Having a once-asocial bookworm in your home, you were bound to be subject to numerous questions when blatantly depressed. I never gave Rarity the gift since the memory of her bragging was clear as day. Add that to my 'just killed two ponies' guilt, and I was doomed to be a wreck the morning after the funeral. Never mind my steel resolve, I still can't, to this day, get the image depicting the look of pain on Blackhoof's face out of my head. It was the pain only a dying pony could feel, and it shook me to my core. I could only imagine what Blueblood's death was like.
Back to the point; Twilight was always a keen observer of behavior when she found friends, and when it came to lil' old me, she perked up when she had the chance. Specifically, when she made a long breakfast of pancakes.
“Spike, you've been depressed ever since you learned Prince Blueblood died, Celestia rest his soul, and it's rather odd considering how Rarity felt towards him in the past,” Twilight said, eating a slice of pancake.
Glancing at her, I saw the look of a caring mother, and I almost confessed that I found a killer notebook, and had already killed two ponies.
“It's got nothing to do with that, Twi.” I passed the time by picking at the strawberry atop the pancakes. I was gonna be there for a while, might as well take my time. “He was a jerk. I knew that much from my years at the castle, but I knew him, and he's the first pony I know to die. He's gone, and I can't change that.” But I could have prevented it.
I looked up to see Twilight's expression, saddened as one would expect. I cut a chunk off the stack and threw it in my mouth. It was the same as the many times Twilight or I made pancakes, but it certainly didn't feel like it. It was as if my taste buds dulled with my happy state of mind.
“Twilight, what will happen the day you leave me?” I muttered, swallowing the chunk.
When I looked at Twilight that time, her face bore an expression of sheer horror. Her eyes were wide open, pupils like slits, tears threatening to drop down to her bared teeth. Her entire body shook, and she immediately dropped her fork from her magic grasp. Yet another look that I can't get out of my head. I stopped eating when she got up from the table and ran around it. Dropping my fork, I held my arms out as she practically tackled me to the floor, holding me in a tight embrace.
Instinctively, I wrapped my stubby arms around her neck as her forelegs almost squeezed the life out of me. Her body pressed against mine, I felt her shudders, I felt her tears drip onto my shoulder, and I only felt worse for mentioning the inevitable future.
“I will be here with you, no matter what. When you’re sick in bed, I’ll be making you soup. When you’re carrying your bride onto your chariot, I’ll be there to congratulate you.” She paused, taking a sharp breath. “Even if Equestria hates you as an adult, I will be there to protect you... at any cost. Don’t ever think about leaving me, because you’ll miss the good times in between.”
She drove the point home hard... and by that, I mean she didn’t let go of me for ten minutes. I caressed her forelegs, apologized continuously, and let her cry on my shoulder.
“Alright. I won’t let you worry about me again,” I replied.
Being a librarian’s assistant was never easy. I couldn’t count the times I picked up after Twilight’s study sessions. It was almost a daily thing. Occasionally, I would have a day to myself, courtesy of one of Twilight’s friends, or a task Princess Celestia gave her. Only then, I didn’t realize the joy of working. That day, I managed to shut out the thoughts reminding me of my murderous act the previous day, and I actually fooled both Twilight and myself into believing the bit about not worrying Twilight.
Then we finished for the day, and Twilight left to speak to one of her friends, I wasn’t too sure. The instant she left, I was brought back to my thoughts about the killer notebook. Running upstairs seemed to be a common occurrence for me, but that was the only time I felt actual danger, as if the notebook had a mind of its own. Throwing my cushion out of my small bed, I grabbed the black notebook and stared at the cover. I contemplated telling Twilight or Princess Celestia about it, but they would see the names written down, and my handwriting.
Would waiting be better? Wait until it gets to the point where my conscious breaks down and reveals it? Would I wait until I was found out, and then confess? Considering Celestia’s reaction, I could never tell her. I hid the notebook, reminding myself of why I hid the notebook in the first place: to protect Rarity.
I couldn’t let Rarity know that her precious Spikey-wikey was a murderous freak, or that I happened to have killed her lover. It would break her heart, but it was necessary to keep her safe from the clutches of the world.
