Dark Themes: violence, split personality(or something like that)

"M-mom? Dad?"

Their bodies lie in front of me, their blood staining the wooden floor. Dad's shirt is ripped and he's staring blankly at the wall. Mom's face is frozen with fear, eyes wide and mouth frozen mid-scream.

The same scream that woke me up.

"Come on..come on! Please wake up! You have to!" I refuse to acknowledge what has been done, shaking their still-warm bodies as I plead for them to wake. "Please...I'm scared."

My father's body moves and his eyes manage focus on mine for a moment, his hand reaching out in a feeble attempt to hold my hand. I take it and press it against my cheek, trying to fight back the tears.

"Pl..ease....run," he mutters before truly fading away.

I don't try to lie anymore. I hate it, but I force myself to get up and leave them, planting a kiss on each of their cheeks before I do. I clutch my blood-stained teddy to my chest as I run towards the back door in the kitchen, feeling as if it will be my only piece of home soon. My feet ache, but I know that I have to get out of there.

"Just look at this loot!"

I stop. I carefully peek through the hinge of the nearest door, its open state allowing a crack of the room to be seen. The man inside holds up strings of pearls, chuckling at the value of the jewelry. After a few seconds, he stuffs them into a half-filled sack before grabbing another fistful of necklaces and bracelets from a drawer. A deeper voice gives a chuckle, and my eyes turned to see a different figure sitting in a cushioned chair at the end of the room. The room was to dark to truly see much, but the man's cold blue eyes pierce through the dark, making me shiver despite them being directed at the other man.

"What can I say?" he said, leaning back. "The boss picks me for a reason. This house has minimal occupants, and the owner's quite rich. An easy choice."

"You know best!" agreed his comrade. After a few seconds, he lifted his head towards the shadowy figure. "But Seth, are you really sure that you can take him?"

The man gave a cold smile. "I won't have to. The owner's wife? Quite the botanist. With this little vial, he'll be gone before he knows it."

He lifted a small glass tube, a greenish mixture inside. I recognize it as one of the many that Mom kept locked up in her glass case. I recall how she had gotten worried when I almost drank one of them. What did she call it? Light, no.....nightshine? No....she had called it nightshade.

"Well, Alin, I'm going out for a smoke, tell the others to clean up when you're done, yeah? "he said, pocketing the vial and leaving the room, not noticing the young me that was obscured behind the door.

After his footsteps were no longer audible, I quickly run to the other end of the hallway before pausing. To my relief, the man's partner was still focused on the valuables. I quicken my pace, feeling that whatever 'cleaning up' was, it didn't include brooms or feather dusters. Before long, I come to the large kitchen. The place is a mess, the valuable silverware having been looted. As I slowly make my way through the ransacked room, a glint catches my eye.

It's a knife.

I kneel down to pick it up before turning it around. Whoever looted the kitchen must have carelessly forgotten this one. It's an average kitchen knife, the kind Mom used to teach me how to cook. Her reminder echoes through my mind as my reflection looks back at me.

"Be careful, okay? It's very sharp, and you might hurt someone with it."

The sound of the kitchen door opening makes me crouch down behind the tall countertops. The man that comes in walks about, as if looking to check for anything that might have been left behind. I'm filled with fear as I try to think of a way to escape.

Hide the knife.

'How?' I panic, not bothering to think about who the voice belongs to.

Here, it replies. An idea comes to mind so clearly that I feel as if a lightbulb suddenly popped up above my head. I quickly switch the items in my hand around so that the knife is in my right and the bear is in my left. I then bring the teddy bear right in front of the knife and covering it completely.

As soon as I finish, the man sees me. I press my back to the counter, as if trying to shrink.

"Oh," he says softly. "You must be the kid."

Hug it tighter, whispers the voice. I readily comply, somehow looking more pitiful, though the knife pressing flatly against my sternum probably has something to do with my expression.

"I'm really sorry." He looks away from me, guilt clear in his features. "You must have seen them, right?"

Get ready to run. My feet move to better position if I want to spring away. The man doesn't notice.

"We aren't allowed to leave witnesses," he continues sadly, now drawing a gun as he faces me. "But, you'll see them soon, so just focus on that alright?"

The voice's advice fades away. A barrage of thoughts flow into my mind. It's not right that Mom and Dad are gone. It's not right that I have to be killed. It's not right that I can't do anything about it. Anger fills me, and I wish oh so much that I can do something. As he closes his eyes and primes the gun, a different voice rings out.

The knife, hurry!

I willingly surrender control, and my body leaps into action. I slash the knife, managing to cut through the man's black jeans and make a scratch against the man's leg. The injury is quite minor, but sudden movement shocks the man into dropping his gun.

Big mistake.

