Author's Note: This is what happens when a nerd like me acquires a social life. Wednesday becomes Monday I am sorry. Also, this is pretty long (not sure if future episodes will follow this trend or not), in fact, I almost cut it in half, but decided against it. I also cut a lot out but wanted to keep a lot of what may be deemed "unnecessary interactions" to help involve and express some characters. So...yeah the initial exchange is kind of serious for this comedic fanfic, but I plan on involving some moments like that. Hope you all enjoy! Replies to reviews will be at the bottom. Also, I'm trying to keep characters relatively canon, but I am imperfect so I apologize for that in advance, too! XD
Disclaimer: I'm running on fumes here...so maybe something will be creative next time! Soul Eater is not mine (and neither is TicTacs, Set Fire To The Rain, Journey to the Center of the Earth, the Titanic, Nancy Drew, Resident Evil: Apocalypse, Google, Catch Me If You Can, Monster, Lucky Charms, Benadryl, Bruce Willis, Lost, Altoids, or Usain Bolt)
-Episode 03-
When Shit Hits the Fan, Don't Just Stand There! Throw Some F***ing TicTacs!
"Maka, my adorable, beautiful dumpa-ling! How was school today, pumkin?"
Her father's sickly sweet inquiry rang loudly in the expansive dining hall, the slight echo of pumkin pumkin pumkin only further illustrating how empty the table was with just the two of them. She knew it wasn't true, but she felt like that dreary, vacant space would easily have been filled if her mother had been present. Or at the very least it wouldn't have been quite as noticeable.
"Fine."
Maka didn't dare glance up from her plate, who knew what her expression showcased considering all the things buzzing through her mind lately, but she could guess from the barest twinge in his voice that her father was most likely frowning.
"Oh, well that's good…" But then his chipper, annoyingly-perpetual happy voice cried out, "I bet you're the smartest in the whole school, right baby! Ah! To think I still remember you running around in your itty-bitty wittle girl bwoomers-"
"Papa." She interjected as fast as possible, hoping to prevent a sudden onslaught of strangling hugs and wet eyes and that gosh darn, awful baby talk her Papa normally showered her with. "Um…I think I have some homework to do. So, um, I'm gonna be excused now."
This time she did direct her eyes in his direction and saw, with an inkling of guilt swimming in her stomach, his face crumple at her hasty retreat. He had been rather busy with work lately (or that was his alibi anyway) and this was the first time in almost two weeks they had sat down to dinner together. But Maka didn't want to deal with her father's boisterous, coddling personality tonight, not with that headline still glaringly present in her mind.
She couldn't forget it. No matter how hard she tried. It had been three days and she continued to see the picture of Gallows Mansion and the gruesome words above it parade across her eyelids just before she fell asleep…and then she'd wake up in a cold sweat at the ungodly hour of 4:15 a.m. with a haunting melody and eerie screams ringing in her ears…
"Well…that's fine, I suppose…but, Maka dear, you've hardly eaten. How about you at least take a couple of bites before you leave, hmm?"
"No, thank you. I'm not hungry." She made to stand up when she noticed the change in Spirit Albarn's posture. He stood up straighter, shoulders back and spine upright, and folded his hands neatly, one over the other. His sky blue eyes focused on his young daughter's half-folded form with an intensity that she could only recall seeing maybe a total of three times in all of her seventeen years.
Uh oh. Was her Papa trying to be…serious?
"Maka-kinz, " Not the greatest start to an honest conversation so there was a decent chance she would get out of whatever-this-was alive, "I understand yo-ehem, we, are still adjusting to…here, but…I'm starting to worry about you, sweetheart. I know you're Papa's (and here he reverted briefly back to his more natural, goofy tone) wittle independent woo-man (and then back to serious), but you haven't been doing…much. You haven't brought one friend over, haven't gone out, or done anything and, Maka darling, that's not quite like you-"
"I'm fine, Papa. Can I go now?"
She knew she was being unfair to an extent, but the idea of him worrying about her set fire to her rain faster than if he had drenched her in gasoline. In a way, this was his entire fault. He had absolutely no right to tell her if she was herself or not! And he damn sure didn't get to worry about her!
For a moment she thought she had won—his eyes clouded over, his lip jutted out exactly like a toddler's did right before they collapsed into crocodile tears, and his "fatherly" posture drooped until his shoulders were practically resting on the table. But the second she officially stood up it was as if he snapped himself back into place. All the sudden he looked as any normal concerned parent would with his no-nonsense frown and "we're gonna talk whether you like it or not, missy" vibe. Maka struggled with keeping her mouth from crashing through the floor and through the basement and taking a journey to the center of the Earth.
"Maka, if you would please let me finish what I was saying before interrupting I would appreciate it. As I was saying, I don't think you're acting quite like yourself, dear. If you need something, then please come to me at any time and ask, but this reclusive, defensive behavior needs to stop. I'm concerned that you'll-"
"Acting like myself? Defensive? Come to you at any time?" Her voice was strangled and keyed up; it sounded more like she had been drinking liquefied helium instead of water for dinner.
And before she knew it, Maka's repressed frustration was released in an explosive display of yelling and teenage angst. Like someone had opened up Pandora's Box: Teenage Girl Edition.
"You don't get to say whether I'm acting like myself or not! You don't get to call me defensive or reclusive or anything! Did it ever occur to you that I don't want to be here? In this town or in this house or here with you? Did you ever pause to consider that maybe you and your disgusting adulterous ways and every whore that you bed for a night was the cause of all my problems? And how dare you say I can come to you at any time when you're hardly ever home!"
