Post by lostandtorn616 on Apr 29, 2007 17:51:08 GMT -5
Disclaimer: If I owned Naruto, I would make it much better than it is now; meaning there would be a helluva lot more blood and fighting, put in a few scenes of intense perverted, comical relief and swearing, take out the boring five minutes of nothing but useless speech impediments, and viola! Instant goodness; more than enough for everybody! Oh, and I’d definitely put in a couple of Yaoi scenes, just for Crazy-chan! *Hugs her*
(Future and Current) Warnings: Swearing (it’s me, or don’t cha know that already?), blood, torture, drug use, alcohol use, sadism and masochism, lemon and lime scenes, wet dreams, murder and attempted murder, Gaara’s insanity and bloodthirsty tendencies, Crazy-chan’s perverse thoughts, remarks, and conversations with Mia-chan and Itachi, Kisame and other characters’ violent usage of surrounding objects, and... erm, there might be more to this, but I can’t mention them right now. Sorry.
Note: I’ve made Gaara and co. older (except for Kisame, I don’t want him to be a forty-something year old man going through middle-age crisis, so he’ll be a few years younger)! So, in this story, their ages will range from sixteen to twenty-four. As for what certain Naruto characters have wound up in jail for, it will be revealed later on, okay? ... Though, I’m sure you all can guess what some of their reasons for being confined are.
Authoress’s Note: I like to skip! *Skips merrily around Hinata-chan and glomps her*
“Talking”
Thinking to oneself
Emphasis
Shouting
-Whispering-
(-Writing-)
-~-~-~Dream Sequence~-~-~-
“So, the prisoners in Cell Block Thirteen are real hassles, you say?” she glanced sideways at the warden walking beside her, trying desperately to keep up with his heavy, fast-paced jog; her high-heeled footwear made next to hardly any noise, while the warden’s shiny, iron-heeled boots pounded away mercilessly into the steel walkway.
He nodded; a small, mocking ‘mm’ sound slipped past his dry lips, a cruel smile making itself known as his narrow gray eyes slanted. “Yes, they are. You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve had to enforce ten armed officers down into that hellhole; last time that Uchiha kid managed to smuggle in a hand-crafted weapon the guy a couple of cells down gave him – from what I hear they’re well-knit buddies, if you could define their relationship in that manner.”
“Oh?” she raised a slender eyebrow in question, a thoughtful, curious look crossing her fair-colored complexion; she was gripping a clipboard in her hands, blue tip of the pen scratching away furiously as she took jot notes. “If I may ask you warden, what makes his friend so dangerous; other than finding three hundred different ways a spoon fashioned with a hook can penetrate the human body, and causing immense pain, of course.”
He chuckled; his crooked teeth shone malignantly under the broken florescent fixtures aligning the ceiling above their heads. “Well, my dear councilor, I daresay that given his height, agility, and almost inhuman strength, I would have to give you a fair, simple, educated guess: he could use roughly one per-cent of his durability, and – forgive me for saying so – still be more than capable of rendering a pretty defenseless woman like you deprived of a head within three seconds; almost instantly, and within the blink of an eye.”
Her small body shivered involuntarily as cold chills danced up and down her back, freezing her heart, and her blood frosted to absolute subzero at the thought of having her neck snapped in twine; it was as though she had just been on the receiving end of a cold shower; she quivered madly again, but she smiled faintly nonetheless, trying to push the sudden paranoid delusions from her mind, burying her newfound internal fears, going back to her hand-written notes.
“And the Uchiha boy? Itachi was his name, if I’m not mistaken. What sets him apart from the rest of the prisoners isolated in Cell Block Thirteen?” She watched as the warden scratched his beard thoughtfully; slivers of scraggly hair and flakes of skin cascaded to the metal walkway, clinging onto the small circular holes.
“Well now, that kid’s a bit of a... well, in one way, I guess you’d define him as an outcast, weird one at that; anti-social at best, doesn’t have a knack for associating too well with anyone here, you see. Only real friend he’s got is the one I mentioned earlier, not that he’s any better; last week he took his tray, twisted it like it was plastic, fashioned something like a crowbar from it, and then grabbed the guy sitting across from him by the scruff of his shirt. Nearly maimed the poor bastard too; from the way he told it, the guy looked at him in a way he didn’t favor greatly. Took twelve armed guards with batons, electric rods, and striking him on the back of his head with the butts of their rifles just to overpower him.”
