Disclaimer: I don't own Mirai Nikki or any of the references. :3

Chapter 9

The Lucky Ones

"Stick your tongue out."

Faye did as she was told, over emphasizing the point that she had swallowed the evil pill. She slouched back into the cashmere sheet that was strewn on top of her bed in a rushed manner. Faye tugged at the back of her old gray night gown. The sun had set, leaving a mix of orange and purple to taint the sky until night fell.

Mrs. Sanders, Faye's mother sat adjacent sipping chamomile from an old coffee mug that read: "Mother of the Year". Hardly. Mrs. Sanders shifted her mug so that the words were near herself. She pursed her lips picking apart the room- all of its flaws like the paint job that she had done five years ago when her sister had moved out. It was a shade of green that practically screamed you're on something. She partially opened her pink painted lips but closed them and stood up to leave. The door shut behind her, the clicking of her he's could be heard from down the hall followed by another slamming door. Faye was alone, finally.

The girl swung her legs off the side of the bed and spat the horrid pill on the floor. This one she believed had been for sleeping. But who needed sleeping? She figured that god have her eyes so why not use them? It seemed like a waste to not use oneself to potential. Faye lazily rubbed the corner of her eyes, taking notice of her lack of irritating contact lenses. She glanced at herself in the mirror directly across from her hanging on the wall. Her slender fingers swiftly gathered her brown hair and secured it in a ponytail.

Personally, she liked the way she looked. Perfect shade of dark brown that fell below her shoulders, that curled and straightened when she needed it to; large, round eyes with deep pools of chocolate for irises; slender body with enviable measurements; she was perfect to herself. Apparently perfect to others as well. People had often stopped to ask if she was a model or actress but of course she wasn't. It was a quick thrill that she got high off of. It made her feel unique. Someone that her parents would be proud of.

The same way she wasn't an actress, her parents weren't. Proud that is. Her parents felt that wearing skirts in public called for a come to Jesus meeting. But life wasn't about pleasing one person, one critic, one or two egotistical idiots who didn't even know her.

Crazy.

That's what everyone said she was.

Her ex-boyfriends parents, her ex-boyfriend, her mom, her dad, everyone. Everyone but Faye. She wasn't crazy maybe weird but not crazy. This was their third attempt at putting her on a new pill regimen. She couldn't even remember the names of them. After all she never took them. You would've thought that they would've caught on to her childish trick but no.

The pill that sat disgustingly seemed to be staring her down. Judging her. Faye shifted uncomfortably away from the proof of her "loved" ones distrust. So you accidentally push someone down stairs and your labeled insane and unsafe for human interaction. It was true she had a low tolerance for stupidity but she didn't need anger management classes… at least she thought that's what she was in trouble for. But she wasn't mad. She wanted someone to listen to her, but alas that day might never come. That's why she would become God—to make people listen to her.

She was definitely not crazy. . .

A muffled beeping sound came from her phone causing her to jump. It snapped her out of the thought consuming, well thoughts. Faye hated thinking too intensely because it contorted the brain. She felt that if she ever over thought about something that she might second guess herself and second guessing was a truly unforgivable task. Her eyes rolled finally settling on her phones location. What did it want from her this time? If it didn't involve Yuki then she didn't care. Then again…

Diary predictions?
Her diary, the Keepsake Diary read her opponents desires when they were near. A tricky way to find anything out, but she quickly got around it. Over the weeks she had been collecting data over the confirmed diary holders. Robin Kingston the First, Mona Perry the Second, Drew Piper the Eighth, and Spencer Lates the Eleventh. There were a few others that she was currently aware of but didn't know enough about to act on. Like the boy who followed the Eighth around like a lost puppy and the strange anti-hero that had attacked the Second. How'd she know this? Apparently this world only had thirty people in it and stalking had some perks…
The predictions didn't happen often. At least any that concerned her in the slightest. In short, her diary told her any activities of her recent obsessions. Obsessions were definitely the best way to describe her relationship to the predictions.