"Ma…Maka, sweetie," He was flabbergasted. She could see it in the few wrinkles he sported in his relatively young face, see it in his impossibly wide eyes that reminded her more of a child than of a man, much less a father. "Papa's sorry he's been so busy lately and missing daddy-daughter time, but this new job is-it's very time-consuming and I don't mean to leave you here alone, but you know Papa loves yo-"
"Don't you say it!" She screamed. "Don't you dare say it! How many times have I heard 'you know Papa loves you and Mama very much' and then you just go off and sleep with the next tight ass that walks by!"
"Maka! I-"
"Oh, I'm sure your work is oh, so 'time-consuming,' but that's probably cause you stay overtime to bang your gorgeous secretary like last time, isn't it, Papa? And, by the way, that realtor called the other day while you were at 'work' and I bet you can't wait to fuck her, too-"
"Maka Marie Albarn! That is enough!"
Her jaw snapped shut with an audible click and a silence the likes of which she'd never felt (and never imagined to feel) fell over her and the red-headed dork she called "Papa." Interaction with her and her father had always been superficially based—their relationship consisted of games and smothering and gifts and obnoxious displays of affection. Therefore, Maka Albarn was surprised to learn that her father could yell at her…mainly because he had never done so before. It occurred to her in that stillness that her Mama had been the disciplinary figure throughout her life…and now that Kami was MIA, it seemed Spirit was attempting to play both silly, man-whore dad and constant, ever-watchful mom.
Spirit was a young, handsome man by all rights. His lean, muscled frame and unblemished face left him forever in a constant state of appearing as either a lanky, high-school adolescent or a charming, boyish college student. He had aged so gracefully that there were a couple of unmentionable, died-from-embarrassment occasions where he had been mistaken as his own daughter's boyfriend instead of her father.
And so it froze Maka to the core to see him like this—so battered…so old.
"Maka…I'm trying." He heaved a heavy, spirit-crushing sigh, a sigh so great that it should have lightened whatever load he was carrying. For whatever reason though, Maka only saw her father look smaller and more despaired. "I really am. I know things have been difficult for you lately…and this is not how I wanted things to be. Your mother and I…we wanted to stay together until you went off to university, but things, well…things happen, Maka. Even grown-ups aren't perfect, as I'm sure you, as a young adult, will learn soon enough. I…I know you don't want to be here, Maka. I'm not smart, but I'm not completely stupid. I know that, had Kami stayed in the States, you would have wanted to live with her and leave me behind. I'm sorry she left us, especially you. I truly am. But, we have to make do. Yes, I have realized I have a problem and, yes, I realize that my problem has created some of yours…but you were always one to make the best of things, Maka. And I guess I expected you to do that here, too."
Spirit's uncharacteristically calm demeanor and somewhat wise, parental words held Maka there for a while. A part of her understood her father's plight—an insatiable desire for women (well, she didn't get that part), a desire to be a father and a husband, a desire to provide and be a good businessman and how all that just couldn't balance properly. Somewhere under her stubborn anger and iron defenses, Maka knew her father meant it when he said he loved her…and knew that there was even a sliver of truth when he said he loved her mother, too, but the majority couldn't accept his infidelity and absence that easy. This was the first of what she felt might be numerous sincere apologies…but for now this wasn't enough.
Her father's freshly spoken words did not change the fact that her parents were divorced. They did not change the fact that they had moved across the country to settle in Death City.
And they did not change the fact that they lived in a house once full of dead people.
Maka thought that she would have gotten used to everything by her third month in Death City, but that was definitely not the case. How could she when each week was accompanied with some life-altering surprise?
This week's was the worse, though—
EVANS MANOR DEAD IN A NIGHT? KILLER UNKNOWN! LONE SURVIVOR TO BE SENT TO GALLOWS LUNATIC ASYLUM!
No wonder the house had been so damn cheap…and for probably the seven hundred eighty second time since purchasing Gallows Mansion she mentally pictured herself waving an upraised middle finger at that catty saleswoman with her bulbous boobs and wide hips and extravagant purple dye job!
But in this economy she supposed everyone needed to do whatever they could to make ends meet…even if that meant selling old crime scenes to the newbies in town.
And Maka's stubborn investigative nature wouldn't let things alone! All day, every day she thought about the headline and the picture and what it all meant. She had tried the city library, spent hours, in fact, rifling through stacks and stacks of old newspapers, without any avail. The closest she got to finding anything even remotely relative or interesting was a newspaper dated in 1967 that proclaimed a family of world famous musicians, the Evans, had settled into one of the oldest mansions in Death City. The house soon became known as Evans Manor, in lieu of its prestigious occupants, and it briefly mentioned the family: there was Laerence Evans, his wife, Eira Evans, and then two sons, Weston and Soul Evans.
There were no pictures.
A couple of papers after that boasted advertisements where the Evans apparently performed in nearby towns or concert halls or even hosted some awesome, rich-person party at Evans Manor (everything sounding especially couture and je ne sais quoi and fancy and what not). And then…nothing.
After the year 1972, there was no other mention of the Evans. At all. In fact, there were barely any newspapers for the years '73 and '74.
At first Maka wondered if she mixed something up or misplaced a stack (there were a bunch of newspapers to go over after all), but she later discovered that no, she had it right. There were, by her count, only five newspapers for the year '73 and four for '74.
And none mentioned Evans.
