Wednesday, July 9, 2008

DO NOT READ THIS!!!! (It's way too long anyway)
Therefore, beloved, since you are forewarned, be on your guard not to be led into the error of the unprincipled and to fall from your own stability.
But grow in grace and in the knowledge of our Lord and savior Jesus Christ. To him be glory now and to the day of eternity. (Amen.) -Second Peter, 17-18

“You're sure you want to do this?”
“No. But I'm sure I have to.”
Sigh. In reply, he brings his oh-so-over-worked hands to his forehead like he's got a splitting headache—which I'm sure he does—and, with his face still masked and his head swaying back and forth regretfully, he says: “I'm sorry, Yuki. I'm so, so sorry.”
I shrug indifferently, glancing at the empty lines of the potential good-bye letter I'm supposed to write to them. To my family. To my friends. To Perry Hall. To my every sense of familiarity I'm leaving behind. “It's okay. It's not up to you”
And it's not. I can't be mad at Shanty. He was just following orders. Besides, even if I was in an unforgiving mood, I already had my revenge.
But no. There are only 2 people who deserve the blame for Jonah's murder and my so-called “kid-napping.” And that's me and Jay.
School had only been over for an hour and I had only been home for about 20 minutes when the doorbell rang.
“Honey, could you get that?” my mom called from downstairs, sounding preoccupied, as she usually was in our house of 5 kids, not including me. So, rising from the practically prehistoric rocking chair in my room, putting my cherry red boom box on pause, I made my way to the door. And, as clichéd as it sounds, I couldn't help but wonder who it could be. Hardly anybody comes to visit us on the weekdays anymore. And even when they do, they never come over right after I get home from school. Not since Cori disappeared, anyway.
But Jonah Knolles, apparently couldn't care less about whether or not Cori had visited my humble, crowded abode in the last 8 days or so, because as I opened the door to see who rung the doorbell, there he was. The boy who, just last Thursday, proved to me that often times the truth is better off hidden. The boy who just last Thursday shoved me into the wall and revealed that he had spent the last 2 and a half years exploring the essence of my soul. The boy who, just last Thursday, scared the living shit out of me. The boy who just last Thursday told me he loved me and nearly dislocated my shoulder.
So, of course, my initial, instinctual reaction was to immediately slam the door in his face, tell mom it was just another one of those punk kids playing the old “ring and run” doorbell game again, and dive back into my room to weld the window shut and the curtains closed. But, as if anticipating this, the minute I opened the door, he rested his strong, oh-so-immobile-at-will hand on the door and held it open. Kept it open, rather.
“We need to talk,” he said, giving me a determined look that sent trickles of ice and dread down my spine.
“Uh, er... Um...”
But something must've then registered about the trepidation in my temperament for Jonah, because his face almost immediately softened.
“No, it's okay,” he assured, backing away a bit once he saw my discomfort at him being within arms reach of me. “I just want to say sorry for Thursday.”
“Um...Okay.” I still wasn't convinced. It wasn't like Jonah to apologize. Hell, half the time, he never even bothered to admit he was wrong.
“Yeah, so, um...” It was his turn to feel awkward. He clasped his hands behind his back and lowered his power-blue gaze to my feet. “Look, I acted like a total psycho on Thursday, and I'll understand if you avoid me like the plague for the rest of our high-school career, but I just wanted you to know I'm REALLY SORRY and I'll never do anything like that to you again. But....You gotta understand: When I saw you with that guy in the hallway... I dunno, I just lost it. Couldn't help it. Because, well...” And he locked his ice-blue, most sincere “cross my heart and hope to die” gaze on mine as he said: “I meant every word of what I said. On Thursday.” On Thursday... Oh, choke! I can't help but risk a seizure or 2 at the memory.
“Um.... you mean the part where you said I ruined you and everything was fine until I came along or the part where you read my diary?”
Praying I was sort of half-joking, he smiled a bit and said “No. Well, actually, yeah, all of it true, but.... I especially meant the part where I said...--” and he blushed a little bit as he told me-- “I like you.”
“Oh...” I said, resisting the urge to scour the area for hidden cameras sent by a certain young, handsome, prank show-hosting, former That '70s Show cast member. When I realized I wasn't being Punk'd, I nearly fainted.
You see, some girls are used to being the object of every guys affection. For them, it's just natural, maybe even part of their daily agenda to find out that cute guy in their second period likes them. They just automatically know what to do in these situations because they've experienced it a million times before. Those girls are masters. They know how to break hearts without looking cruel, how to flirt without looking needy, how to seduce without looking like harlots.
And, well, I am not one of those girls. At all.
I just never have any idea what to do when I find out someone likes me. Especially when they tell me directly. Especially when they tell me directly and they just happen to be guys who I've thought always hated me. Especially when they tell me directly, just happen to be guys who I've thought always hated me, and are now smiling earnestly and expectantly up at me on my back porch.
We stand like that for about 40 years more with him waiting probably in soundless anguish-filled anxiety for my answer and with me drowning in utter, immobile-rendering shock that I even have to have an answer. Honestly, I couldn't even begin to describe how painfully awkward it was.
But fortunately, (or unfortunately, depending on your perspective) he must've ultimately mistook my shocked-into-speechlessness for utter repulsion, because eventually he turned to exit, faking a sense of complacent casualty, saying “Well, I, uh, guess I better go then. Later.” But as he was walking away, when he thought I wasn't looking, he allowed the passive, complacent facade to drop for just an instant, and something about all the rejection and pain in his face just sliced me straight to the core. Not to mention, I was still confused as hell about him liking me.
“Now, wait just a damn minute!” I said, hopping onto the porch, letting the door close behind me, and ambling over to where Jonah was standing, bemused. “Answer me this: If you always liked me so bloody much, why'd you always act like such a dick around me?”
“Well... Er... I, um....”
“You didn't want to look bad in front of friends, did you? That's it, isn't it? You didn't want anybody to know you liked the freaky, psycho girl who'd rather swing on her swing set all day and occasionally talk to herself than go to some beer-stained, marijuana-filled, teenage party, right?”
“Well... That was part of it, yeah. But...”
Ha! I knew it!
“But I also was sort of in denial. I didn't want to like you this intensely. Because it was too painful. I couldn't handle it.”
I was about to ask what he meant by it being too painful, but my own memory answered the question for me. He had already told me on Thursday:
“...Finish me off! Put me out of my misery. Don't leave a shred of false hope. Just fucking break my heart so I can move on and you can stop torturing me like this!”
It was then that I understood just how agonizingly deeply Jonah cared. It wasn't just some stupid, vapid, appearance-based high school crush that only lasts for about 2 weeks—No, it didn't even compare to that. And if it wasn't love, I was pretty sure it was damn near close.
And of course, I realized, the reason he never openly pursued me was because he knew I'd just flat out turn him down without a moments hesitation. He always knew perfectly well how I felt about him. Not to mention, as we all know, it's scary as God knows what to tell That Person just how much you care. I could only imagine how much more difficult it is when That Person despises you.
Yes. It all made sense to me now. But there was still one thing I didn't quite understand.
“Jonah,” I murmured, my face starting to turn scarlet with an emotion I didn't know the name of. “Why did you read my diary in the first place...?”
In reply he chuckled and blushed with discomfort. “Well, ehheh, this is kind of embarrassing, but... I was sort of looking for something I could use as black-mail or something. You know, for when you turned me down for home-coming.”
Smiling, I stifled a laugh. Now THAT I could believe. Yup, that was definitely the Jonah I knew and tolerated. Good old, vengeful, villainous, vile Jonah.
Although, I admit, it did sort of creep me out that Jonah could break into my house, steal my diary, and break back in to put it back 2 and a half years worth of times without me ever suspecting in the least. But for fear that the knowledge of his methods would only scare me further, I didn't ask how he did it. Besides, there were more important matters that needed attending to. Like, for example, what was I supposed to do now that I knew Jonah was practically in love with me and wasn't complete hell-spawn after all? And how was I going to keep him from reading my diary or more importantly breaking into my house?
After a minutes hesitation, I suggested: “Alright, Jonah, how 'bout this: you take me on a date tonight and if I enjoy it, I'll be your girlfriend. Okay?”
At this, his face lit up like an electrically wired health hazard on Christmas morning. “Really?!”
“Really. On one condition: You gotta respect my privacy from now on. No more reading my diary or anything, alright?”
Surprisingly enough, the minute he heard this, his face fell. “But... I LOVE reading your diary. Your writing's amazing! It's, like, the main reason I like you!” Right. And every last one of the rapists in jail these days are completely innocent. Bullshit.
When he saw the unconvinced look on my face, he said: “I mean, It's not just how you write: it's WHAT you write. What you think. What you feel... What you are. WHO you are. THAT'S what I like about you.”
Wow. Who knew this guy was such a romantic?
I'm about to tell him this when he adds: “Not to mention, you're hot as hell.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
After a moments silence of me thinking “Why did I not see that coming?” I returned to the bargain with a: “Um... Well, uh, how about this then: You stop reading my diary, and I'll show you every other thing I write. Deal?”
For the second time, he surprised me with his apprehension. It was a full 10 seconds before he smiled and accepted the proposal. But he more than made up for those wasted 10 seconds. Because immediately after that, his enthusiasm returned in full swing: He managed to nearly choke me to death in a hug, have an honest-to-God eye-twinkle, go on a 20 run on sentence-long rant, and ask where I wanted to go on the date in about a minute and a half.
But due to the fact that, socially-speaking, we're polar opposites, we didn't manage to figure out where we'd go for the date before Jonah had to leave to meet his friends at Pizza Hut for about an hour or 2.
So, for that moment I was left to wonder, in his wake, what exactly I was getting myself into.
Had I then known the answer, I can't help but wonder what I would've done.

