To Catch a Killer
By: KitKat411
Author's Notes: Hello again, ya'll! I have finals to study for, friends to annoy, parents to yell at and such…but, here I am, updating. Yay. Updating is more fun than finals, anyway.
So here ya go, Chapter Two! D I know it's a TINY BIT long-hah-but I had to put all this crap in somewhere. And besides, you have to have a meet and greet with Miss Hilary Fey, no? After all, she isn't "Hilary Fey: Master Kira Chaser" yet. She's still "Hilary Fey: Crappy Loner Pissed Off Teenage Girl." But I promise that this IS the longest chapter. D
Oh, and one more thing. (I ALWAYS say this in my Author's Notes. Just look at my other stories.) HILARY IS NOT A MARY-SUE! D If, however, she sounds like one-hell, I've never used an OC before; she probably will-let me know. Also, let me know how to change it! THANKS A BUNCH. E-Cookies to you all!
And now…on with the show!
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About two and a half months earlier…
Boring.
If there was one word to describe Hilary's life, it was "boring." Sitting in an Advanced Biology class, listening to prokaryotes, eukaryotes, cell reproduction, and osmosis, Hilary Fey was sure her life was as boring as it could get. She had a first-class seat on the Boredom Express, the train that was slowly chugging away to nowhere.
Laughing at her exaggerations, Hilary pulled out her Biology binder. On the front of the binder was a large, obnoxious smiling face. Hilary herself had placed the sticker there in the beginning of the year, in a desperate attempt to cheer herself up. Now, however, as winter's snow melted into summer rain, Hilary was certain that the smiling face was laughing at her. It mocked her because the face's life was always happy, happy, happy. Hilary's life, by contrast, was boring, boring, boring.
Fifteen boring minutes later, a set of chimes tinkled annoyingly, signaling the end of classes. Hillary rose out of her seat, scowling asa the itchy wool skirt rubbed against her legs. Damn uniform. Swinging her messenger bag over her shoulder, Hilary walked out of the bio room. Besides the fact that the class was broing, the room always smelled like chemicals and dead frogs.
Sighing, Hilary stepped out into the hallway, wincing as her "school appropriate" black shoes tapped obnoxiously against the shiny wood floor. Most people would be impressed b the advanced science wing, shiny wood floors, and four and half million yen price tag that was Eastland Academy, but Hilary knew better. Eastland was no different than any other prep school. The girls were still bitchy, the wool uniforms were still itchy, and the pressure to be a success was still overwhelming. The only thing that truly set Eastland apart was the fact that every girl in the school had a mother or father in politics, and so the security was tighter at Eastland than at any other building in Japan. Entering her first year at Eastland, Hilary thought that it was "the neatest thing in the world" to have bodyguards watching over you. After two and a half years, however, Hilary wished she could just go to the bathroom without a camera monitoring her.
"Hilary! Hey, Hilary! Wait up! Wait for meeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!"
Hilary frowned, and stopped sharply in front of the courtyard that took up the middle part of Eastland. She turned slowly to see a very thin girl with black hair and eyes approaching her.
"Skye." Hilary said flatly, any trace of emotion gone from her voice. "How are you?"
"Great!" Skye's perky voice more than made up for Hilary's flat one. "It's been a great day for me! What about you? Anything new?" Skye giggled, realizing that "you" and "new" rhymed.
"Well, actually, Hil-Hil," Skye continued, now slightly sadder, "something totally dreadful happened to me. Some kid called me goth!"
Hilary smirked. With Skye's black hair, coal eyes, alabaster skin and blood-red lips, calling Skye a goth was almost too easy. Based on looks and assumptions alone, of course. As soon as Skye opened her mouth she sounded like a forty-year-old country club mother.
Or the other 90 of their school, anyway.
It was funny, too, what people thought of Hilary. She didn't fit in anywhere. She was well-ff, but not enough to be popular. She was thin, but not enough to be anorexic. She was smart, but not a nerd. With the dark green highlights in her chestnut hair, Hilary could be considered a "rebel." However, she rejected that idea at once, claming that smoking and drugs weren't for her. If Hilary was honest with herself, she would admit, with her tenacity and logical brain, she would be a "debater," or at least a damned good politician. However, Hilary was rarely honest with herself, and she had no intention of following her father's footsteps. Plus, Hilary's cold demeanor, biting wit, and apparent lack of emotion prevented her from making any real friends.
Except, apparently, Skye, who followed Hilary around like an abandoned puppy dog. And like an abandoned puppy god, Skye was impossible to shake off, no matter how many nasty comments Hilary threw at her.
