"Bloody Mary"

[Diana Herme]

There was a small fly perched on the edge of a petal of the nearest rose. Diana stared at the fly, utterly transfixed by the fly as it rubbed its filthy legs together and proceeded to hypnotise her with its low, but incessant buzzing. The buzzing sound filled Diana’s eardrums, completely overriding the low monotonous drone of the preacher who was informing his congregation of just how much precious young Emily Rose would be missed.

The white coffin seemed glaringly out of place in the otherwise dark mulberry hued womb of the church. It was placed on a small altar that had been tastefully decorated with the pristine white roses that appeared to be irresistible to this particular fly.

Still it buzzed, and still she stared with her pale eyes, losing herself in the essence of that small speck of black against an otherwise blemish free purity. A photograph of Emily was perched upon her tomb, and although Diana still stared at the fly, it was this image of her sister that filled her vision. In the photo, Emily was laughing and pointing at the camera, or more specifically, at the photographer who had in fact been Diana herself. A small smile played briefly upon her lips as the memories associated with the photo flashed through her drug induced mind.

[glow=red,2,300]<< It had been a Saturday afternoon.. they had taken a drive down the coast.. just the two of them.. it had been magick.. pure magick.. Emily glowed with good health, her eyes shimmering with silent laughter in a moment that had forever been captured on film. >>[/glow]

A lone tear slipped down one numb cheek and she moved to wipe at it slowly with a hand that felt completely separate from the rest of her body. The fly, perhaps startled by her sudden, yet slow movement, finally took flight breaking her stare and causing her to blink rapidly several times. She squinted in pain as her other senses rushed back to life with painful clarity as she looked around the church. Beside her, her mother sobbed quietly into her hanky, her chosen drug of choice apparently allowing such an emotional release. Diana herself seemed incapable of crying ever since Dr. Blazick had prescribed her “something to numb the pain for awhile.” These small blue pills had enabled Diana to make it to the funeral, though she began to doubt whether she would last much longer. Fortunately, the congregation stood for the final hymn and after a few more painful minutes, she was free.

Fleeing from her mothers wet embrace, and avoiding her fathers scrutinising gaze, she paused to thank the priest before she slipped out the back of the church. In search of some fresh air away from the scent of death, she stepped into a seemingly ironic choice – the church’s graveyard.

The sound of two women arguing drew her further into the graveyard, making her way carefully around the scattered head stones in various states of decay. As she approached the two women, Diana recognised the girls as two of Emily's sorority sisters.

The dark haired one’s name was Sarah and she was twisting her long dark hair anxiously around two fingers as she glared at her fair haired companion Kate.
~We have to tell someone!~ she hissed.

Kate laughed, a cruel hollow sound in the late afternoon sun. ~As if anyone would believe us. Hell, I don’t even believe it and I was there..~

~Believe what?~ Diana asked as she stepped out into view. Sarah jumped in fright and Kate’s eyes narrowed as though she was sending her a silent message to keep her mouth shut before she turned to Diana.

~Nothing.. ~ she mumbled, her eyes suddenly downcast at her feet. ~ I just wanted to say how sorry I am.. how sorry we all are.. it’s such a loss.. Em’s was a true angel!~

Diana flinched visibly at the use of her nickname for Emily. It tugged at her aching heart and for the second time in ten minutes, she was grateful for her beloved blue pills.

Sarah stepped forward, and cast one last glance at Kate, before she burst into tears and started babbling. Twenty minutes later, Diana was left reeling while Kate dragged Sarah off before she could say anything else. But it was too late, she had told Diana the truth about what had really happened the night Emily had died.

*~ The girls had been celebrating finals results with a few margueritas and some boys from their fellow fraternity when someone had brought up the story of “Bloody Mary.” The rumour was that two girls had just been killed at another college campus a few hundred miles away. They had been playing around with the urban legend of Bloody Mary and had taken turns locking themselves in the bathroom, lighting a candle, turning all the lights off and chanting Bloody Mary thirteen times. That was all anyone knew, until the girls turned up dead thirteen days later, sliced to shreds by what appeared to be a mirror.~*

It was all perfectly in tune with the urban legend that Diana had heard a hundred times before when she was a kid. She had even been dared to do it herself a few times, though she had somehow always avoided testing the theory. Unfortunately, Emily had not been so lucky.

With wide eyes Sarah told her that Emily had been dared by Lucinda Hutchinson to lock herself into the bathroom and do the “Bloody Mary thing.”. According to Sarah, Lucinda was interested in Emily’s boyfriend Chris and wanted to stir her up. Laughing it off, Emily had taken the offered candle and locked herself in the bathroom. The kids had watched as the light disappeared from under the door and then listened as they heard Emily call out Bloody Mary thirteen times. Sarah said that after the last time there was silence before Emily started screaming. By the time Chris finally kicked the locked door down, Emily was sprawled on the bathroom floor covered in shards of the broken mirror that was smashed in its frame. Shards were embedded in her skin, and according to Sarah there was blood splattered all around the room. She said that there was no way in hell that Emily had committed suicide, despite the police using that as their official ruling.

It was then that Kate finally got a hold of Sarah and dragged her, still babbling across the graveyard, leaving Diana staring after them in stunned silence.

