Chapter One: The Artist
The rain tumbled down in heavy drops. The air was humid, but the wind was merciless. Catherine Lewis had long since forgone her umbrella and decided to let the rain drench her skin. She hadn't gotten caught in the rain since she was a child and it was nice to do it again after so long. Walking up the driveway and into the small two bedroom house her mother had left her when she died over a year ago, Catherine let out a quiet sigh.
Loneliness. That was what she felt. She had friends, but she seldom saw them. She had an older sister, but they were estranged. Her father she never knew and the aunt she so loved and adored lived far away. Most days it was just her all by herself in front of the television or a walk up the local mountain for her daily exercise.
She was only twenty two and was already living the life of a woman who was past fifty, single and married to her job. She grimaced at that. It wasn't entirely true. Catherine quite liked her job as an assistant in a childcare centre. She loved children. At least other people's children. She never fancied having any herself though. Childcare tended to be a deterrent to that.
Starting the stove and grabbing out a deep pan and a saucepan to make spaghetti for dinner, Catherine idly listened to the news. Reports of some heavy rain and thunderstorms for the week were ahead as well as a fall in the Australian economic system. Well it wouldn't affect her too much so she considered herself lucky. Next came a social investigation for the rise of paranoia and depression among the adolescent youth. Doctors had found a striking correlation between frequent night terrors during middle childhood and the aforementioned cognitive functioning later in life.
It wasn't that it was the cause, for there were many causes and correlations for mental illnesses, but this was a striking new discovery in the recent decade. No one knew exactly why. Some doctors blamed it on unhealthy processed food destroying the building blocks of the brain; others blamed it on social entertainment like violent movies and videogames. Some blamed it on childhood trauma.
Catherine turned the TV off. She wasn't in the mood to listen to anything depressing even though psychology intrigued her. However listening to such things about childhood nightmares only sufficed to painfully remind her of all the horror stories her mother had told her as a child. Not to scare her of course. Her mother, Lena Lewis, was simply into the dark side of things. Her favourite genre was horror and she liked myths, fantasies and books on anything darkly mysterious or macabre romance.
And then her mother got sick. Mentally at first. Catherine wasn't exactly sure what her mother had been diagnosed with, but it had been some form of psychosis. It had started with night terrors where her mother would twist and turn and thrash about in her sleep. To the point where she sweated out on the sheets.
She had mumbled things about an apocalypse, Guardians and darkness. Things Catherine had absolutely no way of deciphering or understanding. Still, she put up with it. Medication didn't help at all, but Catherine didn't have the heart to leave her mother in a mental institution. Her mother wasn't dangerous either so it wasn't that bad.
However next came the failing of her health. When Catherine had convinced her paranoid mother to leave the house and visit the doctor, she was slapped with the most shocking news of her life. Her mother was diagnosed with small-cell carcinoma. The most aggressive form of lung cancer.
Catherine wasn't sure how her mother would take it, but even in that she didn't have to worry. Her mother was too far gone to understand what her situation was. When Catherine had stayed beside her at the hospital holding her mother's hand, Lena Lewis in her last gasps for breath kept telling her to 'make him remember.'
Who Lena was talking about, Catherine couldn't fathom. And what she meant, Catherine had no idea. Still, her words left an impact on her even if they were simply the ravings of a madwoman. Swallowing hard, Catherine decided to head to the backroom where useless junk and her mother's belongings were stashed.
When she had packed it all up, she hadn't cared to properly look at what she was packing away. The reminder was too painful, but now she thought she would. Breathing deeply, she opened the store cupboard moving back as a few items fell out and tumbled on to the floor. She hadn't bothered to organize any of it since it had all been thrown in here at haste.
After a moment's contemplation, Catherine reached in and pulled everything out. Her mother's clothes, photo albums and frames, trinkets, CD's and books. A few of her large artwork folders came out as well. Her mother was a good artist, but Catherine was perplexed at the last folder that fell out. All of them were dated by year at the front. Some even before she and her sister were born.
However as she bent down to pick up the latest one, which was understandably lighter than the rest, she noticed it was dated the same year Lena Lewis had died. Curiosity piqued, Catherine decided to sit down crossed legged on the floor. Outside the storm raged.
Carefully opening the older, Catherine caught sight of several papers artfully sketched and coloured in. She looked at the first with a bemused smile. A picture of Santa Clause although he looked gruffer than what his persona was usually portrayed as. He even had an Italian look about him and Catherine found herself impressed by the tattoos her mother had skilfully added in to his bulging muscular arms.
It was a good picture though and she considered framing it. Putting it aside, she looked at the next one to see a beautiful female fantasy creature. Something crossed between a fairy along with the various vibrant colours of a peacock. Catherine was amazed at the details her mother had given to the creature's eyes. The intensity of the violet in them as well as the different shades.
Her mother had dubbed the creature Toothiana. Queen of the tooth fairies. With a pang in her heart, Catherine looked away from the picture. Was this what her mother had been on about in her maddened drivel? Childhood fantasies? She looked at the Santa picture again and realized Nicholas had been written at the bottom. Her mother had frequently said his name, but Catherine had no idea her mother had been referring to St Nicholas. Reaching into the sleeve she pulled out the next picture.
It was a matter painting using glitter and sand and was a representation of her mother's idea of the sandman. It was cute, she noted dryly. And very cleverly done.
