Hello all, i write this slightly sad. it's the end of Mack the Knife. This is the last chapter of Mack the Knife, which started about a month ago, and about 29000 words later, 65 reviews, uncountable number of story alerts and hits and accusations out the yea, it's finally over. I'm going to save all my thanks for the end, so please, ENJOY!


A man walked over to his desk and pulled open a drawer. In it, laid a folder marked 'Lima, Ohio'. The man sat down on his chair as he flicked on his lights, the room illuminating in a glow of orange. He took the folder and opened it, contents spilling out into his hands as he read through the information.

THE LIMA TIMES 2011

The Jazz Killer: Convicted and Found!

By Brad Murphy

This morning, in the wee hours at 00:17, the killings of the Jazz Killer was brought to a close. The events drew to a close at William McKinley high School, in the school's choir room, where the killer, Mr Mike Chang, was killed by lead investigating officer, Sergeant Arthur Iverson, who was injured when the paramedics arrived on the scene, was weakened and had blood loss due to a wound on his stomach caused by Mr Chang. The investigations started two days ago, when the bodies of Mr Artie Abrams, Miss Tina Cohen-Chang, Mr Azimo Adams and Mr Figgins, the school's principal were found mutilate under suspicious circumstances, their deaths classified as unnatural. Following the discovers, two nights ago, the body of Miss Santana Lopez was found as well. Yesterday, more bodies were found in the town. Mr Finn Hudson, Miss Mercedes Jones and Mr Noah Puckerman were found dead in their respective homes, with the exception of Miss Jones.

Sergeant Iverson had ordered the remaining members of the school's Glee Club, who were the deduced as the killer's primary targets, back to William McKinley High for a formal investigation and questioning. Mr Chang was amongst them as he was a member of the school's Glee Club too. During the investigation, the four other surviving Glee students, Mr Matt Rutherford, Miss Brittany Pierce, Mr Kurt Hummel and Miss Rachel Berry were locked inside of the choir room with Mr Chang, as well as Sergeant Iverson and the local cheerleading coach, Miss Sue Sylvester, who was at that time assisting in the investigation. During this time, Mr Chang was able to kill Miss Berry in an induced blackout and injure Sergeant Iverson, before he was killed by Sergeant Iverson, thus ending the killings.

Sergeant Iverson succumbed to his injury early this morning at Lima General. His partner in the investigation, who was not at the scene of the questioning, Mr Edmond Bones comment "Sergeant Iverson was a credit to the force and will be sorely missed as a partner and as a friend." Sergeant Iverson was single.

E put down the newspaper clipping and sighed. Iverson didn't survive the night and died, and E had lost one of the best partners he ever had. E glanced at the nearby clock. 2:32 AM, 12 January 2011. It had been 2 years since the case, and E had been given a promotion to a high position, but E opted for a desk job, saying that he was tired, but in his heart he knew it wouldn't be the same without Iverson.

Iverson picked up the three photographs of the remaining survivors. The pictures showed the kids smiling. Of course, the pictures were taken before the incident, and E wondered if the kids would ever smile, especially after something like that. He pulled out another article from the folder, reminding himself that he was wrong. It was just two survivors.

Body of Matt Rutherford found in house

Mr Matt Rutherford, a survivor of the recent Jazz Killer incident, was found dead in his home in Lima, Ohio. Mr Rutherford was found by his parents yesterday morning and was pronounced dead by the paramedics who arrived on the scene. His cause of death was declared natural, as it seemed that Mr Rutherford had taken his own life by ingesting a lethal level of pills.

Mr Rutherford was one of the three survivors of the recent events of the Jazz Killer Mr Mike Chang, earning the name from leaving a jazz song by each of his victims. Early speculations believe that Mr Rutherford had Survivor Guilt, a mental condition where the victim believes that he should have been affected by a traumatic event. Sources say that Mr Rutherford was Mr Chang's close friend, and was therefore stressed out due to the events.

