Authors Notes:
I have worked on this story for over a year now. I have not posted it because I wanted to be done before I did. I have a tendency to change a lot of stuff in early chapters to fit the later ones. Big things, and I don't want someone to be confused. I am still not done and I won't be for quite a while but I say, why not at least post the prologue and see the people's reactions.
Okay, first off, I don't think Jimmy is albino. I just think it would be really, really cool if he was and since this is fan fiction, than who is to say I can't say he is. Also, I don't believe Jimmy is ten years old in the series, though that's what I made him and Sarah out of convenience of having them be a close enough age to the rest of the characters which at least Eddy is proven to be twelve.
Prologue
Two years later
Jimmy Christensen had come home early one day from Peach Creek Middle School. He was a small, meek, albino boy the age of twelve, and rather bright. However, seventh grade was horrifically difficult compared to his elementary school tortures. This day was an especially horrid one. First off, the Napoleonic Eddy had successfully scammed him out of all this allowance. "Scammed" would not be the right word exactly. The correct word would be "mugged". Of course Sarah had ground Eddy into a living pulp and gotten Jimmy's few dollars back but he still had bruises on his arms where Eddy had grabbed him. He bruised easily. Later Sarah yelled at him for not being stronger and practically letting Eddy take his money. It was true. All Jimmy had done was squeal and cry as the bully searched his pockets. Earlier that day Kevin had accidentally pounded Jimmy in the head with a football. Jimmy had had very bad day that had been finished off with the fact that rehearsal for the play he stared in was canceled.
His parents expected him home an hour later since it was Wednesday and on Wednesdays he rehearsed with his theater group. The play this time was "A Midsummer's Nights Dream"and the impressive part of Lysander was his. He had begun to prefer the theatric arts over ones like painting, but his personality had hardly wavered in the last few years (save for the fact he no longer played with dolls). 'Action figures' are not dolls. Oh how he desired to be stronger like his heroes of plastic. The pasty boy still had his handicap of a retainer. At one point it had evolved into braces, but after those were removed he needed to go back to his past headgear that was to be worn for another three years. One had to pity his poor dental luck.
Beside the point, that day his practice of the theatrical arts was canceled for reasons neither known nor important to him. The young preteen had slipped in unnoticed and laid his rolling backpack near the front door. He cringed at his bruises and thought he should go to the bathroom to put on fresh bandages. This was not really needed as he was only bruised and no blood was spilled, so he reconsidered and decided to go to the kitchen instead.
He often took a bite of fruit before doing his homework, usually while listening either to his own soft rock or a borrowed boy band CD from Sarah. Both kept him pleasantly distracted. As he stepped into the kitchen, almost tasting the apple he sought, a scent breached his nostrils spontaneously causing vomit to spill out of his mouth, staining his pale blue shirt. Agory, horrific sight met the poor boy's virgin eyes and so he fell to his knees, legs unable to sustain the weight of what he saw.
The tiled floor was caked in blood and the smell of a fresh corpse was the nauseating scent. The foul liquid splattered the cabinets of the kitchen as if a two year old had gotten his hands on some red finger paint, a very tall two year old. It had played out the battle between two men, one meeting an unfortunate end. In the center of the pool of blood was a man who looked more like a beast, disgustingly contorted and mutilated. He was stabbed in the center of his pectoral muscles and it looked as if the knife took footing there and was brought south towards his abdomen. Two slashes were carved into the flesh of his face, incised into an expression of terror, mouth agape and one eye bulging out of its socket, the other sliced in half. His elbow had been broken backwards so that the bone was clearly visible. It could be seen from under the tissue and the skin started to flake around it. The man's black hair was no longer only slicked back with hairspray, but now his own blood with all his clothes were stained a red black.
Lying beside him, which could only be assumed to be the murder weapon, was a slender silver stiletto. It looked like a museum piece it was so finely crafted, with a tiny black opal in of the center of the blade though now it glistened red. Since his face was carved in, Jimmy did not recognize the man even though he had seen him once before. In the middle of the night two weeks ago, Jimmy had heard the deceased talking to his father in the den. Curious as a cat and just as cautious, he had decided to go down for a glass of water as a cover-up story for seeing what events were transpiring. However the conversation had ceased once he made it to the stairs. Now the man was dead in his kitchen.
"JIMMY!" a shrill voice more high pitched and feminine than his own came from behind him. "You- you're home!" A petite, pale, platinum blonde woman came into view, his mother. She was wearing a maroon apron and had a dry mop and a bucket of water in her hands. Oddly, she was clean. She looked horrified, an expression mirroring that of her offspring's.
