PT 1
Pushing up Daisies Hello, I havent written anything in so long but since I have started having dreams about this man I figured I may as well
Pushing Up Daisies chapter 2 the lake
Summary: After having been brutally murdered by Blaine Debeers while investigating the Utopium trade you awoke six feet under. More like 60 feet under water.
TW: drowning, murder, language maybe, Gore
Word count: 1539
It was strange not having to breath in order to retain consciousness. The overwhelming cold of the lake water filled all your senses, you could barely blink past the murkey green of the water. There wasnt a hope of breathing in anything that wasnt liquid. You expected it to hurt. Pressure in your head or your lungs burning for oxygen. Other than the cold and crushing pressure this was almost peaceful.
It took you a moment to be able to realize you were even under water, and judging by the very faint light above it seemed that you were in deep. The longer you were aware the more you were able to regain your senses. You could barely see little fish swimming around you, probably having been trying to get a meal off your flesh.
There was a heavy weight on your legs and when you looked down you saw why. Your legs were tied together and at the end of them a rather large concrete block.
The pieces were falling together. Someone tried to kill you and dump the body in the lake. Before waking up in the water you couldnt remember much. White hair, red eyes. Gunshots.
Your hands moved against the water to your stomach to find no pain. There were holes. Tiny holes almost completely healed. Concerning of course but not nearly as concerning as the fact that you have been awake underwater for several minutes without any pain, any drawback. You felt almost nothing. Minus the cold and a growing sense of hunger.
'Gotta get out of this.' You thought almost lazily to yourself. You bent over, your moves sluggish in the water, and began unknotting the ties that were holding you down.
The moment your legs were free you kicked against the silt covered ground and shot towards the faint sun. When you broke the surface you tried to take a breath but you couldnt. Something in your lungs were blocking and it forced you into an uncontrollable coughing fit that forced what seemed like gallons of water from your lungs.
Once you were finally able to catch your breath you looked around, blinking the water from your eyes you could see shore in the distance. Even further the Space Needle. You were at lake Winters.
You swam to shore, the gnawing hunger growing with every moment that passed. While underwater it was easy to ignore but now it was almost overwhelming. Before too long you could feel the silt and mud under your feet and you were able to walk out of the lake. Dripping wet, cold and starving but you were walking none the less.
"Ma'am. Are you alright?" You could hear a voice in the distance. They had a soft timber. Warm and seemingly from a southern state. Likely a tourist.
You turned, barely able to make out the mans features. He wore a hat. Maybe green or a greenish brown. He had a greying beard that hid most of his facial features. He wore some sort of flannel under a fishing jacket.
You didnt care about what he looked like. Or that he smelled even more like fish than you. You just wanted to take off his hat and bash his skull until the juicy pink bits came out and thats what you did.
"I'm so hungry." You groaned as you stumbled forward. The man who had quickly closed the distance caught you in his arms as you fell forward, only the moment knocked him off his balance and he fell with you in his arms to the ground.
There was a grunt, this time from him, and you could smell the metallic scent from his head before the red leaked out and pooled around his head. Without skipping a beat you pulled him up by his shoulders and slammed him back down.
There was no screams. No begging for mercy. The only sound was the sickening crunch of skull against the ground and a slight slosh of brain matter leaking out.
Once the hole in the poor fella's head was large enough you dipped your fingers in and plucked out any and all solid you could find, plopping each piece of it in your mouth.
It wasnt what you call good. In fact the bitter metallic tell tale taste organ meat always left in your mouth had been enough to make you swear off organs in your youth but the satisfying way it satiated that growing hunger that moments ago was so overwhelming was enough to make it your new favorite flavor.
You ate until there was nothing left, and once you were finished you sat in beside the corpse of the poor fisherman. You had gone your entire career without ever killing anyone. The first person you ever have killed is this innocent man. It hurt. You felt horrible but you couldnt control it. Nobody saw. There was no witness, no evidence. He didnt deserve this. His family in whatever state he was from didnt deserve it. But there was nothing you could do to change the fact you killed him. But you could still protect yourself.
After your pity party you stood again, finding your senses much sharper and your balance back. You could think again and you remembered everything from before you woke up. Blaine Debeers scratched you, shot you, then tied you to center blocks and dumped you in the lake.
It was easy physically filling the fisherman's vest with rocks and dirty to weigh him down but emotionally it was one of the hardest things you had ever done. But you did it anyway and swam the body far enough that rouge swimmers wouldnt find it easily. Once it was safely at the bottom of the lake you decided to go home to figure out what to do next.
The small apartment in downtown Seattle wasnt the ideal home but it was your home nonetheless. You only used it to sleep, spending most of your time working. You were for lack of a better word, a workaholic. You only felt truly at home when on the job.
The apartment was plain, almost as plain as Blaine's office. A single keyring by the door beside an empty coat rack. There was a simple ugly plaid three person couch and a matching arm chair. Something you picked up from a thrift store when you realized you couldnt just have a lawn chair as your home decor. There was no tv. No radio. The only potential entertainment a person could get was from the bookshelf that was full of criminal law books and files from previous cases you had worked.
The kitchen was a little more luxurious with new matching silver appliances, a well loved kureg coffee machine, a shiny new microwave and your favorite, the air frier.
When you got to the door you found that someone had been here already. The wood was splintered around the deadbolt. There was a dent in the middle of the door, a sure sign that it had been kicked in.
Your hand instinctively went to where you normally kept your gun but of course there was nothing there. You were a murder victim. Usually the killer wont leave weapons on his victims bodies. Instead you pushed open the door and walked into the near empty apartment.
There was definitely a break in and whoever did it was looking for something. Almost everything was where you left if but the contents of your bookshelf were all over the room almost like a welcome homs confetti. And not among the papers was all the information you had collected on Blaine Debeers.
Once you figured out what was missing, which didnt take long at all, you remembered the events which led you to this discovery. Specifically the mixture of lake water and old blood, some yours some fishermans, that coated your body. You wanted, more than anything, a shower.
The bathroom was untouched, as you were sure the bed room was at well. You hadnt thought to hide your research. You were sure the first and only place they looked was the bookshelf and that was where you kept it so after you put yourself back together you would have to clean up but it would be the only thing you had to clean.
The bathroom, like the rest of the apartment, was plain. No little knick nacks. The soap dispenser was mint green with no designs or embellishes. The toothbrush holder the same with only one toothbrush even though it could hold four. There was a towel rack with one, also mint colored, towel on it.
You walked into the bathroom and flipped on the light before gasping at the shocking image in the mirror. It was you but not the you that you remembered.
Your hair which had been (y/h/c) since you were born was snowy white. Lighter than Blaines but almost the same. Your skin had lost all pigment, leaving you looking almost ghostly. No blush. No color. And your eyes were now a light blue with purple shadowing that left you looking like you hadnt slept in weeks. The term zombie came to mind.