She had known that Emily’s death was suspicious, but she had not thought for a moment that she would be stupid enough to involve herself in such a childish prank. The police had told her family that Emily had been found dead in the bathroom of her dorm, with her wrists slit with slivers of glass from a broken mirror she had apparently broken with her forehead. They painted the picture of a girl finally caving in to the pressures of college life and suffering a breakdown. In desperation, she smashed her head against the glass, before slitting her wrists. It made Emily sound dark and twisted. Diana knew that nothing was furtherer from the truth. Despite her having far less time for her little sister since her career had taken off, Diana had still felt that sisterly bond that could never be described, and never be denied. She had spoken to her on the phone at least three times a week and they had always got together at their parents place for Sunday night dinners when they could. It didn’t make sense for such a happy, caring girl to just lose the plot and kill herself for no reason at all. She had aced her finals, had a boyfriend that loved her, and was a popular member of her sorority. There was no reasons for suicide that Diana could see, and now with the story Sarah had just told her, Diana knew that she had to look into it further.

A cold breeze seemed to blow up from nowhere, sending gooseflesh rippling along her spine. Her black tie around dress flapped loosely around her shapely calves as she turned and made her way slowly back to the church, deep in thought. Her long hair blew behind her in a tumble of curls as she squinted against the harsh wind that was now blowing with more gusto. As she shielded her eyes from the blowing debris, Diana nearly fell into a fresh grave that stood not far from a large oak tree in the centre of the graveyard. Staring down into the deep dark hole, Diana knew that this grave had been dug for her sister. Unable to shake the sudden onslaught of morbid depression, Diana climbed down into the grave and laid down on the cold, damp earth. Staring up at the sky above her, she lay there quietly as her tears finally began to fall.. *

[Sebastian Marlin]

A string of strange deaths had drawn Sebastian to the scenic college town. It seemed like the kind of place for well-to-do rich kids and straight-A students, certainly not the sort of place one would find gruesome suicides or murders.

He hadn't really made a mark for himself in the hunter community, for now he was still known only as "Marlin's Boy." As much as he loved his parents, he hated the term. He drove along the main avenue of town in his matte black Humvee, and stopped at a red light. A tricked out, freshly waxed yellow Hummer with all the chrome touches pulled up alongside him, blasting loud rap music, chrome spinners still twirling and scattering bright sunlight everywhere. The two stereotype white frat boys in the front looked out their window at Sebastian and started laughing. He looked at them sideways and narrowed his eyes. He revved his diesel engine, billowing thick black smoke out the exhaust. The frat guys laughed again and revved the engine in their souped-up commercial model, now calling out at him with vulgar insults. The light turned green, and the yellow beast peeled away from the line. Sebastian watched with a smirk as the cop car from the left side of the intersection turned on its siren and tore after them. College kids were so dumb.

Several hours later he was parked in front of the local coroner's office. He'd picked up as much literature he could find on the mysterious suicides, but nothing indicated foul play. He put the newspaper aside and stepped out of the vehicle. He was sure he would hit the mark with his detective-brown pants and jacket, pressed shirt, and navy blue tie. His fake badge would only complete his official-ness.

The receptionist smacked her gum at him blankly inside, then pointed to the door on the left. "Through there, third door on the left. Dr. McCain's just finishing up."

Two minutes later Sebastian was staring at the wonderfully endowed "Dr. McCain", and turned on his best charm. She was a sensible woman with sensible glasses, a sensible lab coat, sensible blonde hair, and a sensible nose turned down at him. "I didn't know the case had been reassigned."

"Well, I was asked to do a little follow-up, that's all," he answered as vaguely as possible.

"Well, there's not much to add to the report," she sighed, turning away now and performing the finishing touches on the cadaver before her, "All the victims were perfectly healthy, normal teenagers."

"Excuse me, 'victims'? That implies they weren't suicides..."

"Well, yes! Didn't you read the reports already?" she glared.

"Sorry, they didn't tell me anything," he shrugged.

She rolled her eyes and went back to her work. "They all had shards of mirror embedded in their skin, every one of them, right? They were slashed to death, but here's the part we left out of the papers; they weren't killed by their own hands. Problem is, there aren't any prints on the mirrors, no witnesses, and nothing to corroborate murder. We had to say they were suicides."

Sebastian wrote it down in his notepad, then smiled at the doctor. "I appreciate your help. I guess I'll get out of your hair now."

He felt a distinct cold wind come from her direction. Apparently his charm had little to do with her divulging so much information.

As he got back in his truck, he checked the newspaper again and decided to try the funeral of the latest victim, Emily Rose. Maybe there he might find some answers from those who knew her.

***

His Humvee blended right in with the funeral procession parked outside the church. He was sure to make a quick stop at his hotel room to change into something darker. He wasn't dumb enough to just step into the funeral service, but he listened in from the doorway. He hated funerals. He found a private nook in the church walls outside and lit a cigarette. This might be a dead end after all.

[Diana Herme]

*The wind seemed to be gaining in both momentum and volume, almost screaming at her as she finally climbed out of the freshly dug grave and made her way slowly back to the funeral parlor. Small clumps of moist dirt clung to her long golden curls, and she shook her head angrily to dispel them. With the screaming wind, and rustling leaves of the nearby trees, it was easy to imagine she could hear her sisters’ voice calling to her.

~Diiiiiiaaaaaannnnaaaaa…~ Emily called, in a voice that sent gooseflesh rippling across Dianas’ spine. ~Diiiiiiaaaannnnnaaaa~

She was tempted to scream back at the wind, to throw all her frustration out at the universe and tempt the fates to make her feel worse than she already did. Instead, she bit down hard on her bottom lip as she wrapped her arms around herself, drawing in her black crocheted cardigan around her lithe frame. Hugging herself while wishing it was Emily’s arms around her, Diana cast one last backward glance at the fresh grave before she left the graveyard.

