Criminal Originsby BanopsChaptersThe Same Thing in a New PlaceThe Road-Side Carver / This may be real.The Bone Cutter (part 1) / Ready to acceptThe Same Thing in a New PlaceWake up Leland. It's time again. You must continue your path of righteousness. His eyes flutter open and he looks about him. The trunk of a small car makes for a terrible bed. A stabbing pain runs down the back of his head, through his spine, and ends at his legs and feet. The pain comes from a bludgeon wound. His very own uncle had done that. Quite a spot of handiwork for the old codger, he had forgotten how strong his uncle was. He tries to caress the spot on the back of his head where all his pain comes from, but to his dismay, his hands are bound behind his back and his mouth is taped over… What luck. What rotten luck. Leland feels the reverberations of the moving vehicle he is stuffed in. The motor hums and whirs loudly, only worsening the pain caused by the bump on his head. A feeble attempt at struggling in his binds lets Leland know that the only thing holding his hands together is a short length of tape or rope, tape or rope probably obtained from somewhere in the barn house he had just been in. You must carry out your retribution plays a familiar voice inside of his head. Leland lets out a muffled cry as the car hits a pothole, bouncing him around the inside of the trunk. Claustrophobia: Leland never really knew he had it. Or maybe it was just being stuffed in this small trunk that had him more on edge. Or then again, maybe it was the demonic voices in his head, urging him to carry out retribution, or continue down his path of righteousness. The same voices that had drove him to commit the many atrocities in the preceding months. Either way, he starts panicking and throws a fit. He slams himself as hard as he can against the box of a trunk, making as much noise as he can. Exactly how long that continues, he can not say for sure. But suddenly and eventually the car screeches to a halt. Leland hears two voices, muffled, but recognizable. One voice is his Uncle, Malcolm Vanhorn. The other is that of the former detective Ethan Thomas. Ethan Thomas… Oh Ethan Thomas. This man that has kept Leland here sane. If by sane, one means: a serial killing psychopath. Sanity always has been relative for Leland though. Especially since he had been merely following the voices in his head, the ones that drove him to kill. Oh but don't be scared. He focussed his spree on the evil men. Well, mostly. He had tried his best to only kill those who had taken many innocent lives themselves. He killed serial killers. This was… and still is Leland's divine retribution, or so the voices say. Actually they were never really that specific, they just wanted him to do harm to others. So he chose the path he could most easily stomach. He does admit he did get a bit carried away with it though. Too bad along the way he ended up killing two cops and framing Ethan for it. Some things are unavoidable. Leland muses to himself. The voices grow louder, and now they are shouting. A clicking sound later and the trunk pops open… revealing exactly the two people Leland heard approaching: his uncle, and detective Ethan Thomas. Ethan carries a pissed off look. His black hair is slicked back with grime and blood. His left hand is dripping with blood as well. This stems from a missing index finger only recently cut off. Cut off by his truly, Leland himself. Thomas's right hand, well, his right hand holds a gun. A handgun actually, one that glares fiendishly down at Leland, shimmering in the light of the moon and stars. Moon and stars: that is all Leland can see behind his two captors. That, and the open country road. Thomas points the gun skyward but fastens a death gaze on Leland. His intentions are clear. He will be carrying out his own retribution. Or maybe revenge… however one looks at it. One thing is for certain, there is no empathy, no forgiveness behind his eyes. Only malice towards the deranged serial killer. Malcolm, the uncle, puts his hand up to try and stop Ethan from making the rash decision, "Thomas, don't! He was a good boy. We were all good people." Pleads Malcolm. "We were able to fight it back, most of us… My nephew was not as strong. He fell victim, and destroyed - so many things. We fought to save him. I must continue to do so." Ethan points the gun at Leland and looks angrily at Malcolm and says, "I don't care whether the sick fuck is in his right mind or not!" "Think of what you are doing!" Continues Malcolm. "Both of you have a chance for redemption." Redemption huh, thinks Leland, what absolute shit. And he giggles hysterically to himself under the tape gag. "Redemption!?" Ethan interjects, "Listen old man. You used me just like he did." As he finished that sentence he gestured toward Leland with the barrel of the gun. "You… you used me to save your precious nephew - a… a serial killer. You… You're no better than he is!" By now his full attention is on poor defenseless Leland, lying in the trunk all tied up. And Leland stares into the barrel of the gun, giggling like a maniac under the tape. He stares deep into the eyes of hatred, the eyes of malice, the eyes of revenge and spite. Part of Leland wants to be shot… to stop the pain in the back of his head, to stop the voices. And so he welcomes the offer set in front of him, the barrel of a handgun trained on his head. Darkness seems to swirl around the two, Leland and Ethan. Malcolm slips out of Leland's sight and all he can see is: Ethan, the gun, and the strange darkness whirling around the two. And then one loud explosion erupts. Like one cold, hard knock on the door between life and death. But the voices, they continue. Even after everything goes black for Leland, the voices continue. You belong to us Leland, they say, you have always belonged to us. Death does not stop that. You will carry out your purpose. If not here on Earth, than elsewhere… *** "Get it… get him some water." Words from something or another, calm and collected. It is a silky voice, a pleasant voice, but also cold and articulate. Leland picks up on the unfamiliar voice with interest. Not yet ready to open his eyes, he waits listening to the sound of movement. He hears the sound of someone shuffling around. He lets that sound envelop his mind, allowing the jet black world around his closed eyes swallow him. He wants to drift back into unconsciousness. But no more sleep for Leland as his head is lifted up by something long, skinny, and for some reason… soft and furry. Almost pillowy, or cloud like actually. It moves his head up just enough for his mouth to press up against the edge of something, probably a cup or glass. And in the water flows into his mouth. Except some of it dribbles out the side of his mouth and wets the area beneath his head. "Careful now." Hums the voice. "Is there anything you can do for that nasty looking hole?" This question posed by