~*The Telltale Heart*~
Hello, loves. You know, I did a term paper my freshman year of college about how Hello Kitty is pure evil. Yes, I was completely sober when I came up with the topic.
You might see some Catholic terminology in this chapter. I'm not Catholic, but I did get seven years of Catholic schooling, so I became familiar with a lot of the rites. However, if I'm rusty and you guys notice, don't hesitate to tell me. I promise I won't be offended.
Accidentally put some paragraphs in bold last chapter…not sure how that happened! :( Sorry.
Hope all is well and that you enjoy your dosage of craziness. Reviewers will get the Nekotalia of their choice.
Sidenote: The lovely Hyperkaoru made a doujinshi page for this story! :') Please check it out-the link's on my page.
~*oOo*~
"Ivan, y-you don't want to do this. T-trust me. It won't…" A heavy, pained swallow. "Get you a-anywhere."
In reply, the Russian lazily pressed the sharp end of the pipe against the back of the man's throat, and a second later a dark, ruby red pearl of blood appeared. He heard Yao stiffen, whimper something in Chinese, whine like a dog.
The tiny wound on Mr. Yao's neck slowly began to blossom, and a trickle of blood raced down his neck; a red tear. Ivan's pipe wandered away to the thumping pulse on Yao's thin neck, dark hair plastered to it with sweat. The pulse was fluttering so hard against the cold metal that he could feel it, imagined it calling out for the metal to plunge it through.
"I changed my mind," he said brightly, abstaining himself from prodding Wang Yao again. "You will get rid of all of them."
A sharp intake of breath. "ALL of them! Aiyah, you must be c-crazy! I can't possibly g-get rid of ALL—"
Ivan smiled with a saccharine sweetness, his reflection showing up in the computer screen over the shoulder of the terrified man staring directly at it. "Oh? Mr. Yao, you think I am crazy, da?"
"I...I didn't..."
"Oh, but you are not first person to say so," the younger man said seriously. "Nor will you be last, I think. But what you call mad, I call being honest. I am not like rest of you, not because I am justice, but because I am not hypocrite. But, if you truly want to see a terminology of 'crazy...'"
"N-no…." Yao choked on a dry sob. "I…Ivan, this...this is a mistake—"
The Russian raised his pipe and Mr. Yao let out a shriek, cowering as Ivan struck down a Hello Kitty lamp that had been resting on the desk, shattering it. "Hey! That was a gift!"
Smirking, Ivan's pipe soared back against Mr. Yao's throat, and suddenly the man found that he had far more to worry about than his collectibles.
"I am growing impatient. Do as I say and it won't hurt. As much."
Tears brimming in his honey brown eyes, the man reluctantly typed in the password to his computer. "Why? You did well on the exam, Ivan. Why are you doing this? Your future will be in ruins."
He chose not to answer, his gaze wandering instead to the tiny electronic clock in the corner of the computer. Damn it all, he didn't have much time left if he wanted to pick up that little brat as he walked home from practice...and he'd really rather do only one garbage run this weekend. Ivan watched Yao sullenly begin his work, and wondered if frightening him would help or impede his work.
Ivan wasn't accustomed to working with deadlines per say, although in Russia he occasionally liked to set one for himself. Just how quickly could he lure his prey into his parlor? It was fun to find out; his fastest time had been about forty-three seconds—he usually made it a point to keep a clock somewhere nearby during the appointment. Knocking his prize unconscious usually didn't take very long, though it depended on whether or not Ivan were using drugs or a good old-fashioned knock to the head with his pipe.
Sometimes, if circumstances allowed and his hatred unbearable, he didn't bother sedating his victims at all before their big trip. He would simply truss them up in a bag and take them where they needed to go, listening to them scream and squeal and beg and thrash around like a pig to the slaughter. It made Ivan's senses raw and icy, heightening his clarity, heightening his pleasure, like enjoying a fine wine before a sweet dessert—the sweet dessert being him smashing his victims to death with his pipe.
Some guests were gracious and provided him with extra entertainment, depending on Ivan's mood and just what they deserved. Tonight would be fantastic, ripe with the frosty bubbliness of a carbonated beverage and with the importance of a religious ceremony, because it was for Alfred.
Alfred. His sweet, precious human sunflower.
Heart softening with tenderness, Ivan nonetheless snarled and jabbed the metal instrument again against Yao's shoulder when he saw the man try to open his email account. "Now, now, none of that or your wife will be decorating that ridiculous pink tree with your intestines instead of tinsel."
"Alright, alright," Mr. Yao cried hastily, clicking back onto the school database. "I am deleting records now—please don't hurt me!"
Eyes narrowing, he watched the percentages start disappearing, one by one. The electronic egg timer on the computer was twisting round and round as slowly, every name and letter began to disappear, passing through the alphabet. When the scanner deleted the entire section of Js, Ivan let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, pleased.
He supposed it would have been enough to just force the man to change Alfred's grade, but it was too risky. Considering how many times Yao had chewed Alfred out in the middle of class, Ivan knew more than a few people would be suspicious at the fact that the boy's near-failing grade miraculously turned into an A just after Yao's disappearance.
And Yao would have to vanish. Unfortunate, but Ivan couldn't bring himself to care all that much. The man had made Alfred cry, and so he had to go.
Mr. Yao leaned back in his seat, hands over his eyes as the system continued to wipe the gradebook clean, reverting it to the "first day of school" stage. Ivan watched it work for a moment or so, silent.
He'd dropped off a tearful Alfred just two days ago, watched how cheerlessly Alfred had gone inside. He'd given Ivan a halfhearted wave before closing the door, his face a painful, miserable mask.
That look had all but broken Ivan's heart.
He'd all but floored the accelerator back to his place, the gears in his mind whirring in motion. His arrangements had taken two days to finish—dear, sweet, stupid Katyusha as always swallowed his lies and agreed to do what she was told—and now it was time for the coup de grace.
When the computer confirmed that all records had been deleted, Ivan nodded approvingly. "You are quite sure this has worked? Because, if not…."
"I told you already, it is done," snapped Mr. Yao. "I've deleted everyone's history in my class and thoroughly disgraced myself, thank you very much."
Ivan raised an eyebrow and looked out the window. Snow was falling outside…he wondered if he and Alfred could make another snowman sometime that week. It would be Christmas soon.
Mr. Yao was staring listlessly at his shoes as Ivan's free hand wandered towards his pocket. "I don't think Jones is at all type to put you up to this, but you are doing him no favor, Ivan. No favor. W-whatever you do to me, the truth will be discovered someday and both of you will be in serious trouble. Alfred will hate you forever for this."
The Russian patted him on the back. "Believe whatever you want to believe. You're still a dead man."
And with that, Ivan plunged a syringe into Mr. Yao's back. The man opened his mouth in a silent scream, his eyes bulging out like a panicked fish's as his hands pawed uselessly at the small of his back, trying to dislodge the needle—and then the teacher crumpled to his knees with a groan before hitting the ground, unconscious.
Adjusting the Santa Claus cap he wore on his head—Ivan thought it were appropriate for the occasion—he grabbed the motionless Mr. Yao's legs and dragged him into a sack, glancing up at a Hello Kitty clock that hung on the wall. From what he managed to make out from Mrs. Yao's schedule, she would be home soon from her elementary school classroom, done from decorating her kindergarten room for her students' holiday party the next day.
Did Ivan wait for her? He paused and thought for a moment. As far as he was concerned, she was guilty by association, but…..he shrugged as he headed towards the door, throwing his sack over his shoulder like a peddler. No. Let the little ones have their party. If she proved to be a problem later on—and Ivan was certain she wouldn't—it wouldn't be hard to find this place again. He'd simply followed Mr. Yao home on Friday night via vehicle, although, truth be told, if Ivan wanted to save himself the trouble he could just have easily driven up and down the streets looking for the house covered in the Hello Kitty Christmas lights. At least the place didn't have any alarms. Ivan so did dislike alarms.