The gravel crunched beneath the heels of her patent black stilettos as she walked up the driveway, her attention momentarily distracted by the black Humvee that was parked somewhat inconspicuously amongst the other more standard vehicles. In a neighborhood where her own black Cherokee was classed as an oddity amongst the BMW’s and Mercedes’, the Humvee stood out like balls on a brass monkey. Arching a slender brow in curiosity, Diana soon dismissed the cars in the driveway as her eyes turned towards the funeral parlor. The church where the funeral was being held was on the other side of the funeral parlor and Diana’s pace slowed down considerably as she reluctantly drew closer. As she did, she noticed someone near the doorway smoking a cigarette. Despite the fact that she had quit smoking several years ago, the need for any kind of fix far outweighed her desire to return to the funeral and Diana found herself drifting towards the smoker.

As she approached, she could not help but notice that the man holding the cigarette was rather good looking in a rugged, dangerous kind of way. Wiping her moist eyes before she grew closer, she offered the man a slight smile as she pointed to the cigarette.

~Any of those going spare?~ *

[Seth Andras]

It was a mild day for this time of year, wind lazily blowing past. People seemed somber, and the walk was pleasantly quieter than some of the inner city streets. His cane rolled to and fro, sliding along the cement and occasional grass patch, his sightless eyes distant and relaxed. His presence unnerved most people more than did his appearance, so few if any were in his way as he walked on. He noted the shifting smells of the summer air; warm, frantic, mixed. It was a collage of scent, combined sweat, freshly mowed grass, car exhaust, fast food heaven, and a sort of dog mistake mixed in there as well. He sniffed again, his thin nostrils capturing more scent. While most stories went that the blind could "smell better", etc, Andras knew that in reality they only relied on it more. Appreciated it more, even. His hearing was the same- while most people only heard a noisy orchestra of sound, he could pick out particular voices, words, tones... even pick up on different dialects with some ease. He honed these skills best as he could, when he could.

His cane hit a fire hydrant, and he sidestepped it with a shuffling grace he learned from years of similar activity. While he was by no means a ballerina, he could manage himself in any of the basic compass rose directions. More sweeping of the cane, like some sort of mind detector. His dark coat curled around him like a cocoon, even though it must have been seventy, seventy five degrees out in the shade. He showed no obvious discomfort at being overdressed, no beads of sweat at his temple. This was nothing, really.

Something coming. Cars. A good many. The first one came lumbering by slowly, the squeak and bounce of the shocks indicating that it had a decent load. He paused and listened further. More cars filed by slowly, with a deliberate dignity and lack of haste which made them a good match for a funeral procession. He was close. He held up a hand slightly, feeling the wind, feeling for some sense of change. The wind was coming right at him, but more from the right. His cane came out again, searching mildly for the edge of the sidewalk on his left. He hit a lump of grass and then stepped on to it.

The lawn was mostly trimmed, and after a few minutes shuffling his cane rapped against the rod iron fences so cliché in most cemeteries. He followed them, rattling away until he came to the gate. Immediately, some sort of self-important fellow came up to him, asking if he needed help or was lost.

"Both". He replied, coldly.

The man seemed perplexed at this answer, though it was a natural one, and then suggested he lead Andras to where he was going.

"I'm meaning to attend a funeral. Preferably with my sister when she arrives. Where can I wait?" He asked the man nicely, though inside he was furious that this... this buffoon had approached him with the impression that he was incapable of doing or finding anything himself. The reply was sure, there is a small gazebo just inside the entrance. He could wait for her there.

Of course I can, idiot, he thought, but outwardly managed a half smile and was led to this amazing gazebo. He sat there for a good deal, tapping his cane lazily, going over in his mind the details of this mystery. It was something abnormal, to be vague and unoriginal. Third girl found dead of suicide by slashing in a bathroom this summer. All girls had been relatively young, college age. No history of depression, excessive drug use, or family histories of abuse. Apparently they just up and smashed a mirror and then killed themselves with it.

His mind was getting foggy from the lack of anything else to do, and he slightly dozed, waiting for Zoe to show up. As he dozed, exhaustion taking him, his dreams started... always the same... clouds gathering....

And then he snapped up, very much alert. His cane tapped vigorously as his heart beat tried to slow itself. Damn dreams... He couldn't rest. Not yet. He fought to stay alert until she arrived.

[Sebastian Marlin]

Sebastian looked up at the woman approaching him, and tried to smile with the Marlboro in his lips.

"Sure, no problem for a pretty lady like yourself," he winked, offering her the pack of 'Reds.' He found he usually got less questions if he flattered the ladies, and the last thing he needed was someone trying to grill him about why he was there.

As he took back his pack of cigarettes, he offered his lighter, a silver Zippo with an engraving of an eagle on the side, clutching the Harley Davidson logo. He made note to study her face when she lit up. After a moment, he took a long drag of his own cigarette. Her face was familiar...

Then he realized he was standing next to the sister of the deceased. Her face had been in the paper as the press had hounded her for statements. They were more like Paparazzi shots, though, so it was a little difficult at first for him to confirm it was really her. Now he knew he had to be especially careful. He could pose as an FBI agent after a serial killer, but why show up here? To see if the killer came to the funeral, that's why. It wasn't air-tight yet, but it would have to do.

He felt a twinge of guilt at having just hit on someone who had lost their sister, but it was too late now, he'd have to go with it. Hopefully she wouldn't take it the wrong way, and might need the cheering up. Maybe he could even get a few answers before moving on. But, he'd have to be diplomatic, and extremely careful. Perhaps too careful. Now probably wasn't the best time to ask any questions. In fact, he might just pretend he was a friend of the family and not go into being some kind of investigator until he was forced to.