a another voice, timid, calculative and caring. And just as pleasant to listen to as the other voice. Nasty looking hole? Wonders Leland. What are they talking about? "Not right now," says the first voice, "I'm doing what I can to stop the bleeding." Bleeding? If only he new what the hell was going on. Before he could open his eyes, the furry arm thing lifted his head again and poured more water down his mouth. Leland accepted the water hastily. But something feels horribly wrong. He moves his tongue around his mouth feeling his cheeks. That's when he realizes the problem, a very unsettling problem. "Oh my, dear, you mustn't do that to your wound." Said the first voice. Leland is calmed by the sound of the heavenly voice. It is such a sweet voice, such a caring voice. He feels something damp press up against the cheek he keeps tonging. It is a washcloth. Another odd thing: Leland can actually taste the damp cloth through his cheek, as if there was a hole there. A big hole. The very thought of a fist-sized hole in his face jars Leland and he finds himself overwhelmed with memories of the past few events playing inside his head. And with that shock, his eyes shoot wide open. He jolts up from his laying position gasping for breath… Only to actually be able to breath through the side of his mouth. My precious face… SHIT. Oh God, my face. He tries to put his hand on the enormous hole in his head, but a long soft appendage yanks his hand away from his face. "That will only make it worse dear." Said the heavenly voice. Despite how pleasing the voice is, Leland still fills with anger. He looks to where the voice comes from and nearly does a spit take at what he sees. Following the appendage to the source, he sees that it isn't an arm of any sort, but rather a leg that runs into the body of an enormous horse, a horse unlike any he has ever seen. One with shorter, more graceful features… such as a shorter snout, larger round, almost human-like eyes. Weirder yet, the horse's mane seems to be floating on some invisible currant and is pastel colored, striped with shades of pink, green and blue. The fur on the horse is white, and so is the long horn sticking out of its head. In shear crazed disbelief, Leland finally chuckles "A… Unicorn?" And then he lets out a forced laugh that carries through the room much further than anticipated, echoing about the room. His mind is still clouded with the grogginess of sleep, so maybe he is just seeing things. Yes, another hallucination, that must be what he is seeing. Sure it's different than the flitting shadows he is used to, or the black sludge and demonic warriors… Actually, were those just hallucinations, he wonders, and is this really another one? Is this just another image put into my head by the voice in my head? He had spent much in his past trying to see the reality of his past hallucinations, but they always faded away after some time, and he usually found himself curled in a ball bloodied and nearly broken. This is a much kinder sight. And despite how real the scary visions from earlier felt, this felt even more real. And somehow at the same time surreal. If he could just reach out and touch the horse, maybe he would know for sure it was something tangible. Something tangible, not another hallucination… This can't be real can it? Said the voice inside his head, the killers voice. This is the first time it has ever sounded this way. It had said that with sarcasm, a trait he had never heard before. And then it says, Of course this is real… Of course this is real, thinks Leland with out much certainty, How could it be fake? How could it be fake? It looks real enough. But then again. He always did have a hard time distinguishing fact from fiction... The Road-Side Carver / This may be real.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. Author's Note There will be more stories of Leland's past victims and what he learns about himself, and I will be going into much more detail with them. But I also have to keep in mind that I am going to be keeping this story Teen rated (I made myself rewrite this one because of that.) Let me know your thoughts on the Leland backstory. Anyways, I hope everyone here will enjoy the story that unfolds. The Bone Cutter (part 1) / Ready to acceptQUICK WARNING: The beginning of this chapter is a bit graphic. Some years ago... A tall, grizzled man, standing in the dusk light cast by a warehouse window, looked at a photo. This photo was of a woman, short bobbed hair and scrawny physique. She wasn't looking at the camera in the photo but somewhere else. On the piece of photo paper letters spelled out "She's the one" in black pen. The man looked up from the photo and to the other person in the room. It seemed like the same woman in the photo. Only the woman here was tied up to a chair, gagged and crying... a tad different than the smiling girl from the photo. "Why, this sure looks like you." Droned the man to the woman. The woman did her best to shake her head and she did so erratically. The man continued, seeing her protest. "Oh yes, this definitely is you." And then he laughed short and hard, like a maniac. He took the photo and flicked it into the girl's face. She flinched when it struck her in the nose. "Ooh, I'm sorry, did that hurt?" The man said, mocking the tied up girl. He let out another crazy laugh as he danced around the chair, all giddy with excitement. "Oh this is going to be so much fun." The man seemed to be quite out of his mind indeed. So it was to the woman's relief when he left her there by herself. Sounds of her muffled voice didn't carry far through the fabric tied around her face. All that came out were mmpff sounds, even further drowned out by the dead space around her. With no one near to hear her muffled cries, she felt helpless. She began to writhe around in her binds. She rocked back and forth trying to knock the metal chair over. Maybe, just maybe, she would make her escape if somehow she broke free. Then she could run away and never look back. And even... well, turn her life around. Or maybe she could have made her escape, had the man not returned. He stepped out of the shadows like a phantom. He held a small scalpel, sharp and menacing. It drew her eyes, and she started to shed more tears of fear. "Oh this will be so fun." The man said approaching the woman. And then he said with a glint of anger, "Now I will be giving you a taste of your own medicine. Hmm, but where to start. I guess I could just dive right in to your stomach, but where's the fun in that? Maybe I could start with... Ah, an eye will do." A moment later, the man kicked the chair over himself and carried out his sinister actions. *** Carving and cutting. Splitting, slicing and removing. A grizzly scene was left behind. The kind that draws bile to the mouth. It is the kind that makes it hard to eat for months and makes it impossible to sleep for weeks. But it was also a very