“Yes, but you didn’t impute much background information on Uchiha Itachi; all you really spoke of was his companion, Hoshigaki Kisame. Has he committed any atrocities during his stay here? Any recent activity? Has he caused any sort of trouble?”
The warden brought his right hand up to his bearded chin for a second time, scratching feverishly, his chin gaining a light red hue as his jaw became irritated at the action; slivers of salt-and-pepper hair fluttered to the metallic catwalk, clinging to the spotless silver in desperation just as they had before. “Hmm... well, now that you asked, he did get into a little spat with two prisoners from Cell Block Eleven a few weeks back; he said Hoshigaki took no role in the ordeal, and we asked Mr. Sudou and Mr. Nakayama with regards to the incident, but Uchiha said that he didn’t do anything.”
“He didn’t confess?”
“Well now, that wasn’t necessarily the case; he didn’t confess, and we couldn’t pin the assaults on him either, on the grounds that we lacked sufficient evidence at the time; if he’s gone and did anything pertaining to that nature recently, then we haven’t been able to catch him red-handed.”
“But warden, sir... what about the other... prisoner?”
“... What of him?” The warden licked his lips nervously; his pupils shrank to pint-sized dots as an anxious perspire started to break out on his forehead, the only sounds coming from his were his shallow, labored breathing (panting it sounded like), and his miniature keys which unlocked every cell door and faculty staff room within the facility knocking against his trousers.
“Well, they say that he’s–”
“Don’t. Speak. Of. Him. Ever. Again.”
“But, sir–”
“Did I not tell you once, woman, or are you just ignorant? I told you not to mention him again! Am I clear?!”
She swallowed hard; nervously fidgeting with the collar of her white blouse, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. “Y-yes, sir. I-I understand.”
“See that you never ask of him again.” He turned sharply on his heel, roughly brushing against a guard monitoring the halls, making him to connect violently with the metal bars, a cell, devoid of life for two lifetimes.
“Y-yes, sir.”
My P.O.V.
“One percent, non-skimmed milk. Expiration date: two weeks ago. Just fan-fucking-tastic.” I scowled at the sour beverage sealed away in a red-and-white container, now radiating a foul odor from within; giving it a dopey look, I emptied the last of the spoiled milk into the garbage, dropping the container in after it, yawning and then rubbing my eyelids with the back of my hands, fighting off the numb, sluggish sensation of rising so early in the morning.
Knock, knock, knock! Knock, knock, knock!
“Hey Sharon, open up! And don’t pretend you’re not awake yet, cuz I know you are! Open up!”
Casting a dark, foreboding glare at the front door, I stomped over to it and threw it open so quick no one would be able to time the action had occurred – not to mention I nearly tore it off its hinges. “What the fuck do you want, you son-of-a– Uzumaki? You do realize it’s barely past five in the morning; and on a Saturday, no less.”
The blonde flashed me an idiotic grin, white flashing through the faint overcast of florescent lighting originating from the overhead bulb swinging gleefully off a beady string above our heads as all of his thirty-two little friends shone in my eyes; barely resisting the urge to roll them upside my head, I glared and crossed my arms over my chest, resting my weight on my left leg.
Unfortunately, his smile didn’t falter; he either didn’t notice the death glare I shot his way, or he just didn’t care.
“Hey Sharon, old buddy, old pal, old chum of mine... Could you spare me a couple of bucks?” His baby blue to cerulean sights glinted with a hopeful, childish light as he clasped his hands together, bouncing lightly on his feet.
I blinked. “You want to burrow a few bucks?”
“Yup!”
“From me?”
“I don’t know anyone else in this crappy apartment complex who’s as generous as you!”
“Though I am flattered by your... choice of words, Uzumaki, I can’t help you this time.”
His cheerful expression faltered; a look of puerile confusion replacing the ecstatic one his face had depicted. “Aw, why not?”
“Because, as I’m sure you’re not aware of, I’m currently unemployed; I’ve been without a job since five weeks ago, so I can’t give you a few bucks I wish I had. Now, please, leave me alone!”
I went to slam the door in his face, but he wedged his foot between the door’s threshold. “Come on, Sharon. Just this last time and I won’t burrow money from you ever again, I swear!”
“That’s what you told me the last five hundred times. Oh, and by the way, your tab comes to a total of one thousand dollars.”
“What?!” Naruto shrieked, apparently both outraged and taken aback.
