Violet and Deanna

Jones

It was quite possible that Teddy Jones was the dumbest man alive. He had seen that crime scene. He knew what these two were capable of. And yet, here he was, sitting next to a dead body, about to ride along with these two murderesses as if he was their cute ex-cop sidekick. Dumb. But there was something about these two... something that made him believe everything they had to say. Something that had cost him his job.

Furtively, he peeked at the twins. They were on the other side of the room, arguing fiercely in low, hissed tones. He tried to remember their names. He was sure one of them was a kind of flower... or color... but the other name escaped his memory entirely. He furrowed his brow, trying to recall the names he had scrawled onto his pad.

"THIS IS INSANE, DEAN! ARE YOU SERIOUSLY TAKING A CIVILIAN TO A NEST? HE'S GOING TO GET KILLED IN THERE. I DON'T CARE IF HE'S FUCKING MACGYVER, NOBODY IS PREPARED TO GO BEHEAD A DOZEN THINGS WITH SHARK TEETH," the brunette suddenly went off. Jones jumped slightly. Shark teeth? Beheading? This was just sounding better and better. He snuck another glance at the corner. The brunette was towering over the blonde, her face a splotchy red. Coolly, the blonde looked at Jones.

"Hey, Copper, have you ever beheaded anything?" she asked him. Jones just stared at her, shock and a tinge of fear cementing his jaw shut. The brunette threw her hands up in the air.

"I rest my case," she said, and she marched towards Jones. He took a hesitant step back.

"Do you want to go hunting?" she asked him kindly. He looked at her, unsure of what to say. Behind her, the blonde was giving him a death glare that he was sure meant 'say yes', but from the look on the brunette's face he was supposed to say no. He thought for a moment, trying to figure out which response would result in less death.

"N-Yes?"

Behind the brunette, the blonde grinned at him wolfishly. The brunette's eyes narrowed and she turned slowly to glare at her twin.

"Fine," she said, her hands balling into fists, "he gets to come. But you're responsible for him. His blood is on your hands." Jones wondered what he had just signed up for. The blonde rolled her eyes at the brunette and turned to him.

"You'll be fine," she told him, but somehow that didn't reassure him.

"Why do you even want me to come?" he asked her. She sighed.

"I think... I want to prove to one person from our stupid town that we didn't kill our mother. You just happened to be here," the blonde said. The brunette snorted.

"Yeah, what a really great way to prove we aren't cold-blooded killers. Let's take him to a group of nightmares and behead them all," she grumbled, but her face had softened.

"Uh... behead?" Jones' fingers twitched towards where his gun holster used to be. The blonde nodded.

"Yeah, the leeches won't die unless you chop their heads off," she told him. He looked at their five-gallon bucket, where all the blood was. It was less than a quarter of the way full.

"What's the blood for, then? Bait?"

The blonde shook her head.

"No, it's toxic to them. It'll make them... sick. Almost comatose. They slow down. Easier to kill them," she said. Jones nodded.

"Like poison," he said. The brunette nodded. She grabbed the bucket.

"Come on, Copper," the blonde told him, and he followed them out of the mortuary. He walked with them to their car.

"So, where are you staying? The same motel as us?" the brunette asked him. Jones shook his head.

"My car," he said. The brunette paused, swinging her car keys around her finger.

"Your car? Why don't you stay with us? We have two beds," she said. At this, the blonde hissed angrily and pulled the brunette away from him. He could still hear them.

"You're kidding. He could lead the police right to our beds. Not happening. That is not happening. No," the blonde growled, but the brunette waved her off.

"If you're intent on leading him to his death tomorrow he can sleep in an actual bed. He's been following us this whole time. He knows where we are anyways. If he calls the cops, it doesn't matter where he's sleeping," the brunette rebutted. The blonde looked over the brunette's shoulder to scowl at Jones. He offered her an innocent smile.

"Fine," the blonde hissed, and she slid into the driver's seat, closing the door behind her. The brunette looked over at him.

"You know, we never told you our names. I'm Violet. That's Deanna. You can follow us in your car," she told him. She slipped into the passenger's seat and the car roared to life.

Jones meandered back to his little Toyota, slightly dazed. Not only was he apparently going on killing spree tomorrow, but he was also sharing a motel room with the two people that had cost him his way of life. Talk about peer pressure.

He started up his car and headed back to his motel. If he was doing this, that meant he was forever letting go of being any kind of law enforcement. He was assisting two fugitives, which guaranteed that he was now a fugitive himself. Jones turned his car off. He sat there a moment, staring at the two numbers of the motel door in front of him. A two and a two. Twenty two. The room of the twins. Violet and Deanna. He looked over at their car, which looked the same as when it had peeled away from the large yellow Victorian. He looked at the door again, at the scratched white paint and the metal numbers that were holding onto the door for dear life. If he was a fugitive now, he was going to be a damn good one. He hopped out of his car and went to work.

He was just finishing up when the scary twin exited the motel door.

"Hey, are you coming inside or- WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" She stormed towards him, fingers clenched so hard her knuckles were turning white. He looked over at his handiwork.

"Just switched the tags, Deanna. Relax," he said. She turned to glower at him.

"Just switched the-just switched-JUST SWITCHED THE TAGS?" she growled. He looked at her, unflinching.

"Yes. You two skipped town. We have your license plates. I can guarantee your plate numbers are posted everywhere. I just bought us a little time. Of course, the smartest thing to do would be to ditch the car entirely," he said. At that Deanna's face turned deathly pale and she fixed him with her death glare. He hid a grin. She had used it on him so much he was pretty sure he might be immune now.

"Ditch the car?" she asked. She was so angry even her voice was shaking. He nodded.

"Yeah. But you seem too attached, so that's probably not going to happen. We should just keep switching tags," he said. She rolled her head around, cracking her neck.

"I'm going to let you die tomorrow. I swear I am."

"No you aren't. Stop bitching, Dean," Violet called from the doorway. She turned to look at Jones.

"You get the left bed, Copper," she told him. As he passed by Deanna, who was frozen in anger, still reeling over his advice to ditch her baby, he felt a sudden sense of belonging. He was no longer Jones, the bungling cop that was mocked because he wasn't as good a policeman as his father was. He was no longer Teddy, the puny boy that was kicked around by everyone because he was too nice to say no. He was Copper. He wasn't sure what that meant yet, but he had a good feeling about it.

He was Copper, a hunter that saved the civilians from vampires and other nasties.

Or, he would be. If he didn't die tomorrow.