Author's note: Hi all, I'm Kurt, author of several Hannibal fanfics. This is my first venture into Crow fic. My Crow is an original character and the only series character is the Skull Cowboy, with my own take on him, but things will follow in the usual vein.
Dedicated to my wife, MT, Crow fan extraordinaire.
People used to think that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead. But sometimes... only sometimes the crow brings that soul back to set the wrong things right.
The night was cold and foggy. Rain pattered down on the streets and turned the topsoil into mud. It was a cold rain, and anyone out in it would be miserable very quickly. It was a night when the only place to be was inside, warm and safe, staring out the window at the misery outside.
Alice was not so lucky. She lay on her stomach, rain punching at her like a thousand icy needles on her skin. The dress she wore was soaked to the skin. She sat up and blinked for a moment. Sheer incomprehension crossed her face and drowned her mind. She struggled to her hands and knees and stared around at her surroundings, trying vainly to cover her head from the driving rain.
Where was she? Why was she here? In front of her was a flat stone sticking out of the earth. Next to it, similar stones. She struggled to her knees and glanced behind her. More flat stones. Words written on them. She stared at the words, forcing herself to focus. The icy rain made it hard to concentrate on anything.
There was a large hole clawed in the earth in front of the stone just behind her. On the stone was her name. Alice Caulfield, 1981-2002. Sorely Missed. In front of the stone was a large hole clawed in the earth.
The realization hit her. This was a graveyard, and this grave had her name on it. But wait. She was…dead? How could she be dead? She could move and she could think. This…this made no sense.
She stared at her own hands, fishy-white and pale. The rain had rendered her fingers pruney and wrinkled. But under her nails was black dirt. Black graveyard dirt. She glanced about her surroundings in utter confusion and bafflement.
Glancing down at herself did not help matters. She wore a long, flowing dress. That was strange in and of itself: she never got this dressed up. She'd been a jeans-and-sneakers sort of girl, all her life. She wouldn't have been caught dead in something this froofy.
Though maybe she had.
Cutting through the driving rain and the confusion came the harsh sound of a crow. Caw. Caw. Alice glanced up and saw the dark shape of a crow land on her tombstone. It watched her with eyes that were pools of oil. The rain pelted its dark, sleek feathers, but the bird seemed not at all troubled.
Counterpointing that were the slow, dragging sounds of old bootheels clocking against asphalt. She turned around and saw a dark figure approaching her. At first she simply thought it was a man in a dark coat and hat. Then it came closer, and she gasped.
The figure's face was that of a rotting skull. Long stringy hair hung down below the brim of the hat. It approached her, and she stared helplessly at it. In its eyes was something alive, but inhuman. The coat flapped open to reveal bare ribs through a torn and ragged shirt.
"Well, hello there," the figure said, and approached. She didn't know how it could speak without lips, but speak it did. Then, it started in surprise. The gesture was surprisingly human for such an inhuman figure. Alice shrank back in discomfort and confusion.
"You're a girl," the figure observed. Its voice was surprisingly deep and rich. Clearly male, from the sound of it. Its teeth grinned obscenely at her, strangely at odds with its tone of voice. She gaped at the figure and nodded with incomprehension.
"W…what?" Finding her voice was harder than she thought. Her voice sounded gritty and weak to her. "Yes…what the hell is going on?"
The figure glanced over at the crow, ignoring her query. "Is this the one? Are you sure?"
A voice spoke in her mind. It suggested simplicity, not intelligence. A mind that operated off instinct and not much more – but something more.
[She is the one.] It was a simple statement of fact, no more.
The figure appeared somewhat dubious, insofar as a naked skull could show dubiousness. "Very well," it said. A hand reached down to courteously help her up. She stopped and stared at it, pain and confusion ruling her mind. The hand was merely bones held together by rotting tendons and decaying muscle. She could see them moving.
"A girl," the figure mused, as if the female half of the species was something beyond comprehension. "I don't remember the last time you brought a girl back."
Slowly, without understanding why, Alice reached out and took the inhuman hand offered to her. She got her feet under her and found they were bare. Her toes squished in the mud, but she was on her feet. She stumbled again and clasped her arms around her stomach. The figure gripped her arm; cold hard bone clamping onto her like talons. She shuddered.
In the eyeholes of the revenant staring at her was some form of intelligence. It seemed to know what it was doing. Rain pattered down on the hat, but the wide brim deflected it away from the figure's head.
"Follow the crow," the figure said, and gestured with that horrible skeletal hand. "The crow is your guide, and your link to this world. It will help you find what you need. I will be along to help you…shortly."
The bird cawed again. Alice glanced over at it. It hovered on the gravestone, perfectly at ease in the pouring rain. Below it, her own name. This was incomprehensible. Two dark figures in a graveyard, and her own gravestone. Her own gravestone above a clawed-open grave. Was she…dead?