Her hopes were almost restored when she found that one of the newspapers from September of 1974 had an article discussing the recently closed Gallows Lunatic Asylum, but nothing major came out of it. It was unfortunately very short and mentioned in passing (the subject of the article was actually about some wildlife activists asking to tear down old buildings for whatever reason) and by this time it had been shut down roughly two months prior. And then there was the January of 1975 newspaper which sported an article that Gallows Mansion (when did its name become that?) was back on the market despite the devastating tragedy that occurred there.
Tragedy. One word. With absolutely no information what so ever.
The whole thing gave Maka the chills. Where were the other newspapers? Why didn't any mention the murders or the Evans or the closing of the mental institution in detail? Where was the copy of the newspaper that she had seen in the secret room at Shibusen? What hadhappened here in Death City? And, worse still, Maka couldn't help but wonder if something was going on…what with all the recent murders…
What if the unknown killer of Evans Manor was like a serial killer or something...dormant for years only to suddenly go on spree again…
And why was she, a high schooler, the only one looking into all of this?!
But, then again...maybe that wasn't necessarily true. What was it Tsubaki said?
You are looking into the recent Death City accidents! That is interesting. Especially since you live at Gallows Mansion and all. Personally, I think they are a serial killer, though perhaps I am biased. My father is one of the investigators looking into the case and he suspects that there is a pattern and profile somewhere to be found. However, I must say our school paper is not exactly the most…credible of sources if one is actually curious about the topic.
And inspiration hit the inquisitive blonde like a freight train to the face.
The next day would forever be remembered by Maka Albarn as the day her old life ended…and her new one began.
Since her "adoption," as many laughingly referred to it, by Liz and Tsubaki, Maka's social experience at Shibusen had changed drastically. In fact, it was a miracle if she got to spend any time alone in the library anymore. Lunch time, according to Liz, was "people time" or "Maka-you-should-spend-time-with-your-own-species time" and the table where she once sat quiet, reading, and alone was now filled with laughter, jokes, and so many other bodies that Maka sometimes felt claustrophobic.
But she'd be lying if she said she didn't enjoy it.
However, though her rising teenage posse did aid in distracting her mind from the haunting, bone-chilled feeling she seemed to carry with her everywhere lately, it did prove difficult to find a time to talk mano-a-mano with Tsubaki.
What was the saying again? Beggars can't be choosers?
Maka was almost a hundred percent sure it was a rich person who said that.
Thankfully, she didn't really have to work out a plan or make a fool of herself attempting to lie (Maka was a notoriously poor fibber) or beg or choose because luck was on her side that day. Luck being a reference to Kim I-Want-To-Be-A-Journalist-So-I-Make-It-My-Business -To-Know-The-News-Twenty-Four-Seven Diehl and Jacqueline I-Hate-Being-In-The-Dark-About-Stuff-So-I-Make-Sur e-To-Shine-A-Light-On-Everything Dupre.
Kim and Jacqueline were inseparable friends that Maka was actually quite happy to have met. Despite her ostentatious bubble-gum pink hair color, Kim had this uncanny ability to find out pretty much anything necessary, a skill that Maka heavily admired. She was a girl that provided spurring debates and original thoughts that usually left the pigtailed blonde considering new possibilities on subjects she thought she had known all there was to know about. Normally, this would have made her defensive, but Kim wasn't one to shove her intellect in another's face. In fact, on the contrary, she seemed to go back and forth between being a battle-ready journalist to an average sweet, free-spirited girl. Jacqueline was much the same if not a tad bit quieter and a good deal more perceptive in matters of detail. Together, the girls could catalogue and remember just about any rumor, falsehood, fact, or story in Shibusen.
And with the recent "murders" as they had finally officially been ruled, their archive of interests started to expand from their peers at Shibusen Academy to the entirety of Death City.
"Come on, Tsu! I know you've overheard something from your dad about all of this craziness going on! Spill! At least a little…"
Guess what just so happened to be that day's lunch table topic of conversation. A hint: it involved the Diehl/Dupre version of the Spanish Inquisition.
"Kim, you know that I am unable to discuss details about any investigation my father is working on. Actually, my father is not supposed to mention anything of his work to me at all. I am afraid that I only know the same amount as you, or anyone else, does."
Tusbaki fidgeted slightly in her seat, blue eyes wide like porthole windows on a ship capturing a circle of the ocean and sky. She had been quite jumpy all day, though that could simply be because Kim or Jacqueline (usually both) had been popping up with question after question. Maka had eagerly tagged along, hoping to learn something she could use in her own private inquiry of Death City, but eventually she decided to step in on her poor companion's behalf every now and then. Tsubaki was much too sweet to tell Kim and Jacqueline to back off.
Thankfully, she was the best friend of one Liz Thompson, who had no such reservations.
"Kim, can you please shut the fucking front door about the whole murder stuff for a bit? I mean seriously. Morbid, much?" She bitterly complained as she took a bite of her Caesar salad, crunching angrily and loudly as if to emphasize her "drop it" point. Kim merely rolled her eyes in exasperation and gave a huge, dramatic heartbroken sigh while Jacqueline snorted.
"Liz, I think the basic idea behind the phrase 'shut the front door' is so one doesn't cuss."
This caused said girl to pause mid-chew and think about that for a moment before she shrugged her shoulders in a clear "I don't care" manner. Kim all but growled in her aggravation.
