//------------------------------// // Chapter 10: Struck // Story: My Little Serial Killer: Murder is Magic // by TheGentlemanCreeper //------------------------------// It’s hard to move two hundred pounds up or down a flight of stairs. Even harder to hang it without another set of hooves. It helps, however, when the only other pony in the house could sleep through a hurricane. As I stood on the step ladder and secured the last screw, I gave the bracket one final tug and nodded. Sturdy. Could probably hang a couple of ponies off of that and it wouldn’t move. A long sigh draws my attention to the sleeping form of Scootaloo, who didn’t stir a peep as I set up her gift. In fact, she was curled tightly into a ball and if it wasn’t for the rise and fall of the blankets, I could swear she was dead. And for a good reason. Scootaloo managed to not only sleep through the whole process of dragging the heavy bag up the stairs but also through the use of the power drill. She slept like a kitten the entire time. Well, more like a kitten that was given a hearty bowl filled with milk of amnesia. All I needed now was to grab ahold of the heavy bag and mount it to the ceiling bracket, and I was all set. Can’t believe you spent fifty bits on this... For her, even. It’s an investment. Should help curb the amount of parent/teacher conferences in the future. One good thing about my job (the side one, not the cleaning one) was that I got a lot of exercise. Upper body, lower body, cardio, heavy lifting... I’m quite the fit pony if I do say so myself. So grabbing hold of the two-hundred-pound heavy bag was no issue whatsoever. It was lifting it the final few inches that was the real test. “Lift with the legs, not the back...” I mumbled under my breath as I grabbed hold of the bag. With one final heave, it was up above my head and onto the clasp. “There.” Bulk Biceps, the pegasus with the volume — and possibly steroid — problem, was more than happy to sell me the heavy bag and claimed it could ‘survive a hurricane’ and would give me a full refund if it ever broke. My line of thinking was simple: Scootaloo wanted to hit something because she’s angry. Here’s her outlet. Speak of the demon, she let out a long yawn and stretched before blearily looking up to me and the finished project. “Uhh, what’s... What’s that?” She asked as she blinked repeatedly. “Is that a punching bag?” I bit my tongue and did my best not to make a snarky comment. I’ve been up for the last 24 hours since my recent little trip with Pinkamena, and I tend to get angry quickly when I’m sleepy. “Very astute,” I said as I hopped down from the step. “It’s for you when you’re feeling frustrated and just ‘want to hit something.’” Giving it a little nudge, I was satisfied when it swung and didn’t fall off. “What do you think?” Scootaloo visibly flinched, the look on her face telling me she just remembered the outburst from yesterday between her and Diamond Tiara. “B-But shouldn’t I... Not want to do that? Shouldn’t you like, be telling me it’s bad? And I shouldn’t have those kind of feelings?” She said as she looked down at the floor. “Doesn’t it make me a bad pony that I... I want to do something that isn’t normal?” Leave it to a child to know just where to hit home. I let out a long sigh and sat down on the bed next to her. “No... No, it doesn’t make you a bad pony. A bad pony wouldn’t feel bad about hurting another. It-” So what does that make you? I hesitated. I just realized what left my mouth. You have no problem killing somepony and regularly think about cutting them into small pieces to add to your collection. Doesn’t that make you a bad pony? With a deep breath, I shook my head and pushed the Whisper’s words away. “It’s complicated. You might be able to get past the need to hit something when you’re angry, but it’s not going to be instant. For now, this is something to help you... cope.” Scootaloo looked over to the heavy bag and stared for a few seconds before hopping down from her bed. “And I can just... hit it? Whenever I want?” I gave her a little nod. “Give it a little test hit. See how it feels.” Furrowing her brow, Scootaloo sized up the heavy bag before coiling up and sending her back legs into the heavy bag with an audible thump, making the bag sway quite a bit. I swear she’s got earth pony in her. Maybe that’s why she can’t fly that well. “So... I hit this when I’m feeling angry,” Scootaloo said as she looked it over one final time. “And it’ll make it so I... don’t hurt other ponies?” “It won’t make you do anything. You’ve got to do it yourself. It isn’t a cure-all. Don’t expect to hit it after a bad day and suddenly all your problems go away,” I said as I walked towards the door. “It’s stress relief more than anything.” Scootaloo nodded and I could only hope she understood what