If Jason hadn't been shocked into emotional paralysis, he would've been out-raged.
Luckily, it was Seras, not him, who was driving.
“I-I don't understand,” he stammered, in the passenger seat of his orange Ford van. “We've been preparing for this tour for months! How can they even consider postponing it?!”
Even though this exchange was taking place over the phone, Jay could almost hear Bob shrugging above the sound of his car cruising across the highway. “Can't be helped. A hurricane watch is in effect on the Japanese coast. If we leave for Tokyo on the 16th, as planned, we risk being caught in the storm.”
“Oh...” Jay nodded bitterly, wanting to be stubborn but understanding it would accomplish nothing. Having just released a song containing lyrics that weren't his and making his way that very moment to capture the author of those stolen lyrics, he was more than anxious to get the tour out of the way. But if it was literally life-threatening to go at that very moment... Well, as Bob had said: it couldn't be helped.
“So what date are they postponing it to then?”
“May 2nd.”
“What?! But that's, like, a month away!”
“I know, I know. But, hey, what are you gonna do?”
Leaning his head against the window, Jason sighed. Indeed: what was he going to do?
“Dude. Come on. Tell me.”
“No.”
“But we've been driving for over an hour!”
“I know. So?”
“So tell me where we're going!”
“No. It's a surprise.”
Giving up, I throw my hands up in defeat, exasperated by this age-old conversation. We left my house at 6:00 and right now it's almost 7:30. Jonah hasn't even so much as hinted at where we're going. I can tell it's pretty far north though. It also must be pretty impressive if Jonah's willing to spend God-knows-how-many-dollars in gas money to get there. Either that, or he really is in love with me. Which is just way too abnormal to even begin to fathom without getting a headache, if you ask me.
However, obliterating migraine or not, it must've been the latter, because about 5 minutes after that, he pulls over in the parking lot of a McDonald's. McDonald's, as in the franchise that's pretty much everywhere. Everywhere, as in, only a few blocks from my neighborhood. My neighborhood, as in about a hour and a halfs worth of driving in the direction opposite ours.
Incredulous, I turned to interrogate. “McDonald's....? You drove 75 miles or out of your way for MCDONALD'S?”
“Er, no. I just figured you might be hungry after 2 hours of driving.”
“Oh...” I was about to commend him on his consideration, when he added: “Plus, I gotta pee.”
“Oh.”
So, he park the car, he hands me 20 bucks(!) and tells me to buy whatever I want, he races into the restroom, and I order the food: 2 burgers, 2 orders of medium fries, and 2 Pepsi's. Ho-hum. Now all I have to do is pay for the food and carry it to the table. Simple task, right? In principle, yes. In reality, no. Not when you're me. Not when you're so easily distracted by the fact that Jonah would spend $20 on fast food for you that you forget about the wet floor sign while carrying a tray full of food, slip, and nearly break your neck. Nearly.
But right after my feet slid out from under me and the tray went flying a few feet above my head, I felt something warm wrap around my waist, breaking my fall. The something warm turned out to be C.A.I.'s/Shanty's arm and hand. With his other hand, he swiped the tray out of the air and angled it so that the food landed on it in a neat little tower of sorts. It was sort of like that one scene in Spiderman when M.J. slips in the cafeteria, and Pete catches her, only way more impressive because with Shanty's long, blonde, scene bangs, he should not have been coordinated enough to even avoid tripping over me once I fell, much less catch me and practically swipe my meal out of mid-air.
But before I had time to marvel at his superhuman reflexes, he set the tray down on a nearby table, stood me up, and hissed fiercely: “what are you doing here?!?!?!!?”
My brain turned to bubblegum and mush. He was so, so impossibly pretty. “Er, um...Fsmjomfajl!”
For a second, he gave me a look like I was mad, which I was, then took my hand and said: “Look, that guy you're with? Jonah? He's a gang-leader,okay? He's dangerous! And, he's associated with Vash, er, Kami! You've gotta get outta here!”
I was about to let my mushy, bubblegum brain take over for good this time and chirp “Okay, mister, take me away to your magical land of magical people with magical scene hair and eye-brow piercings!” But then I remembered something: This guy was never actually C.A.I. No, C.A.I. was just a dream. In reality, I didn't even know this guy and he'd been following me around since last week. He was really just some creepy (albeit sexy as hell) stalker. AND I had kissed him!
So instead, I withdrew my hand from his grasp, and stammered: “Who... Who are you...?”
Again, he looked at me like I was insane, but it wasn't as sexy as before. Before, when I thought he was just some God-given, magical Alichino sent to protect me from fatally wet McDonald's floors and the like.
Bewildered, he murmured: “What...? Yuki, this is no time for some weird amnesia joke. You know me, I'm C.A.I. Remember? Cold As Ice?”
“No you're not. C.A.I. was just a dream. He never existed.”
At this, his face caves in on itself as he realizes what he's done. I can see the thoughts drifting through his head: “You idiot! She's fully awake now! Of course she'd realize you're not just a dream! Now she has no idea what to do!”
At last, he sighed. “Alright, I admit it: I'm not C.A.I.. I'm Shanty. Hi, nice to meet you. Now, come on! We've gotta get you outta here!”
“Why?”
“Because Jonah's a dangerous mafia boss and I don't want to see you get gang-raped to death! Now, COME!”
My head was spinning. Jonah? A mafia mob boss? A literal gangster? An actual gang leader? This guy was insane! And how did I know he wasn't the one who wanted to rape me? Honestly. Why should I trust him? I didn't even know him.
“Come on, Yuki, let's go!” He hurried, yanking on my hand, preparing to drag me away.
My mouth tightened. My gaze dulled. Beep. Interrogation software fully activated. “Do you really want to protect me from Jonah...?”
He stopped. He looked at me, perplexed.“Uh, well, yeah, I-”
“Then where were you when he pinned me to a wall on Thursday and held me down for so long and so hard that he nearly dislocated my shoulder? Why didn't you protect me from him then?”
“Er, I didn't know-”
“And what about the massacre at my school last Monday? Where were you when people were getting shot, left and right? When I had to hide in a closet for hours, with nothing but a rosary, wondering if I'd ever get out alive. When I was being dragged away by the Reapers, thinking I would never see my family again.”
“Yuki, I'm sorry, but-”
“But nothing. You lied to me. You led me on. You made me think that you were my guardian, that I was safe with you. That I could trust you.”
“I know, I know. I shouldn't have lied to you. But I couldn't tell you who I actually was, because....”
“Because why?”
He held my gaze for as long as he could without looking guilty. But eventually, he lowered it in despair, with a sigh that said “You win. I can't answer that.”
But I felt anything but victory from this. “Yeah. That's what I thought.” Honestly, I was so disappointed, I could've gotten up and walked right into on-going traffic right then and there. But no. I had to finish him off first. He needed to feel my pain. “Look. You're not my guardian angel, okay? You're just a dirty, obsessive old man in a twenty-something-year-olds body, looking for entertainment in the lives of stupid, naive high school girls. So stalk me all you want. But don't you dare come rushing in on the scene like you're so damn benevolent and heroic. Because you're not.”
I didn't regret those words the minute they left my mouth, but I did the second I saw Shanty's face. He looked like I had just kicked him in the throat. But then his face hardened.
And he walked past me, without a word, and disappeared out the door like the nothing I had just made him feel like.
And I just sat there, in his absence. Like the monster I was had just acted like.
Minutes later, Jonah appeared. Unlike me, he was as happy as he had been 10 minutes ago.“Hey. Sorry I took so long, I...” but then he saw the grief in my face. Which, in turn, caused the concern in his. “Are.. Are you okay?”
I thought about what Shanty had just said about him. About how he was the leader of an infamous mafia gang. About how he could and probably would severely hurt, possibly kill me, if I didn't escape. About how he was supposed to be dangerous. Bullshit.
I faked a smile. “Y-yeah, Jonah. I'm fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” I repeated, hallowly. “Really. I'm fine.” But Shanty wasn't.
I sensed it then. I know it now.

