//------------------------------// // The Road-Side Carver / This may be real. // Story: Criminal Origins // by Banops //------------------------------// Do not forget what purpose you serve. You must kill I must kill? Why? Why must I kill? Leland questions, but no matter how many times he asks the voice this question, the answer always remains the same: Silence. No, Leland could never get a satisfying answer. The only way to quell the voice temporarily is to do what it says. He tried ignoring the voice, long ago, back when he was young and afraid to tell his family about such things, even though he had the suspicion they might have been experiencing the same thing. But the older he got, the louder the voice became. It had nearly driven Leland to the point of suicide, especially in his twenties or so where he could always be found playing with a knife or playing chicken with traffic among other self-destructive tendencies. And then, over time, he gave in. And as much as he hated to admit it, he liked it. No... he loved it. *** A few years ago. Ethan Thomas, the savior of Metro City... Leland was very fond of him and his work. Not that good news sold many papers, so Leland had to scrap together whatever he could find. A newspaper here and there and he had eventually built himself quite the collection. Every article he read had to do either with Ethan's miraculous breakthroughs in cases involving serial killers, something that Metro City certainly had no shortage of. Or, they had to do with a new killer on the loose, as these cases would naturally be given to Ethan, the hero of the day. Every bit of detail about each case was pulled together, but that had not been enough... Leland spent time looking for Ethan and once he had found him, he followed him. He stalked him. He waited while he was at work, during the days when he wasn't out actively investigating, and when Ethan left at night, he followed him home. Doing this, he was able to figure out where Ethan lived. He was able to keep tabs on him. He watched him closely. Very closely. And the whole time there was always the voice, Kill, kill someone. Hurt something. Break something. It wanted destruction. It wanted death. *** It had been a matter of chasing him down and clubbing him in the back of the head with a hunk of wood, a heavy bolted 2 X 4. And now Leland had this man in his grasp. He lay on the ground, dazed, and completely vulnerable. The man that Leland assailed was none other than Fenton Townsend, a convenience-store clerk, known in the newspaper as the notorious Road-side Carver. He was the first mad man that Leland had worked up the courage to hunt down and kill. Using the months of investigative work Ethan had put forth, Leland had tracked down this mentally disturbed man of his own volition. Fenton sure looked the part of a serial killer. His arms were tatted up and he had long brown hair and a stone jaw that very well screamed murderous thug. In the excitement of the chase, Leland felt his power over the downed man over him. A sense of gratification came from the voice in his head. Great, now kill him. Said the voice in a whisper only he could hear. But killing this sick freak wouldn't be enough for Leland, especially now that he felt this power over another man's life. He couldn't just kill him. He had to be creative. Then he had an idea, a bit dramatic, but then he always did like that kind of thing. How was it Fenton got his name as Road-side Carver? Oh yes, by pulling out random people, knocking them to the ground, taking a knife, and cutting their throat open. Every single one he killed, he killed this way. It only seemed appropriate to die this way too. But Leland didn't have a knife, so a piece of broken glass he found nearby would do just nicely. Yes this will do. he thought to himself and then he let out a strangled laugh. So he picked up the shard and gripped it tightly, feeling it cut deep into the palm of his own hand. Then, he was upon Fenton... Leland learned something about himself, something that he had been wondering about for a while now, later that night. He learned that he could kill his fellow man and still sleep like a baby. *** Present So... Where is Leland now? He sure doesn't know. He is, he thinks, in his own dream. But it does feel so real. Maybe this is real. He decides after staring straight into the face of the enormous white unicorn. Or I'm just seeing things... again. Leland lets out a sigh, a long sigh that whistles through the hole in his cheek. He does his best to look about him. He lays in a bed in a dark room. A large dark room, lit by a lantern in one far corner. To his right sits an end table and to his left stands the horse, the large one, the one who tends to his gun-shot wound. next to her, peering over her, uh, shoulder... is a smaller horse, yellow and timid looking. The angle