I meant. “Alright, now... I know this might be a touchy subject, but I was thinking about heading back to your house.” And thus began the web of lies. Her ears shot up at the very mention and she looked to me with big eyes. “You mean...” “I was hoping to pick up a few things for you. You know, blankets. Toys. Anything you might like. Was there anything you wanted me to pick up?” “Well... I do want my blankets. And there’s a bunch of posters in my room I kinda want. And there’s a chest under my bed, that’s really important! Could I go with you?” She said, looking up to me with those big, pleading eyes of hers. And there’s the catch. I wanted to snoop through her mother’s possessions and see if there was anything that might lead me on the right path. What I didn’t need was her looking over my shoulder the entire time and asking me why I was looking through her mother’s drawers. And it wouldn’t take me much to discourage her. “I... don’t know, Scootaloo. It hasn’t been that long since, well, your mother passed,” I said solemnly. I could tell by the fall of her face that I just hit the right spot as everything came crashing back down for her and the bad memories started surfacing. “Are you sure you’re ready to go back there?” I leaned in slightly. "After everything that happened?" Scootaloo’s eyes left mine and hit the carpet as she fidgeted about. The seed of doubt was planted. All it needed was a little time. “I... I don’t know,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I didn’t think it’d be hard just to go back home.” “You can think it over breakfast. That is if you’re hungry.” “...Yeah, I’m hungry.” She didn’t sound that enthusiastic about it and the sag in her shoulders let me know just how she was feeling. I couldn’t help but feel a little pang of guilt. It felt like I kicked a puppy and it had no idea why it’s suddenly hurting, but it's wagging its tail as it followed. With that now on my conscience, we made our way downstairs and into the kitchen. “I made myself something earlier this morning. Hash brown patties, green beans, and waffles. I thought I’d make you a plate as well.” Walking up to the toaster oven, I turned it off from its lowest setting and opened the door. “Want anything on your waffles?” Scootaloo sat down at the table and shrugged. “I’unno... Syrup?” I nodded and set the plate in front of her before fetching the syrup and adding that with a fork and knife. “You don’t have to force yourself to do anything, you know.” That was the final push. That was all I was willing to do. And by the look on Scootaloo’s face, it was all I needed. She sighed in defeat and brought some green beans to her mouth. “I wanna go, see the house and pretend things are normal, but that’s just it. Pretending. And... I don’t think I’m ready to go back there. Not yet, at least.” I nodded slowly before grabbing a pen and pad of paper from the counter. “It’s fine. I’m just thinking about your health. Physical and mental.” She’ll get depressed going back there, that’s true enough... and more than likely catch something from the mold spores. Setting the paper and pen in front of her, I gave Scootaloo one of my patented plastic smiles. “When you’re done eating, write down everything you’d like me to bring back.” Scootaloo gave me a weak smile. “Thank you, Daymos.” She said before shoveling another fork full of green beans into her mouth. "For everything." I smiled again and started walking for the basement door. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me. Just knock on the door, I’ll hear you.” She said something as I made my way down the stairs, but my mind was elsewhere. Am I really a bad pony? I mean, it’s true. I don’t feel anything when I hurt somepony else, but... I’m doing good things. I’ve saved other ponies. I’ve- You forgot to lock the door. Stopping at the landing, I sighed heavily and started walking back up, grumbling the entire way. You wouldn’t be in this situation with Pinkamena if you remembered to lock the door. The lock is broken. The key doesn’t fit, so I can’t lock it without breaking the door down. I’m getting it fixed tomorrow. Locking the door, I made my way back down and moved my thoughts away from the Whisper and onto something... Brighter. Happier. My knives. My saws. My tools. Oh deary me how I love a sharp knife. Nothing makes my heart quiver like holding a sharp knife. And while everything has already gotten its maintenance before meeting Tumbler, I wanted to make doubly sure. Ponies usually keep a ‘kitchen knife’ in their home for chopping vegetables and fruits, but they’re never sharp. Never keen, never honed, never truly sharp. Sharp is nice. And if you want nice knives, you see the griffons. Because they don’t call their knives ‘kitchen knives’. They’re called butcher knives. And they’re meant