I opened the book, turned to the page with the names, and stared at my handiwork. Blueblood was a jerk, and expected Rarity to bend to his whim; he treated her like dirt and a slave. He deserved it. Blackhoof? He was using her for his own pleasure. Rarity’s ‘best night ever’ was ruined because she discovered the truth about Blueblood. Killing them was mandatory, even if it was totally evil. Some things had to be done for the greater good, with Celestia’s banishment of her sister being a prime example. It was necessary evil to keep the good. Was I the evil one for doing this, or was the notebook evil one?
The better question was, could I keep protecting Rarity?
The days passed, and like every major injury, my wounds healed to the point where I could face Rarity without being reminded of my heinous crime. I could smile at her, and mean it... but major injuries never fade. If one payed attention, they’d notice the scars in my personality. They never faded, even to this day.
It had been two months since I made my first kill. I constantly reminded myself each day, that it was for Rarity’s sake. She had slowly returned to her former glory, allowing herself to live with her lover’s death. It pained me to watch her come to the library every so often, speak with Twilight, and get a book or two before leaving. Every time she tried to talk to me, I feigned sickness. I may have convinced myself that I did a good deed, but every time Rarity came to me while alone, I felt as if I would spill the secrets. It kept on bugging my conscious, and eventually, Rarity stopped trying to talk to me. I heard every few days, she’d tell Twilight I wouldn’t talk to her... and Twilight never did anything. She just seemed to observe.
“Spike, I’ve decided something.”
Grudgingly, I looked up from my novel and met Twilight’s gaze with droopy eyes. She furrowed her brow, keeping a puckered up face, a bad sign that she was angry.
“Uh, yes, Twi?” I asked innocently.
“I noticed how you’ve been acting.” I flinched, averting my gaze. “You refuse to talk to Rarity, you act fine when with the others, and even when I talk about Rarity, you avoid eye contact, like right now!” Twilight exclaimed.
Sighing, I took my eyes off the floor and locked gazes with Twilight once more.
“Spike, I know what’s going on with you,” she declared.
I swear, my heart stopped for those five seconds of silence. She followed up, oblivious to my mental battle.
“You’re guilty that Rarity is feeling sad about Blackhoof because you want her affection!”
And I swear, my heart jumped as if hit by a defibrillator. A smile grew on my face and I chuckled, closing my novel with the bookmark in place. Twilight raised a brow, her expectations shattered. I set the book aside, leaned back in the chair, and breathed a sigh of relief.
“No, it’s not that, Twilight. I’m just not sure that Rarity wants little Spikey-wikey acting like his crushy-wushy self when she’s dealing with the loss of her colt,” I responded, more cocky than intended.
Twilight loosened up. She didn’t smile, but her frown vanished. The mare with the smarts didn’t move, and I took that as a cue to continue.
“I just don’t think Rarity wants to deal with any nonsense, and maybe unwind.”
Twilight shook her head. “No, you’re dead wrong, Spike.” Then I was the confused one. “She kept wanting to talk to you, because she believed you would understand what she was going through,” she said with regret poisoning her voice. I leaned forward in my chair, processing it. “She wanted to talk to you about it over dinner, but she quit two days ago, so she’s taking another pony.”
It hit me then, that I was doing nothing but pushing her away. I wasn’t protecting her like I declared, I wasn’t helping her. I was setting her up for pain. Twilight looked at me sympathetically, mostly due to the horror-struck face I had, and walked downstairs. I looked around the room frantically, resisting the urge to beat myself up for my mess-up. Remembering what I could do, I looked back to my bed. I spotted the basket I knew as home.
I walked over to the basket, bent over, and lifted the cushion. There was the killer notebook, still in the same hiding spot since I found out what it could do. It was a childish hiding spot, but it certainly worked with my childish nature. I opened the cover, skimmed the rules, and laid my eyes on the page with the names.
BLUEBLOOD
BLACKHOOF
I shivered, remembering the entire ordeal... and remembered my resolve. It was for Rarity. They had to die, for her sake. This pony Rarity was with for the evening; he would do the same. The others wont fit her criteria. She’s too beautiful to find her ideal mate that easily. No, she attracted scumbags. Lowlifes looking to cash in on her perfect posterior... like third-rate high-class wannabes.
