Vital Info: Based off Jasper's background. Maria-centric. For the business man… picture Lundy from Dexter.(If you don't know who that is, don't worry.) More of an exercise in creative writing and character background than a romance fic or anything else.
Author's Note: I'm ba-ack with a Twilight oneshot! I'm surprisingly happy with how this turned out, though it doesn't center on Bella and Edward. Tell me how you liked it… please, no obvious comments like, "Where are the main characters?" I would prefer flames to that.
Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. In fact, I don't own anything. No movies, no books, no TV shows. Hm, makes you wonder why I'm posting on Fanfiction.
Word Count: 1,500
The Perfect Soldiers
The man behind the mahogany desk has many important papers. He makes many important decisions and makes many important calls. But his most important meeting is not scheduled until the end of the day.
He calls down to reception for the umpteenth time. "Is my 5:00 appointment here yet?" he asks impatiently.
"Yes," the reception tells him, "she just arrived. I'll send her up."
The man hangs up and shuffles his papers until they are stacked just so. The time passes quickly, and he soon hears three brief knocks on his door.
"Come in," he calls. She complies.
In comes a small seven-year-old girl dressed in a business suit.
He stifles the girlish giggle that bubbles up from deep within. Still looking serious, the girl sits daintily on the chair in front of his desk. She studies the big brass nameplate that spells out his title of all due importance- one he has worked so hard to get.
She does not say a word. He begins to grow slightly annoyed. This is the person he had so been looking forward to meeting? This is the person who had told him that she has the tools to win the current deadlocked war they are in?
He clears his throat. "You said you had a proposal for me?" It comes out as a question. He tries to sound all-important and busy, but it's hard to seem that way when you're preparing to receive a huge disappointment.
"Yes," she tells him, "yes, I do." She has an accent- that much he can tell. He attempts to place it, but fails.
"And this would be?" This is idiotic, he could be doing real business now…
"Exactly what I told you on the phone. I have a military proposition- strategy, if you will." He finally understands the accent: Hispanic. Her porcelain features do look Mexican.
He again scolds himself on not looking up on her background other than a few short phone calls. People told him he was to meet with a highly influential woman- instead, he gets a delusional child. Just his luck.
He makes a noncommittal grunt. The girl leans forward across the table. "You don't believe me, do you?"
He makes the grunting noise again.
"You know that investigation you were doing back in September? In San Antonio?"
This sure makes him listen.
The San Antonio operation wasn't just any investigation- it was the one they had been puzzling over for months.
A strange string of disappearings began. One or two a month, at least- scum of the earth, lowlifes mostly. Few bodies showed up, most mangled beyond recognition.
Then four or five were missing each month. Ten, eleven, twelve. The rates doubled from time to time.
It was up to around five a week when the killer- or killers- started getting flashy. Taking people that others would notice were missing.
Analysts tried desperately to figure it out- the pattern, the need. Only one clue was found- a section of historical journals and police reports, dating back to around the end of the civil war.
It seemed to be the same pattern- people going missing, bodies being found, increasing rates. But, just as it reached a high point- there was no more killings. A sense of peace would come about the town.
It had happened at least twice to San Antonio. Cross-references in other cities yielded similar results.
Experts puzzled over what it meant- a family, a cult, a gang?
Of course, by the time the government did set up shop in San Antonio, the killings had come to a full stop.
But the point is: the investigation was top secret. Most people had no idea to the wars going on in their streets.
And here comes a seven-year-old who knows exactly what was going on there. Though she could be a midget or something, he decides. He's seen stranger.
She brings him back to the present with a single remark: "That was my people."
His spine tingles. She laughs a clear bell laugh. He gives her a look.
"And no, I wasn't kidding."
He can already feel the goose bumps forming, as ridiculous as he tells himself this is.
"Now, please," she says, in a patronizing voice, "let's try this again."
"Okay," he laughs- slightly to humor her, and also because he really wants to know what the hell she's talking about.
He reaches his hand across the desk and she shakes it. He introduces his name to her and she tells him hers.
She wastes no time and gets straight down to business.
The little girl licks her lips. "What if I told you I had hundreds of soldiers at my command. Highly trained, ready for battle… and bloodthirsty." She almost laughs at her own little joke.
He slumps back in his chair, undignified and still unconvinced.
"And what if I told you I could have thousands if you so desired?"
This catches his attention- though it still sounds like a little kid's idea of a practical joke- though he pretends to be uninterested. He stands and walks over to a coffee machine behind his desk. He pours himself a cup as the girl's eyes watch him anxiously. He offers her one as well, but she declines hastily.
He sits again and shuffles papers. Looking up suddenly, he asks the question that's been on his mind. "Do you expect me to believe that you're telling the truth?"
She shakes her head. "I don't expect you to believe me… but what I'm saying is true."
And despite everything… he believes her. He crosses the room again to throw away his almost untouched coffee. He turns to her.
"Soldiers?" he finds himself asking. "What kind of soldiers?" She smiles a heartbreaking smile; not that of a young girl, but of a greedy conqueror plotting and scheming. He thinks it's silly that he notices these traits in what appears to be a child- or perhaps a midget.
It is then that he notices her eyes are the most peculiar shade of red.
The soldier first hears the cry around seven in the morning.
He is one of the faceless, nameless, unmemorable natives on duty, waiting for something out of the ordinary. He likes to think that he's special and is due for a promotion any day now.
The cries are what astound him. Here, in this land of peril, everyone is silent- better to stay in shadows. But this cry is brazen and just waiting to be heard.
He rises from his spot unwillingly and follows the voice. There is a mud pit around the bend that he knows. Perhaps a small animal has been caught there.
Green, leafy plants obscure his vision as he pushes his way through. Trees seem to pop up wherever he walks. Finally, he pushes his way to the clearing where the pit lies.
There is no animal. Covered in mud and stuck waist deep in the sucking, deep mud… is a girl.
She's pale and shivering, near-screaming in a language he cannot decipher. He tries to sooth her. She does not seem to understand his language either. He reaches out his hand futilely, but of course it's not long enough.
Without thinking, without a moment of pause, he steps into the mud.
It sucks at his skin and his whole body screams in protest as he instantly sinks a foot deep. A back part of his mind scolds him for dirtying his uniform, but the main part tells him he has more to worry about.
He struggles for a moment until realizing it's hopeless. The world is growing smaller and smaller as he sinks…
Much to his surprise, the girl does not act upset or hurt in the least. She is smiling now, and almost laughing. Probably hysterical, he justifies.
She pulls herself out of the mud in one fluid gesture. She laughs again.
Now he is offended. One of the kids from the village probably cooked up an idea to make him look silly. Oh, she'll get it when he gets out…
He tries to mimic her grateful gesture and pull himself out. But the mud just pulls harder. So how did she…?
The girl is at his side in an instant. He begs and pleads for her to help him. She smiles wider and wider, with unnaturally white teeth.
"Goodbye," she tells him. He does understand this, due to a few basic English classes that he dropped out of. He knows the word, its meaning, but it does not make sense. His vision grows dimmer and his eyes begin to close.
His lips part to speak a hasty prayer against this demon, but he finds that no sound comes out. He attempts a half-hearted scream as well. Still no speech rises up from his air-deprived lungs. His brain yells danger.
She pauses for a heartbeat and then leans over him. Her mouth opens wide as she grows closer towards his throat.
The world goes black.