I might change my username after this story is finished.
If so, the new name will be "Sovereign". I just love how that word sounds.
By the way, I'd appreciate some beta readers, if you guys would be willing to.
DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN ANYTHING MENTIONED IN THIS STORY.
Just this story. Enjoy!
My eyes were as wide as dinner plates as I looked upon the ghastly scene not ten feet from my nose.
Human body parts had been arranged into a twisted flower with six petals. In the bottom left one I could distinctly see one of Ventus's eyes staring back at me out of half a head.
"Oh…my…god," I croaked, horrified beyond measure. What sick mind had done this?
To answer my own question—remember when I told you I'd prefer not to elaborate on the Petal Killer's methods of
Despite my mind screaming at my legs to turn me around and rush me back home, I involuntarily took a step forward. I collapsed to my knees, bent over, and vomited uncontrollably on the bloodied carpet.
When my body was finished reacting to the flower of parts, I shakily got to my feet and wiped gorge off my cheek. Tears again ran down my face as I stared at the remains of my friend.
"Hello, there," a cool voice called.
I whipped around. "Who are you?" I shrieked. "Come out so I can kill you for this, you fucker!"
A pink-haired man descended the stairs, still holding the severed head of…
I dared not check. But I was shocked at the familiar face of the murderer—my physics teacher.
"Mr. Marluxia?" I gasped. "But-but-but-how? Why? WHY?"
The Petal Killer smirked. "Because this brat"—he gestured at Ventus's split head—"was arrogant enough to clip a flower bush," the madman explained. "Do you think you are proud enough to harm one of nature's most amazing creations?"
I rapidly shook my head in terror. "N-no," I mumbled.
When I looked up again he had a butcher's cleaver out and a deranged expression on his face. "He loves me, he loves me not," Marluxia replied in a singsong voice.
I desperately searched for an opening, but the killer had left none.
The door? He could effortlessly throw the cleaver into my back.
The other hallway? He'd have me trapped if I did so.
A window? Too slow.
Charge at him? At first I thought that idea was more insane than the murderer standing before me, but then I realized that he wouldn't be expecting it.
I didn't have much of a choice, anyways.
With a battle cry, I sprinted towards the man. His face morphed from sadistic grin to shocked frown, and then he raised the cleaver…
I bolted underneath his raised arm, rolling under the weapon, before darting up the stairs. With luck I'd be able to barricade myself in one of the rooms upstairs.
I chose the first room I found—a bathroom.
"Crap, this was stupid," I muttered, sweating as Marluxia furiously pounded at the locked door.
What now?
I turned a full circle, frantically scanning for something, anything, that could protect me from the man about to break down the door.
A small window was inset near the top of the shower. Would I fit?
I scaled the tiled wall of the shower, hoping the glass separator I was braced against wouldn't collapse, and unlatched and pulled open the window.
I found myself clutching at the sill, outside, just as the door fell inwards.
"Hi there," the madman grinned, waving his hand at me. The other was behind his back. "I have a surprise for you…"
This was crazy—what if I fell and broke my neck, or got hurt by the impact? Then I'd be dead just as sure as if I were stabbed.
He approached me and drew his hand out. Surprise, he was holding the cleaver.
I ever so slowly wiggled my fingers out onto the sill until my nails were the only things keeping me aloft.
"Can't we talk about this?" I pleaded, digging my toes into the smooth frame of the wall.
"Hmmm, let me think about it," he murmured, still with that deranged grin. Then, to my surprise, he turned around and began holding an actual debate with himself.
"The prosecution states that the defendant is GUILTY, guilty, GUILTY, guilty," he muttered. "And the judge agrees!"
"The defense objects. That's not proper legal proceeding!" I retorted. I don't really know why I said that; maybe the guy's insanity was rubbing off on me.
He turned back around to face me. "But the prosecution says, I DON"T CARE!" he shouted, swinging at me with his cleaver.
I shrieked and let go of the window, falling ten feet onto my back. It didn't hurt, for some reason.
That reason turned out to be a rose bush. Thorns cut into my skin through the thin cotton of my T-shirt.
I ripped myself free and staggered towards the sidewalk. A roar of anger came from behind me.
I turned around to see the killer clambering down the wall like some oversized monkey.