A guitar solo blasted from the onyx I-phone, accompanied by the deep, throaty vocals of Sam Frichari.
Jason sighed. They were close now. Very close. Did his phone really need to intervene NOW?
Nevertheless, when he saw it was Shanty, he instantly answered it. “Yes?”
“I ain't gonna do it.”
“What...?”
“Do your own gawddamn dirty work. I couldn't bring her to you even if I wanted to. She doesn't trust me anymore.”
“Wh-what happened...?
“Nevermind that. Point is, I can't bring her to you now. But you can definitely get her yourself at this point. She's close, uncle. She's really close. At the McDonald's, only a few blocks from the cemetary.”
“Shanty, wait! Why doesn't she trust you anymore? What did you do?”
“It's not what I did, Uncle Jay. It's what I didn't do.”
Click.
Jason sighed, and buried his face in his hands. “Abort mission, abort mission!” urged the warning bells in his head. But at that point it was too late to turn back. They were mere miles away from Locke Memorial Garden. A mere 30 minutes away from their destination.

Shanty was not going to cry.
Shanty was not going to cry.
Shanty was not going to cry.
Shanty was not going to....
Aw, screw it: What did it matter whether or not he cried? To everyone who could see him, he was but an isolated, faceless figure on a rooftop. An isolated figure on a rooftop, looking through the blurred lens of vision of his burning eyes up into the blue stratosphere. None of the people about half a story below him would care if he started sobbing. Hell, they probably wouldn't even notice. They were as afraid to look up as he was to look down.
He wasn't going to jump. Though he couldn't help but wonder if anyone would care if he did. After all, as the girl had said he was“just a dirty, obsessive old man in the body of a twenty-something-year-old, looking for entertainment in the lives of stupid, naïve high school girls.” Or, at least, that's what he seemed to be. The notion had occurred to him a couple of times before, but he had never really questioned his motives this deeply. So what am I, he thought pensively, a pervert or a protector?