But there were more important things than answering that question. She stared at the skeletal figure one final time. Then the crow arose and flapped its wings, cawing roughly. It didn't like being in the freezing rain either. Its eye watched her like a bright spot of oil. Then it flapped its wings and flew slowly away.
Alice staggered after it, feeling her bare feet squish in graveyard mud. The rain pounded down, cold and icy. Ahead was a wrought-iron fence, standing at least ten feet high. How the hell was she supposed to get over that? She'd have to jump and try to shinny up the rest. The crow simply flew over and then landed, its scaly feet clutching a black iron point.
Alice leaped, feeling the stupid dress swirl around her legs, and then something happened that she did not expect at all: her body kept going up, up, up, and then over. The imperious guardians of the points brushed the sole of one foot. Then she was over.
Her arm caught on one of the points, and she felt flesh rip from above her elbow all the way down to her wrist. Cloth tore with a purring riiiiip. Fuck, Alice thought. It didn't hurt, but it didn't have to hurt for her to know that this was going to need stitches at best. At worst, her arm might be screwed up for life.
She landed in a bundle on the other side of the fence, the dress spread around her like a shroud, and stared at her arm. There was a gap where the flesh hung parted, but...
But it was closing. All by itself, as if some invisible doctor was not only sewing it shut but closing it up, flesh and muscle knitting back together as if healing at super-speed. Which is exactly what happened, a moment or two later.
Alice stared at her arm and back at the crow as if it had some answers. The bird's black beak opened and it stared at her with those intelligent oilspot eyes.
Caw, the bird said. Lots of help there. Then it flapped its dark wings and began to fly away from the graveyard. Alice followed it, her feet slapping on the sidewalk. The rain kept most people off the streets, and those dark souls who were out paid her no heed.
The crow banked left, down a dark alleyway. Alice stopped. She hadn't been a city girl all her life, but she knew better than to go into alleys alone. That was a good way to end up a dead city girl or a raped city girl.
Then there was a bright flash before her eyes, and suddenly she remembered the pain. Stubbled faces made cruel with religious fervor above her own, steely hands on her arms and legs, holding her spread-eagled. The sounds of long-ago voices echoed in her ears. Harlot! Whore of Babylon! She has betrayed the true faith and led a member of our flock into sin. Do your duty as Guardians of the Faith.
She tottered for a moment and thought she might vomit. She was already in the alley, about halfway down from where it opened onto the street. A few grunting forms hid out near the dumpster, seeking shelter from the rain. The crow had landed on a garbage can near a door and glanced at it, then at her.
She blinked and studied the door. Big steel door. Big steel hasp on the door, bent so it would fit. Big steel padlock on the hasp holding the door shut so the junkies and bums wouldn't break in and steal everything that wasn't nailed down so they could sell it and buy crack or Mad Dog 20/20. Um, problem here, birdie.
[It is not a problem. Open it.] She blinked again and looked at the crow. Her small hand touched the door and twisted the knob. It did not turn.
Strength she didn't know she had came to her from somewhere. Without even trying too hard – it sure didn't feel that way – the hasp groaned and screeched. She watched the hinges of the hasp bend, the metal crying out as if in pain. Her other palm pressed flat on the door to give her leverage, and with a final thud and a pop, the door banged open.
The crow flew in as if making a grand entrance. Alice stumbled in after it, glancing around. No burglar alarm went off. That was surprising around these parts. The front window was covered with bars, but she could make out the logo on the window. Being out of the rain helped her focus. It was backwards when viewed from inside and she stopped a moment to look.
Guerrica Fashions. Fine women's wear for casual and elegant occasions. Otherwise known as vendors of cheap clothing to women all over the inner city. She knew this place. She'd shopped here before, although she'd never ripped the back door open before. Their stuff was on the cheaper side. It had to be to stay in business here.
No alarm greeted her. If there was one it was silent. Still, she could take advantage of their fine women's wear, couldn't she? Her arm had magically repaired itself but her dress hadn't. Besides, she hated dresses anyway.
She pulled it off and threw it to the ground in a clump of wet cloth. Under that, her body glowed white in the dim light. On her breasts and on her stomach were long, deep scars that she found herself staring at. They were hugely long and dark, tracing across her pale skin like a wound from a tiger's claw. When had she ever had those? She didn't remember them.
[Your death wounds,] the crow informed her. It was sitting pretty on the cash register. [Get what you need.]
Well, if she was going to get picked up for breaking and entering, she might as well have all new stuff. She removed her underwear, which had also gotten wet. A cheap rayon skirt on a nearby hanger served to make a decent towel. See, skirts were good for something.
First the small 'intimate apparel' area, for underwear and a bra and socks. She had to squint to make out the sizes in the faint light from the streetlight out front. Then a pair of black jeans, loose enough that she could move comfortably. Somehow, she knew that whatever was coming up next meant action.
