|Beneath the Surface
Author: ThomE.Gemcity-06 PM
Shane needed this, needed to feel something again - and he's willing to do anything as a result. Rated T for Darkness, Under Age Drinking, Violence and Death. Read and Review please!Rated: Fiction T - English - Words: 890 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 1 - Published: 10-21-11 - Status: Complete - id: 7481755
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
a/n: a little warning: this fic is a little dark. Spoilers for a few episodes; not sure which season, but where Shane gets shot but a hit put out on Nancy by Pilar; and the episode where Shane kills Pilar with the crochet mallet.
Beneath the Surface
Shane had never thought that he would ever feel this way, this kind of excitement. It was unexpected, but not unwanted. He had come to an understanding when he had been shot in the arm, one deep within himself. And he had grasped it, having no intention of letting it go.
It had been such a long time since he had felt anything at all, and now he had found something to give him reason. He didn't take the pain pills, because if he took them then the pain would go away and he wouldn't feel anymore—wouldn't feel alive anymore. He kept them with him though, even as Uncle Andy tried to take some because he was given the 'good stuff', but he couldn't allow that; he wanted the choice, needed it. It gave him power—made him feel powerful—able to take this gift of feeling away, despite the fact that it was himself.
Shane didn't care, not what Silas thought—not what anyone thought. This was his, this was something that he could control and no others could take that away from him. This wound to his arm gave him power, and he was slightly fearful and frustrated about what he was going to do when it healed.
At the moment he couldn't think about that, he had to savoir this pain that he was feeling. The pain the emitted from the deep wound—that radiated from it. Sometimes he would just sit there, not doing anything but just feel it; the way that it burned and ached, the feel of the way it made him feel.
But it had come and gone too soon, and he found himself starting to fall again. He was held in place though, but just by a thread; he could feel ghost aches, like when someone losses a limb but they can still feel it. He had to find something else; the cutting had helped keep it in place, but it was soon loosing its charm—the fact that they felt more itchy than anything else.
As he sat here in this fancy house with people he didn't know nor care for next to Silas, the thought and solution had come to him when he saw Nancy leave and Pilar fallow her. It would be simple, and solve so many problems that the Botwin family was having. He set down his glass of Champaign as he stood; he liked the bubbles but he wanted to be straight about this, to have nothing muted by the effects of the alcohol.
Shane fallowed them, no one paid attention to him; no one cared.
The halls were empty and he peeked into a closet that was by the sliding door, a smile slipping across his lips. He took the long handle in his hands, feeling the weight of it as he lifted it from its hook; it may not have been a golf club, but it fit into his hands as if it were meant to be.
Neither Nancy nor Pilar noticed him as he came out to the pool area, neither noticed as he gripped the long pole-like handle of the Crochet Mallet with both of his hands, raising it above and over his right shoulder. His muscles tense, his knuckles turning white as he brought the Mallet back again. He struck Pilar in the head, the rounded smooth end striking her behind the ear.
Shane watched as Pilar jerked from the impact before falling to the side and into the pool. He watched from the side, not caring much for Nancy's look of horror as the water splashed about Pilar's dead body, the blood from her head wound fluttering out into the clear water.
This feeling he had was much more stronger than it had been when he had been shot—this was better. This was real power and this feeling was real—this feeling was his.
He ignored Nancy as he looked down at his handy work, his fingers gliding down the smooth lacquer from the Crochet Mallet, the self satisfied smirk playing across his lips. This was his; as they said: to each his own—and Shane Botwin owned this and he would forever, no matter what anyone else thought or said.
Shane cherished this feeling, the one that made him so alive—the one that made him finally feel something—anything, and he was never going to let it go; he would do anything to feel it—anything—and anyone who got in his way would be met with the rounded end of his Mallet.
note: So I finally got to watch the episode where Shane kills Pilar, but was pissed because that was the very ending and the episode after it was from the beginning of the season. But I'll deal some how—hopefully it's be on next Wednesday. Any way, hoped you liked the fic . . .
Please review—I'm pretty sure that I'm in withdrawal! :D