Hello everyone! Doddle here, just giving you a quick synopsis of the story your about to read, or at least, start to read.
Full Summary: Melanie Middleton was your average university student, until one night changed everything. Now she and Father Mark, a young priest who isn't quite satisfied with where life had taken him, have to forge a new life where you go to any and all lengths to protect those that need you. The Garden follows these two young people as they form a makeshift family and deal with the dark side of the mutant phenomenon, helping children who no one else wants to help. Children that the world forgets.
Warnings: This story contains swearing and is all original characters. It is meant to get back to the root of the X-gene, the original stories and get away from where the X-men have taken mutants. It begins twelve years before the events of M-Day. None of the characters belonging to Marvel will ever make an appearance in the story. It is not a self insert story, there aren't any Mary Sue characters. There are a lot of flawed people making hard decisions and making lives for themselves. It isn't a romance story – I actually can't think of a pairing in the characters I'm creating that would work.
Disclaimer: I don't own the world that this story is set in, that belongs to Marvel. I own all of the characters and the plot of the story though.
Author's Note: This first chapter is to gauge the interest of readers, if people are interested I will continue to write the story and I will update one chapter per week. The story will be at least twenty chapters long based on what is already written the outline that has been made and the chapters will be longer then this one, probably double to three times this length. I am looking for a beta reader if I am to continue the story so if you are interested then please contact me. To show you are interested either favourite or review, even anonymously. You do not have to say anything but that you want it continued.
The city cold and dark at night, it was uninviting and downright scary. Melanie Middleton shivered lightly and pulled her jacket tight around her body, keeping a brisk pace to soon be off the streets. The street light cats an eerie glow around her and the homeless huddled in the dank allies to keep warm, eyeing her as she walked past. Melanie kept to the far side of the street, walking along the river to keep away from the suspect allies at the expense of receiving the cold draft from the water.
Stupid, stupid. She thought tiredly to herself; wishing once again she hadn't agreed to cover the late shift that night. A waitresses' paycheck didn't easily cover a car and tuition and when one could walk to work or take the bus one didn't buy a car. That didn't mean said person didn't regret that decision when they were forced to walk the streets at midnight. Which also slightly irritated the young student - it was midnight, she had class tomorrow. How dare her co-worker presume to be ill? It was as if it hadn't crossed their mind that poor Melanie would be forced to work until the wee hours of the morning, trek the dangerous city streets with the drugged murderers and then (should she even survive the walk home -which she likely wouldn't) that same Melanie would have to wake up for five thirty to get ready for a eight a.m. lecture. It would be a six o'clock wake up if I'd bought a car, she thought bitterly.
On top of all of this the sky was roiling above her and making ominous, threatening noises that sounded suspiciously like an impending storm. This actually really worked well with her evening's trend of things-that-did-not-impress-Melanie happening. She was walking home, at midnight, in the sketchy part of the city and it was going to rain. Right before she died.
A movement caught her eye up ahead and pulled her from her thoughts. On the bridge was a figure looking mightily awkward. It appeared to be a woman, but she couldn't be sure from the angle, lighting or distance, and they seemed to be climbing over the railing, holding a lot of something...
"Hey!" She shrieked suddenly, snapping in the realization that that woman was climbing over the railing, and breaking into a sprint toward the bridge.
The currently suicidal woman jerked in shocked, head whipping to look at the quickly advancing figure, but she remained stable on her precarious perch. After peering curiously at Melanie for a moment she began to edge along the side of the bridge, heading for the slight outcropping of concrete that made up one the supporting pillars for the bridge.
"No- wait! What are you doing?" Melanie called, skidding to a halt alongside the rail. The woman looked over at her again and this time Melanie could see her eyes, wide and afraid and from the looks of it, completely strung.
"Getting rid of this monster." The woman replied simply, shifting the bundle in her arms that Mel could now see was moving. She clawed at the fabric covering - a jacket? - and Mel spotted an expanse of wriggling black fur. A cat?
"A cat?" Melanie asked in confusion, leaning a bit to get a better look.
The woman laughed bitterly. "Cat? Fuck no, this thing... it's a... a girl. Demon. Monster-thing." The woman wrenched a hand in the bundle and yanked it out again. A shrilled cry erupted from the creature, sounding like a cross between a screeching cat and a scream. Then Melanie saw it. Dangling by a leg in the woman's hand was a baby, covered in a thick coat of black fur. At least, Melanie thought it was a baby. It was screaming shrilly and flailing its small arms, a fluffy black tail whipping wildly in terror.
"Oh God -please, please stop." Melanie whimpered, holding out her arms. "Please just give to me."