"Just because you aren't interested in anything that doesn't touch the topic of boys, shopping, clothes, and nail polish doesn't mean that other people aren't! Kilik and Harvar want to know about this stuff, too, ya know! Right, guys?" And here she pointedly glared at the two males who were unlucky enough to be within elbowing distance. Kilik scratched his head nervously, a chagrined smile in place, as Harvar calmly continued sucking what sounded like air through his straw.
"Well, I mean…yeah, it's kinda interesting, but…well…hey, Maka! Weren't we supposed to do something in the library today, right?" He helplessly threw a "save me now" glance in her direction.
Sadly, for him, Maka was too invested in the conversation to notice his wordless plea.
"Um…no? I don't think so…" Her eyebrows crinkled as she mentally went through all the assignments she needed the library for and how many involved Kilik before she met his expectant gaze and shook her head firmly. "I think you mean next Monday."
His response was to moan and slam his head on the table.
At his breezy attitude and pathetic attempt at not getting in the middle of two very lovely girls, Kim rolled her eyes once more and waved Kilik and the non-responsive Harvar off to the side, letting them off the hook. Her opponent raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at the sign, knowing that her argument was sinking faster than the Titanic.
"See? No one wants to discuss it, Nancy Drew. Do your own damn research and stop pestering Tsubaki about it."
"That's not completely true! I mean…uh…" The lively girl turned to Jacqueline for assistance and got more than she bargained for when her partner in crime jerked her head towards the approaching Ox Ford. She took a deep breath and Maka watched her internal struggle over whether or not riling Ox up was worth the conversation or not flit across her puffed up cheeks.
"Ford wants to talk about this stuff, too!"
Apparently, it was.
In about two point six seconds, Ox was suddenly shoving himself between Kim and Jacqueline on the bench, eagerly inquiring as to what his "dearest, most precious Kim" desired of him.
Maka never could quite get over the strange arrangement of friends she currently possessed, especially the fact that a good portion of them were boys. With a cheating father as the only male role model in her life, she usually took an instant dislike to anything with a penis. But, for whatever reason, she actually got along quite well with Kilik and Harvar. Ox, however…
She wasn't sure what aspect of him grated on her nerves so much. Perhaps it was the fact that Ox Ford was actually intelligent and therefore forced Maka to work extra hard to secure and maintain her top dog position in the senior class. Their relationship was ignoring each other at best and verbal abuse at worst. Days where Maka or Ox had tests were especially difficult for the group as either one of them (though usually both) would viciously attempt to cut down the other the entire lunch period.
But if Maka was being completely honest, the most probable reason for her dislike of Ox Ford was the fact that he tended to turn into what her mind classified as "a wannabe Spirit." The moment anyone mentioned "Kim" and it was like his personality underwent a reverse vampire transformation. One second, he was quiet, stern, logical, and honestly he had to have light issues since he wore those darn sunglasses all the time! Then, oh-the-fucking-horror! He would run around, screeching about love and how beautiful she was and bowing at her feet.
Frankly, it made Maka sick.
Kim Diehl didn't seem too fond of it either, ironically, but from what the pigtailed girl could tell she harbored some feelings for the odd boy; she just hadn't decided on whether they were feelings of "I want to kill you" or "I kind of like you."
The ash blonde shrugged to herself and supposed time would tell eventually. Until then, Ox's amorous affections were found useful when Kim needed another vote on her side or an extra hand to assist with whatever. Their utilizations were few and far between as she really didn't want to use him or lead him on or whatnot.
"Only under special circumstances!" She had once refuted to Jacqueline's claim of "always depending on him." And this instance apparently fell under such circumstances.
"Tell Tsubaki and Liz that you're interested in the Death City murders since someone," She threw an angry stare in Liz's direction, "doesn't think they're worth talking about."
Snap. Suddenly, Ox Ford the serious vampire/studious inquirer came back to life. His lips were pressed tightly together and his forehead caved in on itself, an expression of deep thinking that Maka, his competitor, recognized immediately. Kim's decision to involve Ox, though halfhearted and only as an attempt to beat Liz's insistence of dropping the subject, worked much better than she initially expected.
"Ah. The Death City murders are an interesting topic. I would have to agree with Kim on this one. The body count is up to nine, I believe. Apparently a lesser amount is not enough evidence to call 'accidents' murders, but, well, the police do the best they can, don't they?" He scratched the edge of one hairpiece thingy before tilting his head in the nervous Tsubaki's direction. "Speaking of the police, if I recall correctly, and I assure you I do, your father is on the investigative team for the murders, right, Tsubaki?"
Tsubaki's brow furrowed at Ox's intense, persistent tone and implicative statement as though hurriedly wracking her brain for another, any-other, subject that would direct everyone's attention away from her father and the murder investigation. She eventually exhaled and dropped her usual proud stature by slumping her shoulders, admitting her defeat on distracting them from asking twenty plus questions. The others excitedly prepared themselves and sat up straight for the privilege of gaining some knowledge that the majority of the public might not know. Even Kilik lifted his head from his defensive position and Harver turned in his seat slightly to watch the Asian beauty.
But Maka's attention was called to Liz Thompson's clenched fists and pursed lips.
"Yes, he certainly does, Ox. But, as I am sure you know, he is not allowed to discuss cases with his family, so I do not know too much of it." Ox quickly leaned forward, obviously prepared for such an answer.
"That is true, but that doesn't mean you haven't seen or heard anything of interest. Surely, you've overheard something or stumbled upon one of your father's leads? At the very least surely you can explain their reasoning behind these desecrated and decimated bodies being found and ruled as 'accidents?'"
