Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Blurred Edges ❯ Creep ( Chapter 1 )

Blurred Edges

 

“You're so fucking special.

I wish I was special.

But I'm a creep.

I'm a weirdo.

What the hell am I doing here?

I don't belong here.”

- Radiohead, “Creep”

 

Mercy was always on the outside. Ever the one to be found just beyond the boundaries of all things - social circles, rings of knowledge, family dynamics. He never belonged on the inside of any of those, and perhaps, looking back, all of his problems could have been avoided if he had only paid attention to that fact. He was a misfit.

 

A misfit covered in blood. Deep red, sticky, coppery blood that dripped off and dried on his form in all places from his shaggy brown hair to his sneaker clad feet. A pity, that, since his shoes were brand new. He'd have to buy another pair now. And that was only where his problems (that really could have been avoided) began.

 

They expanded with the fact that he was quite certain that at least a third of the blood drenching his body was his own. It had probably seeped from the deep, burning wound in his right thigh. That particular addition to his anatomy was also making it increasingly difficult to move, and he had to move. Had to get away from the mangled heap that was once a human body.

 

That might have been his biggest problem, but he wasn't too sure. With the throbbing lump growing on his head from where the once-human-mass had hit him, it was hard to be certain of anything. His thoughts kept flying in any which way they pleased, only serving to agitate his painful headache. Of course, he wouldn't have had to think about anything if he had only taken into consideration his social standing.

 

Technicalities aside, Mercy was a pariah. An outcast. A loser. A metaphorical black sheep. It was most definitely good he wasn't a literal one, since he figured a sheep would probably have an even harder time with his issues than he did. Although the wool coat would be nice. A lot better than the crimson stained button up he was currently sporting. In any case, his humanity or non-humanity wasn't important.

 

Then again, perhaps that was the most important. Humans were ugly creatures, weren't they? Always judging and ostracizing, accusing and fighting. Betraying, lying, condescending. People hated that which the majority of them did not or could not comprehend. Mercy was part of that rare few that saw the world through different, more understanding eyes. He had to be, as a part of the exiled. He accepted all human beings for what they were and chose to be. Deceitful, shameful, lowly, murdering animals.

 

Murder.

 

That's what they would pin him with, if he was caught. Be he didn't kill anyone, not really. Not like other people killed people. He didn't do it for fun, didn't get any sick pleasure out of watching his victim beg for mercy. No. That wasn't why Lucas was dead. Not that Lucas had begged him, anyway. He had asked, practically choked out, `why?' The older boy had even fought back a little, evidenced by the cut on Mercy's leg and the bump on his skull. But in the end, Mercy refused to answer the strangled question, and overpowered Lucas with pure determination.

 

Why? How ridiculous. Lucas knew. How could he have not? Everything had been perfect between them, Mercy recalled, panting now with the effort it was taking to keep staggering on. He and Lucas were so happy, so wonderful… Mercy was so in love with him. Had always been, ever since they were little. He would always tell Lucas so, to make sure the older boy never forgot or doubted his feelings.

 

“I love you, Lucas.”

 

“Love you, too, little bro'.”

 

He always said that. Little brother. He wasn't as fond of that nickname as the other one Lucas gave him, Merse, but Mercy would put up with it just because he loved Lucas and Lucas loved him so everything was just fine. They hadn't ever kissed or done anything more serious than hugging, but Mercy allowed for that as well. Lucas had always been so shy; he didn't want to push his older brother into anything. And sure, sometimes Lucas went off and spent too much time with his annoying soccer friends and their stupid blonde girlfriends, but he always came home to Mercy. Always. Everything was just fine.

 

So why, why did Lucas have to ruin it? Mercy could never figure out if it was revenge for something he had accidentally done (he would never upset his beloved on purpose) or just a sick game, but one day Lucas came home with her.

 

Kayleigh.

 

Mercy had always liked names and was forever looking up their meanings. He discovered that `Kayleigh' was a form of `Kaylee', which was derived from `Kay', the shortened form of `Katherine', which could be related to a Greek word meaning `torture'. It seemed fitting to him.