Looking around the courtyard in front of her, Hilary stared at the groups of girls scatted across it. Most of the girls were tanning shamelessly, but some had their books splayed around them and were gossiping. Hilary rolled her eyes at this ridiculous site. This example, these girls, probed her point nicely: People suck.
Yes, all together Hilary wholly preferred being by herself.
Finally, Hilary turned back to Skye. "Someone called you goth? You? Why? How could they? Where would they ever get that idea from?"
Skye widened her eyes, oblivious to Hilary's sarcasm. "I know, right? Moi? Goth? I think not! Never! I'd have to be as pale as you, Hil-Hil! GROSS!"
Hilary shouldered her messenger bag, already bored with this dialogue. She had places to go, homework to do and such. At any rate, she wanted to put as much distance between herself and Skye as possible.
While walking across the courtyard, Hilary could feel at least sixty girls watching her. Hilary ignored them, disgusted at their blatant ogling. They were all liars, every last one of them. They lied about everything-their heights, their weights, how many guys they had slept with, and who was gossiping about whom in that damn courtyard. If only they knew what it was like to be talked about, made fun of, laughed at. If only the girls knew what horrible liars they all were.
Hilary smiled an evil smile. If only those lying liars could finally get what they deserved…
…………………………………………………………
It had been exactly three weeks, four days, three hours, and forty-seven minutes since Hilary's fateful walk across the courtyard, and still nothing had changed. Her life was still monitored by a camera, the lying liars still consumed oxygen, her parents were still MIA, and mist of all, her life was as boring as it had ever been.
Hilary was walking home now, her backpack thrown over her shoulder and a frown plastered on her face. It was a five mile walk from Eastland to her home, and Hilary was bitterly regretting not getting a ride in her driver's car. The blisters the size of her English book were threatening to explode at any minute and the sky looked as if it was about to pour.
"Shame the ground can't swallow me and suck me into the ground." Hilary muttered darkly, and glowered. "I hope it doesn't rain, though."
And as if on cue, the sky began pounding droplets of water onto the ground. Muttering to herself about karma, Hilary looked desperately around for a place to go to wait out the rainstorm. She found a small, smelly bus stop, but luckily, it had a bench. She sat down on the bench and pulled her legs onto the bench and close to her chest, so that she vaguely resembled the fetal position. Burying her face in her arms, Hilary began to sob. It wasn't fair. Underneath her cold front, Hilary wasn't a mean person. Most of the time Hilary hid behind sarcasm because she was afraid of people rejecting her.
But no, she reasoned, that wasn't the real problem. She liked being alone, and she liked feeling independent. She hated to be controlled by people, and didn't want her entire existence to rest on whether or not someone liked her hair.
But all those people who did feel that way-dependent- were happy. Hilary wasn't happy; she was frustrated. Her life sucked. Why did the vain, snobby girls always finish first, when people like Hilary were left waiting at a bus stop in the middle of a thunderstorm?
She didn't know how long she sat a that bus stop, but Hilary could tell that it was very late when she finally got up to leave. She wiped her nose on the back of her uniform sleeve, embarrassed. Even though there weren't any people around, Hilary was still humiliated to be seen showing emotion.
Hilary, now really noting how late it had grown, began running towards her house. She was having difficulty seeing, but knew she was going in the right direct-
CRASH!
Hilary staggered back slightly and rubbed her now-throbbing head. She looked to see what she had run into, expecting to see a wall or something of the sort. Insstead, all Hilary could see were a few tufts of graying hair. Looking down, Hilary saw an old woman, a woman with a slightly annoyed expression on her face.
"Running from something, missy?" The woman asked her, and Hilary blinked in surprise. Most strangers brushed themselves off and left, but this woman seemed ready to have a nice little chat.
"The rain, actually. I don't want to get caught again." Hilary stared awkwardly at the woman. "Sorry for running into you."
The woman's sky-blue eyes peered eerily at Hilary's. "Sometimes, missy, running away from your problems isn't the best solution. Sometimes you just have to take the bull by the horns and fight away your fears."
Hilary frowned at the woman, unsure of what to say. "Ah…I mean, you're right."
The woman sighed, and then laughed a little. "That's all right. You don't understand yet." The woman brushed the rain from her dress and prepared to leave.
"Oh, Hilary?" The woman turned back and threw something at an awestruck Hilary. "I usually wear this when facing my problems. It helps, I promise."
And with that, the old woman strode away, leaving a slightly afraid, rain drenched seventeen year old girl alone in the rain, clutching blindly at a necklace.