He realized he still had his cigarettes and lighter out, and began to pocket them carefully. He didn't want her spotting the gun under his left arm, where the inside pocket he kept the cigarettes in was located, or spot the fake FBI badge on his belt next to his right pocket where he put the Zippo. That one was trickier, since any glint of the badge might catch her eye. He tried to stuff the lighter in his pocket from behind the black blazer he wore, so it would move forward over the badge instead of away from it.

He gave her a charming smile, not ready to start a conversation yet. He could only now see she must have been nervous, or unsettled. Wait, of course she was, duh! He had to remember where he was. For now, he just kept his mouth shut and would let her lead the conversation, if they had one.

[Zoe Sekhmet]

-*Zoe stepped out of the rented room she shared with Seth and into yet another unnecessarily bright day. Through the reflective, polarized lenses of her favorite wraparound glasses, she unwillingly faced off with the harsh rays of a deceptively cheery and annoyingly smug sun. Even Solar Shield’s blessed side window design and atypically dark tint couldn’t deflect those vicious beams and they pierced her sensitive eyes like flame tipped knives, not just inserted, but twisted with sadistic enthusiasm. A hangover of this magnitude clearly required a blindfold or two. A pained hiss, followed closely by a slew of curses to make the mouthiest of sailor’s blush, escaped clenched teeth as she braced herself against the onslaught in the doorframe. Four extra-strength Tylenol, joined by another four Advil for good measure, and half a bottle of Pepto hadn’t prepared her for this, but would have to do until she got her gloved hands on an espresso. A really, really big one.

One moment of deep self-pity later, she found the courage to pull the door shut behind her and ended any chance of retreating into the cool, comforting darkness that lay behind her. Seth was already gone- the dumb ass- and unless the newest threat to humanity was lurking under one of the twin, rock hard beds in that dumpy motel room, she wasn’t going to find it lying around. Sucky enough to be inexpensive, the place’s one saving grace in Zoe’s aching eyes was the intense pressure and scorching temperature of the shower’s water supply. Now, after a full hour of letting that heavenly blast pound the crap out of her, she was as ready as she ever would be to track down her early rising partner, who was undoubtedly lost by now, and get this show on the road already. With a loping grace that managed to linger through the worst of times, she took the stairs down to the rear parking lot two at a time and headed for any of the coffee shops standing between her and the final resting place of this week’s victim. In a city of students, she’d likely have plenty of options. Besides, she didn’t hunt without a good, strong caffeine fix, period.

Like Moses did the Red Sea, Zoe parted the sidewalk’s mid-morning pedestrians with little more than the scowl on her face. It took no personal knowledge of the woman to tell her mood was as black as the coat snapping around her in the wind. Although it fell nearly to her knees when not billowing behind, the leather jacket she sported daily wasn’t as long or as lusciously soft as her taste usually ran, but given her current career it was certainly more practical. Flying spin kicks went better when there weren’t several excess feet of material to account for, but in the distant past style had beaten practicality every time. These days, faded blue jeans with shredded knees and pockets and turtlenecks replace the figure hugging gowns of long ago and thick soled combat boots that rise to meet the hem of her coat at the knee stand in for heels and sandals. As if forever awaiting a winter chill, her gloves- black leather to match the coat and boots- live on hands accustomed to decadent jewelry and are never seen off. Perhaps it was this lack of visible skin that made her seem shut off from the public, but whatever the reason the human traffic of this college town knew enough to scatter in any direction but hers and did so with haste.

Inside the nearest café to promise espresso on its sign, Zoe guided the single customer ahead of her out of the way with a heavy hand on his shoulder and a firm enough shove to send him aside.*- Move. -*His startled protest died on his tongue as she leveled him a bloodshot glare over the rim of her glasses and bared her teeth in animalistic fashion. Not entirely long enough to be considered true fangs, both upper and lower canines extend into slightly longer and considerably sharper than average points that suggest it would be unpleasant to be bitten by her. Obviously unwilling to risk such a thing over a steaming cup of brown liquid, the man falls into line well behind her as she advances on the timid, little loser behind the counter in his collared, company-logo shirt and visor.*- The biggest bucket of black ass espresso you can sell me. Don’t hold back. I want to get jacked on the smell alone. F*ck it, just shut up and let me get through this, alright? No, not you.

-*Massaging her temples vigorously with both hands, she notes the paling of the shop’s lone employee at her random request for silence and does a lousy job of reassuring him he’s not the source of her problems. She doesn’t necessarily care if he takes it personally, sees no reason to spare his feelings and therefore wastes no further energy in the attempt. Snatching a folded paper from the rack and the enormous, lidded cup he inches across the counter moments later, she flicks a wad of crumpled cash in roughly the amount due at him and strolls out without a backwards glance. Next stop, the graveyard. Joy.

Keeping a look out for any stranded, blind albinos along the way, Zoe makes good time to the church and its attached cemetery. Grasping her newspaper like a weapon and taking an esophagus searing pull off the mega cup, she blocks the rising din in her mind through sheer agony as she steps onto ground permeating with death. Pausing briefly to scope the layout and its white-auraed gatherers, she easily spots Seth as he fends off his gazebo seat with a few wild thrusts from his cane. Amused beyond measure at his antics and in the mood to make him suffer, seeing as he ditched her and could have gotten into all kinds of trouble alone, she heads for him on a mission to make his morning as bad as hers.*- Well, if it isn’t the Blind Wonder. Out and about and all on his own, too. Next you’ll be a cross-stitching, Tetris master. That gazebo bite you? You look a little ruffled…a little pale. So, how many times did you get turned around on the way before someone took pity on your pasty ass and helped? I should probably put you on a leash so you don’t wander off and hurt yourself. You know how you are.

