I Never Told You What I Do For A Living

On the road again. We've been driving for six hours straight. We haven't even stopped to use the bathroom, and I gotta go. Bad. Not to mention we drove straight from the murder scene and both of us are still covered in dried blood. 

"Okay Brendon. The next town we come to, we are stopping at. I'm exhausted, and I gotta piss bad." I told him. 

"Yes, walk into a public restroom, no, better yet a gas station, in the middle of the night covered in blood. That's not suspicious at all. " he retorted sarcastically. 

"Well I was planning on changing before hand Einstein." I rolled me eyes. There was a pause. 

"Sorry. I'm tired. I think we should stop and rest too." he yawned. "There's a town coming up. The dress is under the seat." 

I sighed. "Why do I always have to be the girl?" I whined. "I hate wearing that thing. And the wig is itchy." 

"Because." he said. "Your features are slightly more feminine. When I dress like the girl, I look like a cross dresser, or a really bad transvestite. You just look like an ugly girl." he said fighting back a smile. 

I glared at him. "You better watch it Urie. You might be next." I threatened half heartedly. 

"Yeah right. You wouldn't kill me. You know you wouldn't have gotten this far without me. You may be the brains of the operation, but I'm always the one that makes the first move." he said in a slightly cocky voice. 

"Hey now, who was the original one here? You were my admirer, my follower, you wanted to be like me." I informed him. 

"Well if it weren't for me, you'd still be in prison." he said. 

"You don't know that." I said. "And if we had never met, both of us would be in prison." I informed him. 

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just get changed. I'm stopping at the next gas station." he said. 

I rolled my eyes. "What's with the bad mood all of a sudden? Mad that I'm right?" I joked. He glared at me. 

I chuckled and crawled into the backseat. 

"No peaking." I ordered. "I don't care how badly you want me. I forbid it." I teased. 

"I think someone's a little full of themselves." he said looking at me through the rearview mirror. I stuck my tongue out at him, and slid off my blood splattered shirt. You'd think I'd be smart enough to not buy, let alone wear white shirts by now. 

I removed the rest of my clothing and slipped on the blue frilly dress. I then grabbed the plastic bag that held a long brunette wig, and some simple makeup. I put on the wig, and attempted to apply the lipstick and eyeliner with only a small compact, in the backseat of a small car, going 60mph. I'm not exactly quite sure how I succeeded. 

Incase your wondering why I'm cross dressing back here, its because were wanted criminals. Duh. We can't just go waltzing into any place looking like Brendon Urie and Ryan Ross, covered in blood, and ask for a motel room key. At least not without anyone turning us in. 

"We're here." Brendon said pulling into a gas station. "Good timing too. We were almost on empty." 

I sighed. "I guess I'll go pay. Wheres the money you got from the last place?" he reached into his pocket and pulled out eighty dollars, and handed it to me. 

"Get some food too please." 

"Okay, get changed." I ordered. 

"Eye eye captain." he said pulling into a gas pump, then throwing himself into the backseat. 

I swear, if I didn't know any better, I'd think he's one of those innocent fun loving people that everyone wants to be around. 

But instead, he's a psychotic serial killer who's wanted by the law, and my partner in crime. 

~*~flashback~*~

"Get in there!" The loud voice of the guard awoke me from my solitude in my cell. Then there was the sound of a body hitting the floor, and the cell door being slammed shut. Then the prison guard marched off. 

The person sighed and picked himself up off the floor. It was pretty dark, so I couldn't see much more then a silhouette. The silhouette sat on my feet, most likely thinking the bed was empty. I immediately retracted my legs, startling the person. 

He gasped, and jumped up, hitting his head on the top bunk. 

"Shit. Ow. Mother f-" 

"Didn't know I was getting a cell mate." I cut him off. 

"Sorry." he said. "I thought I was alone in here." he explained. 

I just sighed. 

"I guess I'll take the top bunk then." he said. 

I nodded though I doubt he could see. 

He had managed to find the latter in the dark, and climb up top. 

"I'm Brendon by the way. Brendon Urie." he said. 

I sighed. Great. He was a talker. 

"Ryan Ross." I said. There was a pause. 

"Wait." there was shuffling, and the sound of him climbing down the latter. "Ryan Ross?The Ryan Ross?"

"The one and only." Lies. I was in fact George Ryan Ross the third. But he didn't need to know that. "Why? You say it like I'm famous of something. Or are you afraid I'll strangle you in your sleep?" I asked with little to no interest. 

"No, it's just, I admirer your work man." he said. That's a new one. It caught my interest.

"What are you in for?" I asked. You have to do some major shit to end up in this part of the jail. And he seemed like a nice friendly guy. I didn't know I had admirers. 

"I, uh, killed a few guys." he said. 

"Why?" I asked. 