“One grand. You owe me that much; also, for about a million favors I’ve done for you over the course of six months, Uzumaki.”
“But, but... Sharon...” I watched, disinterested, as his eyes doubled in size, fake tears dribbled down his face, clasping his hands together for a second time while his bottom lip quivered.
I sighed. “Uzumaki, giving me the puppy dog look won’t work. I’ve given you a fair chance to pay me back; both with the money and for every one of the favors.”
He frowned in distaste, imitating my posture. “Oh, fine!”
I smirked. “Good to see you agree. Now get out.”
This time I slammed the door, pressing my back up against the mahogany wood and bringing up my head, eyes staring blankly at the florescent bulb swinging with whimsical mirth in the faint draft coming from a pint-sized crack in the ceiling; this time I rolled my eyes hearing Naruto exclaim, “Ha! You didn’t get me that time!”
“Finally,” I murmured to myself, sighing and then rubbing my hands together, “Some peace and quiet. I have the weekend off. No Naruto. No nocturnal disturbances. No crappy leftover take-out. And, best of all–”
Knock, knock, knock! Knock, knock, knock!
Growling through clenched teeth, I whirled sharply around, storming towards the door, ripping it open for a second time. “I swear Uzumaki, if it’s you again, I’ll kick you right in the–”
I ceased in mid-sentence, blinking once, twice, three times, in bewilderment, staring back at two sassy dressed men; one of them lifted a badge, flashing me the symbol for the local police department in all its golden fame.
“Ms. Sharon?”
“Um, yes, that’s me. Is there a problem, officer?”
“I’m Detective Matsumoto and this is Sergeant Tsunematsu. If it’s not too much trouble, we’d like you to accompany us down to the station; we have to ask you a few questions.”
“...”
“You expect us to believe you didn’t commit these horrendous crimes?” A pair of icy blue eyes glared coolly back at me, narrowing into feline slits upon noticing a small, malignant frown tugging at the corner of my lips.
“Do you expect me to answer that?” I retorted in a fashion as winterly as the twin orbs of icy-blue staring back at me, a poor attempt at trying to intimidate me.
“I wouldn’t pick now as an appropriate time to be a smartass, young lady–”
“Don’t you dare refer to me as a young lady, officer; only my father can speak to me that way, and last I checked, you weren’t him, nor do you resemble him.” I interrupted him; my voice slipping out and curling round his throat, threatening to throttle him until he died from asphyxiation, each word ending in a poisonous, silky smooth undertone.
“Please, Ms. Sharon, calm down.” I huffed in annoyance and crossed my arms over my chest.
“Now, for the last time, where were you at the time the homicides occurred?”
“Well, I can’t tell you if I don’t know when they occurred, officer.”
“February 11th, around noon; the rest of the atrocities were committed a few hours after. Now,” the first detective paused to curl his hand into a fist, slamming it vigorously on the table, “don’t try to worm your way outta this one, Missy. At least try to be civil in your response this time.”
“I was at home.”
“Doing what?”
Biting back the witty comment I had thought of, I responded as politely as possible. “Listening to my family sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me. Satisfied?”
“Not yet. What did you do after your little birthday celebration? Did you go out anywhere, any clubs, parties, maybe to a friend’s house?”
“I fail to see the relevance your inquiries have concerning the matters of my leisure time.”
The less irritated, and irksome, detective sighed loudly, raising both hands up towards his head, absentmindedly rubbing his temples in a counter-clockwise manner with the pads of his pointer fingers; obviously, he was growing very impatient, nearing the edge of his temper, while trying to fend off an oncoming migraine. “Please, Ms. Sharon, just answer the questions Sergeant Matsumoto has asked you.”
“I don’t care. What business is it of yours? And, for the last four, why do you give a rat’s ass?”
“That’s IT! I’ve HAD IT WITH YOU![/i]”
“It’s nice to see that the feeling’s mutual.”
“Matsumoto, calm down, man. She’s just testing your patience.”
“Arrest her! Charge the little bitch with six counts of capital murder, three counts of first-degree murder, and eight separate counts of second and third degree murder![/i]”
I blinked, dumbfounded. “... What?”
He, the one called Matsumoto, rounded on me, indicting towards my shell-shocked expression with a pudgy finger. “Don’t try to act innocent, little Missy! We know your kind! We found your hair at every one of the crime scenes; we also determined that the blood not belonging to any of the homicide victims was yours, and don’t try to deny it! We have witnesses who can verify that you were in the vicinity during the time of every one of the murders!”
