Author: IrishRavenX
Title: Quoth the Raven
Disclaimer: Witchblade is mine as much as Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven" is. Which means, I own diddly squat. Diddly squat...I like that saying. I also liked the saying "Helter Skelter". Until Charles Manson got to it, that is.
Rating: Pg-13. I may say the f word once or twice...cover your eyes when you get to that part.
Author's pathetic excuses: Hey folks...XRaven here...I'm sorry I haven't been in lately, I've been hanging out at the connections site...yeah. Hey now, don't give me that evil glare, I posted this story here, didn't I? Huh? Thought so. ::sticks out tongue::
Hopefully that won't affect reviews... ::grimaces::
As you may or may not know, I live on reviews. I don't eat any more...I just read reviews. So...uh...review?
Quoth the Raven
Chapter I
Ice, wet leaves…metal on metal, metal on skin. The chill of night, the shadow of death.
"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many quaint and curious volumes of forgotten lore…...."
Ian Nottingham pushed open the oak doors and entered the private den of the Irons estate. The atmosphere of the room was unique, different from many rooms of the manor. The room comforted and overwrought Ian at the same time. It was as if someone was trying to split him in half…physically and mentally, whenever he entered that room. The room was filled with choices and opposites…life and death, love and hate, suffocation and breath, slavery and freedom dark and light…what Ian wished to become, and what Irons still wanted him to be.
There were many memories in that room…so many…Ian looked to the chair in front of the fire, almost expecting to see his father sitting there, reading a book. Or perhaps Irons would just be staring into the flames, running his fingers over the scar on the back of his hand.
Ian walked over to the chair, running his gloved hands over the back of the grand leather chair…remembering the times he had been allowed to sit on his fathers lap. Kenneth would tell him the stories and legends of the Witchblade as he looked into the fire. Kenneth was a superb storyteller…he could have been talking to Ian about the different ways to cook cabbage, and Ian still would have been enthralled. His voice painted beautiful masterpieces in the imagination of young Ian, far more exquisite than even the pieces of art in Iron's collection.
After staring at the empty chair for what felt like eternity, Ian turned back to look at the bookcases. He had come in here for something…and at the moment; even with his rigorously conditioned mind, he was unable for the life of him to remember.
Ian stared blankly at the huge bookcase before grabbing a random book off the shelf and walking back to huge den door. With a final glance to the chair in front of the fire, he exited the room that was so full of memories, the good…and the painful.
He walked down the hallway and to the set of stairs that led to his quarters. He glanced out the window placed in the stairwell, and allowed himself a slight smile. The sun was setting on the beautiful fall evening. The past few days had been very cold, and a few times the ground had frozen over. But still, the trees were beautiful, the beautiful shades of orange, auburn and yellow lighting up the mountains. There was no snow scheduled for the next few weeks…but Ian could sense a storm coming.
He cast a curious glance out the window, looking out into the dark of the estate's back lawn. The wolfhounds were wandering in the expansive fenced-in portion of the back lawn, some sleeping on the cool grass. Ian's face changed from simple curiosity to uncertainty and anger as he saw another figure wandering through the dog's pasture. The book Ian had been holding landed on his bed, and he was out the window before you would have been able to say "we're on the fifth floor".
Ian landed on the lawn, and sprinted towards the run that had been set up for the Wolfhounds. There was a person sitting inside the fenced in area. A grand total of fifteen things flashed through his mind when he saw the intruder. The first four were, "how did she get past the security system?", "is she a threat?", "why didn't I sense her there sooner?" and "Why haven't the dogs attacked her by now?"
One of the last questions that flashed through his mind was, "Did I just swallow a bug on that jump down?"
Ian jumped over the fence effortlessly and silently, looking around for any other intruders. The girl was sitting a few feet from the fence, and a few of the dogs were lying and sitting around her. She was brushing through one of the female hound's hair with a grooming tool that one of the staff must have left out. The girl's golden hair was reflecting light from one of the estate's windows, and he suddenly wondered if he had met her before.
"What are you doing here?" Ian called out sternly. He was now relatively sure that the girl was not much of a threat. Though the fact that she got through all the security barriers meant that she knew what she was doing…or that quite a few people on the security staff would soon be without jobs.
The girl turned around and stood in one motion, very surprised by his voice and presence. The man blended into the shadows like he was one of them, and his quiet voice was disarming. And by the looks of it…that wasn't the only part of him that could be 'disarming'.
"I…I uh…"
The girl's ice blue eyes focused down on the Wolfhounds that were sitting around her. Their respite had been interrupted, and many of them were now sitting up, looking over at their master. She knitted her eyebrows and looked off into the horizon before looking back to Ian, her intense eyes boring into him. The girl's irises were lined with steely blue, and those eyes looked up from the dogs to focus once again on the black-clad assassin.