“Gawddamn it....” He sighed, risking a glance over the edge of the building.
The girls words had cut deep. Too deep. And the worst part was, she was right. Maybe not about him, but about the fact that he had been a very incompetent body guard so far. Sure, he had saved her life last Monday, but he could've saved her a a lot less trouble and trauma if he would've just came a few minutes earlier. Maybe than she wouldn't have had to feel the edge of Vashes/Kami's blade scrape across her ribcage. Maybe then she wouldn't have that scar right above her stomach. Maybe then, her ego wouldn't be so purple and blistered with bruises.
Hell, if he would've showed up early enough, she probably wouldn't have even been captured in the first place. Come to think of it, he hadn't been such a good body-guard for Natalie either. Sure, he had rescued her from a burning building and numerous other situations. But in the end, she had still died. In the end, there was nothing he could do for her when her car collided head-on with that of a drunk cab-driver. In the end, her spinal cord was still broken and her breathing was still permanently stopped.
In the end, he still couldn't save her.
But before he could dwell on it any longer, his ring-tone sliced through his thoughts. Wearily, he brought the singing mechanism to his ear, opening the line.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Shanty-boy.”
He blinked. It was Carla. Natalie's old friend.
“Oh... Er, hi, Car. How are you?”
“Never mind me. How are YOU? It's been, like, an eternity since we talked.”
“Oh, I'm fine, thanks.”
“Ya sure? You don't sound fine.”
“Well... I don't know, it's what this one person said to me. I kind of let it get under my skin more than I should have, I guess.”
“And this person is...?”
“Oh, just some girl my uncle is paying me to watch over. It's kind of complicated but-”
“But basically, you were following her around for weeks without her knowledge, she just found out today, reacted badly, and totally lashed out at you in fear.”
“Well... Yeah. I don't know if it was out of fear though. She didn't sound scared.”
“Shanty, of course she was scared. Why wouldn't she be? Besides, you've been watching her for weeks now, haven't you? You know she's not the type to just tear people down without a good reason, right?”
“Well, yeah. But I don't know... It just got me thinking. What if she's right? What if deep down I am just some freak with a personality disorder or a sick pervert or something?”
Scoff. “Are you serious? Are you completely serious?!” There was a pause that screamed of disbelief, the sense of Carla rolling her eyes, then another scoff. “Okay, first off? There's no way to be a pervert without knowing you're a pervert. Second: EVERYBODY has some kind of personality disorder. It's not called being sick, it's called being human. And third: Is this about Natalie in any way at all?”
“Er, a little bit...”
“Well, get over it! She's been dead for YEARS, dude. You gotta stop beating yourself up about it. It wasn't your fault. You did not kill her.”
“I know. But I let her die.”
“Oh, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! Shanty, it was her time, okay? Nobody lives forever. Everybody's gotta die sometime. Besides, she's happier where she is now anyway. Much happier. Trust me. I know.”
“Really?”
“Really. You've gotta let her go, hon. The only reason you're sad she died is because you miss her. I missed her too. But it's better this way. You know that. As for the kid, you're only proving her right by giving up on her that easily. She needs you.”
“I know, but-”
“But nothing. She may not want you, but she needs you. Now more than ever.”
Shanty bit his lip meekly.“But why me...?”
Sigh. “Shanty, remember back in high school when that one puny freshman you used to hang out with was getting harassed by some huge-ish, muscle-bound guy? And how you got the living crap beat out of you by standing up to him for your friend?”
“Yeah. What of it?”
“Shanty, we all warned you not to do it. You did it anyway. Hell, you didn't even try to run away before the guy came after you. You just stood there—well, laid there, actually—and took it until the teachers came to break up the fight. You didn't even care that the so-called 'friend' you saved just ran away without a second thought, while you were getting beaten to death for his sake.”
“So?”
“So?! Well... So, you were kind of a dumb ass. But you were one of the bravest, most benevolent dumb asses I've ever met. And you still are.”
“Oh, stop. You're making me blush.”
“Point is, Shan, you're not just a stalker: you're a protector. A protector by nature. It's just who you are.”
“In other, it's just got to be me.”
“That's right. Now, get your brave, benevolent, heroic butt off that rooftop and go save some lives!”
And, with that last command, the call was terminated from the side of the line opposite Shanty's. The side of the line opposite Shanty's, which must've been very long-distance. Especially considering Carla had been dead since last October.

