Witch Hunter Robin Fan Fiction ❯ Amon's Christmas Carol ❯ Chapter 1

Amon stirred in his bed, trying hard to get to sleep after a long winter's day at the office. He had chosen to skip the annual STN-J Christmas party at Harry's, opting to sit home in his apartment, downing a bottle of Jim Bean. A rustling noise caused him to jolt upright in bed, his H&K .45 at the high ready.

 

“Who's there?” he demanded.

 

A specter floated from his closet into the center of the room. Squinting, Amon made out the image, but doubted what his eyes saw.

 

“Kate?” he whispered in disbelief.

 

“Bonjour Amon,” his former partner greeted. “Long time, no see?”

 

“I must be drunker than I thought,” the former hunter reasoned under his breath.

 

“No, it is me, I was Katherine Anestopoulo in life,” the ghost affirmed.

 

“Come back to haunt me for hunting you?” he questioned, eyes not betraying the fear rising within him.

 

“What's done is done, mon ami,” the thing said. “The reason why I am here is to warn you of three visitors you will have this night.”

 

“I know how it goes,” he hissed, “I'm no one's reclamation project.”

 

“You're on a downward spiral, monsieur,” Kate smiled. “And if they cannot help you, nothing will.”

 

With that, she faded away, leaving him once again in darkness. He glanced at the alarm clock, noting it was just after midnight. Keeping a hold on his gun, he settled back into bed, then began to wait.

 

A light came on in his living room, ten minutes later. Cautiously, he rose and made his way out there, gun up for protection. Could these strange happenings be the work of some witch? His eyes widened in surprise and horror at seeing the being now before him.

 

“Okaasama?” he breathed.

 

Esther smiled lovingly at her son, all grown up. “Amon_chan,” she rose from the sofa, somehow gliding towards him.

 

“Stay back,” he warned, leveling the pistol at her.

 

“You'll only wake your neighbors with that thing,” she insisted.

 

“I refuse to accept your appearance!” he growled through clenched teeth.

 

“Were you not foretold by your dearly departed partner that others would visit you this night?” her eyes flashed anger.

 

“How dare you tarnish the memories I had of my mother,” Amon hissed.

 

“How dare you let my death affect the way you live your life now,” she retorted. “So full of anger and hatred for all witches and giving up on dreams of playing music…”

 

Amon lowered his gun. He wanted to believe. The two of them stared at each other wordlessly for several moments. Those were the eyes he once knew, not the crazed ones he remembered when overcome by her craft.

 

“I was never able to say goodbye,” he said softly.

 

“Do you remember that Christmas with your father and Syungi when you were five?” the specter asked warmly.

 

Amon recalled those fond memories. It was the only nice Christmas his family ever had together. Future ones had been ruined by Nagira's mother or when his parent's craft's had awoken.

 

“You can say goodbye now, ber'a,” she offered.

 

He paused then walked slowly towards her, their eyes locked together. Reaching out, he pulled her into his arms, holding her slight frame against his. He remembered how it felt to be held in his mother's warm embrace.

 

“Mom,” he whispered, eyes wide shut.

 

A minute later, he found himself back in his room, in bed clutching a body pillow. Opening his eyes, he smelled a faint scent of jasmine, the perfume his mother used to wear, emanated from the pillow. It lingered fleetingly then was gone.

 

“Kuso,” Amon cursed, angry that it was all a dream. He had it. Deciding not to spend the night alone, he got dressed and headed outside. The drive to Harry's was uneventful, he had shut off the radio after every station had played nothing but Christmas music.

 

Amon brushed the snow off his boots, then entered the dimly lit establishment at last call. The decorations from the party were still up. Several “icicles” were strewn all over the floor. A mistletoe hung in a doorway. Master stood behind the bar, toweling off some glassware.

 

“The usual?” he asked.

 

“Make it a double,” Amon urged the proprietor.

 

“We missed you earlier,” Kobari told him.

 

“I'm not the best of company,” the other admitted.

 

“Touko came with Zaizen for a while, she asked about you,” Kobari told him.

 

“We're not together anymore,” he insisted.

 

“She had on that necklace you gave her last Christmas,” Master said.

 

The tall hunter shrugged, nonplussed.

 

“Robin was also here,” the bartender relayed. “She was talking about colleague Michael Lee and how Zaizen won't allow him to contact his parents even on Christmas. She was hoping that you could call them and tell them her son is alright.”

