Dont Miss He Said Ch 03

Here it is: the next exciting chapter of '"Don't Miss," He Said.' I highly recommend you read the first two chapters of this story before continuing. If you don't, it's like dividing by zero: either your head explodes into many little logical fallacies, or your eyes turn black. The following takes place about three days after Alphonse and Elena moved in together. So, here we go. Alphonse, they're all yours.

*************

"If life ain't just a joke, than why am I laughing? If life ain't just a joke, than why are we laughing? If life ain't just a joke, than why are we dead?" --My Chemical Romance: Dead!

*************

I was getting annoyed.

"I thought it was Foxtrot. You are using NATO phonetics, right," Elena asked.

"Well, it could be, but if there's a heavy machine gunner layin' some death on your 20, and you've got to radio foxtrot for assistance, you gotta count your syllables. Take an extra syllable, and your jaw could be hangin' by a thread. Shot clean off. That's a messy procedure, reattaching a jaw, mind you," Gibalev told her.

"Christ, Gibalev, tone it down. Some of us don't eat off of cadavers," Himeko scolded him.

"Ah, let him talk," Albrecht said, swallowing some more eggs. "This is the first time in months they've eaten at ease."

"First time in a while I've done a lot of things, Staff Sergeant," Manstir said. "Sleeping in separate rooms for once is a blessing."

"That's never stopped you before," commented Gibalev, struggling to cut the thick slabs of bacon. "Don't think we can't here you fapping up there. Not too tactical."

Peterson started graphically chugging his tall glass of orange juice. Himeko started cheering for him as he drank.

"Maybe he wants you to hear him, Gibalev," my brother said.

I put my head in my hands. This was getting too much for me. "Jesus Christ," I sighed into my palms. "What next, a musical number?"

"KILL!!!" yelled Peterson as he slammed his glass into the table, and Himeko and Elena started to cheer and clap. Albrecht stood up from his seat to join the clapping.

"Well done, Peterson! CCK!"

The three men answered similarly, "CCK!"

"Assume the front-leaning rest position," shouted Albrecht, getting down into the same position, suitable for starting pushups.

Peterson, Gibalev and Manstir went down on the floor as well, and they started doing pushups in unison. Then they began singing. "Oh, believe me if all those endearing young charms!"

Again, I was getting annoyed.

"Which I gaze on so fondly today," they continued, very irreverently. "Were to change by tomorrow!"

Albrecht yelled through the singing, "Louder still! With fervor!"

"Or fleet in my arms," they sang, getting louder. "Just like fairy gifts fading away!" They then all rose, and Albrecht picked up his fork from the table, pointing it dramatically down the hallway.

"Retreat! Get inside the Hornburg! They've breached the fucking Deeping Wall!"

Able Squad sprinted out of the room screaming, with Albrecht following them, making more Lord of the Rings references as he went. His fork finally fell back onto the table. "I don't think I can take much more of this, Elena," I finally said, after the front door closed. "Now I realize why they make the recruits eat at attention."

Elena got up from her seat, clearing the places of dishes and silverware as she came towards me. "Don't fret," she said. "They're quite entertaining. It's kind of fun." She passed behind me, grabbed the plate and fork I had used, and planted a kiss on the back of my neck, whispering in my ear, "Plus, he's your brother, and they're with him. We haven't much of a choice."

"What do you think, Himeko," I asked, noticing the far-off look in her eyes. She seemed to shake herself as if from sleep.

"You don't want to know what I think, Alphonse."

I looked behind me where she had been looking, and saw Able squad out on the lawn, about thirty yards out, doing more pushups, while Albrecht paced back and forth. By the way his mouth was moving, I assume he was giving them a highly motivating cadence.

I sat at my desk in the study later that day, talking with Peterson, who had his laptop with him. He had spread several files on my desk, which I was perusing. "Are any groups claiming responsibility for this one," I asked, motioning to one document in particular.

Peterson looked down at his laptop and furrowed his brow in thought. He made a few quick keystrokes, then responded, still typing and scrolling, "the attack on BWI? That was a while ago. Let me check it out. Police don't have anything, and local feds shut up about it before the body was cleaned up."

"What was the actual crime? My copy here's blacked out everything but pronouns and articles."

"Single target, single shot. Heavy caliber sniper round. The rifling reminded me of a Barrett, and the round was a .50 cal, but I guess I'm biased."

"Biased?"

"The Barrett .50 caliber, anti-material sniper rifle: I love that motherfucker."

