A/N: Blabbity blah. Here comes the usual. Yes I'm a nar-nar and didn't see the replace chapter button, so I deleted and uploaded a new chapter, so my apologies if you thought I released chapter 4, only to find one chapter.
Disclaimer: I do not own Altaïr, (or any other products) but I however do own all thoughts, OCs, and ideas that will be held within this story.
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It was a sweltering afternoon, the sun beating down upon its victims in the canyon remorselessly. But the people did not complain, it was in their nature to accept it. After all it was a part of life and they all had things to do. There was no gentle breeze out in this seemingly vapid land. Unnerving silence was all that existed; the animals had fallen quiet as they do when a predator nears.
The silence was broken by angry shouts, clinking of metal and the sound of metal versus metal. And then… the scream. It was inhuman, raw and filled with fear. Then, the thundering of hooves proceeded to drown out the shouts as the sorrel colored mare bolted as though her rider weighed no more than a feather. The galloping horse did not upset the white robed rider, he knew he could handle the animal and her flight of fear soon became a flight of purpose.
But the white robed man was no fool. He knew that his pursuers saw what horse he leapt upon. It was this cross of intelligence and paranoia that made him switch horses whenever possible. A few hours later he sat upon the back of a grey gelding that plodded along at its own pace. Neither of them was in much of a hurry.
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Bright green eyes snapped open from the daydream, darted around and surveyed the lush green landscape. The green eyes and the green landscape seemed to be competing for attention. The creamy white skin on her face was dotted with few freckles and was turning pink from the short exposure in the sun. Fresh pink scars adorned her strong arms, crossing over the silvery old scars, but. Her legs were slim, but well muscles with years of running and riding giving strength to her body. Layers of gorgeous red hair were restrained with a hair tie, pulled back into a sloppy pony-tail. Her small human ears were deaf to the softer sounds of the world, but the sound of the raw scream disturbed her, for none of the horses that lived on the tiny ranch had anything to fear. The large German shepherd mix that sat by her side seemed unfazed, looking around almost lazily. The girl snorted and rolled her eyes after glancing at her companion. "Oh Buddy, your simplicity never ceases to amuse me." Slender legs carried the girl away from the wooden fence towards the stables and the dog trotted after her, his extra toes bouncing awkwardly on his back paws.
The stables were old and in a slight stage of disrepair but they were still rather serviceable and the few horses didn't seem to mind. They were well fed and sheltered at night and that's all that really mattered to the beasts. The slender girl walked up to one of the boxes and looked at the liver chestnut mare that eagerly thrust her muzzle over the door. The girl giggled as the horse made a series of whuffling noises "Taina, I know I promised, but you'll forgive me if I can't ride today right?" She felt dumb, talking to the animals as though they could understand, but she continued to do so anyways.
No more than one hundred yards away stood a small single story house. The house was in almost pristine condition, only a few chips of the blue and white paint here and there and a few loose floorboards on the porch. The screen door was flung open as the girl's mother stepped outside. "Natasha! Stop dilly-dallying and come inside to help prepare dinner!" This provoked a snort of contempt from the girl as she glanced back to the stables.
It was nice out here in the country but she couldn't help but feel as if it were her fault that her family had to move far into the country side. The doctors had suggested that the openness would benefit her and they were far enough from other people that if they were to have a repeat of her last episode less people would be in danger and less would witness it. It wasn't precisely Natasha's fault seeing as a person can't really control whether or not they are manic depressive let alone suffering from depression in general. Natasha blamed it all on her past. Her adoptive parents were generous and always providing her with things but nothing could erase the horrors of her childhood. Realizing that she hadn't moved an inch, Natasha quickly scrambled inside, mindful to leave her muddy shoes on the porch.
The dinner was simple and rather bland. Pushing the tasteless noodles around her plate, Natasha grimaced. "Thanks for dinner. G'night mom, g'night dad," The words had barely left her mouth before she was down the hallway and in her small, white room.