Obsessions were the best thing she could use to describe anything in her life. When she was little, she was obsessed with stuffed animals. Older, she was obsessed with nailpolish. Now, love and of course her competition. No matter how hard she tried or didn't try, they all just left her when she wanted them to and joined her when she needed. It felt so passionate on both sides. She always said that she had never felt like that before and almost meant it a few times. But those relationships never lasted. She never felt hurt though. After all it was just an obsession not love.

For some reason with Yuki it felt different. Faye didn't know how to explain it but it felt like an undiscovered emotion. Like she could start over. Something that would last forever, something infinite.

Faye unfastened the tie holding her hair up, allowing it to fan out around her shoulders. Her hair was straight today. She proceeded to pirouette over to her locked window. Her parents thought that by adding an extra lock on her window would keep her from getting outside. Puh-lease. It would take a hell of a lot more than a pathetic lock. Locks were easy to crack anyways.

Faye unlatched the windows normal locks and with the bat of an eyelash, she had already unlocked the added security. She grunted as the window seemed to stick at every two or so inches she lifted. Finally, with both of her slender arms over her heart shaped face, she slid out the window and landed firmly into the lush grass. Before leaving Faye somehow managed to shut the window halfway.

"You can't be too careful right?" Faye tittered at a bird in the vicinity. The blue bird flew away as she kicked a tiny pebble from her driveway in its direction. A car whizzed past and several boys had kicked a soccer ball two yards down. A scrawny looking blonde boy rushed quickly to get it back. For a second the boy looked terrified but in an instant it was gone. The second he returned the whole posse had engaged in what looked to be a heated debate. Occasional glances had often been thrown her way as well as the words "insane" and "crazy".

Faye shrugged. Raising her voice so the boys could hear she responded: "I'm just as crazy as you are." She stuck her tongue out. Her hand grazed the surface of her phone. The boys looked puzzled but didn't move. "Now you've made me late. I have a meeting and now I'm late." She pouted, digging her heel into the grass. "What do you have to say for yourself?" Faye looked up to see that the children were no longer there. "Ah, whatever. I'm late after all." She unbuttoned her blazer. She liked blazers more than that old gray nightgown. That… thing felt restricting. Faye popped a stick of strawberry flavored gum into her mouth. "Boys will be boys." Faye sang a few scales and skipped off.

"I'm sooo winning this!"

Morning light streamed in through a gaping hole in the blinds hitting a certain sleeping boy directly in the corner of his closed eyes. Wyatt rubbed his sleep crusted eyes and sat up with as many added yawns as humanly possible. He proceeded lazily into the kitchen where he was greeted to the pleasant aroma of freshly brewed coffee, cinnamon, and pastries. Wyatt popped a chocolate chip waffle into the toaster and propped himself up on the counter with his elbows.

The small TV in the corner was flipped to the local news. The reporter, a lady of average height with black hair and brown eyes had an expression that oozed of causality. He figured she probably had better places to be, bigger fish to fry, something like that. The camera panned over to what looked to be the police chief. The heading for the story flashed bright orange at the bottom of the screen, but it was too early in the morning for the boy to process exactly what it had read.

Violet eyes flickered back to the simple white toaster and the waffle that peeked out slightly at the top. It was normal-pleasant. Living with Drew had been nice, hectic at times but nice. He admitted that the two didn't know anything about the other outside of initial behaviors and impulses, but this... whatever it was would work.

Wyatt changed the channel to the very next one. It was a weather report. The weather this morning had miraculously, despite all previous assumptions of another rainy day, had brightened making it less terrible for the poor travelers that always struggled to remove or add luggage from an impatient taxi drivers cab to the street or their next destination. Today would be good for them. The waffle was dry and needed butter. The chocolate chips were mediocre at best and if you thought that he was distracting himself until Drew got back, then you would be right.

Wyatt would admit that he was moderately surprised by her actions yesterday with that singer's accident or whatever. If there was one thing he was bad at, it would be names and Wyatt couldn't remember this one for the life of him. But her name didn't matter...yet. That's why he had prepared a second round of questions for his pseudo-guardian regarding the strange coincidence they had occurred. The boy took another bite of the dry waffle. Could it really be called a coincidence?

