Witch Hunter Robin Fan Fiction ❯ Of Broken Hearts and Old Memories ❯ Of Broken Hearts and Old Memories ( Chapter 1 )

Of Broken Hearts and Old Memories

By Zhidia

She sits there, waiting.

 

She doesn't say much, if anything at all. Day after week after month, she sits there, just waiting.

 

In the tall tower of the old run-down building where they all work, she waits. The tower has the best view of the world, if she focuses and looks she can see for miles and miles. The walls are old, and the floor is cement. It's the way with the whole building, they never bothered to fix it, and they couldn't hire a renovator, because they're not allowed to let anyone else in. She knows that, but perhaps now, in the state she is, it doesn't quite register in her brain.

 

She knows that if she leaves her self-created prison, and walks down the creaky steps outside her door, she will see rooms of computers, monitors, tracking devices, guns and other such tools. She knows what those machines are used for, because she used to be one of the experts they called on to help.

 

She works in what most would call an underground spy ring. There are exactly seven people, including her, in the building. There used to be eight, four pairs to go out on expeditions. Then one left, and she was basically useless, left in the building to do the boring work no one else wanted to do. She never did, though. After he left, she shut herself in the tower and refused to come out.

 

It doesn't mean she doesn't realize anything around her. Three times a day, she briefly notes that the others bring her food. She doesn't say anything, doesn't move when they bring it, but the plate is clean when they come back up. It's usually leftover rice and meat, degraded from the full meals they used to bring her in the first week of waiting. Then they realized that she was going to stay there forever.

 

Often they bring donuts and coffee, because they know she loves them, they know that those were one of the things he used to bring her. It's times like these she snaps out of her trance-like daydream, and just enjoys the smell of fresh coffee, enjoys the feel of the burning liquid flowing down her throat. She allows herself, just for a few moments, to snap back to reality and revel in her favorite thing.

 

They often wonder what she does there, just sitting and staring out the small window. Sometimes she moves, leaning her elbows on the windowsill and resting her chin in her hands. Other times she crosses her arms flat on the windowsill and lays down to sleep if she feels tired. But most of the time she just sits there, legs crossed at the ankles, bent at the knee to the right, with her hands in her lap.

 

They often wonder if she gets bored there, sitting day after day with nothing to do. They don't know how she does it, but they know that none of them could sit still for more than an hour, if absolutely needed. They don't know this, but she loses herself in her mind, wandering day after day in the passages of her soul, opening every door that contains a memory of him.

 

He was like the brother she lost when she wasn't even a year old. He was only five years her senior, but he liked to pretend he was older, so he could be wiser and more powerful. He taught her everything she knows now, and they had been inseparable.

 

They often wonder what happened that day he decided to leave. They don't know much about what happened between him and her, all they know is that he said goodbye and she interrupted him on the way.

 

It's at this moment that she decides to open up one door in particular, one that contains her last memory of him. She rummages around her pockets, and pulls out a gold key ring, many identical-looking keys attached to the heavy ring. Somehow she knows exactly which key that will fit the door - she should, it's her mind, after all - and so she inserts it into the keyhole and turns.

 

She steps into a field of wild grass and flowers, of blue skies and brilliant sunshine. He's standing beside her, holding two flowers, one yellow and one blue.

 

“You know what this is, right?” He holds out the yellow flower.

 

The words bubble out of her throat before she can think. “It's a carnation!” Her voice sounds so childlike. And when she glances down at herself, she sees that she's wearing a white and blue dress, and she remembers that it was her favorite when she was nine, still a child.

 

He chuckles softly, nods, and tucks the flower behind her ear. Without knowing what she's doing, she giggles and twirls around.

 

“And this one?” He hands her the blue one.

 

“A violet!” She exclaims proudly.

 

He smiles and folds the violet behind her other ear. “That's right.” He smiles, and she feels like she could conquer the world.

 

She backs away, steps out the door, and her blue and white dress transform into the gray robes that she wore when he left, the robes that she's never changed or taken off. She shuts the door and leans against it, as if gathering strength. Then she stands slowly and walks towards another door, again knowing what key to use. This scene, six years after the last, was the day he taught her how to defend herself. She was standing in the room, watching two figures work.

 

The click of the safety catch being released echoed through the room. He knelt behind her, reached around to her hands, and placed the gun in them, aiming it at the human-shaped target.

 

“You know what to do, right?”

 

She nodded, and he let go of her hands, still kneeling behind her. She squinted, and her hands shook. He saw this, and smiled gently, reaching his hands around and guiding her hands up, steadying her arms. She smiled guiltily and focused again. She squinted again, and then remembered he told her not to squint while firing a gun, so she opened her eyes wide. Her finger slowly squeezed the trigger, she could feel the gun getting ready to fire.

 

Suddenly, BANG! A hole appeared in the target's neck, and she was left shaking and biting her lip. She set the gun down, folding her hands together, willing them to stop trembling. He jogged over to the target, beckoning her. She followed without hesitation.

 

“Look, you did well! This is exactly where you want to shoot it.” He smiled, and continued. “And if you….”

 

She smiled back, and he started talking about strategies and where not to hit them, and such, but she wasn't paying attention, she was too caught up in the fact that he had smiled, and she had earned his praise.

 

She smiled softly and left the room, leaving the two figures to go on their way. The next door she has entered many, many times, she knows exactly what to do. The scene before her is dark, rainy, and foggy. It's the day he decided to leave. She steps into the alleyway, the brick road bumpy under her old flimsy sandals. She's in a play, and she has memorized her lines.

 

“Where are you going?” she asked, knowing what the answer will be.

 

“I'm leaving for a while. Take care of the others while I'm gone.”

 

“But, when will you be back?”

 

“Later. Much later.”

 

“Can I wait for you, at least?”

 

There is no answer. Instead, there is a neat, fading rhythm of clicks, leather boots on cobblestone.

 

And so she sits there, waiting.

 

She doesn't say much, if anything at all. Day after week after month after year she sits there, just waiting.

The others know it. He's not coming back. But yet, she still continues to wait, her unspoken promise has to

be fulfilled. Maybe, deep down inside her, a place she hasn't yet explored, she knows it too. But regardless, she remains there, growing weaker and her mind left in the yesterdays of the past.