methodical, and even surgical murderous scene. Most people wouldn't recognize the mess on the ground as a body, at least not until they squatted down by the pools of blood, and hunks of innards. Then they would see the little, white tags. There were labels, sticking out of the mess. These labels, sticking out of each separated organ by a toothpick, marked and named each piece of meat. There was a tag for the heart, the stomach, the liver, the kidneys. There were parts that most people couldn't name, but there was care put into naming even those obscure pieces of human anatomy. Now normally a scene like this was caused by a particular wanted criminal. This criminal went by the nickname of the Bone Cutter. A nasty little serial killer, this one was. But this wasn't done by the Bone Cutter. Who had done this then? Why, none other than Leland Vanhorn, the man who was getting quite good at his new hobby. The hobby of killing evil men. Or in this case, women. Leland thought as he looked down at the mess of a body. There was nothing clear about who this was. The body was far too cut up to recognize anything, but underneath the splayed skin and carnage, there was the face of a woman, not a man. The bitch deserved it he thought uneasily, feeling the rush of the kill and the intrigue of the set up fade away. He was soon left to contemplate his actions. Ok, so I killed a woman, he thought, But she was the one. She was the killer... There was that brief moment when the thought passed through him, This may be the wrong girl. And in that moment he began to panic. Had it really been the Bone Cutter he killed? Maybe he was crazier than he thought. Maybe he had turned into the thing that he had always been afraid of: a psychopath. I was so sure of it, this has to be her... he tried to himself. He wanted to push the notion of killing the wrong person to the back of his mind and lock it there. Finally, he thought to himself, with resolve, Yes, this must be the Bone Cutter. It has to be. He had beaten the confession out of her, for what ever that was worth, though one could hardly trust the confession of someone who just wanted the pain to stop. He needed to stop thinking about it. What was next? Calling the police. He would leave an anonymous tip about a dead body. He would go through the charade with a smile and pretend like he had just stumbled across some poor soul, dead and mutilated... Just like how she did it. And the best part was: she would remain nameless. None of the cops would know that this dead body belonged to the Bone Cutter. They didn't even know the offender was female, those fools. So he made the call from the victim's phone. The police would be on their way soon. He looked again at his own handiwork. Yes, he had quite admired his own work here. He imagined how faithful he had been to the woman's style of execution: Neatly dissecting the body and labeling the internal organs for the police to find. Shame he would never get the credit for it. But that wasn't important to him. He thought more about: retribution, and quelling the voice. And there was silence in his head, save for his own thoughts. Leland sure did enjoy the blissful silence he experienced after a kill. So why the rotten feeling? This by no means was his first or even second kill (It was his fourth actually.) He knew what the feeling was. It was the feeling that he had killed the wrong person. How sure had he been that he had the right person to begin with? Well, certainly not one-hundred percent. Oh this would bother him for a long time. But finally he managed to store that feeling, at least long enough for him to realize that it was time for him to flee the scene. *** Present Leland desires to take a walk outside, to get some fresh air and clear his mind, but Fluttershy, suggests he stay inside. "Oh, umm, the, princess wants me to keep you inside for now." She says to him as he makes his way towards the front door. He had slept through the night with trouble. His dreams were filled with the voices, urging him to, what else, kill. Yes, it made for an unsatisfying rest. So now he is feeling pent up and ready for some fresh air. And here, this timid little pony is saying that he can't go outside. It makes him more than a little irritated. He tries to ignore the yellow one and reaches his hand out to open the door. Fluttershy darts in front of the door, desperate to uphold Celestia's request. She hovers there, flapping her wings, hoping that Leland will be reasonable and turn away. Leland is thinking on a different note however. How dare she get in my way? He thinks bitterly, and instinctively raises a hand to smack the pegasus. Fluttershy sees the risen hand and curls up and closes her eyes to protect herself. "Please don't." she begs. And then Leland stops. He had already forced his hand into motion by then, and is forced to guide it off course, hitting the door itself with a loud thud. Something had changed Leland's mind. He couldn't bring himself to hit her. He couldn't hit this cute, innocent little thing. But he still felt the pain and irritation in his head caused by the repeating kill, kill, kill. Fluttershy hadn't realized that he had stopped his assault, so she continues to beg for him to stop. "Oh, please, Mr. Vanhorn, don't go outside." She repeats, and than she opens her closed eyes after a second of silence and sees Leland just standing there with a hand slapped against the door. She then mutters out softly, "If that's ok with you..." "I... uh, fine." Leland finally concludes. He sighs and then backs away from the door, leaving a very relieved Fluttershy. He walks around the room, trying to expel some of his pent up aggression. He hates the feeling of being cooped up. "Thank you mr. Vanhorn." squeaks Fluttershy. He continues to pace around the living space of the mostly wooden house. He breathes heavily, feeling air whistle through the hole in his cheek. I am going to have to cover that up with something. Leland thinks to himself. He hasn't seen a single mirror around the house yet, so he still doesn't know the full extent of the damage. Only recently has it occurred to him what had caused the gaping wound. Ethan Thomas He grumbles to himself. But he wasn't really that angry at Ethan. He knows that he can't blame him. He did this to himself more than anyone else. Or did he... He is reminded of his devilish companion, whispering, kill, into his head. The damned voice that drives him crazy from moment to moment. Luckily, it is rather quiet as of now. But he knows had it not been for that, he wouldn't be stuck in some strange place with a fist sized hole in his face. "If not on Earth, then elsewhere." It had said to him. I guess that explains why I am here... maybe. No, no it really doesn't. Leland retires to a couch in the living area. He can tell by the size of the furniture that it has never been meant for someone of his size or shape. It sits much lower to the