Body Count

Shane was beside herself with glee. Her escape had been flawless; she'd followed his instructions to the letter to get out, and here she was, standing in the rain at the foot of an old decrepit warehouse. Outside. Rain! she thought ecstatically, bouncing around the telephone booth, tilting her head back to gulp in the heavenly drops of rain pouring from the dark and cloudy skies.

Nobody else could have gotten her out. Nobody could have urged her more assuringly through the merciless, closely-placed bars of her prison. But the lack of food had been good for one thing - she'd lost weight so drastically that, by sucking in her breath and shoving herself with all her weight through the bars, she'd slipped right out of her cell. And the she'd found her knives in an unlocked metal drawer - once again, all thanks to him. Because of him, she now had the freedom of a convict on the run and the comfort of a concealed weapon on her skin.

A prancing, giggling, happy as could be Shane skipped around through the puddles for a few minutes, savoring the icy-cold feeling of water soaking her boots as she jumped into a particularly large pool of it. The make-up had mostly washed away in the downpour, but grisly black circles remained over her eyes, dripping into her mouth, fading with the constant exposure to the elements. A ghost of the cherry red smile remained on her lips, and she ran her fingers along this now, grinning ever wider.

A high pitched giggling erupted next to her, and she looked over. The sight that met her eyes made her heart soar; there he was, dancing along with her, cackling happily and kicking water up at her.

"Ha ha ha ha, ho. He ho he ha ha," he said, his laughter dwindling. "Yes, yes, yes, you did a very nice job with that phone call," he said. Shane basked in his praise. "And now that you're all free and ... and liberated, we should really get you some new clothes." He clasped his hands in front of him, down near his waist, and he looked meaningfully down at Shane's outfit, which matched his perfectly. The only difference was, his was merely wet with rain. Hers was wet with rain, ripped, burned, and soaked in blood.

"From where?" Shane asked, relishing in the fact that they were having a conversation.

"A clothing store, silly billy!" he chuckled, grabbing her arm. She stumbled along behind him, smiling and giggling the whole way.

They wormed their way through the city's derelict downtown district, passing boarded up shops and small independent businesses with cracked and dusty windows. Their feet sloshed through gallons of water, soaking them to the skin, sending shivers up their spines. He kept his head down, to keep his make-up on properly, Shane guessed. She, however, gazed wonderingly at the sky.

It was blanketed by roiling storm-clouds, all painted a deep, rich purple. They were full to bursting with rain, and it spewed forth, splattering on the pavement below. It seemed so much ... bigger. Bigger than the last time she'd seen it. Was it because she'd gone so long without seeing the outdoors? She'd only been imprisoned for three days, though. Was it because she could now waltz around under the clouds, never having to go inside, not having to worry about the glare of the disciplinary moon? This must be it, she thought. This is what it's like to be free of authority ... of rules.

"The only sensible way to live in this world is without rules!" she said suddenly, raising her eyes to the heavens once again, laughing her fears away. "No rules!" she cackled.

He paid her no attention, continuing to drag her around corners, down deserted streets, through cramped alleyways. Finally, he stopped. "Stay put, sweetums, or I'll be forced to slice that pretty little throat open."

She nodded immediately, ready to do whatever he asked of her. He bent low, hopping from spot to spot on the slick pavement, sifting through the gravel on the sidewalk. "You!" he said suddenly, springing up and flinging a good-sized rock through the window of the store they were currently standing outside of. It shattered with a satisfying crash, sending tiny, glittering blades flying through the air around them. Shane blinked as one of these pieces of glass nicked her shoulder, drawing a thin trail of rose-red blood.

"Ouch," she said absentmindedly, staring at it. Blood. Blood? That was a good thing, right? It meant she was human. "Ouch!" she shouted. It was deeper than she'd taken it to be at first glance; indeed, great bouts of purple blood were gushing forth relentlessly. She swayed.

"Oh, you've gone and bloodied yourself up!" he scolded, grabbing the injured arm and dragging her through the ruined window display.

Shane said nothing, but continued to laugh quietly to herself.

He turned to face her now, a frown creating an unpleasant contrast with his scars. "What are you laughin' at?" he said impatiently.

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Not a clue! But I'll stop, if you'd like me to." she finished, her smile disappearing.