Wyatt checked his diary every five to ten minutes to see when Drew might arrive home and hopefully it would be sometime soon. In the meantime, however, he was gonna become one of those full-fledged elementary school detectives that everyone read about at his age. He hated those kinds of books. Trivial. And anyways it wasn't completely shameful. Sherlock Holmes was pretty cool, right? He needed to stop watching so much late night TV...

Wyatt exhaled slowly through his nose. Drew's room was completely cluttered. Dirty makeup brushes were strewn across the floor and bed. A pile of clothes sat at the far end of the modestly proportioned living quarters. Wyatt held in all air. Breathing felt like intruding somehow. He tiptoed over to a black duffle, a bottle of sunscreen had leaked, explaining why the room smelt like beach.

"Geez..." Wyatt muttered in awe of a pink cloud of blush he had accidentally sent into the air by tapping a brush on a mirrored vanity. "What does she need all this for?" He wiped the foreign powder onto his blue pajama bottoms.

Aside from the clutter of various objects that had possessed the floor, Drew's room, the decorations, surprised the boy. The wall closest to the cream colored door was painted a pale blue, almost turquoise. From the ceiling hung three foot long butterflies each individually colored. Everything looked so... not Drew. When Wyatt first entered her lair, he half expected to find a half living person lying on the beige shag carpet. Half alive because she was bad at her job, being an assassin. It looked kid-ish, but the more he wrapped his brain around the contents, the more it became blisteringly obvious-she secretly liked girly things. It was kind of cute for her.

Turning triumphantly on the heel of his bunny slippers, he was met with the face of someone he didn't quite know or at least he thought he didn't know. The figure was clad in all black from head to toe. The person had a slender build and looked to be a man. If he was being robbed, he definitely had chosen the wrong house. There was nothing of value here except...

Goosebumps sprang on Wyatt's slender arms. "W-who are you? What are y-" his voice trembled.

The mysterious figure giggled ominously. The only things visible on the figure were eyes and mouth. Two onyx orbs glistened back tauntingly and a blood red Cheshire Cat smile seemed to contort even more as the stranger inched closer.

Wyatt tried to make his body move again but it just stayed limp and nailed to the spot. Blood zoomed in his ears. He felt as if his heart would stop purely from this, this adrenaline rush. A lamp's light flickered eerily from its dimming bulb. Wyatt racked his brain but he hadn't read anything about how to fend off a killer. From the kitchen, another reporter's voice flooded into from the room.

"In other news, a boy's body has been found dead. The identity has yet to be released, but the police believe the cause of death to be,"

The smell of sunscreen burned inside his nostrils. The masked apparition crinkled pages in his diary between his thumb and forefinger.

"I think you know why I'm here." The man hissed. He pulled out a long knife which was grazing the surface of his diary. With his thumb he turned to the page that predicted his future. He smudged it with a haunting smirk. Five seconds passed. The grin widened. "7:50, Dead End. Wyatt Butler bleeds to death. I'm glad I get to do the honors, and look we're right on time." Wyatt's stomach plummeted.

He couldn't grasp that this would be his final moment of breathing sweet air. He hadn't been cautious enough. Drew had warned him that people would try to kill him but he couldn't grasp it. It wasn't fair. He didn't ask for this. He figured that he would lose, but not this early. Not the first one to be brutally ravaged and why? Because they could. It wasn't hard. He was weak.

He wasn't strong like Drew.

The boy steeled himself to not cry. With his thumb, he traced the letters of his name on the inside of his wrist. He had prided himself on knowing far more then someone if his age would normally know, but after all those ten years of relying on his brain, there was nothing he could do. He was out of tools for this.

"And what if I want to be the hero?" The boy whispered to himself. Wyatt figured he had approximately fifty seconds to outlast the flag.