The other two survivors were contacted for a response, but refused to give a comment. Our condolences go out to the Rutherford Household.

E slotted the pictures of the survivors back into the folder as he cursed silently under his breath as he took out the picture of Mike. That boy had singlehandedly killed 12 people, count it, TWELVE people. It was just insane that a kid at the age of 17 could have cause such a wake of destruction and mayhem like he did, not to mention the deaths at his hands. The police could never find the body of William Schuester, and he was pronounced dead and a victim after a week.

E kept on reading through all the articles. It was his little ritual, every once in a while, to relieve the event. He woke up sometimes to believe it was all a nightmare. Then he'd see Iverson's badge, which he accepted at this funeral, hanging on his wall, and he'd be reminded of the pain and the deaths, all those kid's lives, dashed.

Then E saw something wrong.

"Oh, the shark has pretty teeth, dear, and it shows them pearly white"

E looked up at the sound of the music and turned to his radio. It was obviously off as he looked around his apartment. There was nothing but the glow of his lamp and the music. The music that was as ominous as death. It was jazz.

"Just a jack knife has MacHeath, babe, and it keeps it way out of sight"

E quickly ran for his room, which was down the hallway. He had his gun there, and unless he was going to defend himself with a picture of the person they accused of doing the killings. And now, it seems they were wrong. Dead wrong. And he would be if he wasn't fast. Then he felt his legs go weak.

"When that shark bites with his teeth, dear, scarlet billows begin to spread"

E collapsed on the floor, howling at the pain as he looked at his legs. They were cut, badly, with his blood staining his tiled floor, spreading out like wildfire. He still couldn't see anyone, the lamp wasn't that bright and his vision had been compromised. He tried to reach out, feel around for anything. Anything that would save him. He found his hands on the wrong end of a jungle knife.

"Fancy gloves, wears old MacHeath, babe, so there's never, never a trace of red"

E screamed out again, clutching his hand and looked up. A figure had mysteriously appeared, clothed in black and veiled like the night. Its figure slender and slim as an alley cat, with the stealth and pitch of one.

"On the sidewalk, one Sunday morning, lies a body oozin' life"

The figure crouched down to look at its victim as E could feel his words all over him, the breaths bathing him in a cold sweat of fear. E, had one chance. He grabbed the figure's head, hoping to headlock him. But alas, his hand had failed him. The pain proved too much, and E only grabbed the hood of the figure, ripping it clean off. It didn't stop the song.

"Someone's sneakin' round that corner"

"Y…YOU!"

The now unmasked figure brought the knife down to E throats, E gurgling as the figure tore a line clean across his neck, the blood now spraying upwards in a spectacular fashion, a fountain of life, now draining from E as he struggled and failed, till his kicking stopped.

"Could that someone be Mack the Knife?"

The figure released its gripped on the handle as it slowly went to a sitting position on the floor, next to its victim, and brought its knees towards his chest. He promised himself he wouldn't cry.

He promised himself that this was for his sake. But now, staring down at the body, Kurt couldn't help but cry. He didn't cry at the funerals. He didn't cry when the police couldn't find the body of Mr Schuester. He didn't even cry when Matt was found dead. But that one was for obvious reasons, Kurt made sure Matt's drink had enough to take a rhino under.


"Kurt, I just don't get it, some things just don't add up, and I need your help man."

Kurt tensed up at the news. Someone was on to him.

"Sure, just don't call me 'man', k?"

"Sure thing Kurt." Matt smirked a little at the boy's comment. Life had been down since the incident, and Matt had just been obsessing that Mike, the man he trusted, had killed all his friends. He was adamant to prove Mike was just slightly crazy at the interrogation, but not responsible for the killings. That's when he stumbled onto something and called Kurt, the smartest guy he knew, even more than his dad.

"Hey, where's your toilet? After sneaking in here, I think ruining my Burberry pants any more would be a sin."

Matt laughed as he grabbed his cup. "Third door on the right." He pointed at the corridor. "And help me refill my drink if you don't mind, but quietly. My folks are still asleep."

