InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Keeper ❯ The Beginning ( Chapter 1 )

Hey there! I haven't written fanfiction in a VERY long time. But I have such a love for it, especially lately, that I just have to give it another try. I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot. The characters are strictly of Rumiko Takahashi's creation.

Chapter One : The Beginning

Have you ever seen something out of the corner of your eye? Flashes of shapes and colors that you convince yourself are figments of your imagination or, at most, dust particles catching light? However, just how far can these explanations go? Just how long can we allow logic to place a veil over our vision, skewing how we see the world? The world around us is a much wider place than what we allow ourselves to see; what we are allowed by others to see.

There is a block that curiously develops in the human brain after a certain age unless special measures are taken. This block develops when the human brain decides that seeing things out of the corner of your eye will affect your sanity, almost like an act of self perseveration. Because of this, majority of the population doesn't see the world as a place full of magic, wonder and beauty; they see it as a black and white world of machined perfection. A world where behind a peppy smile, the magician winces as he makes things move with strings; a world where the witches and spell casters frown at how they are portrayed in the various mediums of entertainment; a world where taking off that logical veil and seeing the truth is seen as insanity.

These worlds are incredible; the creatures that inhabit it even more so. I write this now to tell you what I see every day, something that defies all logic and embraces the colorful world of magic, folklore and supernatural happenings. My name is Lillian Beauregard and I am the last of my kind and I call myself by the only name I know. I am a Fae Keeper. I can already picture your face in my minds eye as you read that name. Fae Keeper. Such a strange name, but I suppose to really make sense of it you would have to know what a Fae is, correct? Fae is what you would call a “fairy”, and some can appear humanoid while actually being creatures right out of your wildest dreams or nightmares. They are ever present in the world around us, no matter how overlooked they may be and it is my job to “keep” them - so to speak.

I guess I should start at the beginning; whenever you embrace a gift that has to do with the supernatural, you attract the good and the bad. The bad ever benefitting from the skewed view of the good we have around us. I've seen the good and bad; the bad is worse than any imagination can provide. This is the chance you take when you `check yes' and accept the gift, and burden, presented to you at childhood - or later. However, while magic in essence is neutral, what you do with it and what comes of it depends on the user. It may build or destroy; mystify or terrify; heal or hurt.

In my case, I personally am a healer first and a fighter second. I heal what regular doctors can't touch, what regular doctors don't see - what they aren't supposed to believe in. I cure ailments that have no logical or normal basis and no physical cure. My `birth' was strange; my existence is even stranger. I will tell you what I know and what I was told from the very beginning.

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It was Halloween in St. Clair Shores and the Beauragard Family Funeral Home was finally locking up for the night. Don Beauragard, a tall regal man with clear blue eyes, gave a disgruntled sigh as he attempted to work out some of the stress induced kinks out of his shoulders and calling over his shoulder to the boys going out the back door,

“Goodnight boys!”

He was on his way past long windows carefully curtained with sheer drapes when a small voice seemed to make its way through the still air trapped inside the regal red brick and under the sharp peaks, steep and un-walk able, pointing to the sky as if showing the way, painted in black slate.

The voice was strange, the actual content of the sweet voice not quite reaching his ears, but dancing just out of his reach. However, Don shrugged it off as his picked the funeral home key from his jingling collection. Holding the key between his thumb and forefinger, he absentmindedly placed his other hand on the knob, opening the door outward. He froze as he felt it tap against something sitting on the ground. Looking down, he took notice of a woven basket.

Suddenly, a whine grew from the basket just as he noticed it, he took a startled step back as he stared, and after a moment he leaned down and picked up a small fussing child. She was dressed in a shock of color, a tunic of deep purple tied off with a gold belt, socks of red and blue adorned her feet and a rainbow assortment of bows kept her short hair twisted and pulled away from her cherub-like face. Scraps of colored and patterned fabric were tied around the belt, almost giving her a tutu of colorful scraps. As soon as he held her, he heard bell jingle as the wind picked up, howling around them and the basket as if they were in the center of a vortex. The darkness around him flickered and lit up with varying sizes of specks of light as the voice of a man rippled through the darkness on a current of pure power, making Don's hair stand on end and his skin tingle:

“Take care of her”

The voice surprised him, but not as much as the harsh accent accompanying the strange voice, surprising him so much that he dropped his keys. As Don leaned down to fumble in the darkness, a small wisp of light made a tight circle and grew with intensity on the ground. Blinded, Don blocked his eyes and the eyes of the child of his arms as best he could, and winced at the intensity that could even be felt through the thick sleeve of his tweed jacket. As sure as the light came, it faded and left behind a small box. Without a single thought, Don pocketed the small box and stood there a great while, staring into nothing even as the twinkling lights and bells faded and the world became still once again.