"I find them comforting, sir," the girl said after a short pause, "I'm sorry…that I, I trespassed on your property. I was just having a shi…bad day."
Perhaps obscenities are not a good way to start off a conversation, mused the girl.
"What is your name, Miss?" inquired Ian. He wasn't planning on reporting it, but he wanted to have it on record for future reference.
"I'm Kait, Kait Kinealli," the teen said. She looked like she was somewhere between sixteen and twenty, but in her eyes she seemed far older.
Kait was wearing dark clothing, though not all black. She wore a black zip-up hooded sweatshirt over a black button-up collar shirt, and a white shirt under that. She had on baggy, navy blue pants with excessive pockets and zippers, and wore sensible sneakers.
Ian was aware of the different social 'cliques' that society fit people into…and he was getting the feeling that society had a hard time with this individual.
"How did you get onto the estate?"
"I walked,"
"My question is referring to the entrance you used, not the mode of transportation."
"I came from…" Kait spun around, as if trying to remember. She finally pointed towards the horizon and setting sun, "Thataway,"
"Is there some one I can call to come and retrieve you, Miss Kinealli?" Ian inquired.
Kait bit her lip and looked off into the horizon. The autumn evening was chilly, but the sunset made up for it. The sun had disappeared behind the mountains, and beautiful colours were splayed out across the clouds. It was something so beautiful; something that no human artist would ever be able to reproduce.
"No. I can walk. It's not too far."
"I would not recommend that, Miss Kinealli. It is getting dark."
"I'm aware of that, Mr…"
"Nottingham." He said simply.
"Mr. Nottingham," she finished with a forced, but polite smile, "But there is no one who can come to 'retrieve' me. Or at least no one who wants to."
The girl picked up the canvas messenger bag at her feet, and started towards the gate. Ian watched her go, debating what to do. Should he just let her go? After all, this girl was none of his concern. His only concern was that she did not break onto the estate again…
~Come now, Ian…she seems like a soul in need of help. A lost soul…sounds much like you, does it not?~ The voice that customarily told him which way to dodge when avoiding bullets now spoke up.
Why should I concern myself with this girl?
~Why should you concern yourself? How long have you been without a conscience, my dear Ian?~
Ian blinked at the rebuke, and realized that the girl was staring at him.
"Did you say something, Mr. Nottingham?"
"No…but I shall now. Would you like to come inside, Miss Kinealli? Perhaps we can try to reach some one who can come to pick you up."
"Mr. Nottingham, it's not necessary…"
"You could at least allow me to help you. After all, I am letting you go without pressing any charges."
Kait saw the glint of a threat in Mr. Nottingham's eyes that kept her from protesting any further.
"Of course, sir."
Nottingham raised an eyebrow, slightly confused. He did not believe it was customary nowadays for children to refer to elders as 'sir'. He brushed off the momentary confusion and led the way into the manor. He tried to close the gate behind Kait, but the female Wolfhound she had been paying attention to earlier insisted on following. Kait paused before entering the manor, and looked at Ian with contemplation.
"So, Mr. Nottingham…do you customarily carry those many weapons? Or is the sword only for special occasions?"
Ian held the door open for her, and once the teen passed allowed himself to raise an eyebrow in bemusement.
He was not accustomed to people just appearing in the backyard, and when they did, he had more than a few questions about how they got there. She had answered those questions, but had been entirely too calm about it. Grown men cowered when questioned by Ian Nottingham…this girl seemed more interested in the setting sun.
Curious.
He watched Kait walk further into the house. She was currently inspecting a painting on the wall. Ian looked back to the setting sun, and a feeling of surrealism swept over him. He had to suppress a shiver, despite the layers of clothes he had on. There was something going on here, but he knew not what it was.
~*~
"While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As if someone gently rapping, rapping on my chamber door…"
Sara parked her Buell in front of her apartment building, happy to see the open parking space. It had been a tolerable day down at the precinct, but she was glad to see her apartment on that Friday night. She was off for the weekend, and had made a point of warning Jake not to call her in on a case unless he though it was absolutely necessary. He was to think about it very carefully. Very carefully.
Instinctively, Sara glanced up to the fire escape, secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of a certain stalker/guardian who frequented it. SuperFreak, Gothic Stalker Extraordinaire, Shadow Man…
or just
Ian…
He was absent from his usual haunt. Sara shrugged it off, convincing herself that it was for the better. She would have liked someone to talk to, but a book would probably provide better company than Ian Nottingham had been lately. And it would most certainly be less confusing and vague. For the past few weeks, Ian had been very distant, and the personality and charm that she had seen began to disappear again. She hoped whatever it was, he would snap out of it.
She entered her apartment building and checked through her mail.
The date was November 11th.