This is the glinting and the feedback of a clique of silver microphones.
This is the low humming-with-the-echoes-of-a-recent-sound-check amps.
This is the dull, haunting lights of the venue.
This is the deafening hype of the somehow hushed muttering crowd.
This is the anticipation of the magic that is to be made tonight.
This, dear observers, is a prelude to a show. But not just any show. No. This is THE show.
The show Jonah has taken me to. The show that sold over 50 tickets in just the first hour they went on sale. The show that is the official launch of countless bands that are probably going to be the most beloved, hit poster boys for The Guyliner Scene by this time next year. That's right. This is the show hosted by monster record label Kohneigginztern Inc., to debut their most recently signed artists. How Jonah got tickets to this, only God knows.
I'm just about to ask him this for the tenth time since we got here when somebody calls his name. Well, half his name, anyway.
“Joey!” exclaimed a male voice with a females pale, yellow-eyed face. The unidentified Sexless was in a pin-striped jacket over a vest that was more like a bra, jeans, and a ruby-colored lip-ring. (A scene drag queen, perhaps?) “You made it!” Upon reaching Jonah, the man(?) threw his arms around him in a tight hug that was so overly affectionate, a few near-by yaoi fan-girls squealed.
At this, Jonah pushed away from him and hissed: “Vash. What the --- are you doing?”
Vash? What an unusual name. Yet I think I've heard it somewhere before.
Feigning an innocent wound of an expression, Vash said: “Why, I'm just greeting my favorite nephew. Is that a crime?”
I can see now that only ONE of his eyes is yellow. The other is a dark brown. And I can't help but feel there's something familiar about the shade of brown as well.
“It should be, the way you do it, you pedophile.... And why are you only wearing one colored contact?”
Vash pushes the bits of flat-ironed straight, bubble-gum pink hair out of his colored contact lenseless brown eye and frowns slightly.
Yup. I've definitely seen that face before too.
“Oh, I lost my last golden contact lens right before the show and all I had left were the clear ones. It's so abnormal, I would like this look if it were TWO decent colors, but... Ugh! This hideous shade of brown! I hate it. It's so... ordinary.”
He pronounced the last word as if somebody was holding a rotting skunk carcase under his nose. And he threw a glance towards me as he did it. Bewildered and intimidated, I couldn't help but ever-so-slightly shiver under the immense weight of his gaze. His cold, demonic, oh-so-otherworldly, brown-and-golden gaze.
Jonah rolled his eyes. “Now, at the risk of this becoming a cliché, for the millionth time: You, Vashoutoh Malluste, are a psycho.”
Malluste. Vashouth Malluste. Ex-bassist of Paranoia! Academy, current guitarist and front man of Dashi And The Attention Whores. Yes. I remember now. Cori's most beloved and enigmatically boisterous celebrity obsession. Of course. How could I have forgotten?
Slicing his laser gaze back to Jonah, Vash smiled brightly and conceded a little too proudly: “You know it, baby.” The next instant, with one swift movement, Vash had his arm constricted around Jonah's waist, pressing it into Vashes hip, and Jonah's ear pressed against his pierced, oh-so-serpent-like mouth. It was just steamy-looking enough to get a few cheers from the captivated fan-girls. And apparently, Vash, true to his bands name, must've been enjoying the attention, because he then said, in an insidious stage whisper: “But perhaps we can continue this back-stage, after you're done with Ms. Congeniality here.”
Before Jonah could reply, Vash, in one instant, shot and retracted his sick, contaminated, little tongue--which was also pierced, by the way--into his Joeys' ear-lobe and, laughing maniacally, instantly vanished back into the crowd.
In Vashes wake, Jonah just stood there, blinking and staring. Eventually, he reluctantly brought a pointer finger to the injected ear, cue-tipped it around a bit, brought it out, stared at it in disgust for a few minutes, before calling out: “Hey. Anybody got some disinfectent?”
At this, the audience of yaoi fan girls, who had squealed and gaped at the ultra suggestive hug and more suggestive ear-licking earlier, burst into giggles of satisfied bemusement.
“Jonah,” I addressed, staring at the spot were Vash had exited. “Was that really Vashoutoh Malluste?”
He nodded, vigorously cue-tipping his ear again. “Unfortunately.”
“How do you know him?”
Sighing, he said, none too proudly: “His older sister married my uncle about 9 years ago. I've known him since I was 7.”
“So... He's your uncle.”
“My uncle IN-LAW. Technically, I'm not actually related to him at all, thank God. But, I gotta say, being connected with him does have it's perks. He's the one who got me the tickets to this thing.”
Oh, yeah. That's right. Vash owns a portion of Kohneigginztern Inc. No wonder Jonah had tickets. Suddenly, I'm a lot less sympathetic to him concerning his earlier abuse of his rich uncle in law.
“Wait. He got us these tickets and you were just totally rude to him. Isn't that, like, a problem?”
“Nah. Don't worry about that. He actually probably enjoyed it in some twisted way, the sick little S&M fetishist.”
So, I took his advice. I didn't worry about it. Hell, for the entire first half of the show, I didn't worry about anything. It was pure poetry, that evening. One of my most cherished memories. But then, disaster struck. Only, it sneaked in under the guise of a brief intermission and me having to go to the bathroom. And, no, I did not wet myself during the intermission. It was much worse than that.
You see, on my way back from the ladies, I was “accidentally” knocked over by Vash. You'd think, knowing him, he wouldn't waste any time making a scene about this, right?
Well, this time, you'd think wrong. He was actually rather discreet about helping me up and everything, which probably should've indicated to me that something was wrong, but didn't.
“Oh, I'm SO sorry!” he said, sounding so exaggeratedly sincere that I could tell he didn't mean a word of it, as he pulled me to my feet.
“Oh, it's fine. My fault. Wasn't watching were I was going,” I muttered, managing to only be half scared out of my mind of the demonic little diva. I never thought I'd be this terrified by Vash, but he's a lot more intimidating in person. Now I see why not even Pariz Hilten dared to screw with him.
The fact that he doesn't ease his death-grip on my hand and just keeps grinning maniacally at me once I'm safely on my feet doesn't help.
After an eternity of this, I mutter: “Um... Thanks for helping me up....”
“Oh, don't mention it.” And he keeps staring. And smiling. And staring and smiling.
Oh, dear God, what does this evil creature want from me?
“Er, yeah... Um, can I have my hand back now?”
“Wha? Oh, of course! I'm sorry!” Again: No trace of genuine sorrow in his voice. But he does let go. For about 35 seconds. I only manage to get about 2 steps away from him when he yanks me back by the wrist, nearly dislocating my shoulder, with a: “Hey, wait a minute! Aren't you Joey's girlfriend?”
Joey's GIRLFRIEND? Uhh... Maybe? “Er, well. I'm his date, so...”
“Then you're Belinda.”
“Right.”
“Oh, well, it's so lovely to meet you!” He says, trying to break off my arm by violently cranking it up and down in what's supposed to be a handshake. “Hate to state the obvious, darling, but it's only good manners to introduce one's self, so without further ado: I am Vashoutoh Malluste. Guitarist and leading man of Dashi & The Attention Whores. Perhaps you've heard of us.” That last sentence is accompanied by a pompous chuckle and an eye-rolling smile from Vash, as if to say: “As if you didn't already know. Ha!”
Slightly annoyed by his arrogance, I decide to play with him a bit: “Um, no, actually, I haven't.”
He just laughs more. “Good one, Belinda.”
I manage to keep my face straight and my tone innocent. “Oh, so you're band is pretty well-known then?”
Finally, he notices the unjoking, unknowing look on my face and realizes I'm not just playing along. Mission accomplished: he thinks I'm serious.
Stunned, he replies:”Y-yeah. You could say that.”
“Oh. Well, sorry I haven't heard of you guys.”
“Uh... You sure you haven't? At All? We're kind of everywhere right now.”
“Nope.”
“Oh... Well. You should check us out sometime.”
“I will. I'm sure you guys are awesome. Especially considering you're their leader and you're a former member of Paranoia! Academy, so...” Now, that was my fatal mistake.
At the mention of his old alma mater of fame, his smile immediately vanished and was replaced by a look that resembles the one that Jonah gave me, right before he attacked me on Thursday, so strongly that I had to wonder if they really were related by blood. Dropping the friendly, innocent act completely, he then grabbed my hands, steered me into a near-by, dark, secluded corner of the room, and whisperd: “Nice scars.” FLINCH. That voice. Those words. Kami.