Nothing hung on the walls, no photos, no posters, and no medals. This doubled with the white walls provided a very oppressive aura. But it mattered not. Natasha was more or less content, her one prized possession stashed away under a loose floorboard. She shut her door was shut, but did not lock it, seeing as how she didn't have a lock. Being careful not to make a great sum of noise, she pulled back the loose board and removed a rather small blue book. It had no title, no writing on the cover, just plain and simple. Natasha hurriedly flipped through the pages, ignoring her past writings. There was no point trying to dwell on her mistakes, all those people had it coming, but she couldn't help but smile as she glanced over one of the entries.
Я не могу поверить, что на самом деле укусила его! Ну, я думаю, это то, что он получает за то что оставил меня в спальной комнате, но все же ... Он сказал, что он не чувствовал боли, ни когда я прорвала сквозь его кожу, ни когда хлынула кровь, ни когда мои ногти вырыли линий в его плоти. Может быть, он имеел чрезвычайно высокий болевой порог, но укус был довольно неприятный, даже для меня. (1)
Flipping past several more entries, she at last had found a blank page. Flopping on her bed, pen in hand, she began to scribble furiously.
Я боюсь, услышав того чего не существует, видеть то, чего не существует. Будет ли этому конец? Отставит ли эта в белых одеждах фигура мои мечты в покое? Я боюсь спать из за этого человека, потому что я смогу увидеть его снова.
Я боюсь, что я схожу с ума (2)
Hearing footsteps down the hall, Natasha froze and then scrambled to hide the book and pen under her pillows. Her parents didn't need to see this, not to mention they would be unable to comprehend the foreign tongue. Then there was the knock on the door and the soft-spoken voice of her mother, "Natasha, honey, are you ok?" The response was muffled by the walls, "Yeah mom, I'm good, just tired. I'll see you in the morning, ok?" The footsteps faded once more as her mother entered her own room, presumably, to sleep.
Stashing her beloved secrets once more, Natasha quietly scampered down the hallway to the bathroom. Shutting the door, locking it, and flipping on the lights all in one smooth motion, the girl turned away from the mirror and fumbled around in one of the drawers, fingers wrapping around the blade of a small, but sharp serrated knife. The sick, grim smile slowly appeared on her face. This was her addiction, her form of medication. Ever so gently she place the tip of the blade on her side and then, with growing force she continued to pull it down, the skin splitting easily, bright red blood welling up from the self-inflicted injury. Rinsing the knife and hiding it once more, Natasha stuck a few pieces of tissue to the wound and walked back to her room and curled up on her bed, crying. She knew she shouldn't cut, but she couldn't help it. It was her addiction, her form of medication. Slowly the bloodshot eyes began to close and the raggedy breathing slowed.
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The guards shouted, chasing the man through the streets, bowling over anyone who dared to step in their path. They weren't going to lose this man again, oh no. He had escaped far too many times. The white robed man skillfully scaled the walls of the homes, dashing across the rooftops as the guards pelted him with stones and arrows. The man leapt down into a hole on the roof of a building that was gently covered with ivy, and landed with a near perfect roll. Cool, calm and collected he strode through the doorway and a man in black robes over white stood behind the bar. Only one word escaped his lips, eyes narrowed in frustration.
"Altaïr."
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Harsh whispers and bright sunlight forced the sleepy teen to awaken and rise out of bed. Something felt wrong to her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. With a casual shrug, Natasha rolled onto the floor, shaking her head as if to remove the cobwebs, or the whispers.
Damn Malik, those guards were no issue for me, I could have easily removed them from this world if I wished.