"Did you do this?" Jimmy choked on the taste in his mouth, of both bile and of his own words. It was impossible. Even if this woman had the wrath, her form did not possess the strength.
"I didn't. I didn't have anything to do this," she said, begging innocence from her child. At that moment a man rounded the corner. A man who's toned muscles rippled his tall, thin body, and was dripping with blood that was not his. It soaked his lengthy brown hair and splattered his large hands and his Oh, shit! What do I do now! face. This was the man that Jimmy called 'daddy'.
"Jimmy, I think you should stop crying," his dad said strangely both stern and sympathetic.
"David," Jimmy's mother said, not agreeing with how he has handling the situation.
"St…stop crying?" their son stuttered, eyes not yet relieving their dammed water.
"You need to know what I have been doing and I cannot tell you if you are crying," Jimmy's father said, trying not to be strict. He killed had people, he had people begging before on their knees only for him to shoot their temple, he at times was heartless, but it all evaporated whenever he saw his son. He loved him and if Jimmy ever stopped loving him he would hate himself. Jimmy walked over to the nearest Kleenex box and wiped his eyes, turning them red and veined, then went to the bathroom sink and gulped water to relieve him of the taste of the vile stomach fluids before returning to his parents. What had his father been doing?! he thought in disbelief. The family sat in the den, leaving the body untouched in the kitchen. Jimmy's mother, Natalie, put down her bucket and mop to sit next to and hug her son, not caring of the state of his shirt. The young boy's gaze never left his father. David had his own eyes focused firmly on his shoes, not knowing what to say.
"Do I have to say what happened?" he finally looked up. No one responded. "No, that's not fair. This guy is, well, he is a not very good guy. He is a murderer and I had to kill him because he killed someone very dear to me… I can't lie to you Jimmy."
"I had nothing personal with this man," his father started over. "I mean, I don't like him, but nothing to kill over. He's dead and the blood is on my hands because I was told to spill it. I am part of a group of people who work for the underground crime in the nearbycity. I work for… this man who tells me to do something, I do it and I get paid. It's not always this gruesome or unlawful. I am so sorry you had to find out this way," Jimmy's father said solemnly, ashamed of what his son might think. He hated this aspect of his job. Jimmy meant everything to him. He tried to tell his son little, but the truth. David knew that his son would discover it anyway, but this was not an age he wanted him to be exposed to it. He had failed.
Jimmy was only twelve years old and he was always young for his age. He looked around him. The small boy looked at the clock on the mantel, the couch he was sitting on, the rug beneath his feet, his retainer. It had hit him; all had been pained with blood money. At that moment something changed in Jimmy. A dark corner of his psyche that had surfaced rarely before, enshrouded his entire mindset. He was weak, something he knew he could not afford to be any longer. The way people picked on him, the way he let them, he was tired of it. Jimmy had a touch of deviousness in him and a thirst for power he had to evolve. He had become what some people would call evil, others would call dark or powerful. If his father was in this sort life, he could not avoid it. Besides...he wanted it.
"Where are you going with this?" Jimmy said, using the stern tone his father tried to avoid. He would not settle being weak again. Anything he would do of the sort since then would have to be a façade. After all, he was an actor.
"Excuse me?" his father asked unprepared, already uneasy.
"If you control the crime of the city, what do you plan to do in the end? Take it over from the inside out?" Jimmy asked menacingly, as if covering up for his immediate reaction from when he saw the body, as if covering up for is entire life of being a fragile, baby of a boy.
"Something like that," his father lied starting to feel small. It was his job to be a hired assassin, a hit man, and no world-dominating figure. Jimmy didn't grasp that. He could handle his son's anger or disappointment. He would hate it, but he could handle it. However, acceptance was a different tale. Ironic that Jimmy, the small very feeble boy was able to dominate his very strong father.
"You need to clean that mess up in the kitchen. When Sarah comes over tomorrow she might notice something. Dad, I know now why you want me to be more sports-minded. You have always wanted a strong man to carry on if you should die. But your child turned out to be a wuss. Don't worry Dad, I will follow in you footsteps." David felt his heart crumble. He did not want this future for his only child.
Author's Notes:
You like it? The first chapter won't be for a very long time and when I post it, try reading the prologue again because I very may well change it. I know no one got super powers yet or anything but they will. So please review. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease review!
