The Black Parade

LAUREN’S P.O.V.

“Don’t overwork yourself, Laurie, the world’s not going to end if you don’t catch the killer tonight.” Said my partner as he walked out of the door, how he could be so cheery at midnight, I didn’t know, maybe it was the damaging amounts of coffee that he drinks, or the ten tons of sugar that he dumps into that coffee daily. All I know is that I am dead tired, but I am determined to get another lead on this case, even if it deprives me of sleep, or time with my salty golden retriever back home. I stared blankly at the case file, berating myself for letting that Abigail girl go home without questioning her further or getting her information, such as: her address!

“You’re such an idiot, Laure; don’t even know why they let you on the force in the first place…” I reprimanded myself for the last time that night, for I had a breakthrough, if I was in some contrived cartoon on the Tube, a light bulb would have appeared miraculously above my head and lit quite brightly. I could easily check the editor’s disc from her workplace and find her place of residence. My fingers flew fast over the keyboard as I searched the remains of a dead woman’s computer. I opened the personnel file, it was organized alphabetically, and she obviously had modified it recently:

Walters, Abigail
Cell #: Broken, have to give small raise for new one.
Home: Disconnected
Rosemary Apartments: 115 Meadow St.
Building 3, Apartment 8
No known relationships or roommates.

All that I had of her was an address, but that was all I needed. I quickly wrote it down and grasped my coat while grabbing my keys in the other hand, and rushed to the garage where my black SUV stood awaiting my call, or signal from the keys’ button. I slammed the door behind me and floored it, overly exited for the new turn of events. As soon as I reached the small complex my exhilaration flooded me and I ran into the glass door on accident… Smooth Laure. I don’t even know why the bureau let me near a gun; much less call me one of their best marksmen. I walked quickly down a small set of stairs and when I reached number eight, I found it opened, this is too easy.

The apartment was empty, I sulked and made my way to the main desk, a wearied night watcher sat there, I inquired it of him, and he said that: “She just moved today, said somethin’ ‘bout a boyfriend, no forwarding address.” He read from a file, I thanked him and went on my way to my house, hopes severely crushed. I passed a couple kissing on a bench, the man had light, possibly platinum blonde, and short hair, the girl with long flowing black hair; I sincerely wished their relationship luck. Envy at their palpable love filled the pit of my stomach, how could passion befit those so obviously youthful and ignorant? How could my passion only be returned with a divorce and most of my furniture being taken?

I sighed, noticing that I had driven all the way back to my flat, I unlocked the door with yet another sigh, entering and throwing my jacket and keys on the ground, all that I wanted to do was sleep, but my hands had other ideas. I walked forcefully to my pantry and grabbed a bottle of the hardest liquor I could find, uncorking it and taking an overly-prolonged swig, I let the alcohol burn its way down my throat, waiting for the feeling of euphoric floating to become my hearts son, I took another, and another. Soon I was passed out on the floor in my underwear, only waking up when my dog started humping my leg. I fed him, and looked at the clock, only five a.m., I still have three hours to get rid of my hangover, fun.

After consuming copious amounts of water and tea in succession, I was slightly less fuzzy-minded, but still with two hours to go. I walked into my shower, almost forgetting to discard my undergarmentss, I let the burning hot water cascade over my features and got out before I fell asleep again. I dried off with a towel, and wiped the steam from my full length mirror. I looked at the disgrace of my body. My dirty blonde hair hung in limp strands over my gaunt face which looked like that of a starved poverty-stricken woman, due to my continued late-nights and hard days on the job. I poked the small bit of fat that had begun to accumulate on my abdominal area due to my exceedingly-common drinking binges and sighed, no wonder he left me for that slut, she was so much prettier.

I got dressed, ignoring my stupidity and self-disappointment to lose myself in my work.

GERARD’S P.O.V.

I held a sobbing Abbey in my arms, shushing her with gentle sincerity, I looked into her eyes, realizing how fortunate I was that she became a serial killer and fell into my grasp. That might sound odd, but the love that I had for this girl surpassed all of her deeds that would have disgusted me before I met her. I decided on a course of action that would keep her safer, and would probably get the police off of her tail, should they draw the correct conclusion that she is Mary Jane. The guys and I would move all of her stuff here, Bob would, eventually, get a new apartment, and we would leave no forwarding address. Perfect, simple, and anything but foolproof, this scheme was, for there were a million things that could go wrong if we were spotted.

Over the course of the day, Abbey’s few personal items were transported to min and Bob’s apartment, around twelve at night, all of her stuff was in my room, and Bob was sprawled out on the couch, asleep, and exhausted from lifting, because he was the only one who actually had some muscle in our group. Abigail came to my side after arranging a few things in our room, I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a kiss on the side of her cheek, hoping to calm her a little bit, because she was still really shaken up due to what she had seen this morning, “Can I talk to you, somewhere else, Gee?” she asked me, resting her head on my chest, I nodded and grabbed my coat and hers, walked out of the door and put them back when I felt how unaccustomedly warm it was.

I led her over to a bench and looked her seriously in the eyes, “Speak.” I said, prompting her to tell me what she felt. Instead she attached her lips to mine with such ferocity that I think my teeth accidentally met her bottom lip and drew blood, but rather than stopping to make sure that she was okay, I returned her kiss in just the same vain. My arms wrapped around her waist and hers around my neck, our passion was easily fueled by the night sky surrounding us and our period of separation. Normally, we would share warm loving kisses, small and sweet, as a way to show that we wanted something more than sex after this long time torn away from each other, but now was just desperation for a distraction, one that I was happy, even eager, to give. We continued kissing for a few more heated minutes, but eventually, the harbored zeal took possession of our minds and bodies, and we decided to get a hotel room, by mutual silent urgings. I think that anyone with a brain could tell what went from there.