Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction ❯ The Journal of One, Leon Orcot ❯ May 11, 1999 ( Chapter 8 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: CrossedScarsX 
Anime/Manga: Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Mystery / Psychological / Angst | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 08.09.2011 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.4K | Visits: 409 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Mystery / Psychological / Angst | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 08.09.2011 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.4K | Visits: 409 | Status: Completed
May 11, 1999
Well, Hengelo was a waste of time. Not much in the way of pet stores. There was some supply stores, for the farmers in the area, but nothing else. I need to focus on more industrialized cities, not just size. No more plotting out cites to detour to. I lost a good three days of travel just on Hengelo. Although, I DID find a nice little bicycle shop. I told the guy that I'm going across country and that I needed something study, not fancy. He pointed me to a really nice mountain bike, that was a lot more expensive than I could afford. I told him used bikes were fine too. Eventually he pulled out a bike he had been refinishing. It had some wear and tear on the metal frame. The handlebars needed to be re-taped, at the very least. He told me if I was planning on going long distances I would have to make sure that I got it maintained properly. I told him I would, and I got it for half the price that I would have paid for the other one. I also picked up the cheapest air pump I could get, and two replacement inner tubes for the wheels, in case I got a flat. I'm really going to have to stop at those docks on the channel now. I'm really delving into my funds for this. But if time is money, then I'll be rich in the savings this thing will get me.
Hell, it may be a bit beat up, but I figured maybe fixing this bike up along the way could be a pet project while I search for D. I used to fix up my own bike when I was a kid. I'm sure it will come back, as needed. I'd checked the ball bearings and the machine seemed well-oiled, so I mounted up, and rode away. That was two days ago.
And let me say, things are coming back alright. MY BUTT HAS NEVER HURT SO BADLY IN MY LIFE. Even D wasn't as big a pain in my ass. But...ugh. THIS. It hurts to stand, it hurts to sit. I'm walking all pigeon-toed here. Ugh. That's what I get for not riding all these years. I think I prefer getting shot to this. At least in the hospital I got morphine.
At least in the hospital, there was D. He always seemed to know when I was in trouble. I mean, I know Jill (my co-worker in the precinct) called him—which is funny, because I don't recall ever putting the bastard down as my emergency contact—but she once let it slip that D always seemed to know when something was wrong. She said it was 'cute'. God, she could be annoying. But I got to admit: it was comforting, having D there. No matter how much he grated on my nerves, or how many times I yelled at him, or how much both of us complained...he never left. And I was really glad for the company. It didn't matter that I though he was a drug dealer, or a murderer, or a human trafficker. I may have said that to him, over and over...but I'm really glad he came. I'm glad he always stayed, as long as visiting hours would allow. Hell, even after visiting hours. Between him and Jill, they always knew someone who could pull the strings and let the Count stay through the night.
Why? I never understood it. Count D should have hated me. I was trying to arrest him. We were always fighting. We've said horrible things to each other over the years. And yet, there he was, always the first thing I saw when I woke up. Count D's smiling face.
The smile. Was that another mask? Shit. I'm afraid of that answer. If it were a mask, what was it covering? Relief that I was alive? Maybe he didn't want me to know how worried he was? Or worse: what if he wasn't worried? What if he was angry that I'd survived, to live for another day to darken his doorway with another accusation? Why does that thought hurt so much?
The longer he runs, the longer I chase after him, the more worried I get that it was anger. But then, if it was anger, why didn't he just get rid of me? Or just leave in the first place? Why did he wait two years before running? Did he get wind of Agent Howell? I don't see how he could have. I didn't mention it to him, before he disappeared the first time. He was just gone.
I think he was going to tell me he was leaving. He started to say something as I left the shop that day. But I was in such a bad mood that day, because of Chris and Howell and everything that...he just kept quiet. When we came by to arrest him, he and all his animals, were gone. Poof. As was the back rooms of the shop. All the rooms—there was a maze of corridors back—were suddenly gone, with an empty supply closet in it's place.
Howell said it was hypnosis and hallucinogenic incense. That's a lot of bull. The tests all came back negative. I can't accept that theory, not after everything I've seen. I don't mean to speak ill of the dead, but he was a man obsessed. Jill said I reminded her of him. I guess it takes one to know one. Howell was as dead set against D's old man as I was against D. I guess that's the real irony of the situation: Howell was after D's father, not D. But Howell thought they were the same person. Almost everything about the those two was identical. Except the eyes. D had dual colored eyes, gold and violet, that were terrible and beautiful all at once. His father's eyes...they were cold, and unfeeling. I can't believe I didn't notice them at first, when I met his father in the street. Maybe I was just so relieved to see D again that I was blinded to what should have been obvious.
Yeah, that must have been it. I had just spent three days sitting alone in the empty pet shop smoking god knows how many cigarettes (all I know is that I ran out...). I don't think I have been that...worried? I guess. Yeah. Not that worried since my mother was pregnant with Chris. When did I start caring about him that much? I can never fully explain how I felt when I suddenly heard D's voice call to me from that limo. I wanted to punch him and hug him at the same time. Most importantly, I did NOT want to arrest him. Hah. I had every reason to arrest him. There was an official warrant. He was wanted by the FBI in several states. And what did I do? I crawled into that limo and drove off with him. D's father must have somehow known I'd go with him. It was the first and only time I ignored my duty as an officer of the law.
It almost got me killed. D's father stuck me in a menagerie of man-eating monsters. Animals. D never liked it when I called them monsters. That's how I got all those injuries I talked about before. It wasn't a fall from the stratosphere. If D hadn't shown up when he did, I'm sure I'd have died. Heh, that's probably the one time he let his mask slip. I didn't imagine it. D truly looked displeased when he father tried to kill me. Scared even. I've never seen him look worried for me before that. It scared me...if HE looked worried, I must have been in a bad way.