"Goodbye, Kitty," he sang as he carefully closed the door shut with gloved fingers—no fingerprints—and locked the door, sliding the key back under the Hello Kitty mat. He headed to his vehicle, which tonight had been "borrowed." In the off-chance someone saw him at this dead hour, he didn't need anyone catching his actual license plate number. Ivan dragged Mr. Yao down the steps, noting with some interest that a little blood had appeared at the corners.
Humming a carol to himself, his breath appearing in puffs in the chilly wintry air, Ivan tossed his teacher in the back of his van before heading to the front seat, buckling himself in.
Alfred was going to be fine now. He smiled.
Now, he had to visit a certain ice rink, and then the evening's entertainment would begin. He thought he might get some hot chocolate along the way…it was getting a little cool out, even for him.
~*oOo*~
As soon as the assembly ended, Alfred was out the door before most people were out of their seats. The dean barked disapprovingly at him, but he bolted out the double doors nonetheless, hearing the unmistakable sounds of Ivan rushing after him, path stymied by several students pooling out the door.
"Alfredka? Alfredka, are you alri—"
"Bathroom!" Alfred hollered back, clapping a hand over his mouth as he raced down the halls, blindly stumbling, banging into a few lockers on his way. His stomach rolled and fear beat out a frantic rhythm on his heart as he at last reached the men's restroom and ran in, immediately locking himself into a stall, knees giving out on him.
For a moment, the boy just stared at the slightly dusty floor, trembling. Somewhere a faucet was dripping, echoing in the empty room. He longed to be sick—couldn't. His backpack sagged from his limp shoulders next to him, its messy contents spilling out. Alfred didn't take any notice.
Blood on the car seat.
A perfect grade. Why wasn't he happy? Well, no friggin' duh, Mr. Yao was….Alfred bit the inside of his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut, trying his damndest not to make a noise.
Uncertain and scared, he picked up one of the books he'd read for Literature—well, okay, it had gotten really obscure and depressing so he'd just read the Wikipedia synopsis—Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Alfred let a finger run over its spine, shivering.
Arthur first….and then Mr. Yao…..no!
He flung the book away from, sending it flying underneath the seam.
Well, okay, he hadn't liked Arthur at all. Arthur was a mean, snotty little kid and a mean, snotty teenager—a nasty little snob who loved to play dirty. Mr. Yao hadn't been the most helpful of teachers, losing his patience whenever Alfred had gone to him for help and couldn't understand a concept, rigid and sometimes unfair in his grading—but hell, he didn't want anyone to die! Even in his subconscious, he was fairly certain he could never kill someone….unless that hockey jerk counted, though Alfred saw himself dislocating the creep's nose and breaking some ribs rather than actually murdering the guy…..
He rocked back and forth from where he knelt, his clammy, shaking hands tangling in his hair.
Weren't people like Dr. Jekyll supposed to wind up in messed-up places without any memory of what had gone on? Alfred woke up every morning in his bed (except when he fell asleep on the sofa watching TV), so he was fairly…positive he couldn't be the killer….
Now hold the phone, a squeaky, panicky voice in his head interrupted. Who said anything about murder? Arthur and Mr. Yao could show up any time now, right as rain. Dude, you read way too many fucking creepy comic books.
But what if there was a killer, someone out to destroy Alfred's enemies? If it wasn't Alfred himself, it would have to be someone who knew, who was somehow involved….
That only left….
Alfred bit the inside of his lip so hard it hurt, his fingernails digging into his palms.
No. It was impossible.
Was it?
From underneath the sill of the stall, Alfred saw a pair of familiar boots stride into the bathroom. Eyes widening in panic, he caught his shout in his throat and stuffed it back down.
"Alfredka? Alfredka, are you in here?"
He sounded worried. But Alfred kept his mouth shut and remained rooted in his corner, not daring to breathe.
Ivan was like a teddy bear, albeit an enormous teddy that you never asked for, looked weird amongst your other stuffed animals, and followed you around everywhere, but he was so nice. He blushed when people made fun of his accent or his appearance, seemed so happy and grateful when Alfred defended him.
He had scratches on his arm after that one weekend, the weekend Arthur just….vanished. He said he was taking out the garbage.
But he was giving his cat a bath, Alfred argued with himself as the boots wandered away down the aisle of stalls. It's not like Franklin didn't nearly rake you alive while you pouring tomato juice all over him. C'mon, Jones, remember the time you thought your neighbors were friggin' aliens from outer space?
"Alfred?" The teen heard again, this time from a different voice. Slightly ashamed of himself, Alfred silently exhaled nonetheless—Kiku. A pair of small tennis shoes appeared next to Ivan's large boots.
"I saw Alfred run in here. You ran after him. What's wrong? Did you say something to him?" Kiku sounded all kinds of suspicious.
Ivan scoffed, though there was a strange edge of hysteria to his voice.
"We were at assembly…the principal talked of blood and Mr. Yao's disappearing…I think Alfred got sick." How could such a worried, wondering tone belong to a killer?
But then his memory fell back to a pair of hands cupping his face.
"Some are just…lovelier than others, da?" The touching. The way Ivan had looked at him, the bizarre dream of someone sucking on him—
Alfred hiccupped, and immediately cried out when a purple eye appeared at the door crack, staring at him. The eye widened when Alfred buried his face in his hands, and Ivan immediately leapt for the door, pulling it with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. The three boys started back when the door slid off one of its hinges with a loud creak, leaving a crouching, ashen Alfred exposed, shaking like mad.
An awkward pause. Kiku finally cleared his throat.
"That was little extreme."
Ivan stared down at Alfred's trembling form for a moment before bending down to help him up, but the young man yelped and instantly recoiled.
"No!" Alfred exclaimed, rolling away from Ivan's hands. "Don't touch me!"
Silence again. Shivering, Alfred dared to look at the Russian and his heart tumbled straight into his stomach. Ivan looked bewildered.
Scared.
Hurt.
Concerned.
That couldn't mean….
"I-I mean, I'm contagious, Ivan," he said apologetically, swaying slightly. "Ya don't wanna touch me and get sick. I…I think I'm about ready to throw my cookies," he confessed, pressing his face to the floor with a soft groan. "Just hearing about that crap with Mr. Yao made me think of stuff in slasher movies, and…"
"Alfred-kun, you look horrible," the Japanese boy interrupted, equal amounts of confusion and concern on his face. The blond shrugged miserably, bile stinging the back of his throat.
Arthur Kirkland lying facedown in a puddle of blood. Mr. Yao crumpled on the ground with his neck twisted all the way around, like an owl's. Alfred immediately threw his head over the toilet just in time to hurl his dinner back up. He felt hands patting at his back and shivered as he threw up once, twice, and then dry-heaved, his stomach aching, still shaking, still burning and cold all at once.
"Kiku, I'm real sorry man, but can you take me home?" he croaked, wiping his mouth and putting on his best puppy pout expression. Kiku looked surprised, but nodded. He seemed slightly pleased.
"Of course, Alfred. I would be happy to."
Immediately, Ivan knelt down next to Alfred again. It took all of his willpower not to roll away "I will take you."
Alfred blanched. The boy's voice had no questioning tone in it, and it struck him with panic. "H-ha! Iv, ya got another final next period, remember?" Thank God, thank God he had a rational excuse for Ivan not to take him home. "U-uh, I already finished my project, so I can just skip class and go home early. Kiku's already finished too, so it might as well be him who takes me. Don't want you to get in trouble, big guy." Alfred forced himself to smile. It felt painful. "I…I don't think another teacher's gonna disappear and grant you an easy A." Oh, did he feel like puking again.