With him defenseless, I slice faster. It's all the man can do to try and dodge, and his accumulating cuts aren't helping him. I don't think of how I can suddenly use the knife any more than I think of how I can breathe. The only thing I know is that I can, as if agreeing with the second voice somehow unlocked some kind of instinct to protect myself with the small blade. A burning thirst for revenge fills me, along with a sense of bloodlust.

The man dodges another swing of the knife and lunges for his gun. I'm faster and closer to the gun though, and I kick the gun away before managing to have the now crouching man's neck at knifepoint.

'Kill him.'

"P-please," he begs, voice strained. "I-I didn't kill your parents, I don't know which one of us did, but it wasn't me. I never wanted to so this. This...this is the only way I can help them. If I quit....he'll kill them." He continued pleading, his words eventually becoming a mess of nearly incomprehensible words as he begins to choke on sobs.

'Kill him, he'll stab you in the back if you let him go.'

I glance at the flat of the knife. At its angle, I can see the corner of the man's pained, guilt-ridden eyes. My expression softens a bit. What am I doing? My grip on the knife slackens, though the man doesn't seem to notice it.

Kill him, presses the voice, no longer longer in sync with me. Do it while you can.

'No.'

...No?

'No,' I reply firmly.

A pause fills both my mind and the kitchen. The man has gone silent, probably having given himself up for lost by now and the voice seems to be contemplating.

Justice...I want it, and I know that you do as well. You want to take revenge, so why not listen?

'What he did was wrong...but I don't want to be a killer.'

Hmm, you wish for justice, yet refuse to kill. It seems to sigh. More hardship, but a compromise can be reached. If I don't kill him, will you use my way?

I hesitantly agree.

The knife in my hand is raised into the air. In a second, I gasp and try to close my eyes, only to find out that I have no control while the man squeezes his own shut to his demise. But as the knife descends, it gets flipped so that it's the handle being brought down rather than the blade. When I once again have control, I find that the man is now lying down, but unconscious rather than dead.

There, says the voice, sounding satisfied. Grown-ups can take care of him later.

Right after these words, a sudden wave of exhaustion hits me. Before I can dwell on what just happened, a voice calls out.

We have to go, urges the first voice. They might decide to 'clean up' soon.

I readily move towards the door, but as my hand's on the doorknob, I pause and turn back. The man's still sprawled on the ground. I doubt that if he stays, his partners will come to get him. I take a deep breath before running to his side and beginning a feeble attempt to drag him outside.

What are you doing?

'He's as good as dead if he stays.'

You wouldn't be killing him, the fire would.

I stay silent. I'm determined to get him out, even without the help of the strange voices in my head. I don't know why I even want to help him, but it seems wrong to leave him to the mercy of the other thieves. The man's heavy, and I'm still tired from fighting him. I only manage to drag him a couple of inches before having to catch my breath.

Oh fine, says the second voice with exasperation. If you truly want to save him, give me control.

'Why should I trust you?' I ask between heaves.

Because I don't want to die any more than you do.

I pause, considering its words. 'Promise not to kill him if I do?'

Yes, yes I promise. Now do it.

For the second time tonight, I let the second voice have control.

The exhaustion is suddenly lifted from me, and my body rushes outside. I'm about to seize control in protest, but all the second voice does is deposit my teddy bear and knife in the rose bushes lining the wall before returning to the and inkitchen. Our thoughts aren't unified like earlier, and I can hear mutters of should have left him and this is pointless. The man still ends up a few feet away from the door though, and when I regain control, I'm even more tired than before.

I weakly make my way to the bushes to grab my things, but I hardly touch them when I hear a loud BOOM! from within my home. I raise my head and go on my tiptoes to try peeking through the kitchen window. I barely manage to duck in time to avoid the flames rapidly rolling out of it.

Come on, we can't stay here!

I want to agree, but the shock of my home in flames is paralyzing. The first voice seems to understand anyway, and soon I'm hiding behind one of the many trees in the forest surrounding the house. Smoke pours out from shattered windows, and everything I see is bathed in a bright orange. I think of my parents, still inside, and of how I'll never see them again. Something cool and wet lands on my arm and I realize that I'm crying. I sink to my knees, vainly wiping away the tears.

"Hey, what's Nate doin' here?"

The loud voice causes me to lift my head, and through the bushes, I can see two or three men crowding around the one I dragged outside. He groans and opens his eyes a bit, glancing at the burning building before looking back at the men. The rest of their conversation is too soft for me to hear, but I can grasp that they're asking about what caused his injuries and what happened to his gun. After some head-shaking and groans about lost weapons, they start walking to the front of the house, the one they called Nate being the last. But he hangs back, looking at the kitchen with confusion. He turns his head a bit more, as if scanning for something. When his eyes meet mine, they stop. He begins walking nearer and nearer. His arm reaches out, about to brush aside some leaves in front of my face and-

"Nate! Come on already! The cops will be comin' soon and we still have a ton of stuff to load!"