-*Dropping down next to him with a huff, Zoe closes her eyes and adjusts to the changing roar in her mind. Another shot of caffeinated, liquid pain keeps her anchored in the here and now. With her legs outstretched she crosses them at the ankles and gazes out over the rows of graves to the couple smoking by the entrance. Nothing better to do leaves her to watch them while she waits for Seth to formulate his retort.*-

[Seth Andras]

He tensed at her words, of course she greeted him with the cruelest insults she could imagine, knowing quite well how sensitive he was to the fact that he was blind and always assumed helpless. He often made an attempt to be as independent as he could be for that very reason; indeed, it was the very reason he left her snoring loudly in the ratty hotel and walked out into the dew-smelling morning. He reveled in time alone when he could snatch it up, simply because he couldn't sleep much and was given to a lot of introspection. Those quiet hours in the morning before the world woke up appealed to him the most, just him and the road and the chirping of the birds. Not that he was given to any nature-loving fantasies, but the sound of silence being broken by the birds let him know that it was not the long, cold hours of the night. He dreaded the night, not that the lack of light affected him... No, he hated the lifelessness of the road at that time. Perhaps a speeding car, or the squeal of tires as someone came to a grinding stop as he deliberately stepped into the road. Something about the night life echoed the hollowness and chill of his entire existence as of late, and he avoided it when possible. During the long days, Zoe was always with him, and everyone was wide awake, making life more... complicated. He much preferred the morning.

"For your information, Snoring Wonder, I managed to get here just fine without any help." He lied, his voice sharp and biting. He had the urge to hit her with his cane, but his self-control was better than that. In truth he wasn't prepared to squabble with her today. He was exceptionally tired. "And if you ever tried to put me on a leash, either you'd be too drunk to complete the procedure or your caffeinated hands couldn't sit still to do it. Now... I see you're in fine spirits, and for once they're not of the liquid variety. Did you happen to bring the file information with you? Or did you forget that on your way here?" His eyes narrowed, a futile habit as he was staring straight ahead. He was attempting to steer the conversation towards business, as right about now he was eager to get on with the hunt. Already he was sniffing and stirring, like a bloodhound on a trail.

[Diana Herme]

*With hands that fluttered like a dying moths wings, Diana took the offered cigarette and accompanying silver lighter. Using one to light the other, she inhaled deeply on the Marlboro, the thick acrid smoke tasting delightful in her otherwise dry and sour mouth, before she handed the Zippo back to its owner. Smiling her thanks, her lips curling around the dangled cigarette, Diana muttered ~Ta..~ as she closed her eyes momentarily to enjoy the sudden head rush that only a Marlboro Red could deliver. Considering the length of time of her abstinence, Diana was surprised to see the anticipated head rush had somewhat diminished from what she had remembered, but her beloved blue pills had worked their magick yet again, and she smiled faintly as she enjoyed her buzz.

Opening her pale violet eyes, Diana had just a glimpse of something glinting within the mans jacket as he deposited both the packet of smokes and the lighter into their various compartments. Her eyes found his and she gazed at him for a few minutes, enjoying her fix and waiting for him to speak. When he didn’t, a small frown creased her otherwise smooth brow as her gaze turned into a stare.

Something wasn’t right about this guy.. in fact.. who was this guy? Staring at him harder, she quickly ran him through her mental database of family friends, acquaintances and significant others, her buzz reluctantly slipping away despite her deep drag on her rapidly diminishing smoke. His face, while strangely appealing to her, did not cause any red flags to pop up, no lights went off, and nothing screamed at her. He was a stranger to her, and considering that he was at her sisters’ funeral, she found this somewhat alarming. Narrowing her eyes, she took an instinctive step backwards as she glanced around her.
There was still no sign of her parents. The funeral, while over, had obviously spilled over to the wake stage of the proceedings. Her mother had baulked at the thought of having the wake at her house, and the priest’s wife had graciously offered the lounge in the funeral parlor for family and friends to gather and remember Emily after the funeral. Diana knew that she should be in there, doing the rounds and accepting peoples condolences on behalf of her grieving family, but the thought of it caused her to heave. Instead, she preferred to stand here – doing something she swore she would never do again with a man she had no idea of who he was or why he was here.

Apart from the smoking stranger, the only other people this side of the church was a couple that were sitting on a bench further down in the churchyard. Although she felt the woman turn to look at her with her own curious glance, Diana dismissed them without a second thought as she turned her attention back to the man smoking beside her. The fact that he still hadn’t spoken, confused and intrigued her and Diana shot him a suspicious glare as she took a closer look at him. Given his Agent Muldor attire, and combined with that glint she had caught earlier, Diana guessed that he might be a cop of some kind. Considering the polices “suicide” ruling in her sisters death, Diana had a distinct impression of their intelligence and rated it on a similar level as a plank of wood. Preparing to hate him on principle alone, Diana finished the smoke with one last long drag, stamping out the dying embers with the toes of black patent leather heels.

~So, who are you then? You don’t look familiar, so unless you’re someone new in my sisters life that means you’re a cop, right?~ *

[Zoe Sekhmet]

-*That Seth was bothered, perhaps even wounded, by Zoe’s comments was just the boost her abysmal mood needed. As he tensed she grinned wickedly, a fact he would not see but likely suspect given their familiarity. If anyone delighted in his pain and the causing of it, it was Zoe. Her amusement was contained to a grin for only so long before it turned to a chuckle as he finally worked up a reply. No, he wasn’t at his best today and, of course, she knew exactly why not. Safe from the maddening, internal noise in these brief moments of vicious fun, she savored them whole-heartedly.*- Was I snoring? Must be a sign of a good night’s sleep, I’d say. I doubt you remember what one of those feels like, but I slept like the dead could if only they shut the hell up and gave it a shot. Who are you kidding? I passed at least twelve people pissed enough to be bitching aloud about the creepy, blind albino asking for directions. Nice try, Whitey.