Ivan smiled, but his eyes were tight. Alfred shivered.
"And what if you collapse and little mouse cannot carry you? Nyet, I will take you home now, while is still study hall."
"I am not little mouse!" Kiku spat at Ivan. "Just because I am not freak like you does not mean—"
"Whoa, whoa, chill out, guys!" Alfred exclaimed in a panic, throwing his hands in the air. "Look, if you keep this up I'm gonna puke again. Iv, I narrowly missed the chopping block, so I don't want you to risk it. Please?" he begged, making himself to look Ivan straight in the eyes, though he still trembled when Ivan's large hands covered his own. "Not a huge deal." He gently pulled his hands out of Ivan's grip and stepped beside Kiku. "I'm a big boy. Not weak or wimpy at all."
Ivan still did not look happy, but he seemed resigned. "I will come over today after school. Bring soup. And Vodka."
"Alfred's too young to drink," Kiku said angrily. "Are you trying to get him in trouble?"
The sick teen groaned, his fingertips massaging his aching temples. "He means his cat, Kiku. C'mon, buddy. Let's blow this joint."
Kiku was more than happy to oblige, pausing to give Ivan a scathing look before reaching up to wrap an arm around Alfred's shoulders. Ivan smiled at Kiku's backward glance at him.
Oh, he almost wished that the Asian would do something to hurt Alfred. Then Ivan could start plotting his grave. But so long as Honda kept his fingers to himself and Alfred was happy, Ivan could do nothing. It was a lovely idea, nailing Kiku to a wall and listening to him screech, but Alfred liked him too much. Would certainly miss him if he were gone.
And he knew what would happen if he strayed from his laws. Chaos. Complete and total chaos. Practically everyone surrounding Alfred would be open game, and Ivan would want to kill them all. He would slip up, get caught, and his sunflower would be without a caretaker.
Still smiling, his fists nonetheless shook.
Damn, damn, damn. It was a shame Ivan hadn't kept the little rat who'd hurt Matthew alive. He would have loved something to take his frustration out on.
~*oOo*~
"Please don't throw up in my car, Al-chan," said Kiku anxiously as the two pulled out of the parking lot in his Toyota.
Alfred just grunted and held his schoolbag close. "No promises, good buddy, but I'll try not to." He sighed and leaned his head back against the leather seat, his face gleaming with a slight sweat. "God, I haven't felt this horrible in…ever."
"Soup and bedrest. Then you will be better."
"I dunno about that," Alfred admitted, leaning his head between his knees, staring at nothing.
"Surely you are overreacting? Is just a—"
"Kiku, I'm really scared."
The Japanese boy did not say a word, but he pulled over to the side of the road. He tentatively touched Alfred on the shoulder. "Alfred? What are you scared of?"
It seemed so ridiculous, now that he had another person around to hear his theory. Kiku would probably laugh and call it silly. But maybe that was what he needed. Someone to tell him he was being ridiculous.
"Kiku…Arthur was a real creep. Always around. Every day," Alfred admitted. "And then the guy disappears just right after he nearly breaks my ankle. And I…I failed that test with Mr. Yao, and now the guy's just…gone. B-blood on the seat." He immediately cranked down the window just in case he needed to throw up again. It seemed very possible that he could, considering how much his stomach was churning. "And someone keeps leaving me these notes in my locker and all these little presents. I mean, it's really nice and all, but now I'm getting royally freaked out. Someone left me candy on my freaking doorstep. This person…knows where I live? What if they've been watching me? What if—"
"Ivan is the killer?" asked Kiku, his face impassive as Alfred jumped. "I was beginning to think so."
Alfred shook his head. "No…I….I never said it could be Ivan. The guy barely knows me. He's not going to commit stinkin' murder because of me!"
"I think a lot of people would," Kiku said gently, his face pinking like a radish when Alfred gave him a confused look. "But do you have any proof?"
"Uh, well…he likes to hang around a lot…."
"If you went by that evidence, anyone could be the killer. I could be the killer. If there is one. Chances are this is all bizarre coincidence, but I don't think that is case. I have a real bad feeling about Ivan, Alfred. I think you should stay away from him."
Alfred bit his lip. "Yeah, but….he's so much like…a little kid. I think he would be really hurt."
"He is big boy," said Kiku sharply as he restarted the engine and drove back onto the road. "A big boy who is very possibly threatening people around you. Alfred, stay away from him. If you get any kind of evidence on him at all, you turn him in at once."
Alfred shifted in his seat. Yeah, he kind of had the feeling Ivan could maybe, sort of kill people if angry enough, but now that seemed kind of stupid, like pointing at a lamb and calling it a murderer. His naturally rebellious side was also flaring up at Kiku's order. Who was Kiku to tell him what to do? Alfred would hang out with whoever he wanted to.
"Better not hug me," he said jokingly when Kiku went up the driveway. "I'm all contagious and what have you."
He was surprised and admittedly a little touched when Kiku hugged him anyway, as if he were not a boy who tolerated hugs the way he did booster shots. "I think is just nerves. I have to go, Alfred-kun, but when you feel better we will play lots of video games and go Christmas shopping."
Alfred smiled, still a little woozy but feeling a bit better. He hugged Kiku back.
"Yeah….sounds good. Thanks, man."
He waved his best friend goodbye, and then went inside the house. Matthew was hanging out in the living room, sitting bandaged in an easy chair with a Sports Illustrated magazine in his lap. He looked up when his brother all bust crash-landed on the couch, face buried in a pillow. "Hey, you're home early. I give your presentation a 6 out of 10. Gotta work on being even more boneless than you already are."
Alfred blindly reached for a pillow and threw it behind him, hoping it hit his brother.
"Mattie," he asked anxiously, looking up. "If I were running around k-killing people in my sleep, you would tell me, right?"
His twin looked up from the article he'd been reading, managing an exasperated look even in his face's sore and sorry state.
"Oh, Al, what have you been watching now? Or is it that Dr. Jekyll book? Because if it is—"
"It's not that!" Alfred snapped. "Just…did you hear the news about Mr. Yao? He's gone!"
"Read about it in the news," said Matthew dully, awkwardly reaching for a newspaper at his feet and wincing. "Get it yourself, Alfred—my ribs hurt too much to throw. Bro, your trashed room is right next door to mine, remember? I'd be able to hear if you got up in the middle of the night and axed someone." Matthew didn't notice Alfred's wincing at his word choice. "Besides, I'm almost certain you could never kill someone."
"'Almost?'"
"You seemed pretty close to killing me when I drew those mustaches on your Yankees' poster."
"Hell, you shoulda been arrested for that," Alfred snapped, eyes scanning down the newsprint until he got to the small caption "Forty-two year old man disappears." Gulping, he started to read. "Says here that his car was sitting in the middle of the street, lights still on and tires blown out….blood on the seats appeared at about seven pm-ish. Uh, where was I at seven last night?"
Matthew sighed. "Drowning your misery in a milkshake in front of the TV. Whatever did or didn't happen to Mr. Yao is awful, but at least your grade's going to be fine…providing he doesn't show up soon," he added uncertainly. Alfred still looked miserable, afraid. "You failed a test—it's not like you physically hurt the man. Al, trust me when I say you don't have a mean bone in your body, and definitely not a murderous one. I think I'd know if you had Dissociative Identity Disorder, so stop being so silly."
Alfred smiled a little at that, but it faded away to a sigh. A furry white head peeked his head into the living room, saw that Alfred and Matthew were home, and merrily zipped in, hopping onto a spare chair to the coffee table before leaping into Alfred's lap. The teen smiled as Franklin mewed anxiously for attention, arching his back as his master started to scratch it. For a little while, the room was quiet, filled with the sound of Franklin purring.