The thoughts still fought through. Murder. It was murder. This notebook was real, and it was never going to fade from my mind. I feel the guilt of murder still. The look on Blackhoof’s face... one never forgets their first time, intentional or not. Could I really use this notebook? I would protect Rarity at any costs, but...
Murder...
. . .
“TWILIGHT!” I shouted.
Short silence, followed by a response. “Yeah?” she shouted through the library.
“I’M GOING TO TAKE A WALK!”
“Right, Spike. You’re lookin’ good. Lookin’ re~al good,” I said to my reflection in the Carousel Boutique window. “If I’m lucky, Sweetie Belle will be here. If not-” I paused, gritting my teeth. I looked towards downtown. “I’ll rip his name out of his voice box.”
I exhaled, rung the doorbell. The notebook was hidden in my fire breath, and I exhaled once more. I was ready... for silence. After a good sixty seconds, I rang it once more.
“Alright, hold on, I’m coming!” a young voice shouted from inside the shop.
I exhaled and smirked as my brilliant plan started. A few seconds passed, and the front door to the Carousel Boutique opened up, revealing Sweetie Belle’s figure.
“Oh, hi, Spike, I didn’t know it was you,” she said with a smile.
“Well obviously, you can’t see through doors,” I replied, leaning against the doorframe.
Sweetie Belle rolled her eyes. “Anyways, Rarity left with her new boyfriend-” I cringed, feeling those words seep into my mind. “Or I think boyfriend. She was going to take you, but you were sick.”
I was pretty sure she glared at me, but I couldn’t tell. I sighed, reminded of my idiotic choice. “I know, I goofed, but I thought that Rarity wouldn’t want to deal with it.”
Sweetie Belle smiled, stepping back. “Well what are you standing out there for? We’ll wait for Rarity to come home from her not-date.”
Reluctantly, I stepped into the boutique. I had only wanted to speak shortly, but this worked just fine. Sweetie Belle quickly made tea, or something related to it.
“So, how did Rarity meet her current date?” I asked. He’s going to die either way... yeah.
Sweetie Belle took an elegant sip of what was probably decaffeinated coffee as she ‘savoured’ the so-called taste this sludge has.
“He works for a Las Pegasus magazine, ‘The Archive,’ and wanted to talk to Rarity about her business. Rarity couldn’t focus on her interview, and used reservations she got for you two, and decided to enjoy herself,” Sweetie Belle said, taking another sip of her coffee.
Looking down at my own cup of joe, I saw a black-reflection of my scaly eyes staring back at me. The bent brow, the look of uncertainty shimmering as if to mock my choices made. It shook me a little, how dastardly one could look staring at their own, black reflection. I shook my head, reluctantly took a sip, and looked at Sweetie Belle.
“Sweetie, what is this colt’s job at The Archive?” I asked, feeling the tingle of flame in my gut.
She put a hoof to her chin and stared at the ceiling, humming in thought. I looked back down at my coffee while waiting, seeing my eyes... no, those eyes. Wide-eyed, full of shock, and pain... innocence? No, there is no innocence. Not in him, or in myself... but somebody has to put down the wild dogs, no? I looked back to Sweetie Belle, swallowing the sludge with a grimace, and as if on cue, Sweetie Belle responded.
“He works as a freelance photographer, but the Archive has payed him the most. He called me a ‘little gem,’” Sweetie Belle giggled, sipping her beverage.
I looked down at my empty cup and twisted it around, watching the liquid in the bottom move. Setting the cup down, I nodded before standing. Sweetie Belle looked at me, puzzled.
“Aren’t you going to wait for my sister?” she asked, daintily sipping her ‘tea.’
I shook my head, feeling the tingle in my stomach, reminding me of the notebook’s presence. “No, I just remembered I had a thing to do, only intended to stop by. Thanks for the, uh, ‘tea.’” I turned towards the door, waving to the filly.
“Alright, see you later, Spike!” she piped up, happily waving back.
I glanced over my shoulder and spotted her smile. Her innocent smile... she’s Rarity’s sister. I could... protect her too? Yeah, that sounded right. I approached the door and opened it, stopping short of the front mat.