for carving up game. With whetstone in hoof and butcher knife ready, I started the process of sharpening the blade. It took quite a few bits to convince the griffon culinary school to teach me for that weekend. And it was quite the experience to not only prepare meat but cook it as well. It was quite stomach-turning at first, but it helped me overcome some past squeamishness. I will fully admit that in my formative years, I was squeamish of blood. And why wouldn’t I be? Chock full of all sorts of viruses and parasites, it’s no wonder there are precautions in place when cleaning it. But when preparing such things as rabbit, chicken... Cow. Well, you learn to deal with the smell. And wear thick gloves. My hooves finished the sharpening on their own and I felt a shiver run up my spine as I looked over the blade. The way it glinted in the basement light, the shine coming off the tang running up the middle of the handle... “Nice.” The only word for it. Putting the knife away, I turned my attention to another project. Nothing too dark, just a cleaning project I couldn’t keep upstairs. A pot of water with some baking soda steamed away on a hotplate and held a client’s request. A pony by the name of Sterling Silver wanted his family necklace cleaned since it had been rediscovered after it went missing in the family silver mine. Apparently, a methane explosion in the mine killed his grandfather and they had just recovered his remains and jewelry. He didn’t seem too broken up about it. Astonishingly, the necklace was intact. Not a scratch, really. The only problem was the silver was utterly tarnished. Luckily, he was a regular client and I found out — after much experimenting — that a little baking soda and heat cleans the tarnish off of silver in no time flat. With a pair of tongs in hoof, I reached in and, with a little work, managed to grab the necklace. “Perfect.” A silver chain with multiple loops and a charm that looked like a silver crown. It had been completely tarnished. And now? It sparkled. A quick-dry off and it was ready for Sterling Silver, meaning it was time I left. I grabbed my saddlebags and started up the stairs, tucking the velvet box it came in as I did. “Scootaloo, I’ll be heading out now. Okay?” Scootaloo peered over her plate. I caught her in the middle of licking it clean. “Uhh... Okay,” she said, slightly embarrassed as she set it down. “Umm, any idea when you’ll be back?” Glancing at the scrawled note on the table, I snatched it up and put it in my bag. “If things go according to schedule? Two hours or so. I don’t think I need to repeat it, but don’t have anypony over while I’m gone, okay?” “I won’t, I promise. I figure I’ll go upstairs and work on my homework... I guess.” She said with a heavy sigh. “Don’t know what else I can do.” I rolled my shoulders. “Work the heavy bag if you’ve got the energy to burn? Hoof-boxing is supposed to be good exercise.” Locking the door, I gave Scootaloo a little wave before hitting the streets of Ponyville. First stop by Sterling Silver’s house, then see the police- The police? Are you finally turning yourself in you big- No, I just want to make sure they know I’m going in there. In case they haven’t released the crime scene. Not that it would matter. Your hair, your hoof prints, everything really. Doubt they’d mind if you went back. I knew what the Whisper was trying to do and it wasn’t going to work. I’ve already been cleared by the police. I mean, why in the world would they let me look over a filly if they thought I was a criminal? With a little laugh under my breath, I looked over the streets of Ponyville and smiled. Nice and qui- “You’re not going to convince me otherwise. I already said that!” “Come on Rich, are you seriously going to the police over a schoolyard scrap?” My ears perked up and from the next street over, I could hear a familiar voice and a not so familiar voice arguing. One of them was Sterling. But the other was one I didn’t recognize. But I had a feeling that I was going to become involved in their conversation. “So much for quiet mornings,” I grumbled under my breath. Ducking through the alleyway, I glanced around and saw Sterling walking beside a pony I recognized. Filthy Rich. A rather squeaky clean stallion, if you can call undercutting general stores and buying out the property ‘clean.’ And I knew he had a daughter. I just didn’t know it was- “-Diamond Tiara is scared and angry and she won’t even come out of her room until I do something! What kind of father would I be if I just ignored the whole issue?” I picked up the pace and tried to put on my best smile before clearing my throat. “Sterling?” I called out. “I was just coming to see you.” Both Sterling Silver and Filthy Rich stopped in their tracks and turned around to face me. Sterling looked rather happy to see me, no doubt happy to get a hold of his necklace. Rich on the other hoof? He looked ready to punch me. I could see the fury in his eyes and he started to walk towards me, stomping his hooves the entire way with each step. I bet he thought it made him look intimidating. If he knew what I did for fun, he’d realize that he looked like a child trying to get his way. “You,” he growled as he got into my face. I rolled my shoulders and smiled innocently. “Me.” “Dayglow! Dayglow Mornings! Now you’re a sight for sore eyes. How’s my favorite cleaner pony?” I bit the inside of my cheek. I didn’t need this right now, I was already on edge. I hated my full name. And I told Sterling multiple times not to call me that. “Daymos is fine, Sterling. We’re friends after all, right?” I said with a strained smile. This was the only thing I hated about dealing with Sterling. His weird verbal tick. Anypony he was doing business with, wanted something from, or just wanted them to do something was called by their full name, which isn’t usually a problem for most ponies. But I hate my full name. The last pony I let call me that died in an alleyway. No one gets to call me that. “Now Filthy Rich, watch your temper. What’s got you all wound up? Did Dayglow Mornings do something or-” “The little filly he’s watching is the one who attacked my Diamond! I hope you understand that thanks to that violent brat-” I felt my eye twitch. The dam that was my patience was starting to groan. That’s one... “-has traumatized my poor Diamond! And this isn’t the first time she’s gotten into a fight! I know she’s been through a lot, but you’re acting as a horrible guardian-” Two. “-and that’s why I’m going to the police!” He said, stomping his hoof like a child. “They’ll hear about this and-” He tried to turn away from me. Tried. I’m rather patient, but I have a short fuse. It takes a lot to push me over the edge. It may have been my lack of sleep, making me grumpy. Maybe it was Sterling still constantly calling me by full name after all this time. Or it could have been Filthy Rich hitting the right nerves with each sentence. I snapped and reached out, grabbing hold of his tie — why do ponies even wear ties? Just makes it easier to grab them — and brought him face to face with me again. But this time he didn’t look so cocksure. “That ‘Diamond’ of yours has a habit of tormenting Scootaloo, I’ve found out.” My voice was low, but each word hung in the air. Even Sterling was wide-eyed and paying attention. “She likes to bully her. And yesterday, she and a little grey filly with glasses-” Sterling’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Guess I know who’s the father. “Wha-” “Followed her down the forest path while Diamond Tiara called her a ‘blank flank’ and ‘violent’ and-” “That’s no reason for her to attack my daughter like that!” Filthy Rich croaked out as he tried to pull my hoof away. His bravado was breaking. The look in his eyes said it all. “Yes, but the final push that made Scootaloo attack her was when she asked ‘Is that why your mommy left you?’.” That got Rich’s attention. He stopped struggling and looked to me with wide-eyed shock. “W...What?” He shook his head and I finally let go of him. “No, she would never...” “I heard it all. I watched it all. I broke it up. Scootaloo’s taking steps now to control her anger. But I think your daughter has some explaining to do,” I said coldly. “Silver Spoon as well...” Sterling mumbled as he ran a hoof through his mane. “What was she doing following her?” “I have no idea. Ask her.” I reached into my pack and held out the velvet case he initially gave me. “It’s all taken care of. Mail me the check. I’ve got other things to do today. Unless you’re still dead set on going to the police?” I cast my gaze to Filthy Rich and he tensed up before shaking his head. “No... No, there’s more going on here than I thought. I... I’m going to go home and talk to her right now.” Nodding once, I started walking past and left the two to their own devices. I still needed to go to the police, after all. * * * Nothing special happened at the police station. I’m glad I could take solace in that. I asked one of the officers there if it was alright to walk into Honeysuckle’s former home to retrieve some things. They didn’t even bat an eye. “Sure, go right ahead. The scene has been cleared.” That was it. No fuss, no muss, no paperwork, and not even a question as to why I was doing such a thing. It helps when you have a winning smile you’ve practiced for years. I steeled myself at Honeysuckle’s front door and prepared for the worst. Thoughts of her infested kitchen came back to me but knew there was a job to be done. The first thing I grabbed from my saddlebag was the dust mask. The kind of stuff that construction workers use when they kick up a lot of dust with their tools. It was good at keeping all manner of particulates from entering the lungs and I found it also worked well with mold when given a quick chemical treatment. The second thing I pulled out was a bottle of ‘Mold-b-Gone.’ I’m serious. It was literally called ‘Mold-b-Gone.’ It was like something out of a cartoon, but it did what it said on the bottle, despite the cheesy name. I may not like the stallion, but Filthy Rich and Barnyard Bargains do have some good deals. Two bits for two bottles of anti-mold and mildew spray, heavens above that’s a steal. With my hoof on the doorknob, I steeled myself and opened the door. I locked eyes with the kitchen and I nearly felt my eyes pop out of their sockets. The mold was growing up the ceiling and I swear it was moving. I felt like if I tried to clean it, there would be ponies who would want to press charges for animal cruelty. Shaking the thought out of my head, I aimed the squeeze bottle and started spraying the green and black mold with a hearty helping of Mold-b-Gone. It took about five minutes of work and an entire spray bottle, but the mold was actually starting to disappear. “Perfect.” Almost. From behind, the door opened and I nearly jump out of my skin at the sudden intrusion. Standing there was one police officer I recognized — the one who became my patsy when his partner questioned me. Melilot. “So,” he said sharply as he took a step forward. “Just what are you doing here?” He saw the spray bottle and I could hear his teeth click with agitation. “And what are you doing with that?” “I got cleared by Lucky to pick up some things for Scootaloo. As for this?” I shook the spray bottle and held it out for him to see. “Stopping this house from becoming a health hazard to the neighbors. The mold was a few days away from becoming sentient.” I could see Melilot’s face, and the gears were definitely turning. He apparently was a thick pony, but there was something else going on here. “Well? What are you waiting for?” He finally said. Standing in the middle of the living room, he and I stared into each other’s eyes and it was clear he had a problem with me. The way he stood, the set jaw, the furrowed brow... He was angry. “Is there something wrong, Officer? I mean, I already got cleared to be in here, I-” “I was a friend of Honeysuckle’s.” He said sharply. “A good friend.” Oh. Uh-oh. “And she never once said a thing about you.” I put on my best smile and shrugged. “We weren’t good friends, just acquaintances. We talked with each other every now and agai-” “Where?” “At the market, mostly. I-” “What’d you talk about?” What’s your game... I thought as I cocked my head at him. Wait. How could you forget about her kid... Think fast. “Anything really. Gossip, weather plans, food... Listen, what is with th-” “Where’d you meet her? I w-” “Where did you meet her?” I stopped him short and took a step forward. “W-What?” He asked, his confidence seeming to wane. “Where did you meet her?” I repeated. “You’re a good friend. You must’ve met her when you were young.” “Well, I... I guess, bu-” “And you’d know her favorite dish,” I said matter-of-factly. “The one her and I would get at the cafe.” “Well, yeah. Obviously.” He said with a snort. Time to set the bait, I thought as I smiled behind my mask. “She really did love those daisy sandwiches.” He nodded back. “Oh yeah, she always-” “I never ate with her at the cafe,” I said bluntly. “I honestly don’t know what she likes to eat.” Melilot’s face fell. He took the bait. Hook. Line. Sinker. “Cheeky little cunt,” he mumbled under his breath. “Alright, alright. I was never friends with Honeysuckle. But I do remember one thing,” Melilot said, moving closer and closer. “I never saw you in that crowd of ponies. You never talked to me. And I’ve got my eye on you.” My heart was beating a mile a minute, but I simply nodded. “Well... I guess I’ll sleep a lot sounder at night. You know, knowing a police officer is keeping a watch for me.” Melilot scowled and shook his head before making his way for the door. “I don’t know what your game is, but you better watch it.” And with that, he slammed the door behind him, leaving me a little rattled. Great. Just great. A cop is now watching my every move. Just what I fucking need... I wanted to lash out and kick over the side table, break something... Someone... But I resisted the urge. Nothing was going right this week. “Please, just give me this...” I said under my breath as I started opening the drawers to the side table before moving on to the armoire. “Give me something to go on...” The side table had nothing of interest. A pouch of tobacco, rolling papers, a lighter... The armoire, however, was where Honeysuckle stored her important documents. Mail, bank statements, and bills. And they all told