Suddenly it dawned on her why Ian was so distant. It would soon be the anniversary of Kenneth Iron's "death". Sara stared down at the stone of the Witchblade. Maybe I should go to visit Ian. Or would she be the last person he wanted to see?
She entered her apartment building and checked through her mail. She tossed her mail, which was mainly junk main and bills, into her motorcycle helmet and started towards the stairs.
Sara ascended the stairs to her apartment, taking the steps two at a time. She could already taste the cup of tea she had been promising herself all day. The promise of that cup of tea had gotten her through three homicides that day. The first being a gunshot wound in which the victim had bled to death. The victim was a 35 year-old female who had been shot by her boyfriend.
The second victim was bludgeoned with a large object (Vicki's initial guess was that the damage had been done by a toaster). And the last…Vicki said the victim had a rubber crocodile toy had been shoved down the victim's throat. What a way to go. The obituary writers for the local newspapers would have a field day. Most of Sara's cases, if they were mentioned at all, were a two-inch story in section X of the newspaper.
Today it wasn't ritual or supernatural killings, but the damage done by a toaster and a toy alligator had pretty much the same effect as a shotgun in the long run. The people who fell victim to them were no longer among the living. Sara walked up the staircase, and almost ran into a young man who had come running down the stairs after she heard the slam of a door. The Witchblade glowed slightly as the boy brushed past.
Sara stopped at her door and took a deep breath as she put the key in the lock. She pushed the murders out of her mind, and turned the key, entering the sanctuary of her loft.
She tossed her keys, helmet, holster and gun onto the counter and went over to the answering machine to check her messages. Halfway there, Sara froze and looked to the door. She had seen the guy coming down the stairs…the staircase coming down from her loft after a door had closed. There were no other apartments up there aside from hers…
Sara grabbed her holster off the counter and sprinted down the stairs and into the street. The man who had passed her on the stairs was a good ways down the street, but Sara was able to catch up with him.
"Hey," Sara called, her tone demanding, "Hey!" The young man made no indication that he had heard her and kept walking.
"HEY, BUDDY! MR. LETS-BREAK-INTO-A-COP'S-HOUSE-AND-HOPE-SHE-DOESN'T-NOTICE!"
The man stopped and turned, not looking nearly as nervous as Sara would expect from someone his age who had just accused of breaking into someone's apartment.
"Yes, Occifer?" the boy deadpanned with a slur. His brown eyes bored into her, but she didn't look away. She wasn't going let some punk kid get the best of her.
"You were in my apartment."
"You've got a wonderful colour scheme going on in there,"
"It's called breaking and entering, kid. It'll get you jail time."
"I only enter. I never break." The boy said, "Besides, the window was broken before I entered."
Sara suppressed a smile. Though shaping up to be a pain in the ass, this kid had spirit.
"What were you doing up there?"
"Following the white rabbit. He wanted me to go down the bunny hole, but I'm claustrophobic...so we settled on your apartment," Daniel looked over towards the setting sun, then back to Sara.
"I'm serious, buddy."
"I thought the apartment was abandoned and I needed a place to stay. I didn't take anything, I swear."
"You don't have a place to stay the night?" Sara's face softened, processing what was going on with this kid.
"No…not any more."
"Did you get kicked out by your parents?" The boy/man looked like he could be seventeen or twenty-five. But his deep brown eyes told a different story about his age.
"Something like that. I didn't live with my parent, but they did get me fired from the good job I was working, kicked out of my apartment and suspended from college. They don't like my girlfriend, so ithey/i and I don't get along too well anymore," the boy had said 'they' with such animosity that it made even Sara dislike the parents.
"What's your name?"
"Samuel O'Reilly."
"And your parent's address?"
"I'm in-between parents at the moment."
"Hey, Sam, you broke into my apartment. I don't plan on pressing charges, but I need some cooperation on your part, okay? What's your parents address"
"No address." Samuel shoved his hands into his pockets and looked up to the sky. The air was growing chillier, and clouds were moving in on the darkening sky.
"It's going to snow," he muttered, "Damn."
"Alright," Sara said with a sigh, "Lets go."
"Go where?" Samuel asked suspiciously, looking like he was ready to run if the situation called for it.
"Back to the apartment. You seem to know your way in well enough."
"Wha…"
"C'mon, Sam," said Sara, waving him to follow, "Before I change my mind. Like you said, it's gonna get really chilly, really soon."
The boy followed reluctantly, his hands in his pockets. There was something about this boy…Sara couldn't place what. She glanced down to the Witchblade, hoping for some hint, a vision…but the stone was dormant, a picture of innocence.
Maybe I really am insane.
Sara sighed.
~*~
Okay folks...there we go. Read and review or I will be holding the next chapter hostage. Unless you've already read it on the other board...:P