 

Lucas introduced her to their family as his girlfriend, which, all things considered, did not seem fitting. How could Lucas have a girlfriend when he and Mercy were so very, very in love? It made no sense, and yet Mercy was forced to watch while that horrible girl put her dirty, too small hands all over what was rightfully his. Forced to endure the simpering comments made by his mother as she looked on with smiling eyes.

 

“Aren't Lucas and Kayleigh just wonderful together, dear?”

 

Lucas and Kayleigh. It sounded so wrong.

 

And how strange to think of them now as they had been, rather than as the unmoving carcasses they had become. With Mercy's help, of course.

 

Kayleigh had been first. It was an easy choice to make. She had stolen his property. Besides, it just wouldn't have felt right if Lucas wasn't what he saved for last. In any case, one quick swing of a knife into her chest and the screaming, pathetic girl was gone, dead on her living room floor. The last thing Mercy thought as he wrenched the weapon from her body and moved on to find his brother was that it was a shame such a nice blue carpet would be fouled by her ugly blood. It really was a lovely blue. The same as Lucas' eyes.

 

Staring at the shining, recently bought butcher's knife in his grip - the one his father had purchased in a set of four - Mercy had almost decided that he would let Lucas live. He had considered that just maybe the older boy would realize his transgression, and they could put all the mess behind them.

 

And that thought stayed with him all the way until he got to Lucas' empty room, looked around at his things, and saw the Polaroid of he and Kayleigh kissing. Next to it lay a piece of lined paper - looking like it had been torn from the corner of a school notebook - with a lip-gloss kiss mark and a small heart drawn on. Underneath that was a silver plastic package, the edge of which was just barely discernible. The word `Trojan' was printed across it in bold letters, and Mercy almost screamed in rage. The thought that that creature had put her hands on his brother, and that Lucas had allowed it, made him physically ill. He could feel the bile choking him, and he thundered out of the house as fast as he could.

 

He got to the school in record time, knowing that even though it was hours after classes ended, Lucas would be just finishing up with soccer practice. He stumbled to the field in blind anger, the heavy weight that was the knife glinting in the late afternoon sun. Sure enough, Lucas was there. Alone. The star athlete honing his skills even after all his teammates were gone. Mercy made no move to hide the noise of his sneakers in the grass, and when he was about fifteen feet away from his brother, the latter turned around.

 

“Hey, Merse. What are you doing here?”

 

“How could you, Lucas?” The words slipped from his trembling lips before he could stop them.

 

“What? I don't… Mercy… Why do you have that?” Lucas pointed to the knife. Mercy felt it jump in his fingers, desperate to wreak revenge on the person who had betrayed him so easily. He kept moving forward, almost laughing when his brother started to back up.

 

And then Mercy had leapt forward, images of Lucas and Kayleigh fucking like the revolting humans they were playing on repeat in his head. Lucas was toned and muscled from sports, and for a precious few minutes he had halted Mercy's progress. His weapon arm slipped, earning him the gash in his leg, and a swift elbow to the head resulted in his other injury, but anger was a better source of fuel than fear.

 

Lucas faltered, fell, and screamed when the already stained blade sunk into his stomach like it was the cake Mercy had lovingly baked and decorated for him on his birthday.

 

“W-why?”

 

That damned question. Mercy had wanted to yell it in return. Why had Lucas betrayed him? Why did he let that repulsive girl touch his body in ways never allowed to anyone else? Why didn't he understand how much Mercy loved him?

 

Mercy cried as he swung the knife over and over into Lucas' flesh. After the fourth blow, his brother stopped screaming, stopped moving. Fell silent. But Mercy went on until his tears dried up and the form before him was practically unrecognizable. Good, he thought. This wasn't the boy he loved, after all, so why should he look like him? The boy he loved would never have done what this monster did.