 

Amon sighed. “Robin's too kind for her own good. Michael should never have tried to hack into the STN-J in the first place.”

 

“She also seemed disappointed you didn't show up, I think you were her Secret Santa or something,” Master went on.

 

“I told Doujima I didn't want to be involved in that nonsense,” he retorted angrily.

 

“Nevertheless Robin got something for you and she didn't get anything. It turns out you were chosen to get her something.”

 

“Great,” he let out another sigh of annoyance and downed his drink.

 

“What are your Christmas plans? I can make a plate for you tomorrow,” Kobari suggested.

 

“My brother wanted to have me over, but I told him not to bother,” admitted the hunter.

 

Amon stayed at the bar until Master closed up then bade the owner goodbye as he locked up. Kobari, noticing his drunken state, insisted on driving the hunter home, but he told him he'd go across the street to the STN-J and crash there.

 

The Guard was there at the entrance and seemed shocked at Amon's appearance.

 

“You?” he breathed.

 

“I needed to catch up on some work,” Amon nodded at the Guard.

 

The stricken man waved him on, and he made his way up the elevator then to the office floor.

 

Michael Lee pulled out a shotgun from his desk and leveled it at the inebriated hunter captain.

 

“You sonofabitch! How dare you show up here!” the computer hacker bellowed.

 

“Michael calm the hell down,” Amon put up his hands. “If it's about that phonecall to your parents, I'll see what I can do…”

 

“Don't you dare act like nothing's wrong!” the mullet haired teen screamed.

 

“What is going on?” the other asked. “I have no clue what you're talking about.”

 

“You killed Robin, you bastard!” Michael gripped the gun, ready to pull the trigger.

 

“Robin?” Amon repeated. “Have you lost your damned mind?”

 

“Don't deny it! You hunted Kate! You hunted Robin!' the techie accused. “We all know it! It was your rifle and your rune bullets!”

 

“Michael,” the hunter said, suddenly realizing. “I know this may sound ludicrous, but can you tell me what year this is?”

 

The computer expert told him the date.

 

“Listen to me,” Amon told him. “If I killed Robin and you're surprised to see me, what happened to me thereafter?”

 

“HQ reassigned you to America and God knows where else,” Lee spat.

 

“Michael, I'm not that Amon. I'm from the past,” he explained.

 

“Bullshit!” the techie thundered.

 

“Michael, I'm from the past,” the other went on. “And this is the future, a future where I have allegedly killed Robin…”

 

“Why did you kill her?” the younger man asked, tears in his eyes.

 

“As God as my witness, I will never kill Robin,” he whispered. “Put down that gun.”

 

“I'm going to kill you, Amon,” Michael whimpered.

 

He pulled the trigger, but the bigger man was too fast. He dodged the buckshot and slammed into the smaller man, then wrestled the gun away. Michael showed some spunk, grappling with his assailant, and they rolled around on the floor wildly, with the kid screaming for revenge. Amon finally gained the upper hand and sat atop his foe, fist back to strike a lethal blow. Michael had tears streaming down his face, his glasses broken and nose bloody.

 

In horror, he looked at his own hand then got off the hacker and fled off down the hall.

 

He ran into the bathroom, gazing at his bloodshot eyes. Splashing cool water on his face, he hoped it would wake him up.

 

“Okay!” he called out. “I've learned my lesson!”

 

He half expected to wake up in bed on Christmas morning. Nothing happened.

 

Angrily, he stormed out back into the office area. Michael had fled, leaving behind the shotgun.

 

Picking up the phone, he dialed his brother's number.

 

“Katsumodo's Law Offices,” a familiar voice answered.

 

“Hanamura, I want to talk to my brother,” he requested.

 

“Amon, is that you?” the voice trembled.

 

“Where is Nagira?”

 

“Your brother's been dead for six months. He died in a terrorist attack,” Mika told him.

 

Amon slammed down the phone in anger and grief. He sunk to his knees and began to weep. “Brother…I'm sorry,” he sobbed bitterly.

 

The phone rang and he answered it. It was Robin's voice.

 

“Amon?” she asked.

 

“Robin!” he almost shouted.

 

“Amon, it's ten o'clock in the morning. Are you coming to work today?” the voice asked.

 

He sat up in bed astonished. “No, I just overslept, that's all. I'll be in at eleven.”

 

“Okay,” she replied.

 

“And Robin?”

 

“Yes Amon?”

 

“How about dinner tonight, my treat?”