"Get back here, GIRL!" he yelled, brandishing his cleaver at me.
How in the hell had anybody not realized what was going on? Of course, nobody would want to get between a madman with a knife and his target. Meaning, me.
I ran for my life, jerking my cell phone out of my pocket between strides.
"911 emergency services, how can I help you?" the calm voice of the operator greeted.
"He-he's behind me!" I panted. "He's—waaahhhh!" I barely ducked the thrown cleaver in time.
"Who's behind you?" the operator asked.
"The-the killer!" I shouted. "The Petal Killer—he's behind me!"
Over the phone I could hear a muffled curse, before the operator answered, "Are you sure?"
My patience was hanging by a freaking thread, and that stupid question snapped it.
"YES! YES I'M SURE GODDAMMIT, AND IF YOU DON"T GET HERE SOON I'M DEAD!" I screamed.
"Alright, miss," the operator said. "Can you tell me where you are right now?"
"Lancelot Street," I answered. I swerved to the left just as a rock flew past where my head had been a second ago. "Now Third Street!"
"Downtown," the operator muttered. "Now keep this line open—do not hang up, whatever you do, okay?"
"Okay—okay," I gasped. I was tiring, but pushed myself to run farther.
What the operator said next was drowned out by a hollered, "I'M GONNA CUT YOU TO PIECES BITCH!"
"As I was saying, keep running and don't stop," the operator urged. "You have to find someplace you can hide in."
"I know that," I replied. My legs burned with lactic acid, but my brain kept them pumping.
"That's good," the operator said. "If you can, try and find a place you can hide in or barricade."
"I got it."
"How much farther can you run?"
"I don't know—not for much longer!"
"Try to hold out for two minutes."
"I'll be dead in two minutes!"
Another curse drifted into my ear. "Okay. Ummmm…try to reach your house."
"I'm running in the opposite direction!" Crap, I was slowing down. I pushed my legs harder.
"Wait…one second…"
"WHAT? What are you talking about?"
"Sorry. Okay, we've got your location now. There's an alleyway about fifty feet away from you. See if you can get up the fire escape."
I got the feeling the guy on the other side of the line was a newbie. "I'm exhausted, I can't make it!" I yelled.
"LISTEN. IF YOU DON'T GET THERE, YOU'RE DEAD," the operator thundered. "UNDERSTAND, SOLDIER? RUN, DAMMIT, RUN!"
I was no soldier, but I followed my orders anyways, urging my legs to run just a little more…
I finally reached the fire escape described. But I had to stop; my body forced me to.
Something swished through the air with a sound I calculated was not ten feet from me.
"HELLO THERE."
I hauled ass up the grated metal lattice, frantically pulling myself higher with whatever part of me was in contact with the fire escape—hands, feet, shoulders, hips, and occasionally eyelids.
I heard no sound of pursuit behind me, no ringing of hard rubber soles against bare steel. I relaxed, just a bit.
That was before I saw the killer scaling the brick wall next to me.
I shrieked again and backed up as the retrieved cleaver clanged off the cage railing.
The next level down, the one I had just rushed up, had no such amenity.
Both of us looked down at the level below, one seeing an opportunity, the other seeing something to run like hell from.
The killer snarled in triumph and swung onto the fire escape with one powerful motion as I desperately dashed up to the next level.
He was way too close for comfort; only a single ten-step flight of stairs separated his weapon and me—and he was gaining.
CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG went our shoes against the stairs.
"GET BACK HERE!" he hollered again.
I put on a fresh burst of speed to reach the roof. My heart was pounding, at least over two hundred beats per minute.
CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG.
I had never pushed myself this much before, never EVER. My endurance was reaching its maximum limit.
The whitewashed tiles of the roof beckoned and I gladly leaped onto it. Then I realized my mistake.
"Oh…shit," I muttered fearfully, scanning around to search for the staircase leading into the building we were on top of.
The cleaver swished through my sleeve, carving a long gash into my forearm.
"AAAAAHHHHHH!" I shrieked in pain. I clutched my arm, hugging it to my chest.
"We meet again," the killer said casually. He took a step towards me and I backed away.
I was a cornered mouse, trapped by the cat.
"Did I ever tell you how I killed that friend of yours?" Another step forward, another step back.