 

That, he saw now, was his biggest problem. Lucas had turned into someone else, someone other than the one Mercy would have given or done anything for. And he hadn't seen it until it was too late to stop. But of course he hadn't. He was a misfit, and he should have remembered that. No one ever truly devoted themselves to misfits. No matter how kind Lucas acted, or how often he said he loved him, he would move on. If Mercy had only kept that in mind…

 

But it didn't matter now. Nothing did, except getting away. Because he couldn't allow himself to be caught and locked up. He already knew he didn't belong. He didn't need an institution to tell him that. The problem now was that he could barely move; he had lost so much blood. Somewhere along the way the knife had slipped from his stiff hand. He looked around and found himself under an overpass on the bank of a small river. He knew this place. Lucas used to take him here to play. There was a series of steel bars going up the concrete support to his left, a strange sort of ladder used by maintenance workers. Dizzy and lightheaded, almost to the point of fainting, Mercy forced himself to climb it. It took nearly twenty minutes, every rung a struggle, and he was infinitely grateful that no one came by to see him since he was sure he would be forced to come down, but he finally made it to the top. Swinging his good leg over the edge, Mercy fell roughly onto the side of the bridge.

 

Vehicles zoomed by, blowing his hair about, but he paid them no mind. He had scaled the ladder on a whim, but now he realized his purpose here and knew he should have expected this to be the final step in his plan all along. It was his destiny as an outcast.

 

A break in traffic gave him the opportunity to hobble across the road to the side that hung over the swiftly moving current below. His arms provided most of the strength he needed to pull himself onto the ledge there. A car horn honked and he nearly lost his balance.

 

The water glinted, reflecting the last rays of the setting sun. Mercy thought he could hear it calling his name, but he wasn't sure. His head was spinning so much. If only all those damned drivers would stop their incessant honking, he could concentrate on listening.

 

“Hey, kid! Get down from there!”

 

Mercy's head swiveled about. A man was behind him, getting out of his vehicle, looking panicked. Several others were doing the same. In fact, there were all manner of automobiles backed up on the overpass, with all the people at the front of the queue exiting their rides to watch him. For one wild moment Mercy thought he had been caught, but he saw no police cars among the crowd. The first man took a few steps forward with his hands held out, and Mercy imagined being pushed off his perch, but the man said, “Come on, I'll help you down.”

 

Then an older woman came closer to them, fear on her face. “Please don't jump, dear. Just slide on off of there like a good boy, okay?” Behind her, others were pulling out their cell phones and calling 911. Mercy could hear them.

 

“… On the bridge before exit nine…”

 

“… A boy about to jump…”

 

“… Send help quickly…”

 

It took him all of five minutes to understand that these people were trying to stop him. These individuals, all of them, whom he had never met, were attempting to save his life. Why? They didn't know him. What reason did they have to care? Why would they want to save an outsider, anyway?

 

“Please, kid, just get down.” The first man was only two feet away now, hands reaching for Mercy like he was some sort of prize. The concern in his voice was genuine, and Mercy suddenly wanted to cry again. Perhaps… This was what it was to be wanted. Accepted. Someone who belonged. He could just slip right off the ledge and into that kind looking elder woman's arms and it would all be just fine. Because even if his deeds were discovered it wouldn't matter now. He was a part of the crowd, and no one could touch him.

 

Mercy shifted, turned to grasp the man's arm, and felt his foot slide backwards. His precarious equilibrium was decimated, and even though the man rushed forward to catch him, Mercy had fallen off the ledge before he could stop it. So now his biggest problem was that within seconds he would be submerged in freezing, rapidly moving water, with no strength to keep his head above the surface, when he desperately wanted to be back on safe, dry concrete instead.

 

It really figured. Mercy was always on the outside. He was a fool to forget, even for a second, that misfits could never, never belong.

 

ooooooooo

 

Ew. Sucky ending. I hate it. Oh, well… Maybe I'll come back and fix it some other time when I'm not so lazy.

 

Anyway, I wrote this to help drag my pathetic ass out of the massive case of writer's block I've been experiencing. I'm sorry to everyone who has been waiting for updates for my other stuff… I promise you, I've been trying my hardest to work on them.

 

If you feel the need, please review. I love feedback.

 

Also a giant thanks to iloveanimecartoons for the positive encouragement on this one.

 

Yours,

Bobby