I got to my feet, slamming both of my hands down onto the table, gritting my teeth as resentment, anger, disbelief and shock coursed wildly throughout my system; the inward bowels of my throat constricted painfully, causing my deathly pallor-colored skin to feel as if it were being pricked at with a thousand burning, hostile knives the size of a pin; my eyes narrowed as my pupils shrank, glowering at the thirty-odd year-old man with seething, smoldering fervor.
“How can you accuse me of such barbaric accusations?! I’m innocent; truly and honestly! I DIDN’T KILL ANYBODY!”
“Like I said before Missy, you can’t disprove of the evidence we have against you. Would it put you in a better mood, to want to confess to these outlandish murders, if you saw the crime scene photographs?”
With those words, he unclipped a bundle of photos from a yellow folder, tossing them onto the table, and I gazed at every one, no sign of recognition appearing on my visage. I don’t recognize any of these folks; I’ve never seen any of them before in my entire blasted existence... I mused silently to myself, taking the stack of pictures, leafing through them one by one, my pupils widening in horror and disgust seeing the victims in their dismal, ghastly, gruesome glory; a male brunette lied face-down in a ditch, a gasoline container and an empty packet of matches tossed carelessly next to his charred carcass, burnt beyond the state of identification; another brunette, this one a female, also burned beyond recognition just as the first, though, upon closer examination, she appeared to have been scorched while alive.
The others were more gruesome; maimed; mutilated; decapitated; torture and, immediately following afterwards, burning their victims seemed to be the most distinguishing mark for whoever the real killer was – or killers, if there happened to be a few accomplices. Disgusted, I angrily threw the pictures back. “I didn’t... I didn’t do any of this. I didn’t know any of them.”
Sergeant Matsumoto smirked. “Of course you didn’t. Tsunematsu, cuff her.”
“I’m telling you the truth! I didn’t kill anyone! Call my parents, they’ll tell you; they can verify my statement, they’ll believe me.”
Despite my protests, I was lead – or to be more precise, shoved and dragged – out of the interrogation room, in shackles, by Detective Tsunematsu; Sergeant Matsumoto chuckled in delight behind my retreating back, satisfied that he had put a serial killer behind bars, or at least in his own mind he had.
DUN DUN DUN!! *Melodramatic music starts to play* More goodness come Chapter 2, peeps!
(Future and Current) Warnings: Swearing (it’s me, or don’t cha know that already?), blood, torture, drug use, alcohol use, sadism and masochism, lemon and lime scenes, wet dreams, murder and attempted murder, Gaara’s insanity and bloodthirsty tendencies, Crazy-chan’s perverse thoughts, remarks, and conversations with Mia-chan and Itachi, Kisame and other characters’ violent usage of surrounding objects, and... erm, there might be more to this, but I can’t mention them right now. Sorry.
Note: I’ve made Gaara and co. older (except for Kisame, I don’t want him to be a forty-something year old man going through middle-age crisis, so he’ll be a few years younger)! So, in this story, their ages will range from sixteen to twenty-four. As for what certain Naruto characters have wound up in jail for, it will be revealed later on, okay? ... Though, I’m sure you all can guess what some of their reasons for being confined are.
Authoress’s Note: I like to skip! *Skips merrily around Hinata-chan and glomps her*
“Talking”
Thinking to oneself
Emphasis
Shouting
-Whispering-
(-Writing-)
-~-~-~Dream Sequence~-~-~-
~~~~START!~~~~
“So, the prisoners in Cell Block Thirteen are real hassles, you say?” she glanced sideways at the warden walking beside her, trying desperately to keep up with his heavy, fast-paced jog; her high-heeled footwear made next to hardly any noise, while the warden’s shiny, iron-heeled boots pounded away mercilessly into the steel walkway.
He nodded; a small, mocking ‘mm’ sound slipped past his dry lips, a cruel smile making itself known as his narrow gray eyes slanted. “Yes, they are. You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve had to enforce ten armed officers down into that hellhole; last time that Uchiha kid managed to smuggle in a hand-crafted weapon the guy a couple of cells down gave him – from what I hear they’re well-knit buddies, if you could define their relationship in that manner.”