"Because I hate homophobes. My entire life I got the shit beat out of me for being gay. I hated the people that were making my life hell. So I went after them. And it got to the point where anyone who used the word "faggot" or the phrase "That's so gay." I wanted to kill. And I usually did." he finished. 

"Hoy many's a few?" I asked. 

"Thirteen." he said nonchalantly.  

"Now. You said you admired my work. Why is that?" I asked sounding oddly professional. 

"What is this? An interview?" he asked. 

"It very well could be." I joked. In the dim light I could see a smirk appear on his face. 

"Well the Mr. Ross, you managed to go years without being caught. And what was it? 22 people?  Not to mention, you were fairly creative with how you disposed of the bodies as well. I mean, dividing them up and hiding them in the walls? It's genius." he finished. 

"Why thank you." I chuckled. "You know, most people tend to find this kind of behavior cruel and sadistic. 

"Well I'm not most people." he said. "I do have one question though."

"And what is that?" I asked. 

"How did you choose your victims? They seemed so random. Other then the fact that they were all men…" he trailed off. 

"Well my story is fairly similar to yours actually." I started. Part of me was wondering why I was wondering why I was opening up to this complete stranger. Ryan Ross didn't have friends. But I felt an odd connection with this boy who couldn't be much younger then myself. "When I was a kid." I continued. "my father used to drink. A lot. And he beat the shit out of me.  One day, I just couldn't take it anymore. I killed him. Most people would freak out after killing a person, let alone their father. Not me. It felt good. Yes I know I'm fucked in the head. You don't need to tell me. 

"I didn't start to freak out until I realized the cops would be after me. I knew I had to hide the body. The last place I figured they would look were the walls of that horrid house. I tried to make it fit, but it wouldn't in one piece…"

"So you cut up the pieces and spread it through out the house." he finished my sentence. 

"Exactly." I said. "Then after that, I had a neighbor who would always come home drunk and beat the shit out of his wife. I
knew how she must have felt. So one day while she was at the store, I snuck over and sliced his throat. I had, well, have, a very low tolerance for drunks. Especially ones that beat the shot out of their family because of it." I finished my story. 

"That's amazing." he said. 

"Not really." I smirked. 

"You know what?" he said. 

"What?" I asked humoring him.

He leaned in close and whispered, "I think we should break out of here." 

I looked at him like he was crazy, because it's justso easy to break out of prison. 

It's not like I knew we would succeed and become the most "dangerous" wanted team out there.

~*~

Brendon and I stood in the main office of some cheap hotel hoping to check in. 

I was in my blue frilly dress, extremely itchy wig, and uncomfortable high heals. Brendon stood, wearing a fake mullet, fake handle bar mustache, and very… redneck looking clothes. I had to use every ounce of self control I had to not burst out laughing every time I looked at him. 

The person at the front desk looked very bored. He was a tall Latino man who's name tag read "Gabriel Saporta." 

"Can I help you?" he asked in a dull voice. 

"Do you have any rooms left?" Brendon asked. 

"Did you not see the vacancy sign? Was the 'No' illuminated? No it wasn't. Of course we have rooms." he said bitterly. 

"Well there's no need to be so rude." Brendon said. "We'll take your cheapest available room please."

"He sighed before looking back and forth between Brendon and I suspiciously. Like he thought he knew something. I think I stopped breathing. You think I'd be used to it by now. 

He then opened his mouth as if to accuse us of something. 

"You know we don't approve of prostitution here." the man said.
I exhaled in relief, as did Brendon. Then I realized I had to look offended. 

I put on my best "Oh no you didn't." face. 

"Excuse me! She is my wife! Not a prostitute! what a terrible thing to say!" I nodded in agreement. 

Brendon isn't much of (or very good of) an actor. 

"Oh really? Let me see the ring then." he ordered. I held up my hand, and showed him the very realistic looking wedding ring, that we happened to fetch from a quarter machine. 

"Can we have our room now please?" Brendon asked. 

"Yeah, sure whatever." he said. Obviously uninterested. "That'll be 96 dollars." Brendon handed him a credit card under a fake name, and got the key in return."Room 707. Check out is 9:30." he said handing us back the card. 

Brendon thanked him, and we exited the lobby. 

"That was a close one." Brendon whispered. 

"You should never be an actor." I told him. 

He snorted. "Well you make an ugly girl. And you're lucky he didn't notice the god damned smudge of blood on your cheek."

My eyes widened. "What?! Why didn't you say anything!?" I freaked out, reaching for my compact, only to realize I had left it in the car. 

"Because I didn't notice until we got inside." he said. "Here." he stopped me and grabbed my face. He then licked his thumb and gently ran it across my cheek, the entire time, staring into my eyes. It was odd. The feeling that is. Even if he did look strange in his mullet and handlebar mustache. His hand remained, grasping the side of my face for a few silent moment after that. 

"Um." I broke the silence. "I still really have to go to the bathroom."