Even I had heard of the badass-ery possible when the weapon was loosed. "Any other information," I asked.

"Well, like I said, local authorities clammed up, but the NSA...They caught something."

"NSA? National Security Agency? But they're external affairs, right?"

"I was skeptical at first, too, but I reason it like this: if it's an international airport, than foreigners can come and go, right? If there are any high-priority targets coming and going, we'd want eyes all over that bitch."

"Go on."

"Well, it turns out that the TSA has its own cameras in the interior. But...NSA's got the exterior taped like a television studio. This is the only picture we have of the assassin."

Peterson handed me an enlargement of the pixel-ridden snapshot I had been provided with in my document. It was a smallish figure, probably no more than five and a half feet tall, hunched over, hefting the sniper rifle. The figure wore a skintight suit with a tactical vest-rig.

"One thing," Peterson said, "it's a woman." "Intriguing. So who's this...bitch's master?"

Peterson thought for a moment, hand running over his high-and-tight haircut. "Well, we don't know. The only clue we have is the shell casing recovered from the rooftop. While the bullet was modified to be a devastator round, quite a trick on a rifle round, the shell casing was standard issue. It was engraved though. It said 'we see your sins', and it had what we believe to be a fish below the text."

"Gospel squad; no doubt about it."

"Now that's a shitty name, like Beauty and the Beast corps. I thought those guys didn't exist. Mr. Rosethorne, are you saying you buy into this Christian Terrorism bullshit?"

"They're not Christian terrorists. And the B&B corps was shit hot; especially if you've got a machine fetish. I also know who Gospel's mastermind is. They call him Judas."

"Jesus Christ...the serial killer?"

I stood up from my seat, and let the files drop into Peterson's lap. "Corporal Peterson," I said, as I left the room, pausing before closing the door, "you may deal in intelligence. But I...I deal in experience."

I left Peterson in the room, and went to find Elena.

She was sitting in the living room with Albrecht. "Hi, Alphonse," she said, seeing me enter. I sat down next to her, and listened as Albrecht finished up his story.

"But when I looked down, I realized it was actually made of chicken livers, and not album covers like I had thought. Five seconds later, we heard the news about the prime minister, but we weren't paying attention, because it was our turn for the roller coaster."

"No wonder she couldn't play soccer after that," Elena said.

"What were you talking about, Albrecht," I asked.

He responded, "I was telling your girlfriend here about the day I met Gibalev."

"Good story," I responded. Albrecht excused himself, and I turned to Elena. "I can't help but smile every time."

"Every time what?"

"Every time someone calls you my girlfriend; it makes me happy," I said.

"Aww, Alphonse. That's cute."

"Maybe, but it's also true. I love you Elena."

She smiled, and leaned in close. I planted a kiss on the side of her neck, nudging up her chin so I could kiss under it. Elena sighed heavily, and rubbed her hand across my leg, raking her nails across, and rubbing the inside of my thigh.

"Now now, Elena; someone could walk in at any time. Let's keep it PG, okay," I asked her in a mock-lecturing tone.

"Hmm...let them come and go as they please," Elena said, leaning closer, and resting her head on my chest. "I think I'd be okay with the whole world knowing."

"Yeah, but..." I kissed the top of her head. "I think they'd be jealous of us," I said with a smirk on my face. My smirk faded.

"What's wrong, Alphonse," Elena said, looking around.

"Have you seen Himeko recently," I asked, getting up.

Elena frowned. "Oh, come on Al," she pined, "sit down. Worry about your sister later."

That was odd. Did Elena just...Himeko? My sister? I had no sister, least of all Himeko.

"What was that you said?"

"Oh, nothing. Come and sit down," she said in a low sultry voice. "Your little Relena's pussy has gotten so wet."

"What?!" Elena had never talked like that before. Hold on...Relena? What was going on?

I mused for a second, and decided to play along. "Hey, um...Relena?"

"Yes, Alphonse?"

"If I give you some...release..."

"Go on, Al."

"Could I call you Elena while I do it?"

She seemed taken aback, but quickly regained her cool. "You can call me anything you want, big guy, even Elena," she said.

"Who are you," I asked. This was not my Elena. "Just who the hell are you?"

The sexy grin was wiped from her face. She cursed under her breath as she stood up, her eyes cast down. She shifted her feet slightly, right shoulder forward. I heard a suppressed laugh come from the woman, and it grew, until I was sure everyone in the house could hear it.