-*Energized by this free banter even more so than the ridiculously pricey caffeinated mud, she carelessly laughed away his attempted slams.*- At least you understand the only way you’d escape a leash is if I was incapacitated in some way. It’s a start.

I brought it, of course. Can’t trust you with anything I don’t want gone. -*On his request the hand not clutching her liquefied reason for being slid into the depths of her coat and retrieved the aforementioned file. All part of the act, she held it out as if offering it to him. Then, having brushed it pointedly against his chest and arm, she pulled it back in case he foolishly chose to reach for it.*- Oh, that’s right, it won’t mean much to you, will it? I best hang onto it.

Speaking of forgetting things, it seems you forgot where you put these again…-*From yet another pocket in a coat of infinite hidey-holes, Zoe plucked Seth’s sunglasses and pressed them firmly into his closest hand. Having found them down behind the nightstand by his bed while hunting for her own misplaced bottle of booze, she opted to bring them along in case the opportunity to bash him for losing them yet again arose. It had.*- Now put them on before you scare anyone else with those freaky, red eyes of yours and let’s move. They’ll probably think you’re the killer, or at the very least possessed, and then I’ll have to save your ass from exorcism before breakfast.

[Seth Andras]

Her barbs came one after another, she was truly on a roll, bouncing back from her forced sleep with an invigorated strength known only to those who love the coffee bean. Of course, her bantering made him wake up a bit more, his brain already clicking automatically to reply in kind as it always had since the beginning with her. She was an outright bitch in mornings. Actually, in most any time, but he could tell that she was especially foul today because she was all but glowing with joy at his response. A response which, under normal circumstances, he would have controlled. Strike one, he thought. Well, I'm not about to take this shit sitting down. Her initial tirade about him not sleeping sent the gears in motion, and he sat up straight. The secondary jab at his needing help sent the machine running.

"I'm sure if I was a lightweight and a total lush I could manage to drink to the point of extinction and wake up with that horrible rasp to my voice." He sneered, indicating her normally purring voice which was currently raspy from a long night of drinking and a burning hot cup o' joe. "It's so charming... like you gargled with glass and took howling lessons. I'd be surprised if you had the presence of mind to even count twelve people on the way here considering how much you drank last night. It's a wonder you didn't upturn the rubbing alcohol."

Of course, his words hung in the air with the substance of helium, no doubt going right over her head as she proceeded to snipe him about his supposed inability to escape her leash. He rolled his eyes, a dramatic and disturbing display, and muttered: "You're always either incapacitated or outright inept, what with all the voices you hear." A vicious grin. "How are they doing now, Schitzo? Still crying out? You should really drink that coffee as quickly as you can so you can chase it down with Nyquil for that high quality rest you always get." He was brought short when she offered him the file folder. He knew where this was going...

The Starbucks Schitzo deliberately brushed it against him, knowing full well he can't see to grab it on the first try. Another barb about him being unable to read it. Truth be told, he kept all his information on tape recording such as journals and notes, but she got all the newspaper clippings and such. And sure enough, she was dangling it in front of him like bait. Evil bitch... "You hang on to that." He said without passion. "After all, you probably need all the reminders on the case considering you're too busy conversing with them and drinking everything that isn't solid to get peace of mind."

And of course she procured his sunglasses. Damn things, he'd dropped them last night and couldn't find them for all the searching in the world. She pushed them into his hand and by reflex he had them up and on within seconds. He had put them on so many times now he didn't even think about it, and he beamed just a bit on the inside to realize that he had the coordination to do that much. She applauded him by calling his eyes ‘freaky’ and claiming he would be mistaken for the killer, as opposed to the raging homicidal starlet beside him. He smiled, a broad, innocent type smile and made as if to stand up, swinging his cane carelessly and hitting her in the shin. “Oops. Excuse me, I’m blind.” He said half-apologetically, and then used his left hand to brace himself, finding her shoulder and leaning heavily as though he was crippled. The impact quite deliberately jarred her cup-holding hand and its scorching contents spilled all over her nice ultra black clothes. And then he was stand, leaning on his cane, smile bright as the sun.

“So sorry about that. You see, I’m a helpless blind creepy guy. You should be more careful around me.” A tap of the cane and he motioned for her to stand. “Come, Schitzo. Let’s go scare the family of the deceased. Ah, you first.”

[Zoe Sekhmet]

-*Zoe noted and welcomed the change in Seth’s demeanor and accepted the challenge in it as he revved up to fight back. As if he could ever hold his own in a word war against the master, he threw himself at her bad habits, specifically the boozing, with the passion of a deranged moth at an open flame.*- A glutton for punishment is what you are, dear Seth. You leave the panel to your buttons wide open and then wonder why I’m after them so frequently. Raspy and occasionally drunk as I am, I can see well enough to push them. For you it’s just a shot in the never-ending dark.

Why yes, they’re up in arms this morning as a matter of fact. They have more to cry about when you’re around. They pity you too, you know. Can’t say I blame them. No one quite as deserving of sympathy as your disabled ass. Even the dead feel sorry for you. How much must that suck?