Seeing that I remember him, he smiles with malicious delight, gripping my hands tighter.
“So, how is it? My little 'carving,' I mean,” he whispers again, the breath from his too-close mouth singing my ears.
“Did it turn out pretty enough? I know it's not my most imaginative work, but, hey, that's what I get for working under pressure, right?”
My entire body is infected with tremors now, and Vash/Kami is obviously enjoying every minute of it.
“L-let me go!” I manage to choke out, through my condensed-with-horror throat.
He smiles. “Patience, my dear. I merely want to see the scar.” Theres a pause in which I can feel his hell-spawned, mud-and-urine-colored eyes sliding up and down my shaking body. “And a few other things. Like the blood-red color of your guts on the end of my knife after I've dissected you. But I suppose that can wait.”
At this point, I'm honestly about to cry. But before I do, something inside me snaps and before I know what the hell's happened, I feel the impact of my high-heeled foot on Vashes stomach, and he instantly crumples to a little ball of pain at my feet.
Oh no, but I'm not done yet. Before he can recover, I bring my high-heeled foot right down on his almost naked rib-cage. Hard. Real hard. This looks in a somewhat comical way like St. Micheal the Archangel slaying the devil. Only, with 4-inch heels instead of a sword.
“Alright, you little bastard,” I hiss, in a very un-angelic way. “You really wanna dissect me? You really wanna know what I'm made of? Fine. My name is Belinda f–ing Sacko, and I'm made of suger, spice, and everything that's guaranteed to clog your evil little arteries and do humanity a huge favor by finally killing you off. I'm a little tea pot, not short, not stout, and if you tip me over, then, bitch, I will take you out. Mary had a little lamb. You have a not-so-little sexuality complex. Mary brought her lamb to school one day. You brought your army and loaded guns to my school last Monday. All the children laughed and played. All my class-mates ran, screamed, and got shot. Everywhere that Mary went, her lamb was sure to go. Everywhere that you go, you're sure to be tortured by the fact that you were kicked out of your own band and then ignored by your ex-boss, the men that you've idolized for years, while a little so-called Nobody like me gets offered a job that you would kill for. Yeah, I understand. You're bitter, you're jealous, you despise me, blah, blah, blah... But do you honestly think killing me will do any good? News flash, honey: I'm not the only teen emo poet in the world. You said it yourself: there are a million other kids just like me. And once I'm dead and gone, Mobile Fallout Shelter will just replace me with one of those million. So, what are you going to do, Malluste? Murder everybody who's a better lyricist than you? If so, I hope you've got enough time to kill off 60 percent of the population.”
I would've ranted more, but Vash suddenly grabbed my one ankle pinning him to the floor and pulled it so abruptly and violently that I lost my balance and fell on the floor right next to him.
While my head was still spinning from the impact of hitting the floor,--the solid concrete floor-- Vash immediately hopped on top of me. And despite the pompous, victorious grin on his face, I couldn't help but derive some joy from the blood spilling out of his mouth. The blood spilling out of his mouth that was probably caused by my steel-heeled kick. But this small victory didn't last long.
“You know,” he says casually. “It's a shame YOU'RE not the villain of this story. You're much better at monologuing than I am.” Then, he takes something out of jacket. Scissors.
Apparently, he never leaves the house without at least one pointy object.
Assuming I'm stupid enough to try to squirm away while he has a potentially lethal item in his hand, he tells me: “I wouldn't move if I were you, honey. Not unless you want a giant, gaping hole in your stomach.”
This was my only warning.
Immediately after, he started snipping away at the clothing and bandages covering the wound on my rib-cage. The scar he gave me.
“Oh. Hasn't completely healed yet, eh?” he says once the mark is completely exposed. Gingerly, he runs his pointer finger across the path of the raised skin. “I can tell it's going to be pretty crude once it does though. So sorry, darling, I would've perfected it if I would've had more time. But you know, the cops were on their way, and... Well, you know, that one little spy of of Wenterz's-”
And, speak of the angelic, ninja bodyguard, right as these words leave Vashes mouth, a blur of tanned skin, black hair, and blonde bangs shoots out of nowhere and tackles Vash right off of me.
“Yuki!” Shanty calls to me, struggling to keep Vash pinned to the ground beneath him. “Run! Get outta here!”
I'm about to ask what he's doing here when something hard and metallic falls out from Vashes jacket. Something far more dangerous than scissors: a gun. And by the way Vash kept desperately grasping at it, I assumed it was loaded.
I turned and I ran. Vash. He was going to kill me.
Vashoutoh Malluste had been about to kill me.
I was shaking so much as I raced towards the exit, it was a miracle I wasn't thrown off my balance and sent careening unto the floor by the tremors.
Suddenly, I hear footsteps behind me. Fast, agile, athletic foot-steps.
“Belinda!” yelled my chaser. My breath caught. Jonah.
So that's what this was about. Shanty was right: Jonah was dangerous. A blood thirsty mafia boss. A dangerous, bloody thirsty mafia boss who wanted to kill.
In senseless terror, I tore out the door of the venue and kept running. Jonah followed.
“Belinda!,” Jonah yelled again. “Where're you going?”
“Away from you!” I panted. I couldn't breath. My feet were throbbing. I needed to get out of these heels. “Away from you and your psycho uncle!”
“What?”
My vision was starting to blur with overexertion. I hadn't been running long, but I'd been running fast. Too fast. Too fast and too hard.
In a daze, I spliced across the street, not daring to wait for the “walk” pedestrian sign. A chorus of angry honks and curses from the interrupted flow of traffic sirened around me as I raced by. Once safely across the street, reluctantly, I stopped, slid off my heels and chucked them both at Jonah.
He dodged the first, but the second was a direct hit on his left eye-brow.
While he stopped to cuss in anguish and grip the new wound painfully, I took off again at top speed. A minute later, the chase was back on.
“Stop!” he screamed, some 10 feet behind me.
“Why?! You've got a gun too, don't you?! Can't you just shoot me?!”
“What the fuck are you talking about?!”
“Oh, you know perfectly-ARGH!!”
The path of my foot was abruptly interrupted by something rock-hard and ice-cold, and I was sent flying, flying, with a too-awkward and too-soon landing, sounding off with a THWAHP!
Swell. Swell. Swell. Swell.
Throb. Throb. Throb. Throb.
Ow. ow. ow. ow. OW!
In despair, I grabbed my burning with agony foot, turning to see what I had tripped on. It was a tombstone.
I was in a graveyard.
“Belinda!” Jonah panted, collapsing on his knees next to me in an exhausted heap. “What... the... hell... is... wrong... with... you...?”
Before responding, I took a deep breath. Okay. It was all over now. This was it. This is where I was to die.
“You can drop the act, Jonah. I know what's going on.”
“Oh, you do? Awesome. Now could you tell me? Cause I sure as hell don't.”
Surprised at the level of sincere cluelessness in his voice, I gave him a puzzled look. Either Jonah is a way better actor than anyone could have guessed or this was far more complicated than I thought.
Eventually, I said: “You don't have gun, do you?”
He rolled his eyes. “Do I LOOK like I have a gun?” And he slid open his jacket so I could see he wasn't armed.
“Then... you don't want to kill me...?”
“Of course not! Girl, if I really wanted you dead, do you think I would go through all the trouble of driving you down here? Do you think I would bother buying you dinner? Seriously. What kind of psycho killer treats his victims to McDonald's and a show?”
Hmm. He had a point there. I had forgotten all about that. “Then... Why did Vash try to kill me?”
“What?! Belinda, that...” He stops.
He had just caught sight of the completely revealed abrasion on my rib-cage. His eyes darkened. His face hardened. “He marked you, didn't he...?”
Nod, nod. Yup, yup.
I got my very own permanent Vashoutoh Malluste autograph just below my chest. He signed my ribs with his butcher knife. Yay.
Jonah's eyes still stony, he fore-bodingly traces the letters over with his finger: A-T-T-E-N-T-I-O-N W-H-O-R-E. “Belinda... What did he do to you?”
“Why, I merely made her realize what she is and labeled her as such, Joey.” Freeze.
Speak of the devil. I don't know how, but evidently Vash managed to get rid of Shanty and follow us here. He stands about 15 feet from where we lay. I'm not psychic, but I hear the murder in his voice. The murder in his voice and the shining, grinning gun in his hand.



