Zatch Bell Fan Fiction ❯ For Pity's Sake ❯ For Pity's Sake ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

For Pity's sake

A Konjiki No Gash Bell (Zatch Bell) fan fic by Wega the blue sun

No copyright infringement intended, these characters don't belong to me. This fic does belong to me!

A/N: the continuation of Liar. Mature themes, nothing graphic. Just like in real life, characters in a story may be fully convinced that their opinions are true, and yet be factually wrong.

For Pity's sake

Sherry threw open the windows to let in fresh air. The scent of the lilac branches artfully arranged in a crystal vase permeated her bedroom and gave her a pounding headache. Jii always took care to have her private rooms decorated with fresh flowers, and these lush blossoms had come from the gardens of the mansion.

The Bellmont property was famous for the architectural beauty of the buildings as well as the gardens. The botanical collection included rare specimen plants from all corners of the world, and lilacs in every color of the spectrum were a mainstay of the spring parade of flowering shrubs.

Spring without lilacs wasn't spring, Mrs. Bellmont had insisted and planted even more of the shrubs Sherry could see from her bedroom window. The air was saturated with the smell of the flowers, and Sherry detested the stench. Polite lilac haters would describe the scent as animal-like or stale. The first time Brago had encountered the smell he compared it to piss, Sherry recalled with a grin. And right he was, there was a strong undertone of urine in the so-called perfume of lilacs.

"Why don't you have them ripped out?", the little mamodo had asked, pointing a sharp claw in the direction of the long row of bushes in full, reeking bloom. Sherry tried to explain that lilacs belonged into the planting scheme of the garden and that it was wasteful to destroy old, valuable plants just because their scent was nauseating to a select few. Actually it wasn't an important issue, in the previous spring she'd carefully timed their stay at the manor house so they'd miss the short blooming season.

Brago's approach to dealing with problems was just like that: if it offends you, destroy it. Sadly there were times when she'd followed this ruthless advice. Late last year she'd found herself pregnant with his child. As soon as she realized that her birth control method had failed disastrously she had to find a solution.

Sherry sighed as she strode out of the house into the warm spring air thick with unpleasant aromas. Taking shallow breaths she quickly passed by the blooming shrubs. Now the air grew clearer and she slowed down her pace. Her destination wasn't far ahead.

Unable to confide in Brago she'd kept the secret to herself. He was too young, too selfish to face this problem, she told herself. Besides, she had a pretty good idea what his reaction would be like. He wanted to be king of the mamodos, not a father. At least not now and not with her. The very idea was ridiculous.

And so were the solutions she'd dreamed up in her frantic state. She would go into conclusion until after the birth, then she'd leave the child in the care of nannies and of course Jii. Dear gentle understanding tolerant Jii, he'd be caretaker and grandfather all in one while she and Brago traveled the world and eliminated challengers to the crown that was so rightfully Brago's. And once he'd reached his goal she'd be alone, with a hybrid child as a sweet reminder of the time she'd spent with a mamodo. Depending on who the child took after, he, she or it might have to spend most of it's life secluded from the curious glances of an unkind public. But she'd always be there, the loving mother....

At this point her high flying fantasies came crashing to the ground. Nannies? When Mrs. Bellmont was too busy or to angry to face her daughter she'd hire nannies to take care of her untalented, unwanted offspring. Some had been kind to the lonely, unloved child, others cared only for the money they received.
Jii was getting on in years and even though he always did any job with the utmost professionalism, substituting for two globetrotting parents was too much to ask for.
And lastly Sherry had serious doubts about her own abilities to mother anything. She'd never experienced much love and kindness from her own mother, and after familiarizing herself with the nature vs. nurture debate Sherry felt no desire to disprove the obvious.
Unwanted by parents and hidden away from the outside world, was this the best she could envisioned for her child, she asked herself.

No, there was only one thing to do, and she'd done it. Quickly, quietly and secretly she'd gone and taken care of the problem and Brago was never told. If he noted a change in her behavior he hadn't mentioned it. Sadly, it was for the best. For her, for him and for the child.

She'd reached another interesting feature of the Bellmont estate, the cemetery was just ahead in an ancient grove of trees. Like many old families blessed with country estates the Bellmonts kept their dead to themselves. Some of the graves here were so old that the writing on the tombstones was nearly illegible and the markers were crumbling and leaning over the graves at precarious angles.

Visitors to the estate often asked to see the cemetery. Sherry had always wondered why they were so interested in seeing the graves of people they'd never met and had never heard of. She was well familiar with the place and it didn't arouse any horror even when she was very young.

In summer the cemetery was filled with wild flowers, birds nested in the trees and lizards sunned themselves on the warm tombstones. In winter the now barren landscape was even more beautiful. Branches and grasses added a stark contrast to the uniform white blanket covering the peaceful sleepers. Sherry loved snow for it's cold purity and she loved the cemetery in any season.

She carefully brushed the dust off the nearest tombstone. It was one of the oldest, the dates centuries in the past. The names were familiar from stories she'd been told. Revolutions, wars and diseases had taken a toll on the family, and despite their wealth Bellmonts too died like any other being.

A few of the tombstones had porcelain pictures of the dearly departed. The delicate sepia images always fascinated Sherry and she carefully examined the pictures of the long dead in their quaint old fashioned clothes from 100 years ago. Their remains were long gone, but these people would remain unchanged until the porcelain would disintegrate.