a story. Up until about a week before her death, Honeysuckle’s bank account was rather steady if a bit on the low side for a single mother. Then, all of a sudden on the day before her death, she went into the red. One thousand bits in debt with nothing to indicate where that money went. Was she being extorted? Or did somepony take it from her? Someone in Honeysuckle’s position would be put up against the wall if she suddenly couldn’t support her child... I committed what I could to memory and put the papers back where I found them but stopped when a glint of glass caught my eye. A framed photo hidden under a pile of papers. A family photo at that. One of Honeysuckle, Scootaloo, and a rather bulky looking orange earth pony. Most likely to be Scootaloo’s father. Told you. They all looked rather happy. The only thing that ruined it was the massive crack running through the glass of the frame. I was debating whether or not to take it with me, hoping there might be other pictures. I have no idea where Scootaloo’s father is currently, but seeing as how he has not come to pick up her daughter wasn’t boding well so there was no telling how their relationship was. A glance around the house and I found a distinct lack of any other photos. This was it. “I’m gonna regret this,” I mumbled as I fumbled the photo into my saddlebag. I wish I could say that the rest of my investigation of Honeysuckle’s possessions bore fruit, but there was nothing except signs of a hidden smoking habit and a mare who overworked herself for her daughter. The only solace I could find was in finding everything on Scootaloo’s list: two Wonderbolts posters, a signed picture of one Rainbow Dash, a chest containing all sorts of souvenirs from her friends, two blankets — that desperately needed a wash — and the drawing that hung on Scootaloo’s door. A glance at my watch let me know that I was still on schedule and started making my way back home in time for lunch. Despite how empty I was feeling at coming up without a solid lead, I still could eat and was looking forward to it. * * * “I’m home!” I called out as I stepped through the front door. I looked around and didn’t see Scootaloo in the living room. I was about to call out again when I heard a series of thumps that got my attention. Looks like she’s actually using the heavy bag. Good. I started up the stairs and heard the thumps grow louder and were followed by a series of grunts and pants. Setting the saddlebags at the door, I peeked in and found Scootaloo mid-dropkick and colliding with the heavy bag sending it rocking back and forth like a pendulum on amphetamines. She stood there for a moment, sweaty and trying to catch her breath before looking to me and smiling. “You were right,” Scootaloo said with a wheeze. “Hoof-boxing really is a good workout!” I glanced at the heavy bag and felt my eyes widen in surprise. Bulk Biceps was confident in the heavy bag surviving a hurricane but didn’t account for Hurricane Scootaloo. The crisp, new looking heavy bag I purchased the night before was now looking worn and dented. “Jeez, at this rate I’ll have to get you a new heavy bag. Where’d you learn to fight like that?” Scootaloo’s smile dipped slightly and she glanced at the floor. “My dad...” She said solemnly. “He wanted me to know how to defend myself. He taught me all the basics.” “Is he...” “I don’t know,” Scootaloo said with a sigh. “Mom said he owed some ponies money and that was it. That was like... two years ago.” “You don’t seem that broken up about it,” I remarked. “I don’t mean to pry-” “Oh no, don’t get me wrong! My dad’s awesome! He worked on all the big buildings in Manehattan while we were living there and was really tough! But...” She wandered over to the bed and pulled herself up before sighing again. “He just left. No note, no nothing. Not even a goodbye. I’ve kept expecting him to walk back into the house and make things right a-and when... mom...” I joined Scootaloo’s side on the bed and gingerly put a hoof on her back. “You were hoping he’d come back, huh?” Scootaloo nodded. “Y-Yeah, but... Two years? M-Maybe... Maybe he’s dead... L-Like mom...” She was crying now. Great. I tried to make conversation and managed to bring up some pretty big emotional baggage because of my own morbid curiosity. Maybe... I got up without a word and went to my saddlebags for the picture. “I managed to find this at your old house,” I said as I held up the framed photo. “It’s not much, but...” Scootaloo rubbed at her eyes and looked over to what I held in my hoof before gasping. “O-Oh my gosh! Where did you find that?!?” “Behind the armoire,” I said with a shrug. “I thought you’d like a picture of your mother, but I didn’t know how you were with your father. Is this oka-” I couldn’t get the last few words out before Scootaloo