floor and is much wider from the front to the back. Even still, he is able to sit comfortably on it. Fluttershy lands on the floor and sits there, staring at Leland, waiting for him to do something. Leland runs his hand over the hole in his face, feeling the damage, and sighs heavily. "I told you, you shouldn't mess around with your wound." Comes a voice from behind him. The same articulate, honey-like voice from last night, the voice that comes from the one named Celestia. Leland jumps in his seat, startled, and quickly pulls his hand away from his face. Fluttershy doesn't seem at all bothered by the intrusion, she merely bows and walks over to the giant winged unicorn, almost as if she expected the horse to appear from nowhere. "How has he been, Fluttershy?" Celestia asks Fluttershy. Leland tries to answer, "I'm feeling alright, thanks." Celestia shoots Leland a wary look and then continues seeking Fluttershy's answer to her question. Fluttershy also gives Leland a strange look, and says to her superior, "He seems to be find. But I think he's getting antsy. He needs fresh air. After all he has been in that bed for a week. A week? thinks Leland. "Yes, well, I hope you understand the importance of keeping him here, at least for the time being." Celestia says. "And why is that?" Interrupts Leland, "Why must you keep me in here?" "Because we do not know what you are Mr. Vanhorn, we do not know anything about you. You could be dangerous." There was a time in my life where that would flatter me. Leland thinks, and then says, "You don't know what I am? I don't know what you are." Leland can feel the irritation building. "So what if you do not know me... you can trust me." Leland knows he is lying. He can barely predict his own actions most of the time. He usually works on impulse. But they don't know that, he considers. "Yes well, it isn't as simple as that." Celestia explains, "Normally we are not afraid of new species, especially ones that we can communicate with. But we - that is, my sister and I - have reason to believe that you may be... aggressive." "And what reason is that?" Leland says, trying his hardest to keep himself from shouting. Celestia looks silently at Leland for a moment before making a proposition. "Leland... Come walk with me. Fluttershy is right, you need fresh air. And so long as I am here with you, we can go outside. How does that sound?" Leland is a bit jarred by the proposition and hardly notices that Celestia had called him by his first name, something she shouldn't know yet. Leland hastily accepts and stands up. Celestia turns her attention back to Fluttershy. Fluttershy asks Celestia in a soft voice, "May I stay here? I need to feed my little animals." Celestia nods and leads Leland out the front door. *** The fresh air is helpful to Leland. It helps keep the annoying voice on the back-burner of his mind. Something Leland finds interesting about this place: It seems so... clean. The air is so fresh, even compared to the country air he is used to back closer to home. The closest to anything like it he had experienced was Appleseed orchard. But even that was nothing compared to the crispness of this fresh air. Celestia takes Leland around the outside of what seems to be a village of some kind. Leland remains silent for the most part, absorbing the outdoors as much as he can. Eventually, they reach an area that looks like a farmhouse. Celestia tells him about who lives there. According to her, it is the "Apple family's" farm and farmhouse. Not that Leland cares much for the tour of this land. But he does show some interest. After all, he thinks to himself, I am apparently in a world ruled by horses. Celestia and Leland finally get to a point around the small village opposite to where they started. The point they are at sits on a small, grassy hill that allows them to look over the town. They stop there and rest in the shade of and apple tree. Leland looks out over the town and sees the little horses walking around. It weirds him out, seeing a once unintelligent animal live much like his own species. "So," Leland finally says after sighing and relaxing, "you horses live here huh? This is a lot like where I come from actually. Well... not exactly, but close enough." He is more thinking out loud than actually talking to Celestia. Either way, Celestia answers, "Yes," and then she pauses. She continues a bit lower, "Just for future reference, most of us ponies find being called a horse offensive." "Ah. Thanks for the heads up." Leland replies. Eventually, Leland speaks up again, "You never answered my question." "Oh?" "What makes you think I will be aggressive?" Leland asks. Leland is surprised to see an apple float down in front of his face. It hovers in front of him, surrounded in a translucent golden bubble. He doesn't know what to make of it. "Go on," Celestia says to Leland, "take it and eat it." Leland looks at Celestia and notices that her horn his glowing the same gold color. He looks back at the apple and grabs it out of the air, shattering the magic bubble. Magic huh... Leland thinks warily, it sure looks like magic. Leland takes a bite. The hole in his cheek doesn't make it any harder to eat, although he finds that he can't contain his saliva nor produce as much of it. As such, a trail of drool runs down his neck as he takes his first bite. It is only now that he realizes how hungry he is. Between bites, Celestia asks, "How have your dreams been?" A bit of an odd question to say the least. "Fine," Leland says, and then takes another bite. "Are you sure?" She continues, "it is important that you tell me everything you can." "Yes I'm sure," returns Leland, "My dreams are just the same as they always are: short an meaningless." This brings Leland to think about his dream last night. The dream of himself being told by the voice to murder. Technically, they are normal dreams. For me at least. Leland considers. Celestia merely says, "If you say so." "You still haven't answered my question." repeats Leland. Celestia sighs, and finally says, "You need to trust that I have reasons to believe this." Then she tries to change the subject. "How would you like to meet the pony who saved your life?" "You mean Fluttershy wasn't the one..." He begins to say before she cuts him off. "Yes, Fluttershy found you, but the one who had kept you from bleeding out is somepony else." She explains. "Oh, well sure, why not?" Leland shrugs, wiping the drool off his chin and neck. "Alright then, grab my wing." Celestia says. "What?" Leland wonders aloud. "We are going to teleport there, now come on grab my wing." Leland does so and then he sees Celestia gently close her eyes in focus. Her horn begins to glow and the world around them begins to shiver. Leland feels the tingling sensation of Celestia's magic and then all of a sudden, his vision explodes with white light. Teleportation huh, he thinks, If this isn't magic, I don't know what is. Author's Note I think I'm going to practice a bit of world building.
