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Adventures in suburbia	By : LittleMissDisaster Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > HIM Views: 1175 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of HIM. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Adventures in suburbia
- 2-ch 2
- 3-ch 3
- 4-ch 4
- 5-ch 5
- 6-ch 6
- 7-ch 7
- 8-THE END!!!
- 7
- 8
~*~here's the end for Morbid Eclipse, since you asked so nicely o.O~*~md

Ville woke, disoriented, bouncing up and down on a ridged metal surface. His eyes wouldn’t focus properly, his thoughts were muddled. He wondered why he was so cold and the sky was moving so fast.
Why was the sky moving at all? Last thing he remembered he was in the studio…
There was an engine humming beneath him and when he cautiously extended his arms, they encountered bumps that felt a lot like wheel wells and he heard a familiar sound of shifting gears.
Car, well truck. He was in the bed of someone’s manual transmission truck.
He looked around, not at all pleased by the way the world turned liquid and swayed past his face. He was alone, and most definitely in the bed of a truck. The pain in his head convinced him that sitting up would be a bad idea. He fought off sleep that threatened to overtake him as only someone previously concussed knew to and concentrated on getting the sky to stop blinking in and out.
At length the truck pulled over and he feigned unconsciousness.

Mike pulled over in the same spot he’d tossed Charlie’s corpse over the guard rail and hopped out of the truck. The bastard was still knocked out and he could not lift him as easily as he’d thrown Charlie about. He took a hit off his pipe and jumped in the bed, slapping Ville hard across the face, “Get the fuck up!”
Ville groaned as the slap rattled his brain further and curled into a ball.
“I said get up!” Mike kicked him in the ribs.
Ville sat up and looked at him finally, “Mike?” he’d met the man a handful of times, but he hardly recognized the sucked up wraith that stood over him, “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m going to kill you and throw you off the mountain, just like I did that bitch Charlie.” He said simply and pulled his knife out of his pocket, flicking it open. It glinted coldly under the crust of blood.
Ville paled, “You killed Charlie?”
He nodded and grinned, “Slit her fucking throat.” He cackled, “Won’t be telling Sari that she’s too good for me anymore.” He kicked Ville again, “Now get up and walk.”
Ville kicked feebly at him, still too off balance to do much.
Mike, fueled by rage, insanity and large quantities of meth hauled him up by the collar of his t-shirt and tossed him over the side of the bed where he landed painfully on his wrist.
Ville curled in on himself as Mike began kicking him again, savagely hitting him in the ribs and head. In a last ditch effort, he pulled Mike’s leg out from under him as he delivered another kick, sending him crashing to the ground beside the nearly incapacitated rocker.
Mike howled with fury and stabbed Ville in the side, feeling the blade of his knife slide in between ribs. He grinned at the pool of blood spreading around him and searched through his pockets, taking Ville’s house keys before kicking him over the same edge Charlie had disappeared over three days before, admiring the way Ville’s fresh blood enhanced the faded stain she had left.
With that done, Mike put the keys and his knife back in his pocket and started his truck, driving carefully back down the mountain.

Sari woke up hours later and reached out for Ville, not surprised to find his side of the bed empty. She stretched and went to look for him. He wasn’t in any of the rooms in the house, or the backyard, or the studio. His car was in the driveway, but then so was a familiar looking truck.
Cursing, she locked the door and reached for the phone.
“I’ve got it.” Mike said from the hallway, holding the pieces of the cordless receiver in one hand.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, putting her back against the door and trying, unsuccessfully, to unlock it behind her.
“I just wanted to come by and say hi.” He laughed when she tried to open the door and put the phone debris carefully on the coffee table along with Ville’s keys.
Sari saw them and grew terrified, “Where’s Ville?”
He shrugged, “With Charlie.”
“What did you do?” she sank to the floor.

Ville came too, brought back to consciousness by the enormous pain in his side. He cried out and gritted his teeth, trying to stop the blood from oozing out of the stab wound.
Looking around, he saw he wasn’t actually that far from the road. He also saw the glassy eyed corpse of Charlie lying face down among the scrub plants. It had been cold enough recently that she hadn’t begun to bloat or rot, but there was no mistaking the look of pain and death in those eyes. He turned over on his other side and vomited when he also noticed the markings obviously from scavengers taking advantage of the feast.
Puking hurt his side and his head. When he finally stopped, he was weak and sweating, fighting off fog as his body tried to go shocky. He moved his fingers from his wound and discovered it wasn’t very big, it was just deep.
Weeping apologies, he removed the bandana Charlie habitually wore-‘had worn’ his traitorous mind interjected-in her back pocket, and folded it as thick as he could, pressing it to the wound in his side before sitting up and taking stock of himself.
His stab wound and concussion seemed to be the worst of his injuries. His wrist wasn’t broken and as far as he could tell neither were any of his ribs. His body ached abominably from the beating and his tumble down the hill. He thought his ankle was twisted, but he could put pressure on it.
Inch by painfully slow inch, he climbed back onto the road, vowing many bloody and horrific fates on Mike. And if he touched a hair on Sari’s head, Ville would have his, on a fucking pike out in the front lawn like a fucking barbarian overlord.
Ville sincerely wished he hadn’t left his phone on the kitchen counter.