zipped across the room and snatched the photo frame from my hoof, looking it over with big, glistening eyes. “W-When dad left, mom got really sad and got rid of a lot of the p-pictures he was in. I didn’t think there were any left...” She traced a hoof down the crack in the glass before looking up to me with pleading eyes. “Can you fix this, please? Like, put it in a new frame or something? Please?” I couldn’t say no. Not after what I did to the little filly this morning and digging up more emotional baggage she’d been repressing. I took the photo frame from her and looked it over. I had a frame of about the same size in my cleaning workshop. “No problem at all.” “Oh thank you, thank you!” she cried out as she pulled me into a hug. “Daymos, you’re the best!” I didn’t exactly feel the best, but I tussled Scootaloo’s mane. “Like I said, it’s no problem. Now, the rest of the things you wanted are in my saddlebags outside the door. I’ll take care of this and start making lunch while you unpack. Sound good?” Scootaloo bounced on the spot and nodded quickly. “Uh-huh! I can’t thank you enough!” I left her to set up her room how she wants and took the photo frame into my workshop. You’re getting attached. Not just to the filly, but Pinkamena as well. My hoof stopped rummaging through the drawer and I waited. The Whisper had been quiet for most of the day, saying something here and there. This had been the most serious he had sounded all day. You’re emotionally dead. And you think you can what? Take care of a filly? Better than somepony more well adjusted? Who can actually love her? She’s going to end up like you if you aren’t careful. And for what? So you can play father? I shook my head and tried to quiet The Whisper. But he was loud. Louder than he’s ever been. And what about Pinkamena? She’s tried to kill you not once, but twice! She’s a sociopath and you’re a psychopath. Two opposite ends of the spectrum. And what do you want from her? A relationship? It’s going to end one of two ways. Either in death or prison. Get rid of them. Both of them. Just adm- Grabbing hold of my head, I started squeezing until it hurt. Scootaloo is my responsibility. I’m not going to let her turn into me. That’s the last thing I want. And this isn’t permanent. She still has family somewhere. They’ll come to get her. But- And Pinkamena... She’s the only pony who’s seen me — really seen me. And she likes what she’s seen. I have a friend. A true friend. Not one of those stupid ponies who have only seen a mask. The Whisper was quiet and I honestly thought that was the end of things. With screwdriver in hoof, I started undoing the back of the frame. You’re going to regret this. I gritted my teeth and told myself to ignore the Whisper. Not just now, but from here on out. No matter how much good advice he’s given me over the years, he had no power over me. I could do what I want. What I thought was right. Pulling the back off the picture frame, I jumped slightly when a thick wad of folded papers spilled from the frame. How could I not notice it? The frame was heavier than it looked. I thought it was the wood it was made out of. But no. Twelve different pieces of paper, all folded the same size of the picture and put in the back of the frame. It even explains why the glass broke. The papers pushed against it and made it snap. Grabbing up one of the papers, I unfolded it and started reading. Immediately, a smile started tugging at the corners of my mouth. Honeysuckle, Rivet isn’t coming back. Just accept it. Listen, I know we’ve had our spats in the past, but please. Just think about us. I can help you if you let me. Love, Teller That was just the first letter. There were so many other letters, each one saying the same thing, just begging for a chance. Honeysuckle, It’s been a year! I know I screwed up back in high school, but please come to your senses! I need you in my life and I’ll do whatever you want if it means we can be together. Just please, talk to me. Love, Teller This one was my favorite. And the one that made me think I had something to go on. Two years. It’s been two years since Rivet left you alone and you haven’t even looked at me. You run from me even now. We will be together. I promise you that. It was painfully obvious. Honeysuckle had a stalker. * * * “Honeysuckle had a stalker?” Pinkamena asked after swallowing a mouthful of lasagna. “Oh wow, that’s good... Better than what I turned up, that’s for sure.” The day passed without much incident, the only thing of interest being Scootaloo refusing to let me wash her blankets. Apparently, she missed the smell of home so I didn’t fight her about. But now Scootaloo was settled in and sleeping soundly in her old blankets and was quite thankful I returned her picture, sans letters and has the picture of her parents