He quickly retracts his arm, but looks at me one more time before leaving. He makes an excuse about seeing a cat as he catches up with the others. I release a sigh I didn't know I was holding in before looking back at the blaze.

'What do I do now?'

The voices are silent, and I wonder if they're seeing their home burn up as well.

I decide to get to the front of the house, thinking that if the police come, they'd probably arrive there first. I walk through forest around the burning building, wary of the thieves that might see me. My footsteps are heavy, and every now and then I use my wrist to wipe away some tears. I position my hands so that I'm hiding the knife again with my toy. It doesn't take long for me to reach the forest area right beside the front lawn.

But that's not the only thing I see.

The man from the room, Seth, watches the blaze with a cigarette in hand, his back to the thieves' getaway car. As his partners load the vehicle with stolen goods, he flicks his cigarette away before returning his gaze to the flames. There's a certain look of amusement on his features, and I find myself taking a step back from the man who enjoys seeing my home burn up.

His head snaps to my direction, and I find that I've stepped on a twig. His cold blue eyes stare into mine, and my mind goes blank. The voices from earlier don't speak up either, as if frozen with fear. He tilts his head and grins at me, and I'm reminded of a cat playing with its food. I don't speak, and neither does he. My heart's pounding, and I don't know whether I want to run away or try to attack him for what he's done. I wait for him to do move forward, to brandish his gun or do anything at all that might cause the second voice to help me.

All he does is give me that unnerving smile.

"Seth, we're almost done here!"

The man doesn't respond to him. Instead, he speaks to me.

"You know," he says, his voice hushed as he gives me a cold smile. "My boss has this little rule about our heists, and it's that we shouldn't leave witnesses. But see, he won't be the boss for very long, and I need someone tell the police something very important. I'd like it if they would check the warehouses by the pier, number 430, to be exact. Do you think that you can remember that, little girl?"

I manage a shaky nod of my head.

"Good." He steps nearer, and ruffles my hair. I cringe a bit, hating how I'm helping him and can't seem to make my hands work to slash with my knife. He walks away, and I watch him get into their vehicle and speed off into the night.

As soon as they leave, I get to the front lawn. I sit down cross legged on the grass, facing away from the fiery building. I want to ignore the blaze, but the light it casts surrounds me and makes the shadows seem like monsters. I shut my eyes, but the loneliness and fear remain. I hug my bear tighter, and a slight pain makes me open my eyes.

My reflection stares back at me from the knife's blade.

I grit my teeth and I want to throw it away. I ready my arm to do so, but the second voice rings out.

DON'T!

I pause, waiting for it to explain why I shouldn't. The knife didn't help me to stop the man who ordered my home to be chosen for stealing, it to be burned, and probably my parents to be killed too. If it wasn't for the knife, I would've been with my parents now.

The voice comes small and rueful. I'm sorry. I hated him too, but when I saw him...I just...couldn't. I really wanted to stop him...but those eyes were so cold and... please just don't throw it away, that knife is the only thing we have left other than Brownie.

I lower my arm and hold the two things side by side. My bear is still intact, though bloody. The stains make his usually blank face look bruised and dirty. The knife isn't clean either, but the longer I look at it, the more I realize that it really is the only other thing left of my home. I sigh softly as I look at them both again.

'Why were you scared? You weren't scared of the other one.'

Because you weren't scared of the other one either. Not much anyway, you wanted to get back at him more than anything.

I fall silent at that. I really wasn't all that scared then. When he was going to shoot, I felt angry, not afraid.

I can hear the wailing of firetrucks, the screams of their sirens getting louder by the second. I look at the things in my hands. Grown-ups wouldn't let me keep the knife, they would say it was dangerous and they wouldn't understand why I'd want it.

Not much longer 'til they come.

I frown at the idea I'm given, but I know that it's for the best.

"Sorry, Brownie," I whisper as I make a slit in the toy's large back and stick the knife in. From behind, there would be a bit of stuffing peeking out, but no one would see anything wrong with its front.

I hug it tightly as I yawn. The sky's already getting lighter. The world goes sideways as I'm overcome with exhaustion from the lack of sleep and the tiredness from when the second voice was in control. Through half-lidded eyes, a blurry red blob that I assume to be a firetruck pulls up.

In my mind, two figures seem to lie back-to-back as they doze off.

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A/N: Well, that took longer than I expected. Not to mention that this is only the first part. *sigh* I guess I know what I'm going to do when my summer vacation starts. My guess is that it'll take three parts to finish this. Well please vote if you like it and etc. My brain is tired from creativity.

See you in the next part.