-*She’d hit a nerve with the file and clung to that happy memory to spare herself the rising din in her mind. Without a death grip on the conversation, it was far too easy to be set adrift in the sea of noise inside her. She tucked the file away without comment, focusing on the action and then her reply. One step at a time helped with forward motion even when it seemed impossible. As if conspiring with Seth against her, the voices coaxed and encouraged the headache she’d thought gone from her temples and without realizing it, her gloved hand lifted to rub the pain away. The purplish black swathes marring the sensitive skin under her burning eyes implied sleep was not as restful as she’d boasted, but thankfully Seth couldn’t know that. She kept this fact mostly hidden from the world as well by concealing those dark hollows of exhaustion behind her glasses.

Protected from the worst of the rap of his cane by her boots, the coffee managed to get her attention back into the present as it raced down her leg and side in burning droplets. She hissed sharply and clenched her teeth against the urge to yelp. Almost as an after thought, her right foot shot out to kick the base of his long, white cane. The unexpected movement snapped the stick sideways from his hand. With the reflexes of a cat, she caught it as it arced downward and snatched it out of reach. Smirking, she drew back her arm and heaved it across the graveyard. It soared high initially, then bounced comically end over end another ten feet before clattering to the ground and rolling to a stop over twenty feet away.*- Gee, looks like you dropped your stick. Figures. While you’re looking for that, I’ll be tracking the killer. Catch up later if you think you can manage.

-*With that, Zoe turned and headed for the funeral parlor without him. He was left to search for the cane solo, without any of that help he so often refused.*-

[Seth Andras]

His mental walls were back up, her sniping becoming more tolerable as he became more alert. Focusing on the task at hand, he felt he had successfully become the master of himself again. That was, until she had kicked his cane right out from under him. So concerned with her verbal abuse, he hadn't taken measures to secure his cane and off it went, like some demented twig in the wind. Damn her. Of all the things she did, this irked him the most. It was only with the vaguest recollection that he noted the swish of the airborne cane and more or less determined its direction. Smug with herself, Zoe stalked off, and after that his pale skin tensed, blue veins at his temples more noticable than usual.

"Dammit." He muttered under his breath as he shuffled forward in the direction of the wayward cane, each step cautious and time-consuming. The step off of the gazebo had been hell, until he felt the reassuring crunch of the grass. He avoided putting his arms out for balance in case some idiot should take pity on him and rush over to help. He wasn't sure he could avoid ripping their heads off if that was the case. "Vengeance will be mine." He said through gritted teeth, making his way. Eventually, he stooped and began to paw about with his hands, searching for the elusive cane. "It won't be sudden. Likely won't be final. But it shall come, dear Zoe."

It took him about five minutes of groping about in the grass to find his cane. Laying hands on it and pulling it up, he felt relieved, though he still had to find his way back to the parlor. He stood there for a moment, stewing on the realization that he couldn't see headstones or anything and he didn't know the area well at all. His cane swept out in front of him lazily as he thought on his plan. He put up a hand again and felt for the wind. Wind had a habit of changing, but it was all he had. Also, he had no doubt that the scent of freshly shoveled earth or maybe even dripping coffee could lead him correctly. A long, powerful sigh and he marched forward, his minesweeping cane hitting off tombstones and those annoying plot markers from time to time. He heard the chatter of people, the wailing of the depressed. This must be the place.

Standing around for awhile, thinking up another plan, Seth realized he could wait Zoe out. Part of her smugness was in him needing her to see and navigate but the tables were turned when it came to the actual hunt. Not far from the parlor, he found a pleasant, non-bird shit covered bench and set down, simply listening. It was a luxury not many enjoyed, especially his manic companion. When she was done being assertive and bitchy, he'd be here picking up small details.

And plotting his revenge. He had all the time in the world.

[Zoe Sekhmet]

-*At such a brisk stride it wasn’t long before the neat rows of stones gave way to the sloping, well kept lawn of the funeral parlor that would serve as Stop #1 of their mission. Inside- with any luck- there would be leads galore on who or what was responsible for taking a chunk out of this preppy, little town’s teenaged female population. If the parlor’s full parking lot and overflow of vehicles parked as far as the eye could see along surrounding streets was any indication, there would be plenty of people in there too. The number of leads was often directly proportionate to the number of witnesses, after all. Still, Zoe wasn’t one for the crowd scene in most cases. She usually preferred to thrust the albino into the public eye while lurking in the shadows and gathering information on the sly. It was in her favor and much to his chagrin, that when Seth was in their midst, people rarely looked anywhere else. As a walking distraction, Seth was perfect in almost any situation. She’d used him, frequently without him even knowing, countless times in the past. This time, however, he was preoccupied and she was left to fend for herself.

She could do it. Gripping the cardboard cup a little more desperately and squaring her shoulders, Zoe readied herself to plunge into the chaos. But before getting caught up inside, it would be best to know what he was up to. However determined she’d been to continue on with the task at hand and leave Seth to bumble about on his own, she couldn’t resist a glance back at his progress with the search. As a reward for him finding it, she could always wait around a minute to see if he caught up. That wasn’t considered stalling exactly. The sight of his fog-coated ass bent up toward the sky while his clumsy gloved hands raked the ground for the missing stick had the most inappropriate of laughs tearing from deep in her gut. Anyone who waited around for that kind of backup was worse off than the freak himself. Aware she’d probably drawn the attention of at least the smoking couple to her, she strode inside, snickering all the way.