Maka watched apprehensively as Liz and Tsubaki exchanged a glance. Her stomach felt tight and constricted like that time she was ten and ate every single chocolate she had gathered on Halloween. It had been dumb, a child's enthusiasm for sweet things on crack, and she had certainly paid for it by throwing up until the wee hours of the night and to this day had trouble swallowing much chocolate. The look in their eyes reminded her of two conspirators getting their stories straight or a lawyer and his guilty client preparing for court.
A part of her cheered though. She knew it! She had followed her gut and knew that something was going on with Death City and something was going on with Gallows Mansion and those two pretty faces with their heartfelt smiles and boobs knew something about it, too! And if they thought large mammary glands could save them, then they were dead wrong because Maka was a girl (a straight one at that) and she only had one head (the proper kind with a brain and stuff) which would not be deterred by breast envy! But then…
The headline flashed across her vision and with it a figure. She could see depthless, crimson circles, burning into her eyes and disjointed teeth somehow stretched into a smug grin and a voice whispering her name…
Maka
"Maka!" Kim shrieked, gripping her shoulder and shaking it fiercely. "Hellooooo?" She tugged on a pigtail for good measure. "Earth to Maka?" The blonde swatted her hand away with a huff and dazedly re-focused on the world around her.
School. Lunch room. Lunch time. People. Death City murder investigation. Got it.
"As I was saying," Kilik murmured hesitatingly as Kim pointedly elbowed Maka to make sure her attention was where it was supposed to be (or where she thought it ought to be), "I heard someone say it's a copycat from that serial killer who attacked Gallows Mansion in the 40's or 50's or something. Which would be kind of creepy."
Wait…what? Serial killer in the 40's? But what about the Evans massacre? Maka opened her mouth to voice her confusion, but Harvar cut her off with a snort.
"Please. That dude was a basket case and fell on his own weapon or something. Who would want to copy someone like that?"
How many freaking deaths were there in that house?
"I'm still not sure it's just a new killer. Death City seems to invite all kinds of lunatics in all walks of life to the area." Jacqueline murmured with downcast eyes, her fingers picking apart a Styrofoam cup.
Huh. Maybe the citizens weren't as oblivious to the town's crazy aura after all. As if to further illustrate this point, Kilik snapped and half stood up.
"That's true! Remember how the old school burnt down because of that bomber kid?"
Okay, now. This was getting kind of ridiculous. Maka had to speak.
"What bomber kid? And a serial killer at Gallows Mansion?"
And there it was again! That almost-spark between Liz and Tsubaki as their eyes met the other's. Maka wondered if anyone else was noticing it or if it was just her when Kilik's smirk alerted her to an explanation on the way.
"Oh, that's right! I keep forgetting that you aren't from around here and didn't grow up hearing all these ghost stories. Okay, so get this: there was this kid and no one really knows why, but he walked into school one day and just BAM! blew up an entire wing of the school! The rest of it caught on fire and that's why they switched buildings. People don't like to talk about it a lot of the time, but that's the real story of Shibusen Academy. Funny enough, he also happened to be living in Gallows Mansion at the time." He seated himself again and folded his arms, a satisfied smile creeping across his face at Maka's wide-eyed expression. "Not going to turn psycho on us, are you, Maka?"
What the fuck was wrong with this town? Serial killers and now teenage freaking bombers? Why hadn't anyone taken a nuclear missile to this town like they did to Raccoon City in Resident Evil: Apocalypse since it was probably only a matter of time till the zombies were invited to the party?
"Oh, whatever! Stop that, Kilik! Why are we talking about that, anyways?" Kim muttered agitatedly. "He's dead now so it's not like he has anything to do with this." She snapped her fingers and bounced up and down, happier than a child on Christmas. "Oh! Oh! But what about the legendary Evans murders!"
Maka's breath caught in her chest.
"Oh yeah!" Kilik or Harvar or someone shouted. She didn't really catch who.
"Yes, that was my initial hypothesis, but there is hardly any evidence to attest to what happened that night so I doubt they would be able to find evidence to his involvement in recent murders if he was the one committing them." Ox stated, face blank and straight as though the situation bored him terribly. Or maybe the "simpleton" theory did.
Nonetheless Maka was more entranced and attentive than she could remember being with anything (and that was saying something).
"He was never proven guilty, Ox, and you are aware of this." Tsubaki snapped, an unusual blue fire sparking in her eyes. She was so focused on trying to force a stern expression that she completely missed Liz's warning gaze. Ox merely shrugged in response to her not-at-all frightening demeanor.
"Just because they threw him in the asylum, if the stories are true, doesn't mean he wasn't guilty for killing his family. Mentally incompetent people commit murder, too, Tsubaki."
The beautiful raven haired girl grinded her teeth at Ox's rebuttal.
"There is no proof because Weston Evans was not responsible for the tragedy at Gallows Mansion, Ox. I believe that the evidence suggests a new serial killer as Jacqueline proposed rather than an old, haunted man coming back to the city where his family was brutally killed before his very eyes to take the lives of others."
And so the conversation continued with the rest of the teenagers debating on whether or not he was the murderer and throwing in a couple of other suburban legend killers that could be responsible for the gruesome scenes. Kim grinned at Maka and elbowed her once more in the ribs.
"Kind of freaky you lived in a house with not one, not two, but three killers in it, huh?"
"Yeah…Freaky."
But Maka wasn't paying attention to much anymore. She had checked out the second she heard a possible lead. She focused every ounce of memory and brain power in not freaking out about the serial killer and the bomber that her home once housed but remembering the name of the one some believed responsible for the Evans massacre. The one survivor of the night that newspaper hinted at.