this one stands at, Leland can see its body and on top of that, two extensions draped over itself. They look like wings, though he can't be sure. There isn't much else he can make out in the room, the rest of it is shrouded in darkness. "You're being awfully friendly aren't you?" Leland punches out bitingly. The sound of his own voice slurs from gap in his cheek. It doesn't hurt that much though, and he isn't sure why. The horse next to him is unsure of what he was trying to imply, but it continues to press a washcloth against his broken mouth. The silky-sweet female voice that Leland had heard earlier speaks up again. "Of course, why shouldn't we be?" If Leland didn't know better, he would say that it looked confused. A moment passes as leland lays back down. Finally he sits back up in the bed he is in and says, quite cynically, "Stop it, just stop with the act." He expects the Unicorn to explode into darkness, or maybe fade away from his vision. He expects the whole world to melt around him and leave him laying in some dark alleyway broken and bleeding. Yes, I know it's just another trick. Any moment now, everything is going to disappear. The unicorn shifts around awkwardly and Leland notices several things: One, this unicorn also has these winglike things on its back, though they are much bigger. Two, and more importantly, he notices that there doesn't seem to be anything holding the bloody washcloth to his face. It is almost as if is being held to his face by magic. "I do not know what you are talking about." declares the now winged unicorn. This annoys Leland. Playing dumb are you now he thinks with spite. He looks into the eyes of the horse quite wickedly. He feels the urge to wrap his fingers around its neck and squeeze. Ah, the familiar feeling of hatred, it returns to Leland. And then he realizes the feeling flowing through him. He tries to shake the anger off by expelling some of his frustration in a chuckle. It works only a bit, but that is enough to subdue the urge to choke this thing. "So you expect me to believe that you are real?" Leland rolls out after his brief, manic laugh. The winged unicorn turns its head and looks at the smaller yellow winged horse and asks, "Fluttershy, where did you say you found this poor soul?" Confidently and quietly the smaller one replies, "Oh, I found him near the edge of the Everfree. He looked all hurt and I couldn't just leave him there." "Yes, well, you did the right thing by bringing his presence to my attention." Says the winged unicorn softly. It then looks at Leland, and says "I do not expect anything of you. At least not yet." It must have been the way she said it, but Leland finds himself intimidated by the horse. It is only now that he realizes just how much larger it is than him. And yet he can still hear the voice. Kill, kill, kill, it speaks to him in a dull continuous flow, like background noise. It is loud enough in his head to cause him irritation, which keeps him on edge, keeps him constantly angry. It looks as if the unicorn is about to leave. The washcloth floats... magically away and to his surprise, the bleeding has stopped. The hole in his face is still there, but it looks almost like a months old wound, sealed off by dried blood and skin formed over the edges to stop the bleeding. It leads Leland to wonder just how long he had been unconscious. But when the horse turns around, Leland speaks out to it. "At least tell me, where the hell I am... or who... what you are." The large horse turns its head to face Leland and says with an air of mystique "I am Celestia. And I am willing to guess that we will be seeing more of each other in the future." Its... her voice lowers its mystique and she then says, "As to where you are... well, I'm not sure I can answer that question in away you will like. I am not sure exactly how far from home you are, but I assure you we well help you get back on your feet. I hope we will be able to learn more about each other later, but for now, Fluttershy here will be taking care of you. Oh... and is there a name you would like us to call you?" Her answers are a lot to process for him, but he eventually rolls out an answer. "Ummm... Vanhorn. You can call me Vanhorn." He remains wary of her as she nods and says, "Goodbye mr. Vanhorn. I will stop by tomorrow to talk with you further," and then leaves the room and probably the building, leaving him here with the timid little pegasus. The one whose name is apparently Fluttershy. Dear little Fluttershy tries saying something, something that Leland can barely understand. "Umm," she whispers out shyly, "If you need anything just call out for me." Leland nods. His once boiling irritation fades at the mere sound of the yellow one's voice. How can anyone be angry around something like you? he wonders. She then leaves the room to allow Leland some rest.