Knifepoint (A Life Series murder mystery AU)

8• Fear Of Pain

  It was far too silent.

  The house itself made all sorts of noises - the ticking of a clock, the running of a tap, the thud of a drawer being closed, the ever-present creak of the wooden floorboards.

  No, the cabin lost a sense of unity.

  Since Tango's death, Impulse had basically isolated himself, listening solely to the consolation of team T.I.E.S. because only they would understand - if only in the slightest. Jimmy stuck with Scott, the latter trying - and failing - to comfort the grieving Rancher. 

  Everyone stuck with people they trusted most. Fear had sown its seed into the hearts of the Lifers and its plant was fast-growing. 

  "Sunflower?" whispered Scott, entering bedroom four. Scott used that name often. He thought it would soothe Jimmy. It sort of soothed him, too. It was a comfort to know that he could still address someone with that name.

  Jimmy looked up at the mention of his name. "Hey, Jimmy? I-I brought you dinner. Made it myself." Jimmy shook his head mumbling, "No thanks... 'm not hungry." Scott sighed and sat next to Jimmy, setting the plate on the bedside table. "C'mon. You haven't eaten in... I-I'm not sure anymore."

  "Of course you're not."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Of course you're not sure. No one is. You're just putting your name on it." 

  "Oh, Jimmy..." Scott trailed off, having no clue as to how he was supposed to comfort Jimmy. Words weren't enough. They were too limited. Even with all the languages, words weren't enough. Comforting someone who's lost someone calls for no words. It calls for listening.

  "He shouldn't have... shouldn't have been him... Tango... I'm tired... I'm sick of this. I'm sick of it! Scott, I'm sick of all of this. Tango's dead, Scott. Tango's dead! And I couldn't do anything to stop it. Scott, I'm not okay, Scott, I'm not f*cking okay, Scott help, please Scott, make me feel okay, Scott make me okay, Scott, please..."

  Jimmy, I can't.

  "Scott, please..."

  Scott could do nothing but awkwardly put his arms around Jimmy. He seemed so small, crying in his arms. Jimmy leaned in and sobbed, grateful for the little comfort he got. "Scott, make me okay. It's all I want. Please."

  "Jimmy, I..."

  "Don't tell me y-you can't." His whispers seemed so desperate. It broke Scott's heart to see Jimmy broken. "I don't want to be broken forever, Scott." Scott couldn't find himself saying the words he wanted to say.

  Jimmy, I'll fix you.

  You won't be broken forever.

-.- .. .-.. .-..

  "Oh, look it's Tango." 

  "Huh, weird I thought it would be Grian next."

  "Hah, --- would never kill him!"

  "But --- would never kill Tango, either!"

  "Wait, --- killed me? ---?!"

  "Surprise!"

  "But..."

  "Hey, you'll get over it. --- wouldn't kill people on normal circumstances. --- wouldn't kill at all!"

  "Yeah, you're right, still kinda hurts. Aren't you guys worried about getting home? Will we stay dead?"

  "Nah, we're going home. Don't worry. Only --- won't go home."

  "...He won't?"

  "Sadly, no, I'm sure he'll be missed. Especially by-"

  "--- isn't going home... I'll never see him..."

-.- .. .-.. .-..

  Scar played with a little string he found, letting the red yarn weave in an out through his fingers. The little lamp in the room was on, the small light illuminating the dark room. The golden colour fell on the sleeping figure of Grian who slept facing the wall, his body rising and falling with each soft intake and exhale of air.

  It was quiet, not peaceful, quiet.

  Of course, nothing lasts forever. 

  The sound of footsteps brought Scar to attention. His hearing was far better than his friends, despite the fact that he rarely acted on it.

  Now seemed like a good time to act on it.

  He listened closely. It could just be one of his friends getting up in the middle of the night for a trip to the bathroom. Nothing close to sinister in that, right? Unless, of course whoever it was decided to murder someone in the bathroom.

  Another sound made his ears perk up. The short 'shing!' of a knife being drawn. It was soft, even for him, but it was there. What really sold the 'things are going wrong' thought was Jimmy's scream of pain. "Grian!" he yelled, and without checking whether Grian was awake, ran to the bedroom Jimmy and Scott slept in.

  As Scar entered, he saw Scott awake and busy, frantically searching for something in the cupboard. "...Scar...?" whispered Jimmy. He was clutching his arm, tears rolling down his face and his eyes shut. 

  That was when Scar saw the blood.

  He didn't see it at first - the brunette just assumed he was wearing a red sweater or something - but when he did, it became painfully visible.

  It was like a red waterfall, streaming down Jimmy's arm, staining everything it touched. The wound itself originated from a knife which was embedded into his bicep. It was still there - taking it out could cause Jimmy to bleed to death.

  A triumphant and relieved 'found it!' sounded from the other side of the bedroom. Scott brought over some mystery solution and bandages and sat down, hurriedly getting to work. "Scar, what-? Timmy!"

  Oh, hey, Grian. Didn't see you there.

  "You know what I don't get?" muttered Grian through clenched teeth, "The fact that this murderer threw a knife in the dark, killing someone, by complete skill, and missed Timmy's heart."

-.- .. .-.. .-..

Word count: 879

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