Weston Evans
It took another whole week and numerous Google searches, but Maka finally thought she was going somewhere in her personal investigation of the town, Gallows Mansion, and possibly the so called serial killer.
Weston Eomere Evans. Age: 64. Location:…
And that's what was stumping her.
This guy moved around more than Leonardo DiCaprio in "Catch Me If You Can." Seriously? Didn't people who were initially thought to be suspect in a murder investigation get like tracking chips in them or something? Wasn't there a website for this kind of stuff or was it only for the sex offenders?
Luckily, she had Monsters and coffee to keep her company as Maka practically melded and became one with her laptop. She even slept with the darn thing since every single time she let it out of her sight the history was cleared and she'd have to start all-freaking-over!
Creepy fucking house with its shitty wireless router. She'd have to tell Papa they needed one for each wing of the house in order to keep a stable Internet connection.
Eventually, during another sleepless, caffeine-stimulated night, Maka blearily read that Weston Evans was actually living in gasp- somewhere in her gut she guessed it all along- Death City. He was staying in a local retirement home, one coincidentally not that far of a walk from the Academy.
Which is how Maka Albarn ended up on the steps of Death City's Assisted Living.
She tried not to laugh at the irony of the name and instead concentrated on finding and acquiring a meeting with one Mr. Evans, who, if Google could be trusted (and everyone knew it could), was currently residing there.
The reception area was boring and a blinding sunshine yellow which somehow did the opposite of its intention and made the old person home appear that much more depressing. Wasn't the point of Assisted Living to keep people away from the light? But immediately Maka's chest ached with guilt at her cynical musings when three or four kindly nurses rushed immediately towards her, some literally dropping whatever they were doing, to ask what she needed.
People with actual hearts were the only kind that could work here.
But kindness, love, and heartfelt assistance didn't aid in the smell of the place as it unfortunately reeked like that of a hospital—piss, antiseptics, hand sanitizer, and that undefinable stench of someone dying permeated the air. Maka had to reassure herself by pausing at every mirror to see that no, she was not aging just by being there even though it sure felt that way what with the sweet staff speaking to her in that soft, reserved voice and offering her juice or an assortment of soft foods. They also escorted her every which way, even when she quietly mentioned she needed to use the restroom, causing her to wonder if they forgot that she wasn't a new client but a young (really, really young; like still had the prime of her life to go through and was in no way, shape, or form ready to be settled into a home like this) guest for a client.
She was being lead to the gardens one of the volunteers, who she was handed off to by a nurse, informed her.
"Mr. Evans absolutely adores the outside. He insists that he needs the sunshine in order to play music." Maka quirked an eyebrow at that.
"It's kinda hot here though, isn't it? I mean, I do almost everything I can to stay where there's AC." The lady simply broadened her already cheek-splitting smile and shrugged. It was kind of creepy…and reminded Maka of those ads where sharks were photoshopped with human teeth.
"Yes, well, Mr. Evans doesn't seem to mind it much. He tends to go out once at dawn, around 4 in the morning, so it's quite nice at that time. And then we always get a nice little piece of a concerto at dinnertime, which is why he's in the gardens right now. Oh, you have come at just the right moment, Ms. Albarn! Mr. Evans plays the most beautiful music I've ever heard!"
They stepped out of a glass living area onto luxurious granite steps that unfolded, like a flower, into several meandering paths of step stones all surrounded by the largest array of flowers Maka had ever seen. Colors, some so concentrated and radiant that Maka had to blink and rub her eyes a few times after staring, across the spectrum spread out before them as if a leprechaun or unicorn or some other mythical creature came down from Heaven and threw up a rainbow. If this was what one got after catching Lucky and his Charms, Maka thought her retinas could do without that victory. To make the whole spectacle more surreal, music, too beautiful, too intricate for just one person, wafted and swirled around them, enveloping them into the garden.
And people thought Eden didn't exist…
Maka didn't dare breathe, too afraid of disrupting the serenity floating along the wind, but all thoughts of peace and grace flew out the window when the still smiling woman pointed to a sitting elderly man cradling a violin against his neck in one hand and effortlessly moving a bow with the other. Maka's eyes grew to baby bird-size orbs.
Hair white…so white it was practically silver assaulted her senses and when he looked up at her under bushy, greying eyebrows there was that color again.
Red. A pure, unadulterated color that could only exist at the beginning of time. A red so fucking red that the color of blood and all the roses and flowers around them looked washed out in comparison.
The young blonde swallowed a scream before she ran to the nearest bush and puked her stomach, along with its contents, up.
"Sweetheart! Oh gosh! Are you okay? Do you need some water? Helen, call a doctor!"
Maka fiercely shook her head "no", a bobble-head about to burst, before tripping backwards up the stairs and catapulting herself into the retirement hall. Her feet thumped the carpet with an audible sound as she practically flew through the halls and out the front door. She didn't dare look back.
Her pigtails slapped against her neck and the tips whipped around her shoulders as she ran. She ran and she ran and she ran as though somewhere inside her she believed she could outrun the sights and sounds and thoughts that plagued her mind. It wasn't him, but the similarities between the two…males…between Weston Evans and what she had originally considered an illusion wrought by her own imagination were striking and pretty conclusive. Either she was a psychic or…or…
Oh dear God, please say she had pseudo powers!