"My stalker," he said quickly, pulling out a slightly crumpled card from his pocket. "Another love poem today, telling me to feel better. It had a few flowers drawn on it, and one of those was a sunflower. Iv loves drawin' sunflowers." He took a deep breath.
"I think Ivan's the killer."
Matthew burst out laughing at that, but it quickly died away when his ribs started throbbing. Alfred glared at him.
"What?! What's so funny?"
Matthew just shook his head, eyes watering with tears of pain and laughter.
"A killer. Really. Al, If Ivan's a killer, then I'll marry a cow. I know how strange it is that both Mr. Yao and Arthur had some kind of beef with you, but I think we'd know if Ivan were really that deranged." A troubled look appeared on his face. "Well, actually….but forget it. Iv's not a killer. Hell, we don't even know if there's even been any actual killing done!"
"But he said he was going into the city on Sunday…." Alfred faltered. "And you were the one so worried about my secret admirer back when it was cute instead of creepy."
"Lots of people go into the city over the weekend," Matthew reminded him, propping himself up on his elbows. "We're going ourselves this Friday to do our Christmas shopping. And doesn't the fact that he was in the city prove that he wasn't in town to cut people into bits?"
"Hello," said Ivan cheerfully, and Alfred fell off the couch, swearing. His twin whipped his head around and cringed with pain, gritting his teeth and hissing as the Russian strode into the room, accompanied by a beaming Mrs. Jones.
"It's nice you boys got out early today! Alfred, congratulations on your test score. I'm so proud of you."
"Uh" was Alfred's only response as Mrs. Jones strode across the room to the nearby stairs, turning around with a dry look on her face, hands on her hips. "Ivan came by to say hello…and volunteered to fold the laundry. Maybe you two should follow his example, eh?"
"Geez, Mom, why don't ya just trade the two of us in for Ivan?" Matthew asked teasingly as Mrs. Jones headed up the stairs. "Uh, hey, Ivan," he said shyly, his hands wringing the blanket on his lap. "We were just talking about that new Dexter show on TV. I think Deborah's boyfriend is the Ice Truck Killer, But Al disagrees. Um, what's up?"
Alfred wondered if he could run up the stairs without throwing up. "Iv, you had a test…."
The Russian shrugged carelessly, sinking onto the couch next to Alfred. "I already had A in that class. If I do not take final, I will have B. It really doesn't matter to me, so I took day off."
"But I'm sick," Alfred faltered. "And poor Mattie's been wounded. You could catch pneumonia or…cry, looking at Mattie's hamburger face."
"When I can move again, I'm going to get you, Alfred."
"I think I will survive," Ivan said with a laugh, putting a basket he'd been holding onto the table. "I dropped by my apartment right quick and got a few things. Katyusha hopes you feel better soon, Alfred. And same to you, Matthew," he added politely, reaching inside the steaming basket and pulling out a star-shaped sweet. "She made you these...they are a sort of Russian sugar cookie we eat back home. I am also to tell you two that you are welcome at our home anytime and to take it easy for while." He sighed happily, and Franklin eagerly moved from Alfred's lap to Ivan's sniffing hungrily at the still-warm dough. Ivan patted him affectionately as Franklin's pink tongue moved up and down over it. "Is Christmas break now, so it is very good news! I'm so happy."
"Yum," Matthew said happily as Ivan tossed him a cookie—in the literal sense of course. Alfred just swallowed and looked away.
No. He would not be swayed by the treacherous powers of a cookie. Ivan couldn't get him to join the dark forces that easily.
A soft meowing came in from the kitchen, and Ivan looked up, startled. "Oh! I nearly forgot Vodka's carrier…I brought him over today to meet Franklin. Be right back." And with that, he got up and left the room.
Munching appreciatively on the cookie, Matthew turned to his wan-looking brother and raised an eyebrow.
"Al, c'mon. Do you really think a guy who brings his best friend's injured brother cookies is that bad a person?"
Alfred smiled in spite of himself when Ivan came back in, holding a small carrier. Vodka's purple eyes peeked out at him, a gentle and sleepy purple hue, so much like his master's. Done licking his cookie, Franklin leapt off the couch and wandered over, sniffing curiously at the cage front while Vodka sniffed him in turn. Ivan let him out.
"I think your kitty likes him," Ivan said cheerfully as he opened the cage and Franklin tackled the surprised visitor, pawing playfully at his front. The two started to kick and nip at each other for a few moments before the long-haired feline rolled them both over, purring happily at he licked at Franklin's ears. The white cat was squirming and yowling underneath Vodka, but didn't seem to actually mind being stuck under him. Suddenly, Ivan's cheeks were dusted a light pink.
"O-oh. Um, I think Vodka likes him even more."
"No! Bad kitties!" Alfred scolded, pulling Franklin out from a mewing black furball, who started headbutting Alfred's leg, as if in protest. "No cat sodomy in the house! If you two are gonna be like that, then get a room."
"Wanna put on something?" Matthew asked, chuckling slightly as he stiffly reached for the remote.
~*oOo*~
Of course, what his brother felt like watching just so happened to be Darkly Dreaming Dexter. The show about a psychopath killer.
Someday, some way, Mattie was going to pay for this.
Alfred hid his face in the closest thing he could find when the protagonist stabbed someone in the neck, which just so happened to be Ivan's shoulder.
Fantasy or reality. His nerves tingled with dread. He couldn't decide which was worse.
While Vodka and Franklin snuggled up on Alfred and Ivan's laps, Matthew fell asleep in his chair, magazine still on his lap. Damn. Now Alfred was sort of all alone, if you didn't count his mother upstairs or Matthew right next to him….the teen remained stiff as a board from where he sat on the couch, with Ivan's arm thrown around the back of it, thankfully not quite touching him.
"So, uh, what did you guys do in the city yesterday?" he asked, wincing at just how squeaky his voice was.
"Oh! We went to new art museum opening," Ivan said cheerfully, pulling a ticket stub out of his pocket for Alfred to look at. "My sisters and I. Was very nice—we saw new art exhibits for first half of day, and then other half of day we shop." He pulled out his phone, flicked through a few images, and showed Alfred a picture of a smiling Katyusha next to a pretty blue sculpture. The date and time of the picture was marked in the corner of the electronic photo—Sunday, at 12 p.m.
The Russian continued. "Natalya ran off with some friends of hers, however," he added, rolling his eyes. "She is very rebellious and very ashamed to be seen with us, I think. She wants to seem like…how do you say it? Pop-u-lar," he said awkwardly, struggling over the strange word. "She wants to wear jeans and listen to loud rock music and she is almost never home these days. Katyusha says this is stage she will grow out of, but is tiring all same."
Dumbfounded, Alfred blinked, turning the used ticket stub over in his hands before handing it back to Ivan. That was a perfectly rational explanation for why he'd never seen Natalya himself, but…."Uh, what does she look like again? I forgot," he lied.
Maybe the reason Mattie never saw her at St. Sebastian's was because Ivan lied.
Maybe she was….gone.
Ivan went through his photos, and showed Alfred one of a tall girl with dirty blonde hair and dark eyes. Pretty though she was, there was an unfriendly frown on her face—it was a grownup version of the little girl Alfred had seen in Ivan's picture. Still alive.
The Russian's chuckle brought him out of his reverie. "She never did like taking pictures. Every time we try to take a picture of her smiling, she gives us big scowl. Even when she was small, no pictures. So we stopped trying—that is why you do not see so many of her on our living room wall."
Also a totally rational explanation. Slightly off-put, Alfred fidgeted a little. "Aw, sorry man. Hopefully she'll come around for her wedding pics." He wondered why Ivan wrinkled his nose. "So, uh, what time did you guys get back last night?"
"Well, train was late and so we did not get home until nine. We are trying not to use gas so much, because is so expensive."
