Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Vestiges of a Fearful Night ❯ Chapter 1

Disclaimer: this is a fan fiction. I do not profit from it in any way that can be proven by any revenue system. I do not own Weiss Kreuz, nor do I own the Batman and Julie Andrews.

 

 

Vestiges of a Fearful Night

 

One man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter.

 

One man's vigilante is another man's superhero.

 

One man's mercenary killer is another man's righteous assassin.

 

There are as many truths as there are realities. A person can have as much conflicting views as a whole crowd's. A diamond has many facets- move it and you seem to be looking at a different jewel, at a different light being bounced from the cold hard surface. One can doubt the reality of the diamond, the facets, and the light, but not the differences in perception.

 

Let's move the diamond, and see a different facet.

 

* * * *

 

Hot piss trickled down his shorts, pooling in a warm puddle on the ground not far below. He has soiled his pants, and his mind automatically thought that his mommy would be very cross with him, when his mind immediately followed, without hint of sarcasm, darkness or angst, that she was dead, and it's hard to be cross when you're dead. In just ten minutes, just after eleven, little Jackie Donovan was orphaned, in the process of getting a glass of warm milk in the unlit kitchen on a Friday night. There his parents were, slumped on the kitchen floor, thankfully face-down, and in a pool of their own blood while Jackie stood in a pool of his own piss. It was very dark, but the light coming in from one of the small kitchen windows his mother was fond of decking with frilly curtains threw a ghastly spotlight on the heads of his parents, which were several inches away from the necks they were normally attached to. In all his seven years spent watching the cartoons and celebrating Halloween, sliced heads were usually funny, but now he thought they're not, especially if they're your parents'. And then, like something out of the Batman cartoons, the incongruous shadow that the icebox has cast, moved. When you've just seen your parents' heads disembodied and you've just pissed your shorts standing, your mind tends to be in shock and so Jackie just stood there right where he was. The shadow moved again, and a long silvery thing glinted when it caught the light.

 

“Fiddlesticks” Jackie thought, “it's going to get me.”

 

He snuck a glance back to his parents' bodies, he stood mutely as the shadow moved again and there was a “swish” sound in the air as the long, glinting, silvery thing came nearer, nearer, then was raised high…

 

He knew he should've closed his eyes, it only follows when you're scared and standing there about to be hit by a shadow with a long glinting silvery thingy, but he didn't. He doesn't know why. He thought of whatever else he could do, and Julie Andrews came to the rescue—he whistled. It didn't help any, although the shadow stopped for a moment it went on coming towards him in that slow, sure gait Jackie didn't know until now that shadows possessed. Oh well. Maybe he should've said hi instead or maybe this was his mom's ghost back to get cross with him over his soiled shorts. Swish, swish…

 

“Stop.”

 

The shadow stopped, now clearly a shadowy figure of a person wearing either a trench coat or a long skirt, face still obscured from any chance to log onto Jackie's memory. It turned, and Jackie looked behind it to see another shadow, one that was crouched on the floor not far from his parents and one that he was sure wasn't there when he last looked.

 

“Stop, Abyssinian, he's just a boy.”

 

The standing shadow, presumably the `Abyssinian', replied. “He's a witness.”

“He didn't see anything.”

“He's a loose end.”

 

The crouching shadow stood, and walked over to the Abyssinian shadow, both still conveniently obscured and avoiding any lighting. This other one also seemed to be wearing a skirt, or another trenchcoat. They also seemed to be doing the “silent argument” that his parents do- used to do- when they just stared at each other with angry faces. Jackie squinted, trying to see if they had angry faces, but he couldn't make out anything apart from the general shape of two heads. The piss- his piss- already cooled, and now he began to feel uncomfortable.

 

“Excuse me… shadow persons…”

 

The two shadows broke apart and turned to Jackie.

 

“Umm… what… my parents… are they…?”

 

The one shadow, the one without the long swishing glinting silvery thingy, walked towards him, and before Jackie could see a face a hand was already over his eyes. The hand had warm liquid on it, and it was now on Jackie's face. He felt the hand's owner crouch down.

 

“What's your name?”

 

Before Jackie could reply, the other voice cut him short.

 

“We don't have time for this boy, Bali—“

“Shut. Up, Abyssinian. How old were you when you saw your family dead?”

 

He could hear, feel and imagine the anger in that voice, and Jackie shivered. He wanted to take off the hand and run up to his room, hide under the covers and wish it all away.

 

“Okay kid, what's your name?”

“Jackie…” He whispered.

“What?”

 

He remembered his father, beheaded on their otherwise immaculately clean kitchen floor, and he tried to ignore the wetness on his face and shorts, stood straight, but still his voice cracked.

 

“Jackie, sir. After my father Jack Donovan.”

 

The silence that followed could have meant anything, but Jackie thought he felt the shadow before him nodded its head in approval.

 

“Is that so? Well, Jackie, you didn't see anything, right? Nod your head. Good. Now you never got up this night. You are still asleep—don't interrupt me. You are still asleep. Now when I let go of you, you keep your eyes closed and count up to 10, then afterwards you go upstairs, wash your face and change your pants, go to bed and… pray. Pray for your parents. Yes, they're dead. If you don't follow what I just told you, my friend here, Mr. Shadow no. 2, has a sword…”

 

Jackie heard the same swishing sound before, only now it was very close to his left ear, and then he felt something touch his cheek. It was very cold.

 

“… do you know what swords do? Don't nod, say yes or no. Carefully.”

“…yes…”

“Good. You'll keep your eyes closed?”

“…yes…”

 

The cold left his cheek, and he thought that maybe Mr. Shadow no. 2 left. Good, he's the scary one. After a short while he heard movements, then the shadow holding his head came closer to him, he felt it's breath on his ear as it whispered.

 

“To anyone who asks, forget this night, but to yourself, never forget. I killed your parents; this is their blood on my hands. Tomorrow, some people will come to get you; they will take care of you the way they know how. And when you grow up, and you still remember this night, find me… so you can fight me. When I die, Jackie, I'd like to die from your hands.”

 

* * * *

 

That was what Jackie Donovan, now named Dean Stevens, remembered of that night. Of course he counted to 10 before opening his eyes, and he shed tears before his parents' heads, went upstairs, changed his shorts and washed the blood off his face. But what he remembered most was what Mr. Shadow no. 1 told him, and the feel of cold, unforgiving steel on his cheek. Perhaps, Mr. Shadow no. 1 was the scarier one after all.

 

 

 

 

A one-shot fic until I get around to finishing the story on paper. Perhaps it's best as a one-shot fic. Original characters- Jackie Donovan, Mr. Jack Donovan, Dean Stevens- are entirely fictional. Pardon if you have the same name or have read the name somewhere before- I obviously have little imagination. I must do this- thank you to anyone and everyone who reads any and every of my works. Special mention to Moimoi-chan (if you're reading this one). Is it scary to have my own rabid fan-girl, yes I guess, but so far you've been rabies-free and nice, so I really wouldn't know.