Bingo. "Sure thing." Kurt grabbed the glass and headed out.

"Don't piss in it!" Matt called out silently to Kurt as he left. Kurt reached the bathroom and opened the Rutherford's medicine cabinet, scanning through the various pills and medicine that was all over the place. He quickly grabbed a handful and crushed them under his boot's heel. Matt's not going to have to worry about hygiene where he's going. He poured the powder in the cup and filled it up, concealing itself thankfully. For good measure, Kurt poured in some of his hair gel. What the hey, it might help.

Kurt returned to Matt and handed him the drink. "Thanks ma..opps. Thanks Kurt." Matt smiled as he took the cup and gulped it all down at one go. Matt relished the water as he went to the table and picked up a clipping.

"Have a look at this Kurt." Matt handed him the article and pointed to the circled picture. "I think something's up in there, but I might be wrong." Then Matt suddenly felt weak, all over. Matt collapsed on the floor gasping for air as he tried to look around. Kurt simply bent down to Matt, looking at him in his agony and pain.

"You know what? I think you're right." Kurt smirked as he grabbed the clipping and headed for the window. He turned back to see Matt still gasping for air. All for the greater good Kurt thought as he jumped down and headed home to practise a shocked face tomorrow.


He didn't want to kill Matt. But he had no choice. Kurt fished in his pockets, his tears now taking over him as he began to sob some more. He opened up the creased article. In it was a picture of Azimo, dead by shotgun. The window in the background was circled in bright red and Kurt knew why. Mike was a football player and knew each of the player's lockers. But he was a tall guy. A tall guy that couldn't have squeezed through the window. You had to be smaller. Smaller and holding a spare shotgun your dad discarded a long time ago, thinking it was jammed. It just needed a little oiling, that's all. And a target.


Kurt pried open Azimo's locker as he held his breath at the stench of gym shorts. Ewww. Kurt proceeded to shove the shotgun in, adding his own little touch, a coin shower. Thank you Resident Evil. He then got out the fishing string and tied it to the rigger and with the skill a tailor would have, weaved it to the door and prepped it for triggering once the door was open. He picked up the black MP3 on the floor next to him. It was exactly identical to the others that the killer had used, wasn't too hard to find online. He tested the sound.

"The minute you walked in the joint…"

"Perfect." Kurt turned it off and put it in the locker as well, adjusting his gloves as he closed the locker door tight. He reached the other lockers and climbed up to the top. Thanks to Sue slyvester's Cheerio boot camp, he learnt how to lift his own body weight. He reached the top and crouched, waiting for Azimo to enter. Then, footsteps.

So we begin again. Kurt pressed the button as Azimo walked in.


Kurt crushed the article and threw in the corner in his anger. He knew the killer was on the loose. He wasn't the killer, but he was a killer. A vicious killer, a coldblooded killer. He still remembered when he found Schuester body. His dad had asked him to check on a breakdown call and he found the truck. The worst part was the bloodstains. Kurt followed them to find Will, wrapped up in the plastic and still melting. And on his body was a note that said "Stopped Believing". Kurt continued crying, the music player activated by his proximity.

Kurt vomited at the spot when he saw his deceased mentor in a wrap. Kurt couldn't report it, the cops would have probably blamed the gay kid and locked him up for it. So he did the right thing. He pushed the body to the river and let it sink. The Journey was over for William. The car was swiftly taken to the junkyard and crushed; a 'dangerous leak' was the reason.

Kurt always got to school early, to stock up his clothes stash for any slushies or dumpster dives. Not to find dead classmates. Not to find one of the strongest people Kurt knew dead, by suicide? Kurt looked down at the boy, on his body was a note, but in his hand was a note, same as Will's. 'First Class or Coach?" Kurt stiffened at the sight. Then at the music. He looked up to see it coming from a window. He squinted his eyes, but they went wide when he saw what was there. It was a balck MP3.