Shanty's ring tone was what first attempted to break the spell.
The second attempt was the soft “uh-huh”s and “okay”s of Shanty as he received his instructions through the cellular speakers. But I wasn't listening. I had been at my anxiety-provoking task for what felt like a life-time and nothing was going to break my concentration now. Yet at the same time I couldn't help but feel an active stab of heart-ache when Shanty told me that he had just gotten off the phone with Jay and we were to meet him at the air-port after we were done here.
I nodded, unable to make a sound, afraid that if I did, my voice would crack with laments I couldn't bring myself to voice.
Vaguely aware of my crest-fallen state, Shanty looked at me with concern. “Ya sure you don't want to stay here?”
Without looking up, I shook my head. No.
“You sure?”
My head still down, I nodded.
“Okay,” Shanty intoned, uncertainty still evident in his voice. “Is the letter almost done then?”
No, the letter is not almost done then. Not almost: it IS done.
But I still can't talk. So I just nod and neatly fold the paper up. After this, I go straight to the air-port. From there, I go to Chicago. From there, I go to Jason's house. From there, I go to work for Mobile Fallout Shelter. From there, I go on tour with them to Tokyo. From there, I go anywhere they take me. Anywhere. The only place I can't go is back.


Throb. Throb. Throb.
Bleed. Bleed. Bleed.
Naked and cut open, my foot stayed swelling and sleeping on the lush, green grass of the graveyard.
I couldn't help but wonder how many times I've bashed it open over the years. By the time I turned 13, my pinkie toe was completely deformed. So, honestly, this was nothing new.
Hell, if I'm being completely honest, nothing really felt all that new at the moment. I was sure even if I couldn't recall an exact instance, I've experienced all the contents and elements of that situation at least once.
For example, this wasn't the first time Vash has aimed his gun at me. (And, for whatever reason, it didn't feel like the last.)
This wasn't the first time I've managed to turn bloody glacial in the April heat.
This wasn't the first time some guy (in this case, Jonah) suddenly grabbed my hand and gripped it so hard he almost broke it.
This wasn't the first time I've been in a graveyard.
And this certainly wasn't the first time I was going to die at any given moment.
I know. I should've been panic-stricken. I should've been nauseous with dread. But I wasn't. For one thing, I was just far too bloody exhausted for more fear. For another, my mind had just set itself on auto-pilot so right then the maximum emotion I could feel ranged from apathetic to pensive.
Besides, I'd done a lot of thinking since the last time Vash tried to kill me, and I really was not that scared to die. Why should I have been? I'd been a good girl. I'd ate all my vegetables and said all my prayers. I went to church every Sunday and confession every so often. What did I have to fear in the afterlife but fear itself?
Jonah, however, did not share this opinion.
Right as Vash appeared, he went into protective he-man mode and locked his arms around me like a bullet proof shield. “You.” He spat at Vash, through clenched teeth. “You conniving, pretentious, dick-sucking piss-stain on Satin's toilet, what do you want?”
Even as justifiably vicious as this was of Jonah, I have to admit, that was a very brave sentiment to express to someone who was holding a loaded gun. Vash must've admired his bravery too, because at this, he lowered the pistol, and gave his beloved nephew-in-law the most sorrowful of expressions. There was no sneering arrogance about him this time. And I could that he meant every element of it. Vash isn't that good of an actor.
“For you to not hate me once I'm done here,” murmured the sincerely solemn fashionista.
Jonah scoffed cruelly. “Well, sorry, but I think it's a bit late for that. I hate you right now.” He glanced at the neutral, fatigued expression on my face, mistaking it for misery, and continued to glare at Vash. “How could you do this to her?”
The distressed uncle sighed, spared a second to choose his words carefully, and replied: “Jonah, I never did anything to her but tell her the truth and mark her as what she is. And I only did that so people like you would know better.”
“Better than what?”
“Better than to think she wasn't just as bad as, well... me.” After a pause he added, “I was exactly like her when I was her age. Look how I ended up.”
“What?! You really are insane!”
“Joey, listen. I wasn't always like this.”
My eyes had begun to drift over the graveyard...
“I know it seems impossible now, but I used to be almost every bit as innocent and vulnerable as her.”
And as they did...
“But then I grew up.”
I couldn't help remembering that day.
“And turned into this.”
That day, when Ryu's eyes went blank and empty.
“Joey...”
That day, when Ryu was not Ryu for a minute.
“I'm a monster.”
That day, when Ryu seized my wrists...
“You know that.”
...and croaked at me in a voice that was not hers what was to become of me.
“You know that more than anybody.”
YOU ARE THE BELL, she had said.
“And, yes, I admit...”
AND THE BELL....
“I'm also a bit jealous of her...”
...WILL BE STOLEN...
“... Because of the whole Wenterz/co-lyricist thing.”
...WHEN ALL 3 KEYS....
“But it's more than that, Joey.”
...ARE IN THE LOCKE.
“This girl's dangerous enough as it is.”
Locke cemetery.
“She's narcissistic, she's petty, she's masochistic...”
Locke Memorial Gardens.
“Jonah, she could end up killing you without even trying.”
A graveyard.
“And she'll only get worse as she gets older.”
A graveyard in northern Maryland.
“So, I'm sorry...”
Wait a minute.
“But I can't allow...”
WE were in a graveyard in northern Maryland!
“... Your pretty little poet...”
We were in a graveyard in northern Maryland and there were 2 headstones.
“...To live.”
2 headstones close enough for me to read, that proclaimed the ownership of the graves, one belonging to a Nicole Alexandra Burgham and one belonging to a Daniel Keyth Rossurie. The first and second Keys. I shuddered.
That could only mean one thing.
“Jonah,” I interrupted, my heart pounding. “What's your middle name?”
“Huh?”
“Your middle name. What is it?”
“Uh, Keenan. Why?”
Oh, shit. Keenan. KEY-nan. The third Key! Jonah was the third Key! Jonah was the third Key, I was the Bell, and we were both in the Locke. Suddenly, I was off autopilot. Suddenly, I was frantic. “Jonah,” I whispered fiercely, desperately. “You gotta get outta here. Now.” All the other Keys had been shot. Killed. Who's to say Jonah's fate wasn't to be the same as theirs?
“What?! No, I can't leave you with him! Are you crazy?!”
Vash, his clashing, unmatching eyes glimmering darkly, raised his pistol at me again and monotoned: “She's right, Joey. Get away from her.”
He was about to protest again when a voice coolly intervened. A voice I and my fellow Guyliner scene kids knew all too well.
Preceded by its loaded revolver-armed, Hawk-esque body-guards emerging from their place amongst a distant glade of trees to threateningly thrust their guns at Vash, the voice said: “No. I've got a better idea.” And out sauntered Jason Wenterz. “Why don't you BOTH get away from her?”
“Or, if you want,” Shanty says, jumping down from the a-top a distant, fully leaf-clad tree, to point a revolver of his own at the now thrice out-numbered scene drag queen. “We could have a quick, old-school,cow-boy-wild-west-style shoot-out. But I think that'd be a bit disrespectful in a a graveyard.”
While I continued to try to convince Jonah to get the hell out of here, more aggressively now that there were FOUR loaded guns, one of them being aimed at us, Vash sneered and replied: “Then don't shoot.” And just to prove to everyone how insane he really was, he took 2 cautionless steps towards me and Jonah.
One of Jay's bodyguards, who's name I later learned was Mecha, fired a warning shot at Vash that just barely missed grazing his leg, and replied coolly: “Then don't move.”
There was a tense pause, during which Vash sucked in his lips thoughtfully, and I kept hissing desperate warnings of “Jonah, if you don't get the --- out right now, I'll hate you forever” and “PLEASE, man, for the love of God, just go!” at the probably soon-to-be dead third Key. But it was a lost cause by then. Jonah wasn't listening to me. He was watching Vash intently, as if he knew what was to come next.
I don't see how he could've though, because what then occurred surprised even me.
The only warning was the victorious smile that suddenly flashed across Vashes face, a HaHa, I Win smile. Then, before anyone knew what was going on, Vash charged at me and Jonah. He was surprisingly fast too, so he was only about 3 steps away from us when Jason's other body-guard, Seras, finally shot at him, and he instantly fell to the ground.
Despite all this, or maybe because of it, Jonah was gripping me harder than ever. He was afraid, though. Bloody terrified. I could feel him shaking. Still, when Jason approached, Jonah held me away from him and hissed vehemently: “No. I won't let you take her.”
Ah. So this is how the third Key was to die: shot by Jason's body-guards because he wouldn't release me to them.
Jason's weary reply only confirmed this. “Kid,” he sighed. “I just had your uncle shot because he got in our way. PLEASE don't follow his example and make us kill you too. Honestly, the world's murderous enough without me being forced to contribute to it.”
Before Jonah could argue again, I gently but firmly intervened. “Jonah, trust me. This is for the best: LET. ME. GO!”
He turned back to me, frustrated and determined: “No, gawddamn it! These people want to KIDNAP you!”
“I know. But even if you do hang on to me, they're just going kill you and take me with them anyway. It's not worth dying for. Besides, I'd much rather be abducted than have you die because of me, and if you don't let go right now, that's what's going to happen. So just let go and get the hell out. Okay?”
A conflicted look reigned supreme over the poor boy's face for a minute. Then, finally, apprehensively, he dropped his hands so I could get up.
Smiling with the satisfaction that I had at least managed to save one of the Keys, I gave him a quick, affectionate peck on the cheek, whispered for him not to worry, that we would continue this when I got back and thanks so much for tonight, and got up to be guided by Jason and his posse of protectors to their getaway car in the parking lot of the cemetery. We were about 20 steps away from the glade where Jonah sat and Vash lay when we heard a screech of “NO!!,” followed by the BANG of a gun-shot.
In dread, suddenly drowning in a cold sweat, I whipped around to see an alive, feverish and shaking with trepidation Vashoutoh Malluste, standing with a gun frozen in place by a shocked hand; the guns muzzle pointed at it's dead, bleeding victim, sprawled on his side, on the cold, hard ground. Of course. Vash had somehow dodged the bullet. He'd been playing dead all that time.
After a moment, he dropped his hand to his side, along with the gun to the ground, staggered over to the bleeding body, and wilted beside the corpse of his beloved nephew. His beloved nephew, who he had just shot.
Jason sighed, said something to Shanty in Spanish, then raced over to Vash with his body-guards in tow.
Before I could witness what they intended to do, I felt a firm hand on my shoulder. “come on, Yuki,” Shanty said, leading me away from the scene, towards his blue Honda. “The cops will be here soon. We don't have much time.”
“Where are you taking me...?” I asked, as I climbed into the front passenger seat, struggling not to cry. Jonah was dead. Jonah was shot dead. Shot dead because of me. I couldn't save him.
Shanty took his place in the drivers seat, spared a second to give me one of those mature, adult looks that warns This is Serious, and peeled out of the parking lot. “Yuki, if you stay here, the police will probably trace you to this. You'll probably end up in some teen behavior correctional facility, like juvie. But if you go with Jason, you'll have to work as the bands co-lyricist and go on tour with them to Asia, and you won't be able to leave for a year. The choice is yours. And think carefully about it, because after this, there's no turning ba-”
“I wanna go with Jason,” I said without the slightest hesitation or doubt, despite my constant, mental cry of “oh, Dear Lord, what have I gotten myself into?”
Shanty just looked at me, more warnings in his eyes. Which was rather scary, because we were on the high-way and traffic was quite chaotic, so you'd think he would want to, you know, keep his eyes on the road or something.
“Really?”
No, not really. I 'd much rather stay here and drive myself insane trying to pretend like none of this ever happened and thus condemn myself to years of shock-therapy and unnecessary medication.
“Really,” I assured him, with such a note of finality and confidence in my voice that I surprised even myself. “Now where are you taking me?”
Dramatic pause. Dot, dot, dot...
“To say goodbye.”