The next thing I remember, I was on the ground, and this faux-Elena was jumping to her feet, withdrawing a knife from my side. I felt a white-hot surge as the blade's length came out of my side, and oxygen flooded my tissues. I was losing blood fast, and my body was doing its best to dull the pain...by making me pass out.

As my vision faded, I saw the Elena-imposter pull at her neck. Once. Twice. The third time, her neck seemed to change color, followed by her whole head, and change into a neutral green hue, reforming to the shape of a spandex hood. Everything went white just as the figure's body changed a similar green, losing its shape and becoming more...curvy. "Octo-camo," I said, and as my hearing too slipped into a monotone siren, I heard a deep, throaty female voice, laughing lightly as it spoke.

"Yeah, just like it, kid."

*************

"Goddamit! Wake the hell up! Fuckin' civilians...Peterson, get another bucket. Yeah, with ice this time. That oughta wake the son'bitch up quick as shit." I recognized the voice as that of Gibalev. Thank God we had a medic.

I rose up off the ground, but quickly fell back to the ground, as the pain in my side was unbearable. "Think you curse enough, Gibalev," I asked, surprised at how weak my voice sounded.

"Yeah, well, I talk out of my head, when I...get worried is all. Glad you're up and around," he responded. I was surprised that Gibalev was worried about me, thinking that he must have had a lot of gruesome field-medic incidents.

Gibalev kept his nervous smile as he continued. "You had us sweating back there, Rosethorne. We were all worried, but...some of us more than others." He looked up from where I lay. "You can send her in now."

I looked to where he had called, but saw only an old set of sky-blue bed sheets from my childhood. They were hung in a square around me, and as I looked up, I realized they were duct-taped to the ceiling.

Suddenly, Elena burst through a slight break in the makeshift curtain. I have said that Elena's eyes looked beautiful with tears accenting the corners, but this type of crying I could do without. Her eyes were red, as were her cheeks, and the area around her eyes. Makeup ran from her eyes; it looked as if she had been crying continuously for some time.

"Alphonse," she cried out, seeing me propped up on one elbow. She ran closer and slid onto her knees, holding me in her arms.

I winced in pain as her hand pushed into my bandaged wound. She looked at her hand, finding it stained with blood despite the heavy bandaging Gibalev had given me. "Oh God, Alphonse...I knew it was bad, but...Will you be alright?"

Trying to lighten the mood, I laughed a little. "Yeah, but the doctor says I'll never play the piano again." Elena laughed along, and I saw her finally switch from tears of sadness to tears of relief, and joy.

Elena raised her hand, still bloody. She brought it down hard across the right side of my face. "Holy shi—Elena! Why did you.."

"That," she said with a heavy grimace, "is for offering to finger another woman."

"I'm sorry Elena. I thought it was you."

She continued, raising her hand again. "This is to get the blood off your face," she said, wiping my face with the non-bloody half of her hand.

"Elena..."

"And this," she said, smiling and leaning in close, "is for surviving." She leaned in even closer, and kissed me deeply. The metallic taste of blood graced my tongue as I slid it past my lips and hers. If I was going to get stabbed and then slapped...dammit, I was going to get some.

"Eh-hem..."

We swiveled our eyes, unwilling or unable to break the kiss.

It was Albrecht. He stepped through the curtain-break and motioned us through to the other side. Elena took my right hand, and I kept my left pressed against my wound, bearing the pain that would wash over me each time I put weight on my right foot.

When we 'broke on through to the other side', I saw Albrecht sitting back down in a grouping of chairs with Gibalev, Peterson and Manstir. There were two empty chairs which Elena and I took seats at.

"What's going on," I asked everyone. "Who was...Oh god, where's Himeko?" I had noticed that there was no chair for her. Everyone looked away, not wanting to catch my gaze. No one answered. "That wasn't Elena, and it wasn't Himeko that...that attacked me. I know it wasn't either of them."

"Yeah," Manstir remarked with a slight grin, "but it was for me." He sounded different. I looked him over, and noticed him clutching his right side, just as I had done.

"What do you mean," I asked, already expecting what was to come.

Manstir shifted in his chair and began, pausing for broken breath now and again. "I was looking around upstairs, and I saw this open door. I knew it wasn't Miss Wallcroft's room, so I was curious, right?"

We nodded.

He continued, "so, I open the door, and I see someone's in the bed. The covers are pulled up except for the head. I recognized the hair as, uh...Himeko, but she's not turned towards me. So, I call out to her. No answer, but I can hear heavy breathing, and she's moving a little. I shake her, but no answer."