He waved the comment aside and turned away from her once again. "Laughter is the best medicine, honey." he said.

She nodded fervently in agreement. Trying to match his long, slightly unsteady strides, she trotted along behind him. "What are we looking for, here?" she asked, gazing around the dark clothing store.

He said nothing. He started flicking through clothing racks, shaking his head at this, muttering, "No ..." at that. She stood by, letting him go about his work, humming tunelessly to herself. After a quarter of an hour, he walked back to her, holding a bundle of clothes. He gestured towards the distant change rooms and said, "Go."

She did. She zig-zagged through the aisles of clothes, shouldering open a door to a sizable changing room. "Ow," she said happily, cringing at the fresh jolt of pain in her shoulder. She nudged the door closed again, and dropped the clothes she was holding.

The plum purple jacket she'd donned half a week ago cracked away from her body strangely; the caked on blood was reluctant to let it lose its' shape. The green vest came off much easier, as it had been protected from outer afflictions by the jacket. The shirt, however, was another story. No longer a clean white garment, it was dull red and clung to her skin for dear life. In the end, she had to take her knife to it and tear off the sleeves before she could even look at the new shirt he'd gotten for her.

Once she was stripped down to nothing but a pair of old shorts and a lank white undershirt, she picked up the topmost item of clothing he'd picked out: pitch dark denim jeans. Not a bad start, but not like him, she thought as she tugged them on. The right size, too. Weird.

The next item she plucked off of the pile was much more interesting, and to her taste. It was a bright purple button-up shirt, solid purple, and she liked it much more than that ratty old white one. She pulled it on eagerly, doing up the buttons in a rush.

"Two more minutes," his voice drifted across the store to her, and she picked up the pace.

She lifted up the jacket, which she grinned broadly at. It was fluorescent green, and it looked as though it would hang down past her knees. She pulled it on, not bothering to do any buttons up. She slipped her knife into its cuff, and looked down at the remaining bits of her outfit. She picked up two small pieces of cloth and, realizing what they were, burst out laughing.

"What now?" he barked, his voice impatient.

"Socks," she chuckled, pulling them on. They were every color of the rainbow, all in a checkered pattern, and she loved them. She slipped her feet back into her black shoes - those were still just fine, after all, if a bit wet - and hurried out of the changing room and to the front of the store where he stood waiting.

Without a word, he marched out of the store, still hunched over slightly. She followed closely.

The rain beat down upon their necks, and they plowed on through the city, in a dark silence.

Shane stopped abruptly. She recognized where they were - not two blocks from the police station. "I think we should go the other way," she said uncertainly, looking furtively over her wounded shoulder.

"And I think we should go this way!" he said, marching on.

"But-"

"But what?" he growled, rounding on her.

She gulped.

He shook his head and rolled his eyes down at her. "Now, look, Shane. You've had a busy week. All this running around and excitement with-"

He was cut off by a police cruiser tearing around the corner, Commissioner Mark Munro clearly visible in the drivers' seat. He was pointing at them and smiling triumphantly. He screeched on the turn and made straight for them.

Shane looked around. He had already bolted. She started running towards a high, chain-link fence. On the other side was a deep ditch and, beyond that, the highway - which was bordered by miles of forest on either side. Shane, having been a very good student in Physical Education, leaped up and over the fence. He, having no time for foolish things such as jumping fences, seemed to have barged right through it shoulder first. There was a large hole in the fence where he must've forced through.

Meanwhile, Commissioner Munro was shouting himself hoarse into the megaphone. He was hanging halfway out the window as he bellowed, his hand barely on the steering wheel. "Halt! You have the right to remain - HALT! HALT, DAMN YOU!" he roared furiously into the mouthpiece and stopped the car inches form the fence. The girls' rapidly retreating back could now hardly be seen, tiny, distant. "SHIT!" he shrieked into the megaphone.

The two ran. They ran until Shane thought her lungs would burst from the effort, or her legs would burst into flame. Finally, they reached the trees, and she collapsed against the trunk of a large spruce and panted. He leaned against the opposite tree, still miraculously grinning at her.

After a moments silence, in which all that could be heard was her heavy breathing, he spoke. "Well, that was fun. You up for Chinese?"