death

Alright. I think I'm beginning to believe you guys.

I just got back from the police station.

Earlier today I received a phone call from a number I didn't recognize. I answered it, and there was a voice on the other end of the line, and the voice was... it was like he was trying to hold back a fit of giggles. I could almost hear laughter on the edge of every word he spoke.

"Johnny" was all he said at first.

I asked who this was, and his reply chilled me to the bone and burned itself into my brain.

"I am the fool who dances in the court of the Wooden Empress. I am calling you from Shelby's dorm."

Shelby. That's Xion's real name.

Needless to say, I panicked. I asked the Jester what the hell he was doing there. Why he was calling me. Why he was doing this.

He was silent for a moment, and then he asked me one question, and his voice trembled as he struggled to hold in the laughter: "What is black and white and red all over?" And he hung up.

Roxas was watching me the whole time, and raised his eyebrow when I looked at him. I told him we needed to get to his girlfriend's dorm, and fast.

We have coed dorms, so we were housed in the same building, though she was a floor above us. We rushed up there as fast as we could, and when I found her dorm room, I froze.

The door was almost closed. The edge of the door rested against the edge of the frame, and all it would take was a slight push to open it up. A lot of people have these dry-erase boards hanging from their doors, and on Xion's someone had written two words: "This room."

I opened the door.

And then I threw up.

Xion-- Shelby -- was lying in the center of the room. She'd been stripped of her clothes and her stomach had been cut open from her groin to her chest. Her blood had been splattered all around the room, along with fucking paint. Black and white paint. He'd painted her skin as well, and she lay there, black and white and red with her legs spread apart, her knees up, her arms set under her back so it seemed like she was propping herself up.

We called the police. I mean, what else could we have done? I spent the next few hours talking to them. I showed them the blog and explained everything and showed them the number on my phone.

And then, just before they let me go, one of the officers got up real close to me. It was like he was trying to be nonchalant while doing it, but his muscles were too tense and his face to set with concentration for it to seem natural.

He put a note in my hand before walking away:

"She won't let us help you."