Behind the row of tall monuments was a short row of smaller markers. This was the children's section and most graves here were small patches of untended ground. A few wooden crosses sagged over the weedy soil. Whoever tended this cemetery hadn't spent much time on these graves, they were neglected to the point of disappearance. Those unfortunate to mark their time on earth in only days or months received a minimum of care after death as well.

In modern times the Bellmont's broke with tradition and brought their dead to the public graveyard where a tall marble structure rose in the midst of modest markers for the average citizen. Even in death the rich had to distinguish themselves.
Only one fresh grave had been added to the cemetery in many years, and it was here, at the end of the children's section. A small black marble headstone stood over a bare patch of dark soil. Dead flowers were strewn on the tiny grave and Sherry removed the faded blossoms. Infant Bellmont, the inscription read on the marble, and there was only one date a few months in the past. Our child, Sherry thought. My baby.

She'd forgotten to bring fresh flowers and looked around for something to decorate the grave with. Only a rangy lilac bush bloomed at the far edge of the cemetery and Sherry decided to come back later with proper flowers. No stinking lilacs would touch her babies final resting place.

Brago narrowed his eyes. What was the woman doing now, he wondered? He was hiding in a tall tree and he'd watched Sherry ever since she entered the cemetery. In fact, he'd been waiting for her to come here. Did she really think he'd never find out? How stupid did she take him to be?

After her so-called bout of flu some time ago her behavior had changed noticeably. With no explanation he'd been shut out of her bedroom. She was often withdrawn, even moody and distracted. She'd slip out of the house at odd times and would return with eyes reddened with tears.

He'd made it his mission to find out what was going on and after observing her for a little while he'd come across the fresh grave. Why hadn't she told him, he wondered? And why had she been so foolish to let this happen in the first place, he fumed.

He jumped out of the tree and rushed to confront his partner. Sherry was startled to see him. Still kneeling by the grave she turned deathly pale.

He planted himself before her, arms crossed and eyes blazing. "When were you going to tell me?" he hissed. Sherry stood up and wiped soil from her hands. "How did you find out?" she asked. "Don't insult me, woman!" he replied in a voice tight with anger.

She looked at him for a while before she answered. "I thought it was for the best if you didn't know. I already knew what you were going to say and I didn't need to hear it, so I just did what had to be done."

Brago snorted in derision. "Did you ever think to confide in me - your partner? Does the word trust mean anything to you?" Sherry stared at him in disbelief. This was what he was angry about, a perceived lack of trust?

"Maybe I was wrong", she said, suddenly tired. "But you know as well as I do that it would have been impossible to keep it. Don't even pretend you would have said otherwise!"

"Don't blame this on me just because you don't like the truth!" he snapped. "I'm not blaming you, I'm blaming myself ..." Sherry answered, trying to remain calm. "You should!" the mamodo interrupted, eyes flashing fiery red. "You knew what you were getting into and it was your responsibility to make sure something like this would never happen!"

"You selfish, arrogant bastard!" Sherry yelled, hot tears stinging her eyes. "How dare you blame me alone? You have as much part in this as I do!"

The fury of her response took the edge off Brago's anger. "This is getting us nowhere," he mumbled and walked over to the fresh grave. He crouched down to examine the tombstone and something caught his attention. "Is this how you try to spare my feelings?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Sherry replied with a snarl. "I made sure it had a decent resting place, not just a box placed into an incinerator ..." Brago shook his head and pointed at the headstone again. "The name, woman! You put only your name on here and you have the nerve to call me selfish?"

Sherry swallowed hard. "Your name will be added on by tomorrow" she replied and turned to leave. Brago stayed by the grave for a few seconds longer before he hurried to catch up with her. There was no point in asking whether it had been a male or a female, not was it important to tell her that carrying hybrid offspring could be dangerous for a human mother. Their weak constitution wasn't meant to nurture a demon/human crossbreed ...If she'd told him earlier he could have warned her that the baby might not survive for long. Maybe this information would have made it easier for her to decide, but now it would only rub salt into an open wound.

"This can't happen again", he said in a low voice while they walked towards the house. "It won't, I've made sure of it", she replied. They continued on until they reached the first of the lilac bushes. "You know what the worst part was?", Sherry suddenly burst out. "I couldn't think of a single good enough reason to keep it. Not even just because it was ours, not even because it would be a reminder of you ...How sad is it when a mother can't think of a good reason to keep her baby?" Sherry sobbed.

So that's why she didn't tell him, Brago realized. She'd wanted reassurance and knew he wouldn't - couldn't give her any. He studied the landscape, covered in billowy clouds of light and dark purple. The miasma coming from the plants made his stomach turn.

What a pathetic situation, he thought while he watched Sherry cry. There was nothing he could say that would ease her pain. Poor sentimental fool, she wasn't going to forget this as long as she lived.

He too hadn't counted on leaving so much of himself behind in this world. But what was done was done, and no amount of tears would wash the memories away. He itched to do something, anything. Finally he reached out and grabbed her hand roughly and began to pull her along towards the house. "Let's get out of here", he grumbled as they hurried past the lilacs. "This stink is unbearable. You really should have these ripped out, you know."