Intrigued she turned to the next one, which she found the most remarkable of all. It was a picture of a young boy. Actually two of him and she wasn't sure if it was twins or two different personas of the same boy. Judging by what her mother had written it was the one boy. Jack Frost. An adolescent between fourteen or sixteen. One was of him with brown hair and dark eyes in clothing that was centuries old. Another was him dressed moderately in a hoodie, but he had platinum hair and ice blue eyes. He was also holding a wooden staff that was curved at the top and had snowflakes all around him. To be honest, she was surprised her mother had drawn him. He wasn't a very well-known legend and even in her childhood she rarely heard anything about him other than words of expression. Her aunt certainly used the term more frequently than most people.
She placed him aside and almost laughed despite herself when she saw her mother's representation of the Easter bunny. A brawn tall rabbit that held a boomerang. Completely Aussie. A loud crack of thunder interrupted her thoughts and realizing she had food on the stove, she hastily placed back the pictures she had taken out and put the folder in her room. She would look at the rest of her mother's artwork later.
"So this Friday will be your last shift for the next two months right?" Her co-worker and room leader Erin remarked as she made sure the pre-school children were eating their lunch. Catherine had been on cooking duty today and had made beef stroganoff with rice. Salad wraps had been made for the children with dietary restrictions.
"Yeah, finally got my long service leave approved. I have so much leave that they were going to have to force me to take a holiday, but didn't want to at the time because of the low staff. With Monica on her honeymoon and Jacqueline on sick leave, they are going to have to make do with casuals." Erin chuckled and quickly scolded one of the young boys who was throwing food. Catherine sighed and swept some of it up.
"So all the way to America huh?" Catherine nodded.
"My aunt Libby is going through a divorce and needs some support. I feel sorry for Bill though. He really is a good man, but it seems my aunt can no longer stand him. In truth she needs someone to take care of the children until matters are finalized. That is where I come in, but nonetheless, I am grateful for a holiday. The town she lives in is very nice so I am sure I'll enjoy myself."
"Hmmm," Erin mused as she arranged custard in ice cream cones for the children's desert. Catherine went about helping those who had finished pour any left overs in the bin and set their plates down into the bucket.
"How many kids does your aunt have?"
Catherine ran her fingers through her hair.
"Two. A son Jamie and a daughter Sophie. Jamie is almost finished primary school and Sophie will be starting year two."
Erin began handing out the custard cones and Catherine settled down a few children who were being too loud. The anticipation of desert though kept them at bay and allowed for some temporary silence other than the crunching of the cones.
"Your cousins are quite young."
Catherine merely shrugged.
"Libby was many years younger than my mother."
The week went by faster than Catherine expected and she was glad for it. She missed her two little cousins and was wondering how much they had grown. However she was more worried about her aunt. She hadn't been told thethe particulars of Libby's marriage breakdown, but Libby claimed Bill was simply a bad influence on the children by filling their heads with silly ideas instead of teaching them reality.
In truth, Catherine hadn't expected it. Even though Bill and Libby were polar opposites, from what Catherine knew, their marriage was a happy one. But why should she be so surprised? Libby was a clear level headed woman while Bill was far too optimistic a dreamer. Libby was the main breadwinner of the family and Bill took odd jobs around the place. It brought in good money, but it seemed her aunt was tired of his impracticalities.
In hindsight she couldn't blame her. Bill was from a gypsy culture and though he had reconciled himself to Libby's beliefs, her aunt couldn't do the same. Whatever the case, Catherine made a mental note to comfort Bill as well. He was a good man and this was going to be hard on him.
Making sure she had packed everything, Catherine glanced over at the folder of her mother's artwork. Chewing her inner cheek for a moment, she decided to bring it. Jamie loved these sorts of stories and no doubt he would appreciate the art. Perhaps she'd let him choose one to keep and they could go out together and buy a frame. With that idea in mind, she packed the folder into her suitcase and decided she was going to enjoy the next nine weeks in America.
Deep in the dark shadows of his lair, Pitch Black meditated in quiet contemplation. He had done so here for many years since his defeat. For a long time he had been burning in anger, rage and humiliation, but now he had settled into quiet solitude. The solitude gave him time to think and with that he was able to plan. Plan again.
He wanted revenge and he wanted revenge badly. He wanted the Guardians to suffer the humiliation and pain they had inflicted upon him. He wanted them to feel unquenchable desperation over something they could not save. He wanted them to suffer. Particularly Jack Frost.
However doing so required him to understand where he went wrong. And it was with deep mortification that it was all because of one stupid little boy that believed. He gritted his teeth in anger. His blood boiled.
Well two could play at that game.
He was surprised he hadn't thought of it before, but he had been too busy brooding over his defeat to actually consider it. The boy, Jamie Peters…
He believed in him. He believed in Pitch Black.
That was why he was able to see him. And though the boy claimed not to fear him, Pitch realized it was only because the Guardians were around. But what would the boy feel when they were not?
He grinned wickedly. The plan was simple. The boy believed in him, which meant that Pitch could take him away from his home and from everything he knew. All the way to a world of fear, nightmare and sorrow. He would break that boy and Jack Frost wouldn't be able to do anything about it. And when Jack Frost was at his weakest, that would be the time to strike.