I had guessed what strategy the attacker was going to use. Even Elena was blushing.

"I shake her again, and she rolls over onto her back, and looks straight at me. Her eyes looked...dead. I guess it was from the...ministrations. So, she asks me if I want to watch. I respond as any red-blooded male who's been touring with Able Company—with no decent pussy around, I might add—would respond. I said yes."

If there was a picture in an encyclopedia for 'face-palm', Elena would have been the two page spread.

"Anyway," Manstir said, "so she pulls the comforter down, and she's nude. I mean dead nude. No hair or anything. She looked ready too. So, she's got one hand up on her tits, mauling those suckers, and the other hand's down there going to town on herself with the ole' in-out, in-out."

I felt myself getting aroused, even if it was involuntary. I guess I had never really thought of Himeko as a sexual creature. She had always been there to help me, assist me...She was more like a big sister to me. Oh God...why does that turn me on. God, I'm a terrible person.

Elena nudged me from my thoughts as Manstir went on:

"So I watch her for about a minute, and she tells me she's getting close. I mean, I could hear the squishy noises and what-not. She asks me to 'finish her off'. I had no idea, but turns out she grabbed my hand and stuck me deep inside her. I felt some weird spandex-like resistance, and at first I'm thinking: is this girl a virgin? But then I realize that it shouldn't stretch like that, and should have some sort of hole."

Elena was visibly different. Obviously Manstir's story was having an effect on her too.

"Then, she clamps up and I know she's cumming on my fingers, and I mean, she clamped like a giant clam. I couldn't pull my fingers out. So then, after a minute, she still hasn't released me, and I'd been trying. All of a sudden the girl starts laughing. Hysterically. Before I can ask her what's so funny, I feel this pain in my right side. I look down and the bitch stabbed me."

"Amazing. To think that a man's sexual instinct could get him into trouble," said Elena, obviously sarcastic.

"Regardless, here's why I'm worried, and why we're locked in the basement," said Gibalev, taking charge of the conversation. "The bitch attacked both of you, same girl."

"How is that possible; how do you know," asked Albrecht.

"She's using some sort of optical camouflage. Changes her appearance; I thought it was still top-secret intelligence shit, but apparently," Peterson said, trailing off where his knowledge stopped.

"And, we know it's the same woman from these," Gibalev said, holding up a plastic bag with two metal fragments inside.

"What are those," I asked.

"Blade fragments, from the knife she stabbed you with. I recovered them while treating you," Gibalev said. "We also know that you were attacked first. You got the very tip to the rib, whereas he took a part further down the blade.

"Can we tell what model knife she's using, maybe get an idea who she's working for," asked Albrecht.

Gibalev sighed. "Yes," he said, "it's a standard military bowie knife. But, that's not what worries me."

"What's the bad news," I asked.

Manstir jumped in: "It was my knife."

I thought for a second...then spoke, "so she stole your knife, stabbed you, then stabbed me. Case closed, right?"

"Not quite," Gibalev said. "Remember, you were stabbed first. That means that the bitch stole Manstir's knife...stabbed you, and then went back to bait him with the bedroom antics."

"One more thing worries me though," Manstir said. I gave him an inquisitive look. He answered, "The knife...it ended up in your pocket. The bitch is playing with us."

We sat silently again, the only sound being laughter. It was her; psychotic laughter that drifted down to the basement. We looked up as we heard heavy static resolved into more snickering.

"She's using the old intercom system," I said, recognizing the static from Himeko's morning calls. "That means she's in Himeko's room."

"You'd be...right about that," the deeper female voice from before said through the static. "And I must say, we're having a lot...of fun!"

Albrecht walked over to the north wall, where he saw a box for the intercom. He pressed the button, and responded, "Who are you?"

"Hmm...Good question," the voice responded, and took a pause. "I think this one's called Himeko, right? She's awfully cute. But me? They call me James...the Just." My worst fears were then confirmed. It was Gospel again.

Albrecht gave me a knowing look. He knew it was them as well. He then responded through the intercom, "How do we know Himeko's even alive?"

The voice went silent. Even the quiet laughter ceased. "Well, she can't come to the phone at the moment, but she has a message for...Albrecht. She says 'ohhhhh...take me...I'm so wet and ready.'" The voice faded off, but was quickly replaced by a full maniacal spout of hilarity.