basically know what I want to do with it. Also. For anyone who cares, I'm almost done with the next chapter of 'Eat and Forget'.
You should review or message me because it would mean a lot to me.