on the nightstand. Meanwhile, Pinkamena showed up at my home this time and I laid out each letter for her to read after bringing down dinner. “Oh wow,” she said with a small laugh. “This guy went from lovestruck, to desperate, and then to psychotic in like no time flat. The last letter just screams ‘I’m going to make you love me or kill you.’” I nodded slowly and wiped my mouth clean of sauce. “That’s what I was thinking. Teller wants Honeysuckle, stalks her, writes her letters, and-” “Might have messed with her bank account. Ponyville bank is the only bank close and Teller is one of two other ponies who work there. Probably where he met her.” “Bingo. All we have to do now is find the smoking gun. Which means breaking into his home.” Pinkamena shot me a puzzled look before swallowing a mouthful of lasagna. “Why do you want more proof? I mean, this is pretty much all you need. Chances are good he did it.” “Well, I like proof,” I said with a shrug. “I like being 100% sure. I mean, what if I’m wrong? I’d be killing a pony who didn’t deserve it.” She kept her eyes on me for a moment, looking at me oddly before laughing under her breath. “Really?” “Yeah. I mean, that and I like to throw it all back into their face when they’re on my table.” Pinkamena’s ears perked up at that. “What do you mean? Like ‘Throwing it back into their face’?” I leaned into the table, laughing slightly as I imagined the scenario. Imagining Teller on my table. “Think about it. Teller’s on the table, strapped in and crying, begging to be let free. Telling me he didn’t do anything, that he’s innocent.” Grabbing the kitchen knife from the pan of lasagna, I started tapping it against the table rhythmically. “Their heart is beating a mile a minute and I can hear it if I concentrate. Because they know that I know.” Pinkamena’s eyes glazed over and she nodded slowly. “Uh-huh...” she said breathlessly. “Don’t stop.” “I hint that I know at first. And they panic, denying it up and down. And then I reveal more and more. Sometimes I show them things. Notes they’ve written, pictures they’ve taken... Sometimes I find the murder weapon itself. That’s when they truly break. They struggle and thrash, all the while pleading and begging me not to tell a soul.” “Ooooooh...” She cooed, biting her lip as she rested a hoof on the table. “Come on. Don’t stop there, don’t leave me hanging.” I gave her a cocky grin. “I tell them I won’t say a thing. And then they relax. Right up until the point I tell them that they can’t go. And that they’ll never leave. Then they offer up everything. Money, drugs, sex, their home, their lovers... But I don’t listen. I just look them right in the eye as I raise my knife high for them to see.” I mimicked the motion I had done so many times in the past, raising the knife above my head. “And slam it down right into their heart, ending their life right th-” As my knife made contact with the pan, Pinkamena threw her head back and let out a muffled squeal into one hoof. And that’s when I noticed that her other hoof was. Between her legs. My jaw went slack as my brain sluggishly processed just what she did not even two feet away from me. At first, I was sickened. But I couldn’t look away. She was in bliss. Pure, unadulterated bliss. Her eyes fluttered for a moment and she panted heavily. “Oooooh, wow... Now I needed that.” She moaned out as she looked to me with a lust drunk expression. “Daymos, I really wanna see you in action. Now, more than ever.” I tried to tell myself to move away, but I couldn’t. Some primal part of my stallion brain was keeping me there. “I’ll keep Teller distracted tomorrow. Get Pinkie to throw some sort of bash at the bank for some stupid reason. You get what you need and we’re bringing him here tomorrow night.” Her eyes darted to the knife I held limply in my other hoof and in some wanton display of lust, dragged her tongue up the blade of it. It wasn’t that sharp, but it could still cut flesh if you weren’t careful. But here she was, cleaning it with ease and leaving me even more confused than before. “It’s been fun, Daymos. Really. But I gotta get home,” she said with that same dopey grin. “I can’t wait for tomorrow night. We’re gonna have soooo much fun!” In some space of time between her getting up and that sentence, Pinkamena left me sitting there. “D...Did that really just happen?” I managed to croak out. I didn’t know what to think. Or what to do for that matter. Pinkamena just masturbated in my home, in front of me, without so much as a care in the world. If anything, she seemed to like it. I mean, she was getting off on what I planned to do. And the chair. I liked that chair. And I didn’t want to throw it out. Which means... Okay, first: I need to clean up that chair. Second, I gotta get ready. I have a guest tomorrow night.