It wasn't until the blonde was completely exhausted and spent (and out of breath, perhaps she should consider working out?) that she decided to slow to a stop. She paused, hunched over with her hands on her knees and her chest heaving, and didn't try to hold in the tiny tremors washing up and down her body. She never imagined she would feel cold here in the middle of the fucking Nevada desert but then again she also never imagined finding evidence that a hallucination might be real either. It would seem the universe just loved to prove her wrong. Eventually her shakes got so bad that she had to fall inelegantly to her buttocks and sit there, leaning against…
Shut the fucking front door! Where was she?
Maka's head swiveled every which way and she internally cursed herself as she saw nothing but warehouses and sketchy shops to the left and the right. She currently was lying against a windowless warehouse wall in a street that probably leaned more towards the alleyway family. To make matters worse, the gray wall was steadily growing darker hinting at a relatively late hour and setting sun. She groaned loudly. Papa was going to be so worried which basically translated to near death via strangulation when she got home.
Despite her body being wracked with shivers and pins and needles, the teenager knew eventually she'd be okay. She was Maka Albarn after all! She merely had to tiredly shove all thoughts of…well, everything to the darkest corner of her mind and promise her frantic brain she would figure it out come morning after drowning a bottle of Benadryl to insure ten hours of dreamless relief sleep.
The girl was slowly pulling herself up when another draft of chills halted her progress. It was the oddest sensation—a twinge starting at the base of her skull and drifting lazily downwards like candle wax until it reached the tips of her toes. Her nails fiercely scratched the most irritating itch along her throat when a noisy sucking sound interrupted her hand movements. She froze, straining her ears to catch anything before rolling her eyes at her paranoid antics and continuing her sluggish retreat from the alleyway (or streetish thing).
SNAP
Maka's movements were halted once more as she heard the sound of something cracking and ripping somewhere ahead of her. It was a freaky sound, an unnatural one. The crackling reminded her of that one Thanksgiving where her mother eagerly bought a wishbone and asked Maka to break it apart with her. And that rip…almost as if someone was pulling apart a book with their bare hands…but no, not quite. She had heard pages being torn to pieces before and there was a…sort of wet quality, a slurp, to this noise that didn't sit well in her already sick stomach. Maybe someone was tearing up soggy Yellowpages or something.
Yeah. Yeah that was it.
She swallowed thickly, feebly striving to dislodge the lump in her throat because there wasn't any reason for it to be there. At all. There was no fucking reason for her heart to be pounding so hard. There was no reason—
Her foot landed on a piece of trash and Maka swore the following crunch was louder than a bomb going off in some Bruce Willis movie. She also swore that the next time she witnessed someone litter she was going to put her foot so far up their ass they were going to spit it out their mouth.
Something shuffled in front of her and a shadow came her way. Maka thought she was going to be sick (again) and hastily retreated when the shadow became a person. A young male, maybe a college frat boy, materialized out of the darkness and raised a nicely shaped honey blonde eyebrow at her. He kinda looked like Sawyer from Lost…and Maka felt a different sort of bubbles in her stomach.
He was sorta ruggedly handsome. And here she was all sweaty and shit from her trip down Freakout Lane.
They stared at each other awkwardly—Maka with a smile that bordered on grimacing and the guy with a surprised, didn't-think-anyone-was-here expression. His eyes craftily roved over her slender form and quickly assessed that they were indeed alone before speaking in a kindly, gentle Southern drawl.
"…Are you lost, ma'am? Do you need some assistance?"
Maka started to look behind her but got halfway through the ridiculous motion because who the fuck else would he be talking to?
"Um…I, well-I-no. No, I'm good. Just-uh got a little lost. New in the city and all. Hah." She coughed out a chuckle that sounded like she smoked two packs of cigarettes every day. His answering smile sent warmth blazing to her cheeks.
"Yeah, I hear ya', ma'am. But you best be going on now. It's dangerous out here at night." Maka nodded and acted like she was going to answer when he fidgeted slightly and his shoes squelched along the dirty ground. Her gaze was drawn downwards and the sheepish grin fell from her face.
…Was that…blood?
Her head snapped up and met cold, eerily blank eyes. He was still smiling, oblivious to the sinking, boneless sensation washing over her, but no matter how carefully emotion was arranged on his face his eyes reminded Maka of a crocodiles.
Frigid. And hungry.
Oh, fuck. Fuckity McFuckus. Fuck fuck fuck! Why didn't she notice it before? Also, could she please get her one phone call to the Powers-That-Be or Lady Fate since clearly she needed to place another order of "luck" and "doesn't constantly find herself in shitty situations."
"Yes…yeah. Yeah." She nodded a bit more emphatically and slid her feet backwards at a snail's pace, her eyes never leaving his still form. "You're right. Dangerous. Yeah. Well, I'm just-I'm going to go now. Be safe and-yeah. Bye."
Somewhere mid-talking a wind blew her hair out in front of her and the man stiffened. His nostrils flared and Maka didn't like his new expression. Not one fucking bit. His pupils started to expand, dilating until they took over his irises. And they didn't stop there. Oh no. Maka's jaw dropped as she watched the black overtake the white sclera in his eyes. Her nose twitched when he opened his mouth and took a purposeful step towards her, his breath assaulting her and, for a second, distracting her from the precarious situation.
Good fucking Lord, did he even own a toothbrush? Because his mouth stank. Like he needed an all fucking Altoids diet or something. She had mints in her purse somewhere…
Oh, right. Possible killer coming closer. She should probably move now.