“Oh?” she raised a slender eyebrow in question, a thoughtful, curious look crossing her fair-colored complexion; she was gripping a clipboard in her hands, blue tip of the pen scratching away furiously as she took jot notes. “If I may ask you warden, what makes his friend so dangerous; other than finding three hundred different ways a spoon fashioned with a hook can penetrate the human body, and causing immense pain, of course.”
He chuckled; his crooked teeth shone malignantly under the broken florescent fixtures aligning the ceiling above their heads. “Well, my dear councilor, I daresay that given his height, agility, and almost inhuman strength, I would have to give you a fair, simple, educated guess: he could use roughly one per-cent of his durability, and – forgive me for saying so – still be more than capable of rendering a pretty defenseless woman like you deprived of a head within three seconds; almost instantly, and within the blink of an eye.”
Her small body shivered involuntarily as cold chills danced up and down her back, freezing her heart, and her blood frosted to absolute subzero at the thought of having her neck snapped in twine; it was as though she had just been on the receiving end of a cold shower; she quivered madly again, but she smiled faintly nonetheless, trying to push the sudden paranoid delusions from her mind, burying her newfound internal fears, going back to her hand-written notes.
“And the Uchiha boy? Itachi was his name, if I’m not mistaken. What sets him apart from the rest of the prisoners isolated in Cell Block Thirteen?” She watched as the warden scratched his beard thoughtfully; slivers of scraggly hair and flakes of skin cascaded to the metal walkway, clinging onto the small circular holes.
“Well now, that kid’s a bit of a... well, in one way, I guess you’d define him as an outcast, weird one at that; anti-social at best, doesn’t have a knack for associating too well with anyone here, you see. Only real friend he’s got is the one I mentioned earlier, not that he’s any better; last week he took his tray, twisted it like it was plastic, fashioned something like a crowbar from it, and then grabbed the guy sitting across from him by the scruff of his shirt. Nearly maimed the poor bastard too; from the way he told it, the guy looked at him in a way he didn’t favor greatly. Took twelve armed guards with batons, electric rods, and striking him on the back of his head with the butts of their rifles just to overpower him.”
“Yes, but you didn’t impute much background information on Uchiha Itachi; all you really spoke of was his companion, Hoshigaki Kisame. Has he committed any atrocities during his stay here? Any recent activity? Has he caused any sort of trouble?”
The warden brought his right hand up to his bearded chin for a second time, scratching feverishly, his chin gaining a light red hue as his jaw became irritated at the action; slivers of salt-and-pepper hair fluttered to the metallic catwalk, clinging to the spotless silver in desperation just as they had before. “Hmm... well, now that you asked, he did get into a little spat with two prisoners from Cell Block Eleven a few weeks back; he said Hoshigaki took no role in the ordeal, and we asked Mr. Sudou and Mr. Nakayama with regards to the incident, but Uchiha said that he didn’t do anything.”
“He didn’t confess?”
“Well now, that wasn’t necessarily the case; he didn’t confess, and we couldn’t pin the assaults on him either, on the grounds that we lacked sufficient evidence at the time; if he’s gone and did anything pertaining to that nature recently, then we haven’t been able to catch him red-handed.”
“But warden, sir... what about the other... prisoner?”
“... What of him?” The warden licked his lips nervously; his pupils shrank to pint-sized dots as an anxious perspire started to break out on his forehead, the only sounds coming from his were his shallow, labored breathing (panting it sounded like), and his miniature keys which unlocked every cell door and faculty staff room within the facility knocking against his trousers.
“Well, they say that he’s–”
“Don’t. Speak. Of. Him. Ever. Again.”
“But, sir–”
“Did I not tell you once, woman, or are you just ignorant? I told you not to mention him again! Am I clear?!”
She swallowed hard; nervously fidgeting with the collar of her white blouse, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. “Y-yes, sir. I-I understand.”
“See that you never ask of him again.” He turned sharply on his heel, roughly brushing against a guard monitoring the halls, making him to connect violently with the metal bars, a cell, devoid of life for two lifetimes.
“Y-yes, sir.”
My P.O.V.
“One percent, non-skimmed milk. Expiration date: two weeks ago. Just fan-fucking-tastic.” I scowled at the sour beverage sealed away in a red-and-white container, now radiating a foul odor from within; giving it a dopey look, I emptied the last of the spoiled milk into the garbage, dropping the container in after it, yawning and then rubbing my eyelids with the back of my hands, fighting off the numb, sluggish sensation of rising so early in the morning.
Knock, knock, knock! Knock, knock, knock!