The Same Thing in a New PlaceWake up Leland. It's time again. You must continue your path of righteousness. His eyes flutter open and he looks about him. The trunk of a small car makes for a terrible bed. A stabbing pain runs down the back of his head, through his spine, and ends at his legs and feet. The pain comes from a bludgeon wound. His very own uncle had done that. Quite a spot of handiwork for the old codger, he had forgotten how strong his uncle was. He tries to caress the spot on the back of his head where all his pain comes from, but to his dismay, his hands are bound behind his back and his mouth is taped over… What luck. What rotten luck. Leland feels the reverberations of the moving vehicle he is stuffed in. The motor hums and whirs loudly, only worsening the pain caused by the bump on his head. A feeble attempt at struggling in his binds lets Leland know that the only thing holding his hands together is a short length of tape or rope, tape or rope probably obtained from somewhere in the barn house he had just been in. You must carry out your retribution plays a familiar voice inside of his head. Leland lets out a muffled cry as the car hits a pothole, bouncing him around the inside of the trunk. Claustrophobia: Leland never really knew he had it. Or maybe it was just being stuffed in this small trunk that had him more on edge. Or then again, maybe it was the demonic voices in his head, urging him to carry out retribution, or continue down his path of righteousness. The same voices that had drove him to commit the many atrocities in the preceding months. Either way, he starts panicking and throws a fit. He slams himself as hard as he can against the box of a trunk, making as much noise as he can. Exactly how long that continues, he can not say for sure. But suddenly and eventually the car screeches to a halt. Leland hears two voices, muffled, but recognizable. One voice is his Uncle, Malcolm Vanhorn. The other is that of the former detective Ethan Thomas. Ethan Thomas… Oh Ethan Thomas. This man that has kept Leland here sane. If by sane, one means: a serial killing psychopath. Sanity always has been relative for Leland though. Especially since he had been merely following the voices in his head, the ones that drove him to kill. Oh but don't be scared. He focussed his spree on the evil men. Well, mostly. He had tried his best to only kill those who had taken many innocent lives themselves. He killed serial killers. This was… and still is Leland's divine retribution, or so the voices say. Actually they were never really that specific, they just wanted him to do harm to others. So he chose the path he could most easily stomach. He does admit he did get a bit carried away with it though. Too bad along the way he ended up killing two cops and framing Ethan for it. Some things are unavoidable. Leland muses to himself. The voices grow louder, and now they are shouting. A clicking sound later and the trunk pops open… revealing exactly the two people Leland heard approaching: his uncle, and detective Ethan Thomas. Ethan carries a pissed off look. His black hair is slicked back with grime and blood. His left hand is dripping with blood as well. This stems from a missing index finger only recently cut off. Cut off by his truly, Leland himself. Thomas's right hand, well, his right hand holds a gun. A handgun actually, one that glares fiendishly down at Leland, shimmering in the light of the moon and stars. Moon and stars: that is all Leland can see behind his two captors. That, and the open country road. Thomas points the gun skyward but fastens a death gaze on Leland. His intentions are clear. He will be carrying out his own retribution. Or maybe revenge… however one looks at it. One thing is for certain, there is no empathy, no forgiveness behind his eyes. Only malice towards the deranged serial killer. Malcolm, the uncle, puts his hand up to try and stop Ethan from making the rash decision, "Thomas, don't! He was a good boy. We were all good people." Pleads Malcolm. "We were able to fight it back, most of us… My nephew was not as strong. He fell victim, and destroyed - so many things. We fought to save him. I must continue to do so." Ethan points the gun at Leland and looks angrily at Malcolm and says, "I don't care whether the sick fuck is in his right mind or not!" "Think of what you are doing!" Continues Malcolm. "Both of you have a chance for redemption." Redemption huh, thinks Leland, what absolute shit. And he giggles hysterically to himself under the tape gag. "Redemption!?" Ethan interjects, "Listen old man. You used me just like he did." As he finished that sentence he gestured toward Leland with the barrel of the gun. "You… you used me to save your precious nephew - a… a serial killer. You… You're no better than he is!" By now his full attention is on poor defenseless Leland, lying in the trunk all tied up. And Leland stares into the barrel of the gun, giggling like a maniac under the tape. He stares deep into the eyes of hatred, the eyes of malice, the eyes of revenge and spite. Part of Leland wants to be shot… to stop the pain in the back of his head, to stop the voices. And so he welcomes the offer set in front of him, the barrel of a handgun trained on his head. Darkness seems to swirl around the two, Leland and Ethan. Malcolm slips out of Leland's sight and all he can see is: Ethan, the gun, and the strange darkness whirling around the two. And then one loud explosion erupts. Like one cold, hard knock on the door between life and death. But the voices, they continue. Even after everything goes black for Leland, the voices continue. You belong to us Leland, they say, you have always belonged to us. Death does not stop that. You will carry out your purpose. If not here on Earth, than elsewhere… *** "Get it… get him some water." Words from something or another, calm and collected. It is a silky voice, a pleasant voice, but also cold and articulate. Leland picks up on the unfamiliar voice with interest. Not yet ready to open his eyes, he waits listening to the sound of movement. He hears the sound of someone shuffling around. He lets that sound envelop his mind, allowing the jet black world around his closed eyes swallow him. He wants to drift back into unconsciousness. But no more sleep for Leland as his head is lifted up by something long, skinny, and for some reason… soft and furry. Almost pillowy, or cloud like actually. It moves his head up just enough for his mouth to press up against the edge of something, probably a cup or glass. And in the water flows into his mouth. Except some of it dribbles out the side of his mouth and wets the area beneath his head. "Careful now." Hums the voice. "Is there anything you can do for that nasty looking hole?" This question posed by a another voice, timid, calculative and caring. And just as pleasant to