The letter is too short. Far, far too short.
Yeah. I know they deserve better. But if I was to take the time to attempt a sufficient farewell address, I'd probably end up writing a whole novel. I am, after all, saying good-bye to all I know. All I love.
My family, my friends, my home-Everything. This is the last time I get to see it before I leave for Asia.
For a year.
My cell-phone is turned off. If it wasn't, it would probably be screaming with a thousand unanswered messages asking me if I'm alright and where I am and if I don't come home soon, they'll send out a search party.
Thoughtlessly, and therefore, painlessly, I stuff the wretched good-bye letter along with my cell-phone into the envelope. And once the envelope is in the mail-box and I'm safely seated in Shanty's blue Honda, I don't look back. No. I can't bare to look back. I don't dare. Especially not when this is all I can say as I leave it all behind:

DISAPPEARANCE NOTE:
Dear Mom, Dad, Robert, Charlie, Valerie, Katie, Emma, and Grandma,
By the time you get this, I'll be gone. So far gone that there will be no point in so much as contacting the cops to file a missing persons report. So, please, save yourselves the trouble. I'm not missing and I'm not kid-napped: I'm just taking a break. A little vacation from life.
And, yes, I will miss you all and I love each of you dearly in a very special individual way and it is one of my deepest regrets that I cannot write each of you your own individual, personal good-bye letter. But time is short, and it would take me a life-time to sum up all my gratitude and love for each of you.
So, here's what you need to know:
First off, staying here is no longer an option for me. I can't really explain now, but way too many things have happened. So, I'm sorry, but I've gotta get out of here while I still can.

Second, don't drive yourselves insane worrying about me too much. I assure you, I will be taken care and accounted for and kept safe.

Third, I promise I'll be back within a year, if not less. Trust me, I'm not gone forever.

Fourth, they've agreed to let me e-mail mom every month, so, mom, don't forget to check your e-mail and Robert, don't forget to stop hogging the computer long enough for mom to check her e-mail.

Fifth, this isn't just some little fun adventure for me. I will miss you every bit as much as you miss me, so don't think I'm just selfishly abandoning you all to set out on some mysterious excursion. I'm not. I didn't choose this, it choose me. I love you guys.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXO, Belinda


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