Kurt ran to his car. He ran in and shut the door. Maybe he was suicidal. It's totally coincidence, total coincidence. A note, an MP3? I must be tired, I must be insane! Wait. Artie's too short to even reach the windows in the library. And, he's too uptight for Jazz. That just means….. "He was murdered…." The boy stopped in his Navigator. Kurt brushes his hair aside as he slowly realises the awful truth. I could be next….I could be the next one killing.

Kurt had targeted the four people that made his life hell, but Karofsky was out of town, so he aimed for lackey No. 2, Azimo, and Figgins. The MO wasn't hard to follow, and the job was delightful. The look on Figgins face, his plea, his blood, his last prattle, it was almost addictive. But there was still one more.


"Call me irresponsible, call me unreliable, go on and throw in undependable too"

Kurt watched as Noah Puckerman, his main tormenter got up, singing along even with the song. He was shocked that the Neanderthal, the guy that had dumpster dived him and threw pee balloons at him, was actually enjoying a little class. But no amount of singing, no amount of Glee bonding would ever be enough to forgive Puck for what he had done.

He waited for Puck to leave as he jumped down from his hiding spot. Puck's ceiling made a great alcove for him to hide in, and his toilet was the perfect ladder to his hiding spot. He quickly wrote out the message with his purple gloves, cursing silently at the difficulty. Then Kurt saw the razor blade. It wasn't like his jungle knife, but it would throw off the cops. He scarpered up the toilet bowl as Puck burst in, bewildered. Kurt was still singing his demise as he saw Puck read the message.

Kurt pounced. He jumped on the jock's shoulder's and began slicing, slicing and cutting Puck as he stood there and watched himself die horribly. Kurt jumped off as Puck fell to the floor. He was silent for a second, seeing his hill finally conquered. He waited, and sang, sang like never before.

"I'm irresponsibly mad about you"


And now it was over. The last one was dead. Sergeant bones had talked to Kurt a few times about the incident, and Kurt knew something was up. So he bided his time, waiting for two whole years, so as not to arose any new suspicions. He stalked Bones, studied his building and his work hours. He knew Bones was still doing his own investigation, and he knew he was getting close. He waited, and that night was perfect. Perfect to pounce and tie off the last loose end. And it was finally over.

But Kurt was still sad and crying. Wailing in fact. His friends were dead, his enemies were dead, the last door to his freedom, dead. Everyone was dead around him, and he didn't do anything to stop it, he just sat there and killed himself. Took lives from people. Was it really worth it? No one was there for him, no one. And he was all alone amongst the dead.

"Oh My."

Kurt looked up between his sobs to see a boy standing by the door. He looked older than him, his brown hair in lovely curls and his face like a godsend of excellence. He looked slightly older than Kurt, and he was wearing a uniform of sorts. The boy was totally Kurt's type, dapper, only if Kurt wasn't crying next to a dead body he might have been more casual to the boy. But he kept crying.

The boy walked towards Kurt and E's body as he looked down at the scene. The most angelic boy on the floor, clothed in tight black clothes, and the dead body of his neighbour, with a knife in his neck. It didn't take long to piece two and two together, especially after he heard the shrieks and decided to come over to check. The boy had just killed his neighbour. The cute, smoking hot and pretty boy.

"Oh dear god! Blaine, thanks for the call!"

Blaine? That must be his name. Kurt looked up to see an elderly security guard, who had drawn his pistol and aimed it at Kurt. "You kid! I remember you. You're a filthy murderer!" Kurt flinched at the old man's words.

"You hear me? A no good, dirty, disgusting murderer!" Kurt began to cry more as the old man got bolder. "And look at your faggoty ass get up! You must be a dirty, disgusting…"

BANG!

Kurt thought it was it. It was his end. He looked down, expecting to see a wound and blood pouring out of it, the end of his life on a floor. But he saw absolutely nothing. He turned to see the old man, gapping. Kurt gasped. The old man had just blown his brains out, his face full of fear and shock. But that wasn't why Kurt was gasping. In the old man's hand was that boy, Blaine's hand. And so was his finger, that was all pointed at the old man's head.