listen to as the other voice. Nasty looking hole? Wonders Leland. What are they talking about? "Not right now," says the first voice, "I'm doing what I can to stop the bleeding." Bleeding? If only he new what the hell was going on. Before he could open his eyes, the furry arm thing lifted his head again and poured more water down his mouth. Leland accepted the water hastily. But something feels horribly wrong. He moves his tongue around his mouth feeling his cheeks. That's when he realizes the problem, a very unsettling problem. "Oh my, dear, you mustn't do that to your wound." Said the first voice. Leland is calmed by the sound of the heavenly voice. It is such a sweet voice, such a caring voice. He feels something damp press up against the cheek he keeps tonging. It is a washcloth. Another odd thing: Leland can actually taste the damp cloth through his cheek, as if there was a hole there. A big hole. The very thought of a fist-sized hole in his face jars Leland and he finds himself overwhelmed with memories of the past few events playing inside his head. And with that shock, his eyes shoot wide open. He jolts up from his laying position gasping for breath… Only to actually be able to breath through the side of his mouth. My precious face… SHIT. Oh God, my face. He tries to put his hand on the enormous hole in his head, but a long soft appendage yanks his hand away from his face. "That will only make it worse dear." Said the heavenly voice. Despite how pleasing the voice is, Leland still fills with anger. He looks to where the voice comes from and nearly does a spit take at what he sees. Following the appendage to the source, he sees that it isn't an arm of any sort, but rather a leg that runs into the body of an enormous horse, a horse unlike any he has ever seen. One with shorter, more graceful features… such as a shorter snout, larger round, almost human-like eyes. Weirder yet, the horse's mane seems to be floating on some invisible currant and is pastel colored, striped with shades of pink, green and blue. The fur on the horse is white, and so is the long horn sticking out of its head. In shear crazed disbelief, Leland finally chuckles "A… Unicorn?" And then he lets out a forced laugh that carries through the room much further than anticipated, echoing about the room. His mind is still clouded with the grogginess of sleep, so maybe he is just seeing things. Yes, another hallucination, that must be what he is seeing. Sure it's different than the flitting shadows he is used to, or the black sludge and demonic warriors… Actually, were those just hallucinations, he wonders, and is this really another one? Is this just another image put into my head by the voice in my head? He had spent much in his past trying to see the reality of his past hallucinations, but they always faded away after some time, and he usually found himself curled in a ball bloodied and nearly broken. This is a much kinder sight. And despite how real the scary visions from earlier felt, this felt even more real. And somehow at the same time surreal. If he could just reach out and touch the horse, maybe he would know for sure it was something tangible. Something tangible, not another hallucination… This can't be real can it? Said the voice inside his head, the killers voice. This is the first time it has ever sounded this way. It had said that with sarcasm, a trait he had never heard before. And then it says, Of course this is real… Of course this is real, thinks Leland with out much certainty, How could it be fake? How could it be fake? It looks real enough. But then again. He always did have a hard time distinguishing fact from fiction...
The Road-Side Carver / This may be real.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. Author's Note There will be more stories of Leland's past victims and what he learns about himself, and I will be going into much more detail with them. But I also have to keep in mind that I am going to be keeping this story Teen rated (I made myself rewrite this one because of that.) Let me know your thoughts on the Leland backstory. Anyways, I hope everyone here will enjoy the story that unfolds.
The Bone Cutter (part 1) / Ready to acceptQUICK WARNING: The beginning of this chapter is a bit graphic. Some years ago... A tall, grizzled man, standing in the dusk light cast by a warehouse window, looked at a photo. This photo was of a woman, short bobbed hair and scrawny physique. She wasn't looking at the camera in the photo but somewhere else. On the piece of photo paper letters spelled out "She's the one" in black pen. The man looked up from the photo and to the other person in the room. It seemed like the same woman in the photo. Only the woman here was tied up to a chair, gagged and crying... a tad different than the smiling girl from the photo. "Why, this sure looks like you." Droned the man to the woman. The woman did her best to shake her head and she did so erratically. The man continued, seeing her protest. "Oh yes, this definitely is you." And then he laughed short and hard, like a maniac. He took the photo and flicked it into the girl's face. She flinched when it struck her in the nose. "Ooh, I'm sorry, did that hurt?" The man said, mocking the tied up girl. He let out another crazy laugh as he danced around the chair, all giddy with excitement. "Oh this is going to be so much fun." The man seemed to be quite out of his mind indeed. So it was to the woman's relief when he left her there by herself. Sounds of her muffled voice didn't carry far through the fabric tied around her face. All that came out were mmpff sounds, even further drowned out by the dead space around her. With no one near to hear her muffled cries, she felt helpless. She began to writhe around in her binds. She rocked back and forth trying to knock the metal chair over. Maybe, just maybe, she would make her escape if somehow she broke free. Then she could run away and never look back. And even... well, turn her life around. Or maybe she could have made her escape, had the man not returned. He stepped out of the shadows like a phantom. He held a small scalpel, sharp and menacing. It drew her eyes, and she started to shed more tears of fear. "Oh this will be so fun." The man said approaching the woman. And then he said with a glint of anger, "Now I will be giving you a taste of your own medicine. Hmm, but where to start. I guess I could just dive right in to your stomach, but where's the fun in that? Maybe I could start with... Ah, an eye will do." A moment later, the man kicked the chair over himself and carried out his sinister actions. *** Carving and cutting. Splitting, slicing and removing. A grizzly scene was left behind. The kind that draws bile to the mouth. It is the kind that makes it hard to eat for months and makes it impossible to sleep for weeks. But it was also a very methodical, and even surgical murderous scene. Most people wouldn't recognize