On top, a black shirt made of some sort of synthetic material. It clung to her arms, kept her warm, and would work out well for whatever she had to do. She turned and observed herself in the mirror in the corner of the store. Her face was much as she remembered: dark black hair, delicately detailed features, blue eyes. Not too bad...except...
Up one cheek was a similar scar to those on her breasts and stomach. The memory of fear and helplessness returned, seeing a blade approach her face. Mark her! Let all see that those who oppose the True Faith suffer the consequences. The Jezebel must pay the price of her sins.
Anger flooded her for a moment. What had happened to her was wrong. What had happened to Chris? Was he all right? Another flash, another memory of his screams mixing with hers and a final, rattling gurgle. No, he wasn't.
She brought her fist down hard at the memory. Glass tinkled and she felt slivers enter her hand. Odd that it didn't hurt. She watched it heal up, puzzled at that. It was damn weird to watch.
Her hand touched a jar of white stuff and she pulled it out. White makeup. Sort of a weird thing for the store to be stocking, but there it was. Without knowing exactly why, she opened it, spinning the black lid through the air. Underneath was a white goopy substance. In spreading it on her face, she hid the scar they had put on her.
The clocking sound of bootheels interrupted her reverie. She turned. The skull-thing was entering the store from where she had ripped open the door. It observed her from those not-quite-empty eyeholes. No human eyes remained to the revenant, but there was some intelligence in there, something glowing at her.
"Feeling better?" it asked roughly.
Alice nodded.
The figure glanced around the store. "You're here to put the wrong things right," it said finally.
She blinked at that. Her face seemed to glow in the faint light in the mirror. It made her look more like the thing that she realized, two undead figures standing in the middle of an inner-city clothing shop.
"Put the wrong things right?" she asked.
The brim of the thing's hat dipped up and down. "You can call me the Skull Cowboy," it said. "You and I have a few things in common. We're both dead."
The news seemed somehow prosaic to her, as if she had always known and had only been confused in the driving rain. "And you brought me back?"
The Skull Cowboy shook his – its? -- head. "No," he said, and gestured with a bony hand. "The crow brought you back. Me, I'm just...I work for it." It sounded disappointed. "First time it's brought back a girl, though."
Alice glanced over at the crow. It observed its two minions calmly, not deigning to share anything. "There's a first time for everything," she said cuttingly. "There's nothing you can do that I can't."
"This is not woman's work you have to do," the Skull Cowboy rejoined.
Great, Alice thought. I'm arguing with a chauvinist skeleton in a cowboy hat. Maybe I've just gone crazy, wheeee!
[She is the one, Skull Cowboy.] That inhuman voice again, not speaking but definitely heard. The Skull Cowboy jerked. He could hear it too.
"Well," the Skull Cowboy said dubiously, "if you say so." It was not addressed to her.
[I do.]
"Then there is something missing," the Skull Cowboy said, and reached down. Fingers consisting only of bones closed around a tube from within the cosmetics counter. She still couldn't see how the thing was able to hold anything; the bones should have just fallen apart the minute they touched anything. But they didn't.
He wielded a brush in one hand like some undead Rembrandt, and reached out. Alice held still, somehow knowing that the figure did not mean her harm. The brush touched her eyes, touching both of them in turn, then across and up and down, creating lines. Then at her mouth, coating her lips in black stuff and then out on her cheeks.
She turned and looked in the mirror once he had finished. A harlequin looked back at her. Her mouth moved in a slight grin.
"This will help frighten your enemies," the Skull Cowboy said. "So that they know death is coming for them. There are things you need to know."
"And what would those be?" Alice asked.
"You cannot be hurt. You noticed that on the fence, didn't you?"
She nodded.
"That is absolute as long as you do your job and keep the crow safe. That is where your power comes from. Guard the crow. You'll need him." As if pleased that it had been mentioned, the crow cawed.
"Your job is to track those who killed you. Do you remember?"
Rage flowed through her again, but it was cold rage, shunted easily so that she could master it instead of it mastering her. Her eyes narrowed. When she spoke, her voice was halting, but strong.
"The...the Lambs of the Seven Seals," she whispered. "It was...a cult. Had a compound out in the boonies. We...Chris and I grew up out there. He was part of the cult, but I wasn't. We just lived out there. Their reverend always said that everyone else was damned, that only they were the elect. Chris and I...we knew it wasn't right. We wanted to be together. So we left there together. Moved in here, in Houston...just him and me. For several months."
"And then they...,"
"Say it, Skull Cowboy," she warned. "I am not afraid of it. Are you?"
If a skull could look nettled, the Skull Cowboy did. "No, I was trying to ...spare your feelings."