The old man's body fell to the floor as Blaine moved towards the smaller boy and squat down next to him. He reached out his blood covered hands and grabbed the boy's own blood crusted ones as he pulled the boy into a tight hug.

"Hey. What's your name?"

"..K…K…Kurt." Kurt managed to get out, shocked at Blaine's actions.

"My name is Blaine." Blaine proceeded to rub Kurt's back, his sobs decreasing at Blaine's motion.

"You killed this guy?" Blaine asked Kurt.

Kurt nodded at Blaine. Why was this hot piece of ass hugging him? Was he really dead and in Gay Heaven?

"..You killed that guy?" Kurt asked in return. Blaine nodded too at Kurt. "…W..Why?"

"Because you're not a filthy murderer. You're not the only one that's done this before." Kurt was shocked at Blaine's response. He killed too. "We don't just kill for fun, we killed for survival, and judging by your state, I'd say you're feeling bad about it?"

Kurt nodded furiously. "..yes….I'm the only one left…"

"Then I'm here for you, ok Kurt?" Blaine looked at Kurt and tightened his griped around the smaller boy. Kurt felt something he hadn't felt in a long time. He felt safe. Secure. There in the arms of a hot stranger named Blaine, who just killed a security guard. It felt, so nice.

"B..Blaine. I'm….." Kurt was hesitant to say it. He was worried that all that security would disappear in an instant, but he had to get it out. "…I'm gay."

Blaine almost grinned at the news that lay before him. This marvellous boy, with eyes you could lost in for days, was gay? "So am I." Kurt almost screamed in shock at the news. "And that's why I really shot him." Blaine said with a sparkle in his eye. Kurt had just met his match in every way.

"Can you stand up? Someone might have heard the gunshot, and we've got to get out of here."

"…I can't feel my legs. Sorry Blaine….wha?" Blaine had swept Kurt off his feet, and placed him in a cradle made of his arms. He headed for the door, with Kurt in tow.

"Blaine?"

"Yes Kurt?" He looked down at Kurt's brilliant eyes again.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it, now get some rest, we're headed back to my room." Kurt closed his eyes as he enjoyed the warmth of Blaine's arms. He snuggled in Blaine's strong arms as the effects of crying finally took over him, he was slipping into sleep.

Maybe he wasn't alone after all, and maybe there was someone to join him now. Someone to join him in the land of the dead. He dozed off, safe in Blaine's arms, a smile on his face.

That's all folks.


Well, a twist, a way to sneak Klaine into the story at it's all over. Did you guys see that coming? I didn't and I even left clues! Anyways, lets get down to it.

Thank you all. Seriously. This was my first venture into fan fic, and you guys made it successful to me. I never even thought I'd make it past Chapter 3, but you're reviews made it happen. Thank you all so so much. You don't have to review if you don't want to, but I'm always curious about your views, its fun when I read them.

Thank you people of the United States, you guys were the biggest and bestest readers! But a big thank you as well for the readers across the pond that got the Monty Python joke, thank you Canadians, thank you Land Down Under, danke Germany, thank you Brazil and my own home country of Singapore, and now the rest. A big thank you to the readers from the following countries: Ireland, New Zealand, Philippines, Netherlands, Finland, Poland, Dominican Revar, Bahrain, Chile, France, Indonesia, Belgium, Denmark, Trinidad and Tobago (Cool!), Spain, the U.A.E, Isle of Man, Sweden, Argentina, Virgin Islands, China, Mexico, South Africa, Israel, Iran, Austria, Peru, Korea, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Hungary and Italy. Long list but seriously, thank you international readers for making MTK a success for me!

And now, it's the end. A sequel? Maybe, in the future. Got a lot of work to do. But its not the end of my writing, we'll see. Till then, CHEERS till the next time we meet! Dr PQ Jazz