Nine. Forensics said the bloodstains appeared at seven. Either Ivan could be in several different places at once, or Alfred was the biggest, most blown-up, suspicious jerk in all of history. "Oh." He sighed and looked back towards the TV screen, Vodka still cuddled close to him. For the first time in several hours, he found himself relaxing into the pillows, into the warmth beside him.
"Iv?"
"Da?"
"What do you think of Mr. Yao just….disappearing? Like, poof?"
Still scratching a purring Franklin behind the ears, Ivan let out a big sigh.
"To be honest, I think is very unfortunate that he is missing and that he could be hurt. But," he added, smiling down gently at Alfred. "Another side of me is guilty, because you have A in class now and all is well. I just wish it could have come other way." He sighed again. "His poor wife must be very, very worried. What awful thing to happen just before Kreestmus time."
Maybe it really just was all a coincidence. Ivan really was one of the nicest guys he'd ever met. But he needed to be sure…"It says here his car was found at about seven thirty at night…the blood fell on the seat at about seven-ish. Why do you think he was bleeding?"
Ivan thought for a moment.
"He could have car accident," he said, scratching behind Franklin's ear. "Had accident and hit himself in head, got concussion. Got confused, and stumbled out of car." Ivan worried at his bottom lip. "In that case….I very much hope that someone found him before he collapsed in woods or in ditch. He might freeze to death that way. Or perhaps not even his own blood," he added blandly. "The situation could be stranger than we know."
Alfred was startled by how completely plausible that sounded. Ivan had concrete proof of his innocence; he'd had a receipt of his time in the city during the…whatever it was, had a picture on his phone to back it up, as well as a picture of his not-dead sister. Alfred smiled in relief, weariness breaking over him.
He remembered something Matthew had told him when he'd first complained of Ivan being so close to him:
Ivan's culture might be a little more touchy-feely then American culture, Al. Give Ivan a break. I read Russians have smaller 'space bubbles' than Americans do.
He felt Ivan rubbing his shoulder and squirmed uncomfortably.
Well…it felt weird….but he could live with it for a few more months before he went off to college. Besides, weren't stalker-killers supposed to be deranged, breathing-into-your-phone-at-the-dead-of-night, chainsaw-wielding maniacs?
Alfred closed his eyes. No. Matthew was right. Just a big, stupid coincidence. Ivan wasn't coming onto him, wasn't a killer. Everything's alright. With that happy thought, he slid into a peaceful slumber within a matter of minutes, for the first time in days.
Ivan watched him drift off, sighing in relief as he cradled the sleeping teen and his purring cat to him, Vodka curling around Franklin. At least Katyusha can do what she's told.
He'd briefly considered the possibility of this happening, so he'd sent Katyusha into the city for the day, gave her the ticket for the museum opening and told her to have her picture taken with his phone. Alfred just wouldn't understand if he knew the truth, and Ivan wouldn't risk losing him for anything. His alibi would not fail him.
The Russian turned his eyes back to the TV, though his attention kept straying back to Alfred. After a few seconds, he started patting the teen's side, smiling slightly as he buried his face in his love's hair, inhaling.
Oh, God, but to be able to touch him that way again! He knew that evening during the storm he ought to have stayed away from his sweet little bird, should have been content to watch from a distance, but Alfred had invited and it was so wonderful being pressed up against his tantalizing form….
He shook his head regretfully.
If only Matthew wasn't here. If only Alfred wouldn't wake up before Ivan got temporarily satiated of adoring his beautiful body….
Suddenly, Ivan gasped, his heart beginning to pound, mouth drying.
The syringe. Though they were sometimes difficult to get his hands on from Katyusha's workplace, Ivan made it a point to keep a sedative on him at all times...in his backpack….
Pulling Franklin off of him, leaving the two cats to cuddle in the warm spot Ivan left behind—he very carefully stood up, tiptoed across the room, turned off the television. Very slowly unzipped his backpack, kept throwing furtive glances at both boys, both of whom were still breathing deeply, easily.
Stay like this, please….
Once his hand curled around the box, Ivan slowly slid the needle out and advanced across the room, his purple eyes wild, needy. Silently, he approached Alfred, very carefully pulling the cap off the needle and slowly pressing down on the top, watching fluid squirt out the sterilized needle. In a flash, the needle was poking against one of Alfred's arm, against a vein. Ivan slowly pressed down and the appendage slipped into his darling's skin, the sedative quickly being absorbed into his body.
Alfred stirred, brow furrowing. He grunted, rolling slightly, blue eyes sleepily opening, blinking a few times. Puzzled, he turned to look at his arm, but drowsiness was already rolling over him in waves. With a sleepy murmur, his eyes closed again and Ivan tenderly scooped him up into his arms before quickly and quietly stealing the unconscious Alfred up the stairs, his hands wavering.
~*oOo*~
So beautiful.
Ivan slammed Alfred's door with his back, breathing heavily as he strode across the room, dropping Alfred on the bed and crawling after him, one of his great hands cupping the sleeping boy's cheek. Beaming, he pressed his lips against Alfred's forehead and slowly inched down to his nose, Eskimo kissing him and watching the American warily. Alfred did not stir.
Pleased and testing his limits, his hands slipped underneath Alfred's T-shirt, rubbing smooth skin. Ivan's eyes rolled as he started playing with the sensitive buds on the teen's chest, feeling them rise and harden against his touch. Breathing heavily, he hastily stripped Alfred of his shirt, his eyes raking over the view they took in—last time he'd gotten to touch him, the two had been under cover of darkness. But now Alfred was being straddled, completely exposed and vulnerable under Ivan's piercing gaze. His warm, starving hands clamped themselves over the boy's ribs and dragged their way across Alfred's body, marveling as goosebumps erupted in their wake.
Groaning, Ivan bent his head and started biting and suckling Alfred's stomach, clutching onto him tightly as his head wandered down, down, down, craving as much of the boy's velvety flesh that he could possibly taste.
Alfred's head lolled to the side, and Ivan stopped at his navel at the sight, grinning and slowly gliding his way back up in a smooth, sensual stroke with his hot tongue. Without thinking, he started attacking the flesh there with all the enthusiasm of a starved tiger, sucking and moaning and whispering in Russian against the pulse that beat so sweetly against Ivan's lips. He thought he saw Alfred twitch slightly, his face flushing. Adorable.
Mine, mine, mine, mine.
With some reluctance, he removed his lips from the mark he'd left, lifted up Alfred's legs, and immediately stripped him of his pants, leaving Alfred only in his boxers before immediately pressing their clothed erections together, still playing with one of the rosy buds on Alfred's chest with his fingertips.
He gasped and smiled when he felt Alfred's hardness. Draping Alfred's legs around his hips, he feverishly bit and kissed the juncture between neck and skin, growling, thrusting his aching erection against Alfred's thigh, his hips rolling uncontrollably.
How he wanted to enter and push inside a warm, tight sheath! Ivan hastily threw his clothes aside and stripped Alfred of his boxers, finding the young man's entrance and slid a finger in slick with the precum from his weeping erection. He shuddered when he felt that warm, inviting pressure—so tight, so soft, so warm and inviting and so like Alfred—and eagerly inserted another, forcing himself to slow down when he saw what looked to be a spasm of pain appearing on Alfred's face. Taking a deep breath, Ivan scissored his fingers, searching carefully.
Alfred let out a moan, his entire body starting. Ivan grinned, his eyes narrowing into slits as he slowly stretched Alfred out.
He would have his darling. He would go inside of Alfred and no one would be able to take him away from Vanya, not Kiku, not anyone. Moaning, he spit into his hand and rubbed his twitching cock, carefully moistening it up before pulling Alfred back against him. The boy's yellow head bumped against his chest and Ivan hugged it close to him, tears falling on Alfred's hair.