Damn it. Where are you?
~Leon
Well, Hengelo was a waste of time. Not much in the way of pet stores. There was some supply stores, for the farmers in the area, but nothing else. I need to focus on more industrialized cities, not just size. No more plotting out cites to detour to. I lost a good three days of travel just on Hengelo. Although, I DID find a nice little bicycle shop. I told the guy that I'm going across country and that I needed something study, not fancy. He pointed me to a really nice mountain bike, that was a lot more expensive than I could afford. I told him used bikes were fine too. Eventually he pulled out a bike he had been refinishing. It had some wear and tear on the metal frame. The handlebars needed to be re-taped, at the very least. He told me if I was planning on going long distances I would have to make sure that I got it maintained properly. I told him I would, and I got it for half the price that I would have paid for the other one. I also picked up the cheapest air pump I could get, and two replacement inner tubes for the wheels, in case I got a flat. I'm really going to have to stop at those docks on the channel now. I'm really delving into my funds for this. But if time is money, then I'll be rich in the savings this thing will get me.
Hell, it may be a bit beat up, but I figured maybe fixing this bike up along the way could be a pet project while I search for D. I used to fix up my own bike when I was a kid. I'm sure it will come back, as needed. I'd checked the ball bearings and the machine seemed well-oiled, so I mounted up, and rode away. That was two days ago.
And let me say, things are coming back alright. MY BUTT HAS NEVER HURT SO BADLY IN MY LIFE. Even D wasn't as big a pain in my ass. But...ugh. THIS. It hurts to stand, it hurts to sit. I'm walking all pigeon-toed here. Ugh. That's what I get for not riding all these years. I think I prefer getting shot to this. At least in the hospital I got morphine.
At least in the hospital, there was D. He always seemed to know when I was in trouble. I mean, I know Jill (my co-worker in the precinct) called him—which is funny, because I don't recall ever putting the bastard down as my emergency contact—but she once let it slip that D always seemed to know when something was wrong. She said it was 'cute'. God, she could be annoying. But I got to admit: it was comforting, having D there. No matter how much he grated on my nerves, or how many times I yelled at him, or how much both of us complained...he never left. And I was really glad for the company. It didn't matter that I though he was a drug dealer, or a murderer, or a human trafficker. I may have said that to him, over and over...but I'm really glad he came. I'm glad he always stayed, as long as visiting hours would allow. Hell, even after visiting hours. Between him and Jill, they always knew someone who could pull the strings and let the Count stay through the night.
Why? I never understood it. Count D should have hated me. I was trying to arrest him. We were always fighting. We've said horrible things to each other over the years. And yet, there he was, always the first thing I saw when I woke up. Count D's smiling face.
The smile. Was that another mask? Shit. I'm afraid of that answer. If it were a mask, what was it covering? Relief that I was alive? Maybe he didn't want me to know how worried he was? Or worse: what if he wasn't worried? What if he was angry that I'd survived, to live for another day to darken his doorway with another accusation? Why does that thought hurt so much?
The longer he runs, the longer I chase after him, the more worried I get that it was anger. But then, if it was anger, why didn't he just get rid of me? Or just leave in the first place? Why did he wait two years before running? Did he get wind of Agent Howell? I don't see how he could have. I didn't mention it to him, before he disappeared the first time. He was just gone.
I think he was going to tell me he was leaving. He started to say something as I left the shop that day. But I was in such a bad mood that day, because of Chris and Howell and everything that...he just kept quiet. When we came by to arrest him, he and all his animals, were gone. Poof. As was the back rooms of the shop. All the rooms—there was a maze of corridors back—were suddenly gone, with an empty supply closet in it's place.
Howell said it was hypnosis and hallucinogenic incense. That's a lot of bull. The tests all came back negative. I can't accept that theory, not after everything I've seen. I don't mean to speak ill of the dead, but he was a man obsessed. Jill said I reminded her of him. I guess it takes one to know one. Howell was as dead set against D's old man as I was against D. I guess that's the real irony of the situation: Howell was after D's father, not D. But Howell thought they were the same person. Almost everything about the those two was identical. Except the eyes. D had dual colored eyes, gold and violet, that were terrible and beautiful all at once. His father's eyes...they were cold, and unfeeling. I can't believe I didn't notice them at first, when I met his father in the street. Maybe I was just so relieved to see D again that I was blinded to what should have been obvious.
Yeah, that must have been it. I had just spent three days sitting alone in the empty pet shop smoking god knows how many cigarettes (all I know is that I ran out...). I don't think I have been that...worried? I guess. Yeah. Not that worried since my mother was pregnant with Chris. When did I start caring about him that much? I can never fully explain how I felt when I suddenly heard D's voice call to me from that limo. I wanted to punch him and hug him at the same time. Most importantly, I did NOT want to arrest him. Hah. I had every reason to arrest him. There was an official warrant. He was wanted by the FBI in several states. And what did I do? I crawled into that limo and drove off with him. D's father must have somehow known I'd go with him. It was the first and only time I ignored my duty as an officer of the law.
It almost got me killed. D's father stuck me in a menagerie of man-eating monsters. Animals. D never liked it when I called them monsters. That's how I got all those injuries I talked about before. It wasn't a fall from the stratosphere. If D hadn't shown up when he did, I'm sure I'd have died. Heh, that's probably the one time he let his mask slip. I didn't imagine it. D truly looked displeased when he father tried to kill me. Scared even. I've never seen him look worried for me before that. It scared me...if HE looked worried, I must have been in a bad way.
Damn it. Where are you?
~Leon