“Could you not tell Rarity I was here? Don’t want her to think I just came and left without waiting,” I said.
“Sure!”
Sifting through archives of The Archive left me less than pleased. I didn’t ask Twilight, I just went into the storage room, and then the magazine boxes, and picked out more recent issues of The Archive. The logo was stylized like a casino’s header while the decal depicted large, exotic buildings. It was littered with text, and clipart, basically anything normal pop culture magazines a popular city like Las Pegasus would get. The photo depicted some new hip band on the rise, another depicted a celebrity breakup, one that caught my eye featured Rarity on the cover with Fancypants, and it was dated days before Twilight’s birthday.
“Fancypants... should I kill him, too?” I asked myself.
Deciding not to, due to the fact that Fancypants was only an acquaintance, married to Fleur de Lis, and too liked to just off so simply. Fancypants would definitely require surveillance, however.
I looked in the magazine with Rarity, deciding it to be a decent spot to start, and checked the credits. There were numerous names printed for freelance photographers, which irritated me to no end. The total for this magazine was seven, much to my dismay. My only plan of action was difficult, and it would take a while, no doubt. I opened the rest of the magazines, and began checking the freelance photographers in the credits.
It was several hours before I checked all possible names. I didn’t stick with freelance photographers, by the off-chance that Sweetie Belle had made an error. I checked all photographers credited in the past three years, totaling over eighty-six photographers. Their address was listed under each of them, and if I wanted to get my colt, I would have to find a way to get his face, and make sure that he was the one with Rarity.
I checked the library before initiating stage 2 of my plan, which was the ever-so tedious part. Twilight was gone, and it was almost dinner time, meaning that I’d fend for myself that night. I could skip one dinner, so I did that.
I checked the addressed, prepared a lot of parchment, cracked my knuckles, readied disappearing ink, and proceeded to write a letter. I wrote a special letter to each photographer I listed, attempting to alter my penmanship for the sake of suspicion. One, two, three hours rolled by, I spent making sure my penmanship was unique and the writing of each letter up to my standard. Stashing them in envelopes, I did every time I finished a letter.
When all was said and done, I had eighty-six letters prepped for delivery. I had read a book describing a seal that would delay the effects of disappearing ink. To think, I went through such an effort just to get confirmation of a name. Each letter I wrote, asked if the photographer ever met with Rarity. Some were written as a fan, some were written as a business proposition, and some were written just as Rarity’s generous assistant. This was an extremely risky gamble early on, and it shouldn’t have worked. On top of that, I had to send three letters a day in separate mailboxes to avoid suspicion, and I only ever had ten out at a time, waiting for a response.
Days rolled by, helping Twilight with her research, discovering what Pinkie will do for friendship, stopping a Changeling invasion, the usual sort of stuff. Each day, whenever I had the chance, I delivered at least one letter. Needless to say, I’ve never been so thankful for my flame breath in all my life. I got some replies, thanking me for my feedback, and some replies thanking me for my offers with rejections. When all was said and done, I narrowed my search down to three photographers out of the eighty-six; two freelance photographers, and one full-time photographer.
“Final Flash, Golden Shutter, and Snap-trap. Odd lineup, but I can’t be too picky,” I said upon receiving replies.
All replies that didn’t suffice I burned and buried. I kept the three good replies for the sake of reference, and stashed the letters in the cover of the killer notebook. The names definitely sounded familiar, as expected from a company, but I had didn’t know the faces, and I was unsure which one Rarity had had dinner with. I couldn’t ask her directly nor try to get it out of Sweetie Belle. I don’t want too much attention to myself. I mean, I could barely keep myself quiet, Celestia forbid I waltz up to somepony and ask them the name of the pony I’m about to murder.
Murder... whenever I think about that word, I always ask myself if I could really live with myself... the answer is always no, but I could certainly accept my role as a monster. I’m okay with that. I’ll already grow up into a monster, and even if Rarity never falls in love with me... that’s okay. I don’t think I could keep my heinous acts secret. So I’ll continue, growing up to be the monster I am. I’ll be fine. I won’t be completely satisfied with myself, but I’ll be fine.
Twilight said she’ll be there for me, protecting me at any cost... just like I would for Rarity. She’ll understand what I’m doing... right?