My sweet sunflower. My everything.
Gasping, he made to pull Alfred onto his cock, but just then a knock sounded at the door.
"Alfred, Ivan?" Mrs. Jones asked. "It's dinner time, you two—we got pizza."
Ivan froze, Alfred still a motionless doll in his arms. When no answer was forthwithcoming, Alfred's mother tried again. "Are you boys—"
"He's sleeping," Ivan said in a small voice, throwing Alfred's naked body under a pile of blankets before grabbing his clothes. "Kiku actually brought him home early today, because he threw up. He fell asleep while we were watching video, and I carried him to bed because he will get bad back if he sleeps on couch."
The doorknob turned and Ivan had just pulled his pants back on, his hands shaking, erection still throbbing. Cursing, he dived into a nearby chair, grabbing a random book as Mrs. Jones entered, looking extremely confused as she took Ivan in. The Russian stared into his upside down book, not daring to shift it—he hadn't zipped himself back up yet and his member was still poking straight up, as if proud.
The room smelled like sweat and sex. Much to his horror, Mrs. Jones started to approach her son, who still lay drugged out against the bed. "Ivan, honey, why aren't you wearing a shirt?"
Ivan laughed, a high, unnatural sound. "Oh, is so hot in here. Could not stand it anymore."
"Hon, it's sixty-four degrees in here."
"That is quite warm to me! Gets so cold back in Russia," Ivan said between his teeth, mentally thankful when Mrs. Jones stopped her ascent, unable to see what he was hiding. She was looking at her son, a smile on her face, but blue-gray eyes slightly troubled.
"Well, he's definitely flushed…and if the smell of pizza's not stirring him, I guess he must be really sick. Well, we'll save some for him later. Come on, dear. Let's go eat."
"In a minute," Ivan said sweetly. "My book it is…very good."
Mrs. Jones gave him a long, strange look before she turned around and left the room, shutting the door behind her. Ivan fell to the floor, ready to be sick himself.
The Russian crawled to Alfred's side, his wide, violet eyes swimming with tears. He took Alfred's limp hand in his own, squeezing it against his chest. His heart was aching so badly Ivan longed to cry, to be small again and to bury his face in Katyusha's skirts while there was still some belief that the world couldn't get any crueler.
What he had done was sickening. What he had almost done was monstrous. Ivan buried his face in his hands and shook.
Oh, no. No. Stay away. Stay away, bad things. No.
"I am sorry, Солнышко," Ivan said softly, his voice breaking. "You are just so beautiful and I adore you so….you can forgive me, d-da?"
Of course, he expected no answer and if he had gotten one, somewhere inside the dark crevices of Ivan's mind, he knew he would have broke with horror.
This was not how he wanted Alfred. He wanted Alfred awake, to be clinging to him and moaning while Ivan thoroughly sucked on his mouth, intertwined in each other's limbs—a warm cage of lust and love and want. He wanted Alfred's throaty voice to be pleading for him, wanted the boy to writhe with pleasure when he felt Ivan's passion inside his body.
He tugged Alfred's glasses off his face and put them on his bedside table, somberly dressing himself back up again. His erection was still fairly prominent—he was going to have to take care of that before he left. Sighing, he swept Alfred into his arms bridal style and carried him to the bathroom to wash the sweat and pre-cum off of him.
~*oOo*~
After giving Alfred a quick soak, he dried him off with a towel, dressed him back up in his clothes (he would have liked to put pajamas on him, but that would likely freak his poor sunshine out) and tucked him into bed. Ivan glanced at his watch. He wasn't certain when Alfred would wake up, but he definitely didn't want to stick around for it.
He scribbled a note to Alfred and left it at his bedside, next to his glasses.
Dear Alfred,
You seem very tired! You fell asleep during show, so I carried you to bed. You sleep like a stone, Зайка. ' ' I hope you will sleep well and feel better very soon.
Love, Ivan (And Vodka). =^. .^=
He'd found the twins' medicine cabinet, and bandaged the dark bruise now very prominent on Alfred's neck. He added:
P.S, I went to bathroom, and when I came back Vodka was biting your neck. Naughty kitty! He will be punished. Hopefully you shouldn't have a mark, but I bandaged it up just the same. –Ivan.
Yes, that should do it. Ivan stood up, carefully tucking the blankets back over Alfred before reluctantly leaving the room. His feet dragged, but if he stayed for another five minutes it would become ten, become half-hour, then an hour, and then Alfred would wake up, and Ivan would have to look at him in the face, even if Alfred were completely ignorant of his crime.
He felt so filthy. Perhaps he would find something to kill again soon, and then he could be clean. He couldn't touch Alfred unless he were clean.
After getting rid of his erection in the bathroom, he pulled on his clothes again and headed out, turning back to get a last look at Alfred, who was still lying on his bed, wrapped up warm and tight.
"Goodnight, Лапушка," he said quietly. May nothing haunt your dreams tonight.
He closed the door behind him and trudged downstairs, not wanting to stay another second. He headed to the living room where Franklin and Vodka were still curled up, poked his dark and furry feline awake, drowsy purple eyes staring at Ivan resentfully.
"Come on, Vodka. L-let's go home." He picked up the unhappy, squirming cat into his carrier while Franklin looked on dolefully from the couch, and headed towards the door. Matthew, who was just slowly inching down the hall, gave Ivan a surprised look.
"Alfred's too tired to eat dinner? Is this the end of all things?"
Ivan grabbed his coat and hat, not looking at Matthew.
"D-da." Curse his stuttering! Ivan was normally beautiful with lies, immaculate. Now he just felt royally messed up, sick. "Save him a slice so that he can eat it for breakfast tomorrow, da?"
Matthew rolled his good, unbruised eye. "If we don't leave Al at least a box for breakfast tomorrow, he's gonna be pissed. Hey, are you leaving? Aren't you hungry?"
"I think I caught sickness," Ivan confessed, opening the door. "Feel terrible. I must go. Goodbye, Matthew."
And before Alfred's twin could say another word, Ivan left, Vodka meowing sadly in his cage beside him.
~*oOo*~
His hands drove themselves into the sheets, twisting, curling. Alfred let out a moan, shifting his feverish head back and forth, cool rag that Ivan had put on his forehead slipping off.
Fear didn't leave Alfred cold. It left him burning, burning, burning away as it ate away at him, consumed his insides to ashes even as he ran, wind whistling in his ears.
His skin felt like it was on fire, even as the rain continued to fall on it overhead, effectively drenching the terrified young man as he stumbled, just barely catching himself before he resumed his mad dash, slipping and sliding on the wet leaves.
Get away, get away, get away was the rhythm his feet were pounding against the earth. He briefly wished that his skin would stop burning, because if he got any hotter in these dank woods, he would almost certainly catch fire, and he would shine like a beacon to his pursuer. He wished his feet didn't pound out a rhythm at all, but were silent as his wings flapped in the gale and took him away from this evil place.
But he didn't have wings. And he was on fire. As well as running for his life.
Alfred could still hear the distant crash-crash-crashing sounds behind him as twigs snapped and branches were shoved aside. Worst of all, he could still hear the voice:
"ALFRED! Alfred, stop! Come back to me! I will not hurt you-"
And a pair of skeletal arms poked out from the ground and seized Alfred by the foot, sending him flying to the ground. Yelping in horror, he wrestled with the bony arms, which were wrapping around him in a mockery of an embrace, still more popping out of the Earth to touch him, and they were touching him everywhere, ripping the clothes off of him, every last one of them fighting for a bit of skin as he pursuer ran closer and closer to his struggling, terrified form, while he screamed and writhed in terror—
"Alfred!"
He was yelling his name and Alfred was so scared, he starting sobbing, throwing his eyes to heaven and begging for a rescue that would never come—
"Alfred!"