“What have you done Michael?” Sari repeated in a whisper, despair washing over her.
“Took care of some problems.” He pulled her up and threw her on the couch, sitting down next to her, propping his feet on the coffee table.
Sari absurdly wanted to slap his feet off the table her father had made, “Where are they?”
“Oh, somewhere off the side of Mt. Baldy,” He kicked off his shoes, “Fertilizing plants.”
She began to cry.

Ville found a car parked in a driveway not far from where he’d managed to pull himself back onto the road. Thanking ever god he had ever known the name for that people who lived so far apart left keys in their vehicles still, he got in and cranked the engine, speeding toward home at an insane pace, praying Mike hadn’t hurt Sari.

Mike hadn’t laid a hand on Sari yet. He was screaming at her, “What the fuck did you think was going to happen! I love you and I want you to be with me! You fucking love me too!” she shook her head and he lost it, slapping her across the face, “You’re going to fucking say you love me too or I swear to god I am going to cut you’re fucking heart out!”
Sari scrambled out of the way and threw the phone wreckage at him, getting over her helpless despair that her best friend and the man she loved were dead and getting pissed off. Beyond pissed. Of all the times she had ever wanted to kill Mike, this time she was going to fucking do it, “Fuck you, you crack head sucked up piece of shit nobody mother fucking psycho!” she ran at him and punched him in the face so hard his head snapped back. She split his lip open and swung again, catching him in the nose, breaking it, again.
“Bitch!” he screamed and took a swing of his own, getting her right in the eye.
Her eye watered, but she didn’t go down, egged on by the fury she’d always barely suppressed around him, “Fuck you!” she kicked him hard in the shin, hurting her foot, not that she noticed, pleased as she was by his yelp. She launched herself at him and tackled him to the floor, sitting on his chest and punching him repeatedly in the face, screaming derogatory comments after every hit.
Mike got his hands up to block the blows only to have Sari wrap her small hands around his throat. He shoved her off of him into the wall just as the world started to grey out.
Sari heard more than felt the back of her head connect with the wall and everything exploded in bursts of color. Dazed she managed to look up in time to have Mike kick her in the sternum, knocking the wind out of her. Wheezing, she tried to crawl away, but he picked her up and threw her against the opposite wall.
This time, when her head hit the wall everything went black.

Ville screeched his stolen car to a halt in front of his house, barely missing his own car. He jumped out and limped to the door as fast as his injured body would allow. He tried the front door, finding it locked. He could hear the sounds of a fight inside and grinned savagely to himself when he heard Sari insulting Mike and the unmistakable sound of fists connecting with flesh.
He went around to the backyard, stopping to pick up the hoe he’d bought thinking he would do some gardening and never used. The back door was unlocked and he snuck inside.
Mike was calmly walking back to a limp and plainly unconscious Sari with the opened switchblade, still wet with Ville’s own blood in his hand.
Ville found a little more strength and ran into the living room with the hoe over his head, screaming as he brought it down straight across Mike’s face, tearing his cheek open.
Mike dropped his knife, bringing both hands up to clutch his flapping cheek. He cried out in pain and disbelief. The last thing he ever saw was Ville bringing the hoe down once more into the top of his skull.

Sari stood, crying silently at the side of Charlie’s grave. Dylan wailed inconsolably into Ville’s shoulder. He wept into the child’s hair. Cari and Sunnie sobbed together, sitting in a lawn chair.
As the priest gave the final the final words for a Wicca funeral, her biodegradable casket was laid into the earth and “What’s Left of the Flag” by Flogging Molly played.
“Just like she wanted.” Sari whispered.
“A life once full, now an empty vase, with the blossoms on his early grave. Walk away me boy, walk away me boy and by morning we’ll be free. With a golden tear from your mother dear, raise what’s left of the flag for me.” She could hear her friend belting out the next part of the song, her favorite, as she always did when she listened to it, “Then the rosary beads, count them 1-2-3 fell apart as the hit the floor. In our garb of black we must pay respect to the color we’re born to mourn.”
The up tempo Irish rebel punk was a little unusual at a funeral, but nothing about Charlie had ever been usual.
One by one, Charlie’s friends threw their flowers into her grave and left the gravesite until Sari was all alone. Ville had taken Dylan to wait by the car.
She threw in an Ixia flower in full blossom in the grave and whispered, “I’m so sorry. He’s dead.” More tears coursed down her face as she placed a protective hand on her still flat stomach, “Boy or girl, we’re calling it Charlie.”
~*~END~*~

~*~so? what did ya think?~*~md
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Adventures in suburbia