After a moment, Don finally looked down at the obviously hand woven basket as he held the now peacefully sleeping child close. The basket glowed faintly, illuminating it and a small sliver of ground around it in a halo of white light. An assortment of odd jewels and baubles covered the basket giving it a flair of the uncommon. A few of these baubles were even normal everyday items, small and just a little more on the sparkly side. Inside the basket, carefully placed white blankets with the insignia of the silhouette of a small fairy, her toes pointed, a large crown on her head, and a train flowing around her. These blankets spilled over the braided edges onto the concrete, the only darkness on the blankets being the shadows in the creases.

Hurriedly, Don carefully slipped the baby back into the basket and flipped the blankets back into the basket before grabbing it, lifting it to rest on his hip as he leaned it carefully against the wall of the building. He opened the door, without jostling the sleeping babe, and stepping into the darkened funeral home. Setting the basket down, Don turned and locked the door behind him before picking the basket up once again and hurrying down the main hallway passed dark viewing rooms full of odd noises and moving shadows and down a steep staircase

Don took the child down to the large dusty storage room, setting the basket on one of the tables and setting her softly, gently, back amongst the soft blankets. The poor man spent the next hour, pacing, for he was a superstitious man and receiving a child in a glowing basket made him incredibly nervous, especially considering the date was Hallows Eve. Finally, the child began to fuss; he picked the baby up and tried his best to calm her down. When she was finally burbling happily, Don took a good look at her.

As he looked down at the child, she looked back and Don noticed that her eyes glowed blue and around her pupil glowed a bright inner light. This small child was one of the most beautiful babies Don had ever seen. Suddenly, the baby began to laugh and Don started to remember all the wonderful times in his life, mostly involving hid beautiful wife Heather before she got so sick and mean. Don remembered the first time they took a drive through the country on their first date, her laughing as her hair blew in the wind coming from the open window; he remembered how beautiful she looked at their wedding and the wonderful slow dance that showed them as man and wife for all to see; and he remembered one of the last times before the doctor diagnosed her, her throwing her little boy in the air as his twin sister squealed and begged to be let up too.

Don staggered back, knocking over a small lamp which caused the small girl to laugh more enthusiastically. He stared at her as she clapped tiny hands. Again, he marveled at the beauty contained in such a small package.

He stared around the room at the flickering lights and continued down memory lane of all his happiest memories, especially involving those of Heather.

Don continued to remember how much he really loved her, how much Heather meant to him as he stared around the room at the lights flickering happily about the room, even lights that weren't originally on to begin with.

Finally, the lights stopped flickering and Don went back to pacing, as any sane man in his position would. After what felt like ten or twenty minutes of pacing, Don took a look at his watch and let out a garbled sound of astonishment as he realized it had been nearly four hours since he came downstairs. It was around two in the morning before he finally decided that it would be a good idea to phone home. His wife, Heather, was of course waiting by the phone. She was never the most patient woman, her temper fiery and her accusations quick.

His twin children were only ten years old and being four hours late home was not what a responsible father would do. Heather however did understand his reason when my father mentioned that he had found an abandoned baby. She even insisted that he bring her to their home immediately so that they could figure out what to do from there together.

So, Don loaded the child up in the basket, tucking the blankets securely around her body as she burbled happily in a deep sleep. He left, only for a moment, to quickly make his way upstairs to turn lights on in his cowardice of the moving dark but in his bravery to assure he could safely take her from the home. After turning out the lights and slinking back down stairs, he grabbed the basket slowly and carefully before making his way back through the funeral home, cautiously moving through the front door as he had four hours before. He paused, looking about the darkened area. Taking in the halo-esque glow of the streetlights as larger reflections of man twinkled off the nearby water's edge. A bell jingled in welcome from far off in the dark as tiny lights once again lit up the world around him, the streetlights becoming nothing but background noise as the water faded from his sight.