She shook her head once more and the whispers seemed to silence, to stop taking the form of cold words. The floor creaked and the door squealed as she left the room her bare feet padding down the hall making very little noise at all. The kitchen was empty, it was far too early for the rest of the house to be up and Natasha secretly relished this time to herself. Going through her usual morning routine, she removed a can of Slimfast from the fridge and pulled out three different pill bottles from the cupboard. One was for depression, one for birth control and one for her bipolar condition. Granted she hated taking these pills, they never seemed to do much in the way of helping her, but then again she was too scared to stop taking them to see what would happen. Her liquid and pill breakfast finished, she opened the cabinet underneath the sink and Natasha tossed the away the tissues that she had just ripped away from her side, burying them under the other pieces of trash.
He has no right to treat me like an insolent child.
And still the voices would not stop. Growling under her breath, Natasha strolled out of the kitchen and onto the vast land she would call her backyard. Upon opening the door to the outside world, Buddy came bounding up his pink tongue lolling in his mouth, eliciting a grin from the teen. "Silly Buddy, you're hungry aren't ya boy?" A short bark was the only response, almost demanding for food. A soft giggle burst forth as the dog nuzzled her while she scooped food from the bin on the side of the house into the happy dog's bowl. "Here you go weebo," she laughed, calling her dog by the strange nickname as her scarfed down the food placed before him.
Making her way to the stables, Natasha's ears were greeted with the friendly whickers and neighs of the horses. This too brought a small smile on her face as she grabbed the western saddle and bridle from the tack room. Setting the necessary tack on a bench near the cross ties, she went back to fetch Taina. Upon heaving the saddle on the mare's back, Natasha felt a ripple of pain run its course down her side. Of course, she had forgotten about her cut. That was the problem about keeping the out of sight, she would forget about them until she did something that tore the scabs. Gingerly, she placed a hand on her side; she could feel the heat from the swelling. Reaching for some tissues she kept in her pocket for the occasional runny nose, she quickly stuck them to her side so the blood that was slowly oozing out would not get on her shirt. Shortly thereafter the mare was saddled up and cantering through the fields with Buddy running at her side.
It wasn't long before she started to hear things again. The sound of metal on metal, frantic shouts and cries of pain. Her head whirled around, hoping to locate the source of the invisible noise. And that's when she saw it, the flash of white and the shine of metal. Panic set into her hear as she yanked sharply on the reins and ignoring the snort of protest, Natasha urged the mare into a canter.
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The rest of the early morning had passed without a hitch and the voices had stopped for the time being. For this, Natasha was grateful. She had told her parents before that she often heard things, and they used to laugh. But now they didn't. The search for a good therapist had been going on for some time, seeing as how Natasha rarely would tell the whole truth when speaking to them for fear of being ridiculed or looked upon as if she were some psycho.
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It was when she trotted the mare around the small house and stables to cool her off that she saw it. A small black car that looked like it had come from some expensive and foreign dealer. Eyebrows arched in silent questioning Natasha slid down from the saddle, uncaring if the mare wandered around as she stepped inside the house. Her eyes were greeted with a scene that was slightly out of the norm for her. At the table sat her parents, talking to a man that couldn't be more than 30 years old. "Oh there she is! Natasha come and say hello to Dr. Augustine," her mother chirped, obviously happy. "Uhm…hi?" The confusion could be heard in the girl's voice as she walked towards the pantry to pull out a loaf of bread. "Natasha honey, Dr. Augustine says he can help you with your...you know, your problems." Green eyes lit up almost instantly as the red haired girl spun on her heel. "Really? Is this true?" Her excitement was rather obvious, finally some hope!
The man smiled, white teeth contrasting with his lightly tanned skin. "Yes my dear, I hear you have quite the predicament," the man's voice was pleasing and deep, his whole being seemed to ooze friendliness. It was hard not to like this affable man and his eagerness to smile and talk. Even his hazel eyes seemed to smile. "Perhaps we could discuss more of your problem in more of a private place?" Again that dazzling smile came. Natasha gave a noncommittal shrug, "Yeah sure thing. We can go outside, that's probably best." With that the doctor and Natasha left the plain kitchen to venture to the outside world.