“Hey Sharon, open up! And don’t pretend you’re not awake yet, cuz I know you are! Open up!”
Casting a dark, foreboding glare at the front door, I stomped over to it and threw it open so quick no one would be able to time the action had occurred – not to mention I nearly tore it off its hinges. “What the fuck do you want, you son-of-a– Uzumaki? You do realize it’s barely past five in the morning; and on a Saturday, no less.”
The blonde flashed me an idiotic grin, white flashing through the faint overcast of florescent lighting originating from the overhead bulb swinging gleefully off a beady string above our heads as all of his thirty-two little friends shone in my eyes; barely resisting the urge to roll them upside my head, I glared and crossed my arms over my chest, resting my weight on my left leg.
Unfortunately, his smile didn’t falter; he either didn’t notice the death glare I shot his way, or he just didn’t care.
“Hey Sharon, old buddy, old pal, old chum of mine... Could you spare me a couple of bucks?” His baby blue to cerulean sights glinted with a hopeful, childish light as he clasped his hands together, bouncing lightly on his feet.
I blinked. “You want to burrow a few bucks?”
“Yup!”
“From me?”
“I don’t know anyone else in this crappy apartment complex who’s as generous as you!”
“Though I am flattered by your... choice of words, Uzumaki, I can’t help you this time.”
His cheerful expression faltered; a look of puerile confusion replacing the ecstatic one his face had depicted. “Aw, why not?”
“Because, as I’m sure you’re not aware of, I’m currently unemployed; I’ve been without a job since five weeks ago, so I can’t give you a few bucks I wish I had. Now, please, leave me alone!”
I went to slam the door in his face, but he wedged his foot between the door’s threshold. “Come on, Sharon. Just this last time and I won’t burrow money from you ever again, I swear!”
“That’s what you told me the last five hundred times. Oh, and by the way, your tab comes to a total of one thousand dollars.”
“What?!” Naruto shrieked, apparently both outraged and taken aback.
“One grand. You owe me that much; also, for about a million favors I’ve done for you over the course of six months, Uzumaki.”
“But, but... Sharon...” I watched, disinterested, as his eyes doubled in size, fake tears dribbled down his face, clasping his hands together for a second time while his bottom lip quivered.
I sighed. “Uzumaki, giving me the puppy dog look won’t work. I’ve given you a fair chance to pay me back; both with the money and for every one of the favors.”
He frowned in distaste, imitating my posture. “Oh, fine!”
I smirked. “Good to see you agree. Now get out.”
This time I slammed the door, pressing my back up against the mahogany wood and bringing up my head, eyes staring blankly at the florescent bulb swinging with whimsical mirth in the faint draft coming from a pint-sized crack in the ceiling; this time I rolled my eyes hearing Naruto exclaim, “Ha! You didn’t get me that time!”
“Finally,” I murmured to myself, sighing and then rubbing my hands together, “Some peace and quiet. I have the weekend off. No Naruto. No nocturnal disturbances. No crappy leftover take-out. And, best of all–”
Knock, knock, knock! Knock, knock, knock!
Growling through clenched teeth, I whirled sharply around, storming towards the door, ripping it open for a second time. “I swear Uzumaki, if it’s you again, I’ll kick you right in the–”
I ceased in mid-sentence, blinking once, twice, three times, in bewilderment, staring back at two sassy dressed men; one of them lifted a badge, flashing me the symbol for the local police department in all its golden fame.
“Ms. Sharon?”
“Um, yes, that’s me. Is there a problem, officer?”
“I’m Detective Matsumoto and this is Sergeant Tsunematsu. If it’s not too much trouble, we’d like you to accompany us down to the station; we have to ask you a few questions.”
“...”
Police Station, Time: 11:30 p.m.
“You expect us to believe you didn’t commit these horrendous crimes?” A pair of icy blue eyes glared coolly back at me, narrowing into feline slits upon noticing a small, malignant frown tugging at the corner of my lips.
“Do you expect me to answer that?” I retorted in a fashion as winterly as the twin orbs of icy-blue staring back at me, a poor attempt at trying to intimidate me.
“I wouldn’t pick now as an appropriate time to be a smartass, young lady–”
“Don’t you dare refer to me as a young lady, officer; only my father can speak to me that way, and last I checked, you weren’t him, nor do you resemble him.” I interrupted him; my voice slipping out and curling round his throat, threatening to throttle him until he died from asphyxiation, each word ending in a poisonous, silky smooth undertone.