Maka's backwards shuffle picked up pace as his strides increased and he got closer and closer. She dug down deep, searching for the strength to sprint out of here, but she was so tired. The day had worn her down and it wasn't like she was expecting to run into a serial killer. Who plans for that?
If only she would stop shaking like an excited Chihuahua then maybe an adrenaline rush would kick in and she could escape and call 911 and her throat itched super bad and oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit!
His skin was melting.
Like actually melting off his face.
The man before her was twitching and stuttering, each step jerky but quickening in speed. His hair was falling out in huge tufts, chunks of keratin floating in the air, as his cheeks started to slide down his face like soupy, flesh-colored tears. His body emitted popping noises and some of his fingers bent backwards towards his wrist with an earsplitting, hair-raising snap that distantly reminded her of breaking pencils in half. She saw his pinkies and thumbs fall to the ground in bloody lumps as the three remaining appendages grew nails the size of rulers and took the shape of hooked claws. His jeans, now too big for his spindly, misshapen legs, were shucked off and a tail (a fucking tail) long enough to slap both sides of the warehouse walls swished through the air.
All the while his skin fell in hissing globs to the concrete, eventually leaving behind nothing but stringy, disjointed muscles a sickly shade of green. And that smell—it poured out and surrounded her, poisoning her every breath, as his tongue unrolled between yellowed fangs and hung like ropy black licorice over his sideways jaw.
Maka dug her hand in her bag and whipped out the first decently sized object she could find and chunked it at the-the fucking monster in front of her before taking off in the opposite direction with a speed that would've made Usain Bolt proud.
She wouldn't realize the irony of her weapon until later when she discovered her last box of TicTacs went missing.
Replies:
To Lueur-de-L'aube:
First off, big fan of yours. Like, really. Wow. You read my story. And reviewed. Fangirling aside, thank you for the review and I am glad the idea intrigues you! I hope you enjoy (are enjoying) the story!
As for the characterization of Maka: I did notice her OOC-ness when I started this particular fanfiction (I unfortunately harbor one too many as well as my own original stories I flit around like some demented butterfly) and really cannot give too much excuse for it other than I wanted it this way and took artistic liberty. One could argue that this Maka did grow up quite differently than the one in canon and that this could garner some of the OOC-ness, though honestly I have no excuse for portraying her as overly resentful, despite the fact that I can offer some reasoning behind it. This Maka is slightly less mature than canon Maka (given the fact that she didn't grow up in a world where she had to battle kishins and witches and what not) and therefore is taking the very recent divorce, loss of her mother, adultery of her father, and relocation of her home quite hard. She, in a way, is lashing out at Liz and Tsubaki (because they are her father's type and she feels "weird" around them) and does not have a huge desire to become socially involved with people in this crazy town (mostly cause she figures she's a senior in high school and she'll be leaving soon). She may come off as snobbish and pretentious, but really she's confused, lonely, and sort of suffering an inferiority-complex because her mom's gone, her father's hardly home, she's just moved halfway across the country, she thinks she's going insane, and she has absolutely no one to talk to (yet). So…yeah she's a bit resentful and bitter I suppose…
However, I didn't want her to be too OOC. Obviously that is something I will have to watch in future chapters since part of the reason I chose Maka as the central character for this story (instead of, say, having it be Soul and Maka be the ghost or whatever) was because of her accepting personality which will be crucial to later parts. I truly am grateful you noticed and pointed this OOC-ness out and I can say that I will try to look out and correct some of it, though forgive me if my portrayal of Maka in We Are the Dead continues to be a little off. All I can say for now is, yes, this Maka is infinitely more sassy, frustrated, caustic, somewhat cynical, and antisocial than the Maka we know and love from canon (which was deliberate), but from what I can tell…it works with and benefits the particular "flavor" and "design" of this story. I am hoping that as her familiar group of friends comes together, you see her character leans a bit more towards a canon Maka (or at least that's kind of what I intend).
But I will work on the bitter part. That I did not intend too much of. The antisocialism…whoops, my bad. I'm sorry…she'll be nicer and open when she thaws out a little, I swear…Once again thank you for your review! I am excited to have new things to work on and think about!
To mabello:
Yes, I am honestly considering continuing Vini Vidi Vici, but I will admit it is on the back burner currently! I am glad you are excited and happy and I hope I have something for you relatively soon! Your reviews always warm my heart and your enthusiasm spurs me on so thanks so much for that!
To BlueMonkeyDoll:
I don't think communication via review is that odd haha! Thanks again for the review (still digging the avatar my friend!) and I hope you liked this chapter as much as the previous ones!
To SnowTamashi Ai:
Glad you are loving the story! Sorry for the relatively late update (life sigh) but I hope this lived up to your expectations and that you enjoyed it!
To Little Did You Know:
Oh believe me my dear reviewer, I plan on con-friggin-tinuing ;) Glad you are enjoying the story!
To adolescentlemurs:
Aww a medal? You shouldn't have! Thank you for such a kind review and I am ecstatic that the story has made you laugh and holds your attention! I will try my hardest to let the story flow and hopefully keep your attention!
To my Guest reviewer:
I love this story too and boy does it make me squeal like a ridiculous little kid when people say they love it or are in love! Thank you so much for the review!
Encore: I really don't have much to say...sorry for being late and I love you all! Thanks for trying the story and I hope you guys liked the chapter and certain developments! Have fun, loves!
-Bright
NEXT TIME ON WE ARE THE DEAD:
-Episode 04-
You've Never Truly Had A Headache Until You've Met Soul Eodred Evans