Dr. Augustine was mildly surprised when he stepped outside and the first thing he saw was a horse and a rather large sized dog, which happened to let out a low growl. "Buddy!" Natasha snapped, her cheeks blushing red, "I'm sorry, he's usually so friendly. He probably smells cat on your or something." Her failed attempt at the joke made the man smile, "Oh it's no worry." "Good." She shooed the dog away and grasped the horse's reins, leading her and Dr. Augustine to the cross ties.
Watching the girl untack the horse with mild interest, he waited for her to make the first move. He didn't have to wait long. "So… Dr. Augustine…" "Call me Gabe, please. It's much less formal." "Okay, Gabe. Do you honestly believe you can help me?" It was his turn to look puzzled. "Yes, your parents didn't explain in detail about your issue, but they made sure to mention how other therapists were never given the whole picture. Why is that?" She snorted at his question, "I knew I would be mocked, they wouldn't believe me." Gabe smiled again and this time it looked slightly wicked, "Well trust me Miss Natasha when I say that I am not like the others."
This gentle prying continued for no more than 10 minutes before Natasha worked up enough courage to tell Gabe the whole story. She wouldn't leave a single piece of information out. It didn't take long for her to explain everything, the voices, dreams and now the hallucinations. Every so often during h he would write down tiny details all the while trying to figure out how to respond. "Hmm, this is rather interesting Natasha. How long has this been going on?" A vague shrug, "I dunno. A while." No matter how genial this man seemed, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong so she did not tell him how it started, nearly14 years ago when she was left in the orphanage by her aunt in Russia. Just thinking about that place brought back nightmares of a different kind, some of the worst being when the memories were just blank, like they had been blocked out or erased.
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The 'therapy' session was long over by the time Natasha returned to the house to settle down for dinner. The left overs weren't the most delicious, but it was food and no one had really felt like cooking. "So, Natasha, how did the discussion go with Dr. Augustine?" She would never escape the questioning of her mother if she kept silent, "Oh it went well, he seems nice enough and he listened pretty well." Though her mother kept pestering her throughout the dinner, she remained silent. It even got to the point where her father stepped in, "Debbie, she's had a long day, perhaps you should let her rest." Never before had Natasha been so thankful for her father's calm presence.
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After an hour's drive or so, Dr. Gabriel Augustine had finally made it back to his average sized office. The girl was peculiar, he'd give her that much. But the things she saw, they were on the borderline of odd and insane. He barely had time to settle in before the phone rang with its god awful noise. A grim smile played on his face as he answered.
"It's good to hear from you again Warren Vidic."
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A/N: Double the notage! Holy poop this was a long(ish) chapter, makes me sad. I realize that Natasha might be a tad on the confusing side and possibly borderline Mary-Sue (I hope to god she never crosses that line). If she ever crosses that horrible line into the land of Mary-Sue-ness, please scream, cry and yell at me. I decided to make Natasha the way she is because...well frankly sometimes the other characters seem to live such happy lives. I wanted something more realistic, (not really heart wrenching, but to show that people often struggle with inner demons and sometimes, they lose (it happens)) so I took characteristics from many friends and acquaintances of mine (one of which who told me about the horrors of the orphanages in Russia from her years in one, as well as the horrors her biological mom inflicted on her (she'd go with her mother when she had 'clients')). Plus the unpredictability of people who are mentally unstable can provide an interesting basis…
And Dr. Gabriel Augustine…what side is he on? Is he even on a side?
Please inform me if there are any inconsistancies and so forth.
(1) "I can't believe I actually bit him! Well I guess it's what he gets for trying to put me in a sleeper hold, but still... He said he felt no pain when I broke through his skin, drawing blood nor when my nails dug lines in his flesh. Perhaps he has an extremely high pain tolerance, but that bite looked rather nasty, even to myself."
(2) "I am scared, hearing things that do not exist, seeing things that do not exist. Will this ever stop? Will this white robed figure stop plaguing my dreams like so? I fear sleep because of that person, because of what I might see. I fear that I'm going insane."