Into the ground, or into HIS arms, which was the worst? He tore at the hands that shook him, shook him repeatedly—
"ALFRED!"
Someone was calling out to him and Alfred shouted in alarm, his eyes flying open as he soared out of his own nightmare, sweat dripping down his face. He shot up like a rocket, stammering, blathering like an idiot, trembling and staggering out of bed, his legs quivering like noodles as he seized the nearby wall for support.
Not a black forest—his own bedroom, though his vision was blurred, because he was missing his glasses, because he was crying so hard. A pair of hands tentatively touched his shoulders, and Alfred shrieked and twisted around, exclaiming "NO!"
Still bandaged, Matthew lurched back, his mouth a small o.
"Ack! Alfred, it's—it's just me, eh? Stop freaking out—you're okay!"
His brother stared at him wildly for a moment or so before he slowly slid to the ground, reeling. Hot tears spilled down his face and Alfred started bawling, dignity quite forgotten. His shoulders shook with sobs, his arms folded tightly around him as if he were trying to hug himself, or trying to keep himself from spilling out. Matthew very awkwardly bent and took him in a one-armed hug, while Alfred screwed his face up and cried for a few minutes.
"Alfred, Al, easy bro, you're alright," Matthew murmured. "You're safe. Just a bad fever dream. I won't put on Dexter anymore, okay?"
His twin let out a hysteric giggle, and Matthew shot him a worried glance. Soon, Alfred's sobs turned to sniffles, and Matthew cautiously got to his feet, wincing, extending a hand to Alfred. Now embarrassed, Alfred stood up on his own, rubbing his eyes.
"Was it…was it all a dream?" he asked uncertainly, glancing over at his bed. How long had he been asleep? "Did I fail that test? Is Mr. Yao still…"
His brother put a hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, Mr. Y is still missing," he said gently, and Alfred's heart sank. "Ivan came by today…we both fell asleep and you must have been feeling pretty bad, Alfred. He said you were burning up, so he carried you to bed."
"That's not creepy," Alfred muttered, still scrubbing at his face.
"It was thoughtful."
"What about the part where he s-slid the needle into me?"
Matthew shook his head. "Oh, Al. You just watched Dexter, is all—that's how he normally incapacitates his victims. Ivan just carried you to bed, then he said he felt sick himself and left. Thanks a lot, Mr. Contagious. If you get me sick before Christmas, I'm gonna be pissed."
"It's the gift that keeps on giving," Alfred said dryly, sniffing. Matthew smiled at him, looking a little relieved.
"You should ask him to bring Vodka over again sometime….Franklin's pretty miserable now, all moping around over the place. Do you think you can stomach anything? I can get you some soup if you like."
"No thanks," Alfred muttered, heading to the bathroom. He wanted a shower desperately, but he couldn't help but feel as if he'd had one very recently….as he lifted up his shirt, the cloth brushed against a bandage. Startled, Alfred's hands flew to the spot, and the teen looked in the mirror to see a large cotton bandage and some gauze wrapped there.
"Mattie?" he hissed, his eyes about popping out of his head. "The hell happened to my neck?"
~*oOo*~
After dropping Vodka off at the apartment, he'd headed for the nearest church he could find—Russian Orthodox would have been nice, but he didn't care about the denomination. When he found St. Mary's, he'd immediately turned into the deserted parking lot before rushing inside, his legs unusually heavy.
He felt ashamed for wishing that Honda had done something to hurt his beloved, but a kill would have settled him. Extinguishing a life and watching it writhing, dying away into nothingness would have purged the terrible things raging inside of Ivan. It would have made him feel better, remind him of his power and that he was doing something good.
But he couldn't kill Kiku, as enjoyable as the thought of sending his blood spattering against the wall was. He supposed there was always Ismael, whom he and his beloved disliked heartily, but Ismael had the rotten luck of being Matthew's best friend. If Matthew lost him, he would be in pain. And Alfred loved his brother very much. His pain would be his own.
And then, all the bad things watching, waiting for their time would come out and Ivan wouldn't be able to stop them, to continue protecting Alfred. The only hope of getting clean now was to resort to his childhood method of prayer.
Chest heaving, he slowly entered the church, dipping his finger into the nearby vat of holy water. He made the sign of the cross, genuflected. Slowly inched into an empty pew and knelt, bending his head. Ivan pulled out the set of rosary beads in his pocket, quietly beginning to pray a Hail Mary in Russian.
When he was very small and still believed in such things like God, he would very often go to church and pray. For forgiveness, for surely Ivan and his sisters had done something terrible to deserve what happened to them. For happiness. Now it was only the familiar rhythm of saying the prayers that made him feel better, his breathing ease and his heart slightly ease its pounding in his throat like a jackhammer.
He wanted Alfred, wanted to ravish him senseless.
But he was filthy, always filthy. Except when killing for Alfred. It had happened three times and each time had been beautiful, satisfying, so much better than his other, pettier murders for revenge, personal enjoyment, and waste management. Even killing that little wretch who'd hurt Matthew had been wonderful—a burst of joy and a sense of well-being, his love even more cemented in his bones.
The angel in his head had given him hope when he had been locked up in that accursed hellhole in Siberia, promised him that a light would come into his life if he just held on for a little while longer rather than hang himself.
And it had been right. He'd met Alfred, the unbelievably kind and self-sacrificing Alfred. He was Hope, Hope amongst the Terrible Things. He was adorable, he was lovely, and he had to be Ivan's own savior. Being with him not only made Ivan feel good for the first time in years, it made him feel….extraordinary.
Wanted. Cared for. He would do anything for him. Protect him. And one day, Ivan would have his angel and his angel would understand, understand and not be defiled, least of all by Ivan.
Ivan's fingers moved to the next wooden bead and he started the "Our Father" prayer, clutching the bead to his breast.
It was going to be alright. Ivan would follow him to whatever college he went to and everything would be fine. The Russian inhaled the familiar and comforting scent of incense and old church…it was like home had followed him.
Just so long as he never had to smell that horrid smell of sanatorium again.
Refocusing his attention, he began to mutter the prayer of his patron saint, St. Ivan. It was many hours before Ivan left, not feeling absolutely clean but at least not quite so dirty.
Still, he wanted to do something for his sunshine. Ivan decided to head to the mall before he went home. It was getting late.
~*oOo*~
Ivan was now an almost constant houseguest at the Jones' house, and Vodka a close second. The dark, furry cat had taken to batting the cage lid with his paws when Ivan brought him, anxious to play with Franklin. The brown and white feline seemed equally pleased to run around with Vodka, more so to cuddle with him.
The Russian obviously felt the same way, because he now followed Alfred around everywhere inside his own home. If he were putting away dishes, Ivan's hands would suddenly appear and begin to help, if Ivan were offered the couch when he stayed the night, Alfred would wake up and find him on the floor of his bedroom in a sleeping bag, if Alfred were busy icing Christmas cookies, he would have one of his hands accosted and Ivan would suck on the sugary fingers while Alfred squirmed, very clearly uncomfortable.
"Hoooookay, man, that's enough of that," he said one evening when Ivan had leaned forward to lick hot chocolate off his nose. Alfred staggered away with a hot blush on his face.
It was Christmas Eve, and both Katyusha and Ivan had been invited to spend it with the Jones. (Natalya, it transpired, was at a friend's house for a holiday party.) While Ivan's sister and Mrs. Jones enjoyed chattering on about baking, Matthew had stared at Katyusha throughout the evening, his ears red.
"Mattie," Alfred hissed as he sat down beside his brother at the dinner table. "I…I think Iv's hitting on me."
"Mmm." Matthew was biting on his forefinger. Alfred rolled his eyes and kicked him in the leg. Annoyed and jerked out of his reverie, he nodded.