Another vortex picked up, this one not as imposing as the one earlier. The breeze tickled his cheeks, comforting him, as the child once again awoke and threw her hands in the air. With a burst of light from small hands and a happy shriek, the lights dove. They bounced within her reach as she laughed and grabbed at them as they darted away, accompanied by bells and childlike laughter. Don gently placed the basket down at his feet, and slowly backed away as he watched the tiny bursts of light dance about the child's reaching fingers only to twirl away at the last moment to leave her giggling and shrieking. Finally, the lights began to fade away as each one made a gentle connection with her forehead before disappearing into the darkness. After they had all gone, there was only one light left and these one was much bigger than the rest. The light, more cylindrical than orb shaped, almost stood in front of my basket, a heavy bell rang out as the child reached for the light as if asking to be picked up. A deep chuckle rang through the air as the light seemed to kneel, calming her for a moment before in the blink of an eye disappearing.

On the cold cement ground in front of the basket laid a small trinket no bigger than Don's forefinger, sparkling white and shaped to look like a small fairy - almost identical to the markings on the blankets. He knelt slowly, grabbing the object before carefully pocketing it in the same pocket as the box from earlier and turned towards the basket. Once again, the child was fast asleep. Don carefully picked the basket up and slipped it under his arm before hurrying to his old Buick and setting it in the passenger seat. He put the car in high gear and sped off as much as he could without jostling the sleeping child. Speeding down side streets, pushing his luck with speed, Don rocketed home to his waiting wife.

After arriving home and carefully walking up to the door, Don began to jostle the handle, however that only lasted a moment before Heather whipped the door open with a wild look in her eyes as she glared at her husband before turning a softer look to the quiet sleeping form.

She gently took the basket, walking inside the immaculate house passed perfectly manicured windows and couches with rugs specially fit to the floors she walked before placing it on the matching table and chairs that sat in the kitchen with carefully cluttered walls of tasteful floral artwork. Peeling back the blankets and exposing the small child to the artificial light, she looked her up and down, taking in the colorful mishap of clothes that swaddled the girl in mystery as to where she came from.

Into Heathers arm the girl went as she held the small bundle carefully against her in an almost motherly possessive manner as her husband sat on the couch running a hand through his salt and pepper hair. Heather paced in careful strides, taking the same path back and forth and never going too far or too short of her path. She rocked the girl carefully, forever staring down at the sleeping face and marveling at a full head of hair although the child appeared to be no more than a few days old. She slipped a stray lock of hair out of her face as she moved the child to the crook of her other arm.

As she fell deep into the recesses of her mind, deep into thought, her husband leaned back in the couch with a deep sigh before slipping the trinket out of his pocket and holding it up in the much brighter lights of his manicured home and each time the object would catch the light, another color would be displayed upon its now apparent crystalline surface and upon his skin in strange patterns. Even to his older eyes, the light created child like joy that made his eyes wide and made a quiet chuckle escape his mouth. From the same pocket, he withdrew the small box. After a moment of fiddling with it and examining it from all angles, he found it to be impossible to open and slipped it back into his pocket for another day, taking note of a name on the top of it,

“Kagome.”

However he placed the trinket in the shadow of the couch before turning around with one arm on the back of the couch and looking at his wife,

“So, do we call the police or what?”

This one phrase, this one line, startled Heather out of whatever deep thought she was lost in or stuck on, causing her to jostle the baby out of sleep; and the effect was immediate.

The small girls eyes shot open, glowing the brightest blue the two adults had ever seen, her little face scrunched up in irritation as she began to cry and howl. Heather ran across the room to throw the child, as gently as one can be thrown, back into the basket as lights invaded the room, bouncing off the walls knocking the perfect portraits askew. The objects in the room were also affected, glowing with the same strange iridescent light that the other forms in the room were accompanied by as the object vibrated out of their place settings with some of the smaller items levitating slightly off the floor. Don jumped off the couch the second he felt the disturbance and Heather began to scream. From the pristine and carefully decorated railing of the stairs leading to the second floor of the old colonial home, a small voice of two children in unison rang out,

“The Keeper is here.”

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Well, I hope you enjoyed it. It isn't much, but I really enjoyed writing it.

Until next time!

-Cat