“Please, Ms. Sharon, calm down.” I huffed in annoyance and crossed my arms over my chest.
“Now, for the last time, where were you at the time the homicides occurred?”
“Well, I can’t tell you if I don’t know when they occurred, officer.”
“February 11th, around noon; the rest of the atrocities were committed a few hours after. Now,” the first detective paused to curl his hand into a fist, slamming it vigorously on the table, “don’t try to worm your way outta this one, Missy. At least try to be civil in your response this time.”
“I was at home.”
“Doing what?”
Biting back the witty comment I had thought of, I responded as politely as possible. “Listening to my family sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me. Satisfied?”
“Not yet. What did you do after your little birthday celebration? Did you go out anywhere, any clubs, parties, maybe to a friend’s house?”
“I fail to see the relevance your inquiries have concerning the matters of my leisure time.”
The less irritated, and irksome, detective sighed loudly, raising both hands up towards his head, absentmindedly rubbing his temples in a counter-clockwise manner with the pads of his pointer fingers; obviously, he was growing very impatient, nearing the edge of his temper, while trying to fend off an oncoming migraine. “Please, Ms. Sharon, just answer the questions Sergeant Matsumoto has asked you.”
“I don’t care. What business is it of yours? And, for the last four, why do you give a rat’s ass?”
“That’s IT! I’ve HAD IT WITH YOU![/i]”
“It’s nice to see that the feeling’s mutual.”
“Matsumoto, calm down, man. She’s just testing your patience.”
“Arrest her! Charge the little bitch with six counts of capital murder, three counts of first-degree murder, and eight separate counts of second and third degree murder![/i]”
I blinked, dumbfounded. “... What?”
He, the one called Matsumoto, rounded on me, indicting towards my shell-shocked expression with a pudgy finger. “Don’t try to act innocent, little Missy! We know your kind! We found your hair at every one of the crime scenes; we also determined that the blood not belonging to any of the homicide victims was yours, and don’t try to deny it! We have witnesses who can verify that you were in the vicinity during the time of every one of the murders!”
I got to my feet, slamming both of my hands down onto the table, gritting my teeth as resentment, anger, disbelief and shock coursed wildly throughout my system; the inward bowels of my throat constricted painfully, causing my deathly pallor-colored skin to feel as if it were being pricked at with a thousand burning, hostile knives the size of a pin; my eyes narrowed as my pupils shrank, glowering at the thirty-odd year-old man with seething, smoldering fervor.
“How can you accuse me of such barbaric accusations?! I’m innocent; truly and honestly! I DIDN’T KILL ANYBODY!”
“Like I said before Missy, you can’t disprove of the evidence we have against you. Would it put you in a better mood, to want to confess to these outlandish murders, if you saw the crime scene photographs?”
With those words, he unclipped a bundle of photos from a yellow folder, tossing them onto the table, and I gazed at every one, no sign of recognition appearing on my visage. I don’t recognize any of these folks; I’ve never seen any of them before in my entire blasted existence... I mused silently to myself, taking the stack of pictures, leafing through them one by one, my pupils widening in horror and disgust seeing the victims in their dismal, ghastly, gruesome glory; a male brunette lied face-down in a ditch, a gasoline container and an empty packet of matches tossed carelessly next to his charred carcass, burnt beyond the state of identification; another brunette, this one a female, also burned beyond recognition just as the first, though, upon closer examination, she appeared to have been scorched while alive.
The others were more gruesome; maimed; mutilated; decapitated; torture and, immediately following afterwards, burning their victims seemed to be the most distinguishing mark for whoever the real killer was – or killers, if there happened to be a few accomplices. Disgusted, I angrily threw the pictures back. “I didn’t... I didn’t do any of this. I didn’t know any of them.”
Sergeant Matsumoto smirked. “Of course you didn’t. Tsunematsu, cuff her.”
“I’m telling you the truth! I didn’t kill anyone! Call my parents, they’ll tell you; they can verify my statement, they’ll believe me.”
Despite my protests, I was lead – or to be more precise, shoved and dragged – out of the interrogation room, in shackles, by Detective Tsunematsu; Sergeant Matsumoto chuckled in delight behind my retreating back, satisfied that he had put a serial killer behind bars, or at least in his own mind he had.
DUN DUN DUN!! *Melodramatic music starts to play* More goodness come Chapter 2, peeps!