"Yeah…I think that's….kind of possible," he admitted reluctantly as Ivan found them both, his arms wrapping around Alfred's shoulders.
But so long as Ivan didn't openly admit it, what could they do?
Christmas dawned. Ivan got Matthew a new hockey stick, and for Alfred, a Tetris video game and a powder blue scarf.
"He asked me to teach him how to knit," Katyusha admitted happily as Ivan squirmed in his chair, red-faced.
"I thought the hue would look nice with your eyes."
For Ivan, Alfred got him a book of sunflowers and a box of peppermint bark, which Ivan claimed to love. The adoring beam Ivan cast his way made Alfred so flustered he didn't know where to look.
His admirer didn't forget him either: A very long love poem, as well as a magnificent sketch of him as an angel and a new wristwatch. Alfred stuffed these things in a drawer and prayed no one noticed.
~*oOo*~
The new school year came, and everyone reluctantly returned to school, cheer battered with exhaustion and post-holiday depression. The gift giver did not cease to leave strange presents at Alfred's doorstep or locker, and even when Alfred left the culprit a few notes asking whether or not they would like to meet with him, the notes were ignored. Two or three times Alfred stayed after school with a buddy of his, hoping he could catch them red-handed. But the person would just switch to the alternative—if Alfred waited at his house, gifts appeared at school, and when he waited at school, there would be a present sitting on the step by the time he came home.
It was flattering, confusing, and a little scary now. The gifts were growing increasingly more elaborate, the notes more loving, more sensual, and Alfred found himself thinking of them at night, blushing and squirming and looking out the window to see if any dark shadows were creeping to his house in the dead of night.
Sometimes, he felt conscious of a pair of eyes watching him at night, felt it even in his dreams. A few times it had made him feel safe, at ease, but most of the time it just sent a shiver down his spine as he threw his head beneath the comforter in his too-dark room and waited for morning to come, like a frightened eight year old.
No word of Mr. Yao. A new teacher was hired to replace him, and Alfred tried not to think about why that made his stomach roll.
Soon, the cold, blue and gray dregs of January were replaced by February, which meant an avalanche of chocolate and hearts on the very first day. Shops everywhere announced record sales on cheap valentines with cheesy slogans, and commercials reminded you to pick up chocolates for your sweetheart. Their school's annual Valentine's Day dance was coming up, and red and pink posters advertising tickets now hung in the halls.
Alfred was especially excited for this year's dance, because he wanted to invite a girl named Elizabeta. Alfred really liked Elizabeta. Instead of being one of those prissy little girls who stayed inside to gossip all day and turned white at getting mud on her shoes, the brunette was captain of the school's girl rugby team. Everyone knew that she could all too easily beat her ex-boyfriend Gilbert in an arm-wrestling competition, and her boyfriend before Gilbert had taught her how to cook like a pro.
He hoped beyond hope that she was somehow his "stalker," though it seemed most unlikely. Besides, he was only ever imagining being stared at during the night—who would be that depraved to come in and watch someone sleep?
Ivan remained as close to him as he ever had, perhaps closer than he would like. In March, the baseball team would be holding tryouts after training season, but he wasn't at all certain if he would be joining this year. He had the sickening impression that Ivan would insist on joining him again.
A week into February, he finally asked Elizabeta to the dance, and after some chuckling, had agreed to come along with him. Whooping, he'd rushed to tell his friends at lunch the good news, and they all had varying reactions:
"Wonderful!" Francis exclaimed, raising his sparkling grape juice in a toast to Alfred. "Though considering Lizzie dear hit me in the head once or twice when I tried to compliment her lovely figure, I wish you all the best."
Mattie just grinned at him and held a thumbs-up. Ismael rolled his eyes. "Dude. Your stalker is going to kick her ass."
Kiku said nothing. He only stared at his interlocked fingers.
Ivan smiled.
"This is awesome." Alfred crowed as they left the lunchroom later on. He took a better look at his friend and blinked in confusion. "Iv, what's the matter with you? You seem awfully quiet today. Well, quieter than usual, anyhow."
"Is nothing," Ivan assured him, his expression dark. "I have bad headache today, is all. Will you be coming over to my house today after school so that we can study for Economics test?"
Alfred winced. Or at least winced to the best of his ability, smiling apologetically. Some Ivan-free time would really be appreciated right now, considering how he was now never certain whether or not Ivan were breathing down his neck when he thought he was alone.
"Ooh, sorry man. I promised Kiku I'd study with him tonight. Wish you could come too…don't know why his parents are so weird." Alfred rolled his eyes. "They're really nice though, like Kiku. I wouldn't judge them."
Ivan smiled again.
~*oOo*~
"So, if you remember the principle of supply and demand, we look at the downward slope and determine…."
Alfred nodded, forcing himself to pay attention. He guessed it were sort of stupid, but he now took every test as if someone's life depended on it.
Because it very well might.
His phone rang, interrupting Kiku's speech. Curious, Alfred checked the ID and rolled his eyes. Huh, boy. He reluctantly answered.
"Y'ello? This is Alfred F. Jones, how might I make your life more awesome today?"
"Alfred?" The familiar voice sounded relieved, though his name was being hissed, as if Ivan were in severe pain. Troubled, Alfred leaned back.
"Iv, what happened? You okay?"
A shaky laugh. "I guess. Katyusha…not home yet, staying late tonight. But my foot…I…fell down steps….and I can't move."
Alfred gasped, staggering to his feet. "Oh my God! Are you okay?!"
"I think so. Well, besides the fact that I can't move. And I…might need some help." A pause. "I am sorry…."
"Dude, don't be! We're on our way, just hang in there!" Alfred abruptly switched off his phone and turned to Kiku, who was glowering at their notes. "Ivan fell down the stairs and he can't get back up! He's out there in the freezing cold! We gotta help him!"
"Why doesn't he just call an ambulance?" Kiku asked crossly. Alfred's eyes just about popped out of his head.
"Dude, he's not gonna call an ambulance when somewhere out there there's a kitten stuck in a tree or an old man havin' a heart attack or an old man stuck in a tree!" Alfred exclaimed, grabbing his coat and boots and sitting on the step to start pulling them on. Alfred's phone started ringing again, and he pressed it to his ear. "Hey, Iv. We'll go and help you right away, Iv…what? Whaddaya mean, you just need me? Kiku doesn't mind comin'!"
Kiku stood up, crossed the room, and snatched the phone out of Alfred's hands. "Ivan, kindly stop being a baby and get your own life," he hissed. Alfred gasped.
"Kiku, the hell is-"
The Japanese boy threw the phone to the ground.
"Alfred-chan, I love you," he exclaimed, seizing hold of his best friend's face and kissing him. Hard.
And Ivan heard everything.
~*oOo*~
Elizabeta hummed as she swung open the gate to her house, carrying her sack of groceries.
What to wear next week? She supposed she might go out with the few girlfriends she had and find a nice dress, though she supposed there was nothing wrong with the light green one Roderich had liked so much...
She approached her house, and was about to let herself in when she saw It. A heart. A heart had been hammered into the door, bleeding red and dripping all over the place.
The groceries fell, and so did she. Dazed, she looked up at the red letters that had been written across her doorway, each one shedding red tears:
He's mine.
Okay. Yeah, that's a pig's heart-not a human's! I doubt that will make you sleep any easier, however. Man, this is easily the most messed-up thing I have ever written...don't really know if I want to finish this. :( Maybe I can just insert an ending that involves noodle salad and zombies. Dunno.
Promised Hyperkaoru that today Brother Knows Best would be updated. I am working on it, my dear, and I hope to have it finished soon. BKB is easily my favorite story, though I'm trying to improve what I fear is too long and meandering writing.
This story officially scares the beans out of me. When I don't have exams to study for, I'm gonna write something cute and fluffy!