The man gritted his teeth and lunged forward, shining blade pointed precisely at his throat. Just as planned. Wyatt jerked to the right, causing himself to land in an open eyeshadow case. He had barely missed his diary, but he didn't think that had mattered much. This brute of a human was obviously all brawn. Anyone who had listened to Yuki would have known that if your diary was destroyed, you died. In his large gorilla like hands, he continued to twist the binding. It was possible that this man didn't know…

"You little," he sprang forward. Wyatt kicked his right hand as hard as possible. Without noise he somersaulted towards the falling object. The boy scrambled quickly to his feet. The man got up too; he had tripped over an opened suitcase. His eyes flashed furiously and his teeth clenched. The smug grin was nowhere to be seen.

Thirty seconds left.

Wyatt grimaced as his ankle rolled, allowing his body to tumble down the flight of stairs. His breathing turned rigid. The ground arrived faster than initially expected. His body landed with a crunch at the bottom of the stairs.

"Run all you want, but your death is in writing." Time seemed to be moving slower by the second as the man proceeded towards Wyatt's limp body.

"You can do this." He squeezed his violet eyes shut. His arm felt broken and his ankle felt stuck. It was like his own body was telling him to give up. "I won't," he hissed as he limped to the kitchen. His left hand shook as he struggled to latch onto the kitchen counter for support. Wyatt searched frantically for something, anything to protect himself with. The knives in the kitchen drawers were gone, just gone. He couldn't lift a chair to fend off anymore attacks because of his arm. The older man kept walking towards him. There wasn't going to be an easy way out of this… if there was one to begin with.

"Twenty, nineteen, eighteen," Wyatt's attacker lilted, approaching the kitchen. His voice itself felt like a knife cutting into Wyatt's skin. A metallic taste filled his mouth as he bit his tongue. He couldn't, didn't know what to do, what to use. A flame lit running through the course of his veins. Suddenly he knew what he had to do. Two items by the pantry caught his mind…

His attacker's expression of sadistic glee had morphed into something drastically darker. Before Wyatt knew it, the knife slid directly between his shoulder and neck. A trail of crimson trickled down onto the wood paneled floor. His Cheshire Cat grin was back.

"Before you kill me, could you at least give me my diary back? It has sentimental value." Wyatt said casually as if this happened on a regular basis. With his mind he tried to steady the throbbing pain and channel it into something else. The man sliced deeper elevating the scratch to a deep gash. It actually qualified as a real knife wound.

The man handed it back. Why? He would never know, but he was thankful that he did. What would happen next was just a reaction.

Just reaction?

"I'm sorry." Wyatt whispered under his shaky breath. In his hand held a lighter which he had used without hesitation on the man's smooth looking hand. Before he had time to react, the boy reached behind, spraying a thick stream of wasp repellent directly in his taunting black eyes. Wyatt continued to enflame the man's sleeve. Just as expected, the wasp repellent acted as gasoline, engulfing the man in flames. He screamed in agony as he threw himself to the ground desperately trying to put out the flames. His face twisted up reflecting excruciating pain. He clawed the ground as he rolled, trying to put out the flames. Wasp repellent was highly flammable was all that seemed to circulate around in his thought process.

Wyatt fell to his knees, completely out of breath. His diary no longer read his Dead End but the death of Claude Roswell. He had done this. The same grim expression remained etched onto Claude's pale skin as mustered up his last words. "Win," his hand fell to the ground, dead.

Claude was dead.

"I can't," Tears of distraught and mild gratefulness stung in his eyes. The trail of crimson formed into a pool at his bunny slippers.

Wyatt had killed him. He had burnt a man to death, it was, it wasn't fair.

Wasn't fair.

His conscience felt shaky. His brain felt dizzy. His stomach felt sick. His knees felt weak. His heart felt confused- distraught. The blue notebook clattered to the floor. The echo pierced his ringing ears. It seemed to reverberate throughout the room—like time itself had stopped.

"Hey I'm back!" Drew hummed as she kicked the door shut with her foot. In her hands held what looked to be a box of donuts. Her chipper expression warped when she saw the mess that was on her kitchen floor. "Holy, what happened?" She dropped the box, there were in fact donuts inside. Wyatt could see a pink sprinkled one, they were his favorite.

"I've been waiting for you to get back." He said.

Wyatt's head hit the coffee table and his eyelids fluttered shut encasing him in darkness.