Friday the 13th! 13 days to live! 13 Silent Hill games? I wish...but still, welcome to part 13 of the legendary Love Lost! Bask in the number 13 and its glory...and your glory, my glory, the world's glory, everybody's got a little bit of glory in them. Would you like to know some reasons for our glory?
- Brad: His adorable accent that we will NEVER get enough of.
- Shroomster: Just being that plain old awesome Shroom and an awesome antagonist.
- Jean: Her undefeatable LOVE of Robbie the Rabbit. Seriously, they'll get married one day, you watch. She showed her dance video to him and he rated it 5 stars, I swear, Robbie and Jean are sitting in the tree. And they're kissing and breaking the record she's got set with Dante.
- Isaac: His name sounds like "Eyesack" and that's beautiful on it's own.
- Alex: For adding Robbie to the wiki poll and allowing us to admire him all the more. Especially Jean, did I mention she loves Robbie?!
- Me: For making this part.
Well, now that this long introduction is over, THANK YOU FOR READING PART 13, PLEASE ENJOY.
"Huh...where is everybody? Cybil said people would be here in weather like this." Harry spoke his thoughts aloud, looking over to Angela and leaning against one of the beautifully decorated tables.
Angela groaned, knowing that once again she was as clueless as Harry and plopping down into a chair. "I don't know, really. And why is this place so...so..." She trailed off, looking for a word while Harry gazed at the strange new atmosphere. It looked like a ton of teenagers had propped up this place for a party.
Suddenly, light piano music started playing from the stage, dancing beautifully around the room and gathering the two guests' attention. A couple of flashlights boomed down onto the stage, which Harry found profoundly retarded seems how the sun was up and out.
A young teenager stepped out from behind the curtain, hair a lush dark chocolate brown, draping over her shoulders like curtains as she stalked out toward the microphone, smiling as she listened to the piano's graceful melody. Her delightful brown eyes blended in perfectly with her hair and Harry felt a strange sense of admiration. Her outfit was a long, sleek red dress, reaching all the way down to the floor ever-so-preciously.
She reached over to the microphone.
"Oh God, please don't tell me she's going to sing..." Angela grumbled boredly, Harry putting a finger to his lips as a gesture of shut-the-hell-up.
"Maybe I..." The young woman's voice was interrupted by Angela.
"Stop singing!" She jeered out, putting her hands into her face and growling.
The adolescent blushed for a second, her face flushing to the exact hue of her dress as she started to turn away. Harry gave a glare as quick as a snakebite to Angela and quickly ran up to the embarassed young woman.
"...That was beautiful. You should've kept going." Harry encouraged her, but his attempts fell short. She looked horribly humiliated. "...Don't worry about Angela over there, she's probably jealous of your talents. Do you have a name?"
The teen was hesitant to answer at first, but she finally replied, "Michelle. My name is Michelle."
"Harry Mason. I'm looking for my daughter, 7 so she's really young, probably bleeding internally and on the outside due to injuries caused by the car crash, traumatized for life since she's without her father, maybe even dying, bloody but black short hair, have you seen her?" Harry blurted out the nonsense at a rapid pace and even if he had slowed it down, Michelle would have been extremely puzzled by the statement.
"Uh..." Michelle was cut off.
"Her name is Cheryl. Cheryl Heather." Harry continued explaining, and somehow Michelle looked a little less confused.
"Well," Michelle began, nervously pulling some of her bangs back, "There is a girl by that name that goes here...but she's not 7."
Shell-shocked that someone might possibly know his daughter, Harry leaped at the opportunity he was given. "Can you show me?!"
"Man, I'll never be able to tell Kyrie how beautiful she is without looking...well, you know." Mandy groaned, jamming her fists in her pockets. "We have got to get out of each other's bodies."
"I don't know." Nero was looking at his reflection on his sword. "I like being smokin' hot." He twirled his sword around and examined his Devil Bringer. "Look at my freaking hand! Man, imagine what I can do with this thing...I love being you." He bobbed his head up and down and started dancing, as if he were listening to a rather pleasant song.
"Ugh...my voice sounds so squeaky." Mandy hissed at herself, walking through the forest. "I hate being you."
Bob was still laying flat-out in the snow, her side throbbing from having a sword carved into it, not to mention the extra pain given due to Mandy's constant kicking. She decided that if that boy was chasing Mandy, that would have to do for now. She decided to go after Jean.