the mess on the ground as a body, at least not until they squatted down by the pools of blood, and hunks of innards. Then they would see the little, white tags. There were labels, sticking out of the mess. These labels, sticking out of each separated organ by a toothpick, marked and named each piece of meat. There was a tag for the heart, the stomach, the liver, the kidneys. There were parts that most people couldn't name, but there was care put into naming even those obscure pieces of human anatomy. Now normally a scene like this was caused by a particular wanted criminal. This criminal went by the nickname of the Bone Cutter. A nasty little serial killer, this one was. But this wasn't done by the Bone Cutter. Who had done this then? Why, none other than Leland Vanhorn, the man who was getting quite good at his new hobby. The hobby of killing evil men. Or in this case, women. Leland thought as he looked down at the mess of a body. There was nothing clear about who this was. The body was far too cut up to recognize anything, but underneath the splayed skin and carnage, there was the face of a woman, not a man. The bitch deserved it he thought uneasily, feeling the rush of the kill and the intrigue of the set up fade away. He was soon left to contemplate his actions. Ok, so I killed a woman, he thought, But she was the one. She was the killer... There was that brief moment when the thought passed through him, This may be the wrong girl. And in that moment he began to panic. Had it really been the Bone Cutter he killed? Maybe he was crazier than he thought. Maybe he had turned into the thing that he had always been afraid of: a psychopath. I was so sure of it, this has to be her... he tried to himself. He wanted to push the notion of killing the wrong person to the back of his mind and lock it there. Finally, he thought to himself, with resolve, Yes, this must be the Bone Cutter. It has to be. He had beaten the confession out of her, for what ever that was worth, though one could hardly trust the confession of someone who just wanted the pain to stop. He needed to stop thinking about it. What was next? Calling the police. He would leave an anonymous tip about a dead body. He would go through the charade with a smile and pretend like he had just stumbled across some poor soul, dead and mutilated... Just like how she did it. And the best part was: she would remain nameless. None of the cops would know that this dead body belonged to the Bone Cutter. They didn't even know the offender was female, those fools. So he made the call from the victim's phone. The police would be on their way soon. He looked again at his own handiwork. Yes, he had quite admired his own work here. He imagined how faithful he had been to the woman's style of execution: Neatly dissecting the body and labeling the internal organs for the police to find. Shame he would never get the credit for it. But that wasn't important to him. He thought more about: retribution, and quelling the voice. And there was silence in his head, save for his own thoughts. Leland sure did enjoy the blissful silence he experienced after a kill. So why the rotten feeling? This by no means was his first or even second kill (It was his fourth actually.) He knew what the feeling was. It was the feeling that he had killed the wrong person. How sure had he been that he had the right person to begin with? Well, certainly not one-hundred percent. Oh this would bother him for a long time. But finally he managed to store that feeling, at least long enough for him to realize that it was time for him to flee the scene. *** Present Leland desires to take a walk outside, to get some fresh air and clear his mind, but Fluttershy, suggests he stay inside. "Oh, umm, the, princess wants me to keep you inside for now." She says to him as he makes his way towards the front door. He had slept through the night with trouble. His dreams were filled with the voices, urging him to, what else, kill. Yes, it made for an unsatisfying rest. So now he is feeling pent up and ready for some fresh air. And here, this timid little pony is saying that he can't go outside. It makes him more than a little irritated. He tries to ignore the yellow one and reaches his hand out to open the door. Fluttershy darts in front of the door, desperate to uphold Celestia's request. She hovers there, flapping her wings, hoping that Leland will be reasonable and turn away. Leland is thinking on a different note however. How dare she get in my way? He thinks bitterly, and instinctively raises a hand to smack the pegasus. Fluttershy sees the risen hand and curls up and closes her eyes to protect herself. "Please don't." she begs. And then Leland stops. He had already forced his hand into motion by then, and is forced to guide it off course, hitting the door itself with a loud thud. Something had changed Leland's mind. He couldn't bring himself to hit her. He couldn't hit this cute, innocent little thing. But he still felt the pain and irritation in his head caused by the repeating kill, kill, kill. Fluttershy hadn't realized that he had stopped his assault, so she continues to beg for him to stop. "Oh, please, Mr. Vanhorn, don't go outside." She repeats, and than she opens her closed eyes after a second of silence and sees Leland just standing there with a hand slapped against the door. She then mutters out softly, "If that's ok with you..." "I... uh, fine." Leland finally concludes. He sighs and then backs away from the door, leaving a very relieved Fluttershy. He walks around the room, trying to expel some of his pent up aggression. He hates the feeling of being cooped up. "Thank you mr. Vanhorn." squeaks Fluttershy. He continues to pace around the living space of the mostly wooden house. He breathes heavily, feeling air whistle through the hole in his cheek. I am going to have to cover that up with something. Leland thinks to himself. He hasn't seen a single mirror around the house yet, so he still doesn't know the full extent of the damage. Only recently has it occurred to him what had caused the gaping wound. Ethan Thomas He grumbles to himself. But he wasn't really that angry at Ethan. He knows that he can't blame him. He did this to himself more than anyone else. Or did he... He is reminded of his devilish companion, whispering, kill, into his head. The damned voice that drives him crazy from moment to moment. Luckily, it is rather quiet as of now. But he knows had it not been for that, he wouldn't be stuck in some strange place with a fist sized hole in his face. "If not on Earth, then elsewhere." It had said to him. I guess that explains why I am here... maybe. No, no it really doesn't. Leland retires to a couch in the living area. He can tell by the size of the furniture that it has never been meant for someone of his size or shape. It sits much lower to the floor and is much wider from the front to the back. Even still, he is able