"Fuck that," Alice said coldly. "Listen, I am a girl, okay? I have boobs. Get over it. I'll do my job. You do yours."
The Skull Cowboy doffed his hat sarcastically, exposing hair still adhered to his scalp somehow. Alice could've lived her rest of her unlife without seeing that. But she stared back at him determinedly, even proudly.
"I was raised to treat ladies proper, is all," the Skull Cowboy said with a slight drawl.
"I'm not a lady," Alice riposted. "Now are you gonna tell me what to do or am I gonna have to start talking to the bird?"
"Have it your way. Good, you remember. Sometimes people are confused when the Crow brings them back. The leader of the Lambs of the Seven Seals sent his men to punish Chris for leaving and you for stealing him. They broke into your apartment. Killed your boyfriend. Killed you. You are here to track them down and kill them. No mercy, no trials. Things have gone...beyond that. Feel no guilt or remorse; this is a decision the Crow has made. It is your task to carry it out."
Alice watched him and nodded once, slowly, coldly.
"Do that, and you will be reunited with...," the Skull Cowboy turned and looked at the crow.
[Chris.]
"Chris?" Alice asked. Her eyes widened. "How come he isn't here? Why didn't he come back?"
The Skull Cowboy shrugged. "I don't know," he said judiciously, perhaps not wanting to be rebuked again by the crow. "The Crow chooses, not me." Believe me, it wouldn't have been you if I was choosing. He didn't have to say it; it was clear in those glowing eyeholes.
"Chris is dead. So are you. But Chris is in the land of the dead, and you are here. Do this and you get to be with him...forever. Fail, and you'll be stranded here...forever."
Alice took a moment to ponder that. She looked at the Skull Cowboy and found herself wondering if the world's boniest sexist hadn't, just maybe, failed himself in his own mission.
"What about my friends?" she asked. She found herself thinking of Jade. After Alice and Chris had left the Lambs, Jade had followed them a few months later, setting up shop in inner-city Houston just as they had. Jade could help her if she needed it.
"Are they alive?" the Skull Cowboy asked.
"They better be," Alice said, glaring at him.
"Then they're not your problem," the Skull Cowboy said finally.
"They're not my problem, they're people I care about," she pointed out , tossing her head to the side.
"There's no point. You are here for one purpose and one purpose only. The living will only get in your way. Work for them and they'll weaken you. There isn't time for you to get together and have a gab session with all your girlfriends."
Alice glared at him but said nothing. She glanced down at his hips. Gunbelts crisscrossed his skeletal waist, and in the holsters silver revolvers gleamed. Compared to their owner they were in much better condition. She had no doubt they were as old as he was, but they looked like they would work. They gleamed with a patina of care.
"How about you quit riding my ass for being a girl and lend me one of those?" she asked, pointing down at the pistols.
The Skull Cowboy shook his head. "Nope," he said. "Those are mine." He glanced down and ripped open part of the lower cabinet. For a moment Alice thought this was just some pointless macho bullshit. Who the hell was he trying to impress? He was a skeleton!
Then she saw a heavy steel box and realized what he meant. The Skull Cowboy ripped the box free from where it had been attached to the inside of the cabinet. Apparently his strength rivaled her own. He put the box on the counter.
"Betcha there's one in there you can have," he said. "You can open that if you're not worried about breaking a nail."
She scowled at him and debated the pleasure of pumping a few bullets into his head once it was out. Ultimately it wouldn't do a lot of good. Instead, she simply put one hand on either side of the box and ripped it open as easily as she would have ripped open a shoebox.
She smiled. There was something tremendously cool about that. She didn't even have to think about it; it just happened.
Her reward lay inside: a large black revolver not terribly different than his own. There was a box of bullets in there too, reading .357 Magnum. The damn box of bullets wouldn't fit into her jeans pocket without digging in. Hmmm.
In the front store window, a black leather trench coat hung next to a sign: Ladies Leather Trench Coats! Imported Leather! EZ Lay-away terms. She'd seen the trench coat before, with Chris, window shopping with him in this very neighborhood. She'd wanted it badly and jokingly asked if he would steal it for her. They hadn't had money for anything like that, though; all they had was each other.
But it had pockets and it was somehow fitting. This would be her symbol of what they had taken from her and what they would pay. Besides, she could use it to hide the gun.
Alice stripped it off the mannequin and put the coat on herself. It fit quite well, falling to her calves. The gun fit nicely in an inside pocket; the bullets she spilled into another pocket. The coat cloaked her neatly, disguising her small form. She liked it.
"Not bad," the Skull Cowboy said, and gestured at the back door. The crow flapped its wings and began to fly. "Now follow the crow. Do your duty."
The crow flew out the back door and back out into the alley. Her coat flapped around her as she ran after it. Alice followed the crow out into the alleyway. Now she had to begin her destiny.