The snickering was short lived as it turned out. With the deafening noise around her blending with all that was screaming within, even the caffeine jolt couldn’t keep her grounded enough to proceed. What horribly pointless events funerals were. All of these miserable people under one roof busily weeping over one less person in the world when there was so much they could be doing. If life was that precious, why weren’t they out there living it? She was dead, could they say anything to change that? And, really, did grief need to be this damn loud? Because the questions were getting harder to hear over the roar, she promptly stopped asking them and lurched out of the doorway and outgoing traffic to lean against the wall. A swig of the coffee, not as hot as she hoped, barely took the edge off the whirlwind of sound and she was reduced to clawing at her tousled, auburn mane with her free hand. She just needed a moment. Maybe another espresso. A little more preparation and she’d be right back in the saddle. Aura exploration could wait. Head down and gloved hand still fisted in her hair, she darted back through the door from which she’d just entered. An unfortunate mourner was knocked aside in her hasty exit and was met with a dazed look and a string of nearly incoherent muttering.*- It was late, there was wine, and you were enjoying yourself well enough. At first. No, no…it was a poker. The carved brass one. I was rather fond of it. Too good for you...

-*Hovering near the entrance, Zoe sucked in air as frantically as someone drowning. She kept her hand pressed to the side of her head for its contact-comfort value and closed her eyes. Seth, on his bench, went unnoticed for now. If only they could have held this shindig in a library or perhaps the park. Blast them all.*-Now let’s all be ever so quiet. Silent little lambs.

[Sebastian Marlin]

Sebastian kept his cigarette between his fingers the whole time, taking it up for a slow drag now and then. He watched as her face changed from curiosity to suspicion. He had expected a little small talk, but then, she was the one in mourning between them. He probably should have taken the initiative when he had the chance. He glanced sideways at the pair who sat in the gazebo, glad for the temporary reprieve from Diana's piercing stare. The way she had looked at him was making him uncomfortable.

His glance moved away from the black trench coats in the gazebo, and Diana posed the question to him if he was a cop. It was more of an accusation. Scrapping the 'friend of the family' routine, he nodded solemnly and looked away, taking the last drag of his smoke.

"You could say that."

Triumph. She confirmed she was Diana. He dropped the smoldering cigarette butt to the ground, and crushed it into the rough, white pavement with his leather shoe. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, bringing his coat back a little, revealing the badge on his hip. He must not have been careful enough earlier.

"I'm with the FBI. We're investigating your sister's death, and others like it."

He knew it'd be a dead giveaway if he tossed out some cheesy movie line like 'don't tell anyone,' or 'keep it quiet for me.' He'd practiced his routine before, and he'd performed it several times to great effect. People were normally suspicious and careful around the FBI, anyway. 'FBI' meant he had a 'do whatever he wants and get away with it' badge. The only branch with more power was Homeland Security. At least, the only publicly known branch.

"I'm sorry for your loss. We're going to catch whoever did this to your sister."

He knew it probably sounded like another empty promise to her, but he genuinely meant it. He took his hand out of his pocket again, letting the coat cover his badge, and scratched a small itch on the side of his nose. As much as he wanted to talk to her some more, he could hear everyone had moved to the parlor.

"I won't keep you any longer, I just wanted to stop by and pay my respects."

He turned at the strange sounds, and watched as the man in the trench coat fumbled around in the graveyard for his cane. "What the heck...?" he muttered under his breath, raising an eyebrow in confusion. He decided not to get involved.

[Darcy Valde]

Darcy was bored.

He felt his eyes droop, his mind cloud. He let his mind trail away, away from his teacher’s ramblings and school, even New Storm City, he thought of his character in E&E, his friend Emily... he hadn’t heard from her in ages, their plot remained untouched on the boards, he brow furrowed. It wasn’t like her to stay away for so long, but then it was the internet, how well did he know Emily anyway, he didn’t even know her last name... she was in College, he was just a stupid high school kid. Darcy yawned audibly, his teachers gaze shifted.

Darcy sat up straight and concentrated, he knew what happened when he used his gifts, it wasn’t pretty, but it was just what the doctor ordered. He concentrated on his shoelace, slowly undoing them and retying them, it wasn’t easy.

‘Darcy? Are you ok?’

The teacher asked, moving through the rows of desks towards him, Darcy rubbed his right eye dramatically.

‘I’m ok... my eyes a bit sore...’

She took another look, right in his face; she pulled her head back suddenly, trying to hide the look of disgust plastered over her features.

‘Your eye Darcy! It’s all black! Go see the nurse... no... Go home, go to the doctors!’

Darcy hid a grin and nodded.

‘Ok...’

He could hear a wave of ‘Ewwwwws’ from the kids surrounding him, he smiled and picked up his bag, knowing full well that his laptop was sitting safely inside. He waved and almost ran out of his room, tripping over his undone shoelaces. His eye returned to normal, the whites returned; they were still dark of course.

Darcy looked at his watch, surprisingly it was still early in the day, the first bell hadn’t even rung yet. He pushed his way through the double doors leading out into the city and jumped down the small flight of stairs.

Darcy was more or less a normal New Storm City kid; He was 17 with a mess of dark hair pilled on top of his head, keen dark eyes and usually black clothes. Around his right wrist was a small but beautifully elaborate black tattoo, a small padlock was engraved into the painfully soft skin at the back of his wrist.

Darcy opened his laptop, nobody was home, so he kept his door open, the laptop flickered to life and he checked the boards... no Emily, not by her or any of her characters, he googled her. There were millions of results. He checked facebook, it was untouched, myspace. Untouched. Darcy sighed deeply; maybe her internet connection was bad? But it had happened before; she had just used the library. They had exchanged pictures once, she had told Darcy he was cute... he felt a twinge of embarrassment even though he was well and truly alone, online and off.

He found her picture saved on his drive, he tried to Google again, this time searching for pictures. She popped up; as pretty as ever, smiling at the camera. He clicked the website the picture had come from. His blood ran cold.

Obituaries.