to sit comfortably on it. Fluttershy lands on the floor and sits there, staring at Leland, waiting for him to do something. Leland runs his hand over the hole in his face, feeling the damage, and sighs heavily. "I told you, you shouldn't mess around with your wound." Comes a voice from behind him. The same articulate, honey-like voice from last night, the voice that comes from the one named Celestia. Leland jumps in his seat, startled, and quickly pulls his hand away from his face. Fluttershy doesn't seem at all bothered by the intrusion, she merely bows and walks over to the giant winged unicorn, almost as if she expected the horse to appear from nowhere. "How has he been, Fluttershy?" Celestia asks Fluttershy. Leland tries to answer, "I'm feeling alright, thanks." Celestia shoots Leland a wary look and then continues seeking Fluttershy's answer to her question. Fluttershy also gives Leland a strange look, and says to her superior, "He seems to be find. But I think he's getting antsy. He needs fresh air. After all he has been in that bed for a week. A week? thinks Leland. "Yes, well, I hope you understand the importance of keeping him here, at least for the time being." Celestia says. "And why is that?" Interrupts Leland, "Why must you keep me in here?" "Because we do not know what you are Mr. Vanhorn, we do not know anything about you. You could be dangerous." There was a time in my life where that would flatter me. Leland thinks, and then says, "You don't know what I am? I don't know what you are." Leland can feel the irritation building. "So what if you do not know me... you can trust me." Leland knows he is lying. He can barely predict his own actions most of the time. He usually works on impulse. But they don't know that, he considers. "Yes well, it isn't as simple as that." Celestia explains, "Normally we are not afraid of new species, especially ones that we can communicate with. But we - that is, my sister and I - have reason to believe that you may be... aggressive." "And what reason is that?" Leland says, trying his hardest to keep himself from shouting. Celestia looks silently at Leland for a moment before making a proposition. "Leland... Come walk with me. Fluttershy is right, you need fresh air. And so long as I am here with you, we can go outside. How does that sound?" Leland is a bit jarred by the proposition and hardly notices that Celestia had called him by his first name, something she shouldn't know yet. Leland hastily accepts and stands up. Celestia turns her attention back to Fluttershy. Fluttershy asks Celestia in a soft voice, "May I stay here? I need to feed my little animals." Celestia nods and leads Leland out the front door. *** The fresh air is helpful to Leland. It helps keep the annoying voice on the back-burner of his mind. Something Leland finds interesting about this place: It seems so... clean. The air is so fresh, even compared to the country air he is used to back closer to home. The closest to anything like it he had experienced was Appleseed orchard. But even that was nothing compared to the crispness of this fresh air. Celestia takes Leland around the outside of what seems to be a village of some kind. Leland remains silent for the most part, absorbing the outdoors as much as he can. Eventually, they reach an area that looks like a farmhouse. Celestia tells him about who lives there. According to her, it is the "Apple family's" farm and farmhouse. Not that Leland cares much for the tour of this land. But he does show some interest. After all, he thinks to himself, I am apparently in a world ruled by horses. Celestia and Leland finally get to a point around the small village opposite to where they started. The point they are at sits on a small, grassy hill that allows them to look over the town. They stop there and rest in the shade of and apple tree. Leland looks out over the town and sees the little horses walking around. It weirds him out, seeing a once unintelligent animal live much like his own species. "So," Leland finally says after sighing and relaxing, "you horses live here huh? This is a lot like where I come from actually. Well... not exactly, but close enough." He is more thinking out loud than actually talking to Celestia. Either way, Celestia answers, "Yes," and then she pauses. She continues a bit lower, "Just for future reference, most of us ponies find being called a horse offensive." "Ah. Thanks for the heads up." Leland replies. Eventually, Leland speaks up again, "You never answered my question." "Oh?" "What makes you think I will be aggressive?" Leland asks. Leland is surprised to see an apple float down in front of his face. It hovers in front of him, surrounded in a translucent golden bubble. He doesn't know what to make of it. "Go on," Celestia says to Leland, "take it and eat it." Leland looks at Celestia and notices that her horn his glowing the same gold color. He looks back at the apple and grabs it out of the air, shattering the magic bubble. Magic huh... Leland thinks warily, it sure looks like magic. Leland takes a bite. The hole in his cheek doesn't make it any harder to eat, although he finds that he can't contain his saliva nor produce as much of it. As such, a trail of drool runs down his neck as he takes his first bite. It is only now that he realizes how hungry he is. Between bites, Celestia asks, "How have your dreams been?" A bit of an odd question to say the least. "Fine," Leland says, and then takes another bite. "Are you sure?" She continues, "it is important that you tell me everything you can." "Yes I'm sure," returns Leland, "My dreams are just the same as they always are: short an meaningless." This brings Leland to think about his dream last night. The dream of himself being told by the voice to murder. Technically, they are normal dreams. For me at least. Leland considers. Celestia merely says, "If you say so." "You still haven't answered my question." repeats Leland. Celestia sighs, and finally says, "You need to trust that I have reasons to believe this." Then she tries to change the subject. "How would you like to meet the pony who saved your life?" "You mean Fluttershy wasn't the one..." He begins to say before she cuts him off. "Yes, Fluttershy found you, but the one who had kept you from bleeding out is somepony else." She explains. "Oh, well sure, why not?" Leland shrugs, wiping the drool off his chin and neck. "Alright then, grab my wing." Celestia says. "What?" Leland wonders aloud. "We are going to teleport there, now come on grab my wing." Leland does so and then he sees Celestia gently close her eyes in focus. Her horn begins to glow and the world around them begins to shiver. Leland feels the tingling sensation of Celestia's magic and then all of a sudden, his vision explodes with white light. Teleportation huh, he thinks, If this isn't magic, I don't know what is. Author's Note I think I'm going to practice a bit of world building.