"Why?" I choked. My sleeve was drenched in crimson. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because," he smiled. "I have to teach you a lesson."
"I'll only learn if I live!" I said, still backing away.
"But this lesson has to be permanent," he whined. He took a step forward and I took another back.
"It will be! I swear—I swear!" I babbled.
"Really?" he asked, theatrically examining his shoes.
"Yes," I said. My shoes hit the edge of the roof. "Oh, no."
"No?" he said, raising an eyebrow.
"NO, I mean YES, I mean NO—NO!" I ducked again as he slashed at my head.
"No?" he asked again.
I didn't answer.
"Well?"
This had to be a dream. I had to be dreaming. Yeah, this was all a nightmare.
"It's rude to not answer someone's question, you know."
This was a dream and in a few seconds Aqua would shout at me to wake up.
"How should I punish you for being impolite?" he wondered aloud, cupping his chin.
This was happening, oh my god it was really happening.
Tears ran down my face, serenaded by my strangled, gasping sobbing.
Oh god, please no, I silently pleaded to whoever was watching. Please…
"I know!" he shouted suddenly. He laughed crazily.
The killer grabbed my face and jerked it up so that I was looking into his eyes.
"Such a pretty girl," he sighed. "Too bad you had to grow up rotten."
My eyes widened. This was it. I was going to die here, alone.
"No…no…no…" I sobbed. "Please…"
"Let her go," a frigid voice stated.
The killer turned around. "And who, perchance, are you?" he asked.
My mysterious savior didn't speak.
"A silent hero, hmmm?" the killer observed. "Too bad."
He trotted towards the unknown person, to reveal…
"Roxas!" I gasped. For reasons unfathomable to me my heart began to pound even harder.
He didn't acknowledge me, instead facing the killer with an expression of…
I realized I had never once seen Roxas angry. Now, his face was contorted into a mask of rage icier than space. The switchblade he had used to cut himself was held loosely in one hand.
The killer charged without warning. "YAAAAHHHH!"
Roxas met the challenge without a sound.
Mr. Marluxia swung his cleaver at Roxas, but the blond caught his opponent's arm and smashed a fist squarely into his jaw. The madman staggered back, and Roxas pressed his attack.
The switchblade flashed and a finger flew.
The killer screamed in agony, dropping his cleaver and clutching his hand.
"MY HAND!" he shrieked. "You bastard!"
Roxas tacitly approached. "Die," he spat, raising his knife.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—"
The six-inch blade of Roxas's switchblade plunged into the killer's head, instantly cutting off the scream of terror.
Roxas twisted the weapon a quarter turn and jerked it back out. The corpse collapsed to the tile, blood spurting out of the ragged hole punched into its skull.
The blond wiped the weapon off on his sleeve before pocketing it. He walked toward me, relief etched on his face.
"Namine," he whispered. "My god…are you okay?"
I rushed towards him and wrapped my arms around him in a bear hug, no longer caring that I hated him. My tears dripped onto his jacket.
He hugged me back, one hand stroking my hair. "It's okay now," he crooned soothingly. "He's gone, you're safe."
Thud THUD.
I jerked my head off of his chest. "What's that noise?" I asked him.
"What noise—NAMINE!" he shouted. "No—no—wake up! Please!" He gazed at me in panic.
"Roxas, what's wrong?" I asked tensely. "Roxas?"
White streaks of light appeared around me, like I was going into hyperspace.
"What the—"
Everything went dark.
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I know I'm jumping the shark a bit, bringing a serial killer into the story, but hey.
This is the only way to really reconcile Namine and Roxas without my directly intervening. Besides, Namine's vision is a good cliffhanger.
Roxas: "What's wrong with Namine? Tell me!" *shakes comatose Namine*
Me: "You'll find out later, dammit. Wait."
By the way, "The Artist and the Rebel" has been (tentatively) renamed to "This is Our Story". I just can't think of a good name for that story! Argh!
Do I even have to tell you I want reviews? EVERYBODY wants reviews!
And thanks to everyone who favorited my story!
*high-fives everybody over cyberspace*
Oohrah, my fine colleagues! I now have 20+ reviews—never thought I'd make it this far!
Special thanks to ken08002 (as always) and shadowofthenightxx!