"Mandy...that pathetic little punk doesn't stand a chance with that strange boy going after her...guess Jean's the only one left to kill." Examining her bladed gauntlets, Bob finally stood and pondered where Jean might be. "I saw Mandy leap out the window from that house. Maybe Jean's waiting there."
Having thought out her plan perfectly, Bob sauntered through the forest toward that one house. 1206 Levin, that was what Mandy had said. That had to be where her other target was living. "Prepare to die, Jean."
They had to have been kissing for hours, but they were also viciously attacking each other. It was all a chain reaction-a kitchen knife to the hand, a hand to the head, a kick to the groin, and a stomp on the foot. Love is a battlefield.
And out of nowhere, the door burst open and Bob lunged in, blades shooting outward as she snickered, "Your time has come, Jean!"
Noticing that Jean's lips were locked on Dante's, Bob decided if Jean was distracted by the make-out, so be it. That only made her kill easier. Man, was Bob wrong.
Circling around her target, Bob sorted out the situation in her head and decided the exact angle to attack her target at. Choosing that the back-side was most vunerable to injury at the moment, Bob swung one of her clawed hands toward the back of Jean's head.
At that split second it happened. Dante whipped out his sword, the good old Rebellion. He slung it around the back of Jean's head and blocked his girlfriend from the oncoming blades. Bob groaned and tried stabbing Jean in the spine, only to once again be blocked by the massive blade. And even through all this, Jean and Dante were still making out.
"Damn it...apparently, I need to take out the big guy first." Bob snickered, skipping over to Dante's side of the smooching session. Then she flicked out her blades.
Over and over again, she jammed her blades into Dante, snickering as the blood poured out and the knives carved into his jacket, into his skin. Bob was relentless in each and every one of her gashes, not stopping as she continued to rip Dante's back apart.
Even so, he continued kissing Jean, but then he jerked his head back and looked over at Bob. "Haha, that tickles."
The kiss had ended, and Jean looked over at the stopwatch. "Sweet! 3 hours and 56 minutes, 49 seconds." Jean laughed. "You were right, Dante, we beat the record by a long shot!"
Bob was now worn out from attacking Dante, who seemed completely unharmed. "You know it's going to take more than that to kill me, right?" Dante laughed.
"Dante, that's Bob! She's out to kill me and Mandy." Jean tattled, crossing her arms and sticking her tongue out like a little girl.
"Oh, is she?!" Dante suddenly grabbed Bob by the neck and growled.
"Meep...you're not human, are y-" Bob was no longer able to speak as Dante's grip tightened around her throat. She was amazed...his wounds were disappearing right that second.
And then, he tossed Bob out the window, watching her fly into the snow with a massive faceplant. "JACKPOT!" Jean and Dante both laughed at the same time, walking away from the window and sighing.
"Apparently, Jean has a rather strong bodyguard." Bob concluded to herself, writing down notes and grumbling. "I'll need to get her alone to finish the job."
"This is her," Michelle explained, gesturing to a picture of a distraught young woman.
It showed some resemblence to Harry's little 7-year-old girl, but the saddened expression on the teenager's face reminded him nothing of Cheryl. The only time Cheryl cried was...well, never. She was always happy.
"That looks a little like Cheryl, but I don't think..." Harry's voice cracked and he stopped, completely absorbed in examining the photograph.
Angela was slightly interested by the photograph as well. Cheryl's worn-out and worried impression reminded her of her own self. Angela got caught up in thoughts that maybe, just maybe, that girl had been through the same mind-blowing stress she had.
And if that girl belonged to Harry...maybe Harry was just like her father after all. What little friendship and trust Angela had once gained toward Harry, it was draining away and being replaced by suspicious ideas. Was Harry the same as Thomas?
"She got bullied a lot in school," Michelle continued, looking at Harry and every once and a while giving Angela the usual dirty look.
"Yeah...bullied a lot..." Angela mumbled to herself so quietly that neither of the others heard. Maybe that was why Cheryl looked so distressed, but wouldn't you get bullied if kids knew you were raped? This only furthered her strange feelings toward Harry. She had to get to the bottom of this.
"I got a letter...the name on the envelope said...part 14." Well, that sounded awkward. Part 14, anyone?