Title: The Path Of Blood: Broken
Author: Luna "Tic" Vee
Feedback: Druidess@msn.com
Rating: This chapter is a hard PG-13
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Series/Sequel: 3 of 4
Warnings: Lots of blood here, murder, cursing God, suicidal
tendencies, Jay torture, GoneBob, homicidal Jay, and overuse of
ellipses
Spoilers: None
Archive: Sureness.
Disclaimer: I own diddly squat. Jay and Silent Bob are property of
Kevin Smith, View Askew, Miramax, and the Martians that live in
Scott Mosier's left ear.
Summary: Jay thinks he finds what he's been searching for all these
years, but ends up with another print on his note. Actual murder in
this chappy! Skip the part if yer queasy!
Notes: Woohoo! Inspired by way too much Johnny The Homicidal
Maniac lately. Oh how I love the thought of homicidal Jay. Don't
worry, it'll have a happy ending... I hope.
***


Midnight. The witching hour. When the moon is high in the sky and
most normal folks are home, snug in their beds. When the lowlives
and scum come out to peddle their chemicals and try to have some
meaningless relations with one another. When all is nestled in the
cool embrace of darkness, the moon shining down like a watchful eye
on the face of the night.

Long ago, he'd always heard people say that midnight was when the
crazies came out...

...they'd never known they'd be so right.

Screaming through the shadows at lightening speed, rain drenching
the cold concrete, and his messy, slicked-back hair, the hunter
stalked his prey.

Darting between alleys and behind large objects, a tiger stalking,
prowling, following his quarry, waiting for the moment to strike.

But this prey was different. Much different. Short, heavy, dark-
haired,
pale skinned, armored with a leather trench coat and a random cap. 
Familiar look and way of carrying himself. Could he be? Could he be
the one? He had to find out. So he stalked.

Slinking around the corner, and further basking himself in shadow, a
cat slithering after a mouse, the kill imminent, if it were the proper
type of prey. A spectre, an angel of death, becoming one with the
darkness, joining the shadows in a sweet, morbid union.

A swoop, two clicks, and the preditor is exposed, menacing and yet
frail-looking, rail-thin, yet armed to the teeth, ready and willing to
cause some damage.

The tiger's quarry stepped backwards silently, his pale grey eyes
widening to the size of saucers. Grey? Grey eyes? Bob didn't have
grey eyes... Bob didn't have light eyes... This wasn't Bob...

Jay screeched and swooped foreward, snatching the man by his
lapels and screaming in his face. "Your eyes, they're grey... Your
eyes are brown... But, they're grey... But Bob's are... You're not
Bob! YOU'RE NOT BOB!" he cried, accusing the man, chasetising
him for not being who he wanted.

Snikt. Shing. Swipe. Jay unsheathed his scimitar in one swift
movement and easily slashed a large gash in the man's throat. Blood
gushed from the wound, splattering in Jay's face and everywhere else
as well. He quickly let go and stepped back as the man thrashed and
grabbed at his throat, gasping for air and trying to scream. Another
quick swipe and his intestines spilled out. A nice hard plunge and 
his
heart was pierced. The man fell limply to the ground as Jay pulled 
his
knife out, taking some pieces of organs with it on the hook-like 
blade.

Jay crouched down and reached into his boot, removing his well-worn
note. Reading over it twice, he slowly dragged his hand through the
pooling blood on the hard pavement, and left a thumbprint on the
back of the note. Folding it up, Jay sighed and looked over the
remains of the fallen man. "Too bad... It could've been you, too,
Bob..." Tucking the note back into his boot, he wiped the scimitar 
off
on the man's blood-soaked shirt, and sheathed it. "If only..." He 
took
off into the night.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Sploosh. Plik. 
Plik. Plik.

Rain pouring down, sending a haze over everything and everyone. 
Colours running together, making the world look beautiful, like an oil
painting. Washing away all the pain and heartache, and more
importantly, the blood staining his skin and clothing. The crimson
splattered over his form. It was an inevitable complication of his 
line
of `work'. But, a nessecary one. The scarlet esscence of life, that
coursed through all. Except him. He long ago had lost faith in his
ability to bleed. To feel. To be human any longer. Now he was a
shadow. A spectre. Death embodied.

"Death to the wicked!" Jay cackled, crossing his eyes and spinning on
his toe, before returning to his fluid run through the streets and 
alleys.

A couple hours later, at home, darkness looms like a preditor, ready
to take Jay's head off if he lets his guard down for a moment. 
Half-devoured popsicle hanging from his soft lips. Silence deafening,
swallowing all but the ambient crickets outside his broken window. 
Once again, sadness takes hold. Sadness, and guilt, and heartbreak,
and regret, and the wish and need to just come to an end...

...and the unfulfilled wishes of the cold embrace...

...and the inability to do anything about it but weep.

***