"Give it to you? Fuck no - watch the damn the drown is what I'm gunna do – it-it killed my daughter. Tried to replace her." The woman snapped, a sob breaking from her throat as her free hand settled on her lower abdomen. The sickening feeling of dread crept through Melanie.
"That is your daughter- isn't it? She's a mutant..." Melanie said softly, once again extending her arms. "Give her to me, ma'am, please." Then, realizing she was getting nowhere fast, she took a deep breath and swung her leg over the rail.
"What are you doing?" The woman demanded, stepping closer to the edge of the small ledge they were now both on.
"I need you to hand me the baby." She said, walking toward the two, her eyes glued the still screeching infant.
"No - no damnit. No. It's a monster. It killed her, it killed my baby!" The woman yelled, startling both the baby and Melanie. She was now hysterical, tears pouring down her face and gasping for air as she muttered incoherently about her dead daughter. With a frustrated and desperate cry the woman hurled the small child over the water and collapsed against the side of the rail, sobbing.
It seemed like in that moment everything sped up, the panic and horror dawning on Melanie as she suddenly threw herself off the bridge after the screaming baby. All she could think about was the little form plummeting to its death just out of her reach. Stretching out an arm further and snatched at the figure and pulled it close. So she was going to die tonight, she thought idly, wrapping her arms around the child, hunching around its small form as they fell. A scream was tearing through the air that didn't belong to the baby or its mother above them and Melanie realized it was her own. Then, in just in time, she remembered to take a deep breath and braced for the impact of the cold water below.
Hitting the water felt similar to getting hit by a transport truck that was made of ice. Or at least, how Melanie imagined getting hit by a transport truck that was made of ice may feel, since she'd never actually been hit by one. Then all she could concentrate on was air, getting air. The baby needed air. But the current was pulling her in every direction and she didn't know what way was up, and it was so cold, the water was so very cold. Her limbs felt heavy and her clothing was like weights, dragging her deeper and deeper.
The lights in the rectory were low; Father Mark didn't especially like them bright. He enjoyed the sluggish yet sometimes rapid movement of shadows dancing around his office. He put down his pen and rubbed at his eyes, leaning his head back and letting it hang momentarily. There was a certain pressure on a young priest. He was well liked by virtue of his age but he had to be careful that he was taken seriously. The stereotypical imagery of an elderly man wise by his years of experience and study leading the congregation left much to be desired in Mark. He was still in his mid-twenties, fresh out of the seminary and recently ordained. This was his first church – his first appointment.
It still felt so wrong.
When he had made the decision to enter the seminary all those years ago it had felt right, like this was the path God had chosen for him. Now, sitting here in the quiet of the rectory, he felt like he'd made the biggest mistake of his life. The passion with which he had first pursued the gospel, the vigor with which he had delved into the church and the life it had given him – the purpose – it had all faded away to a pathetic ember. He had considered many things as reasons, two of which seemed the most plausible. The first was a failing of his own, disillusionment on his part. He had had visions of grandeur when he had taken his vows, of inspiring the masses, of life changing mission work and miraculous wonders through his hands. His toiling labors showing benefits before his very eyes. Instead he was granted a congregation that cared more for the next bake sale then the word of God.
The second was that this was his first test. The Lord wanted to see if even though it was not as Mark had imagined; it was still the work that was required of him. If that was the case then Mark would pass this test – he was going to serve the Lord and His children in whatever capacity he could. That wouldn't stop him from wishing it slightly more exciting – but what human being didn't crave excitement?
He straightened the papers on his desk and glanced up at the clock – it was already one in the morning. With a frustrated shake of his head and his own foolishness (what had possessed him to stay up this late?) he turned off the lights, locked the office door and made his way to the lobby. The lights were off over the alter, the seating and in the choir loft, leaving only the dim glow from the lobby lights to guide him. He stopped just before the tabernacle and bowed low, then looked to the painting above it, the crucified Jesus staring into the heavens. Bowing his head solemnly he prayed for guidance – for some sign as to what his purpose was and if this was indeed it.
It was then – in the most clichéd of ways – he heard a knocking. He stilled for a moment and listening intently, but nothing came again. Convinced that it hadn't happened (honestly he was scared to think if it had) and rose and started for the lobby again. Then he heard it a second time. The knock was very distinct this time and came from the main entrance; it was followed by a voice.
"Please, please someone answer the door! I need help! Please!" It was a woman's voice, half hysterical. With a rolling dread in the pit of his stomach he hurried to the door and pulled it open. Outside it seemed the word seemed to be in the throes of the mother of all storms. And on his doorstep was a woman, soaking wet and sobbing and holding onto a screaming infant. "Oh thank God, thank God. Please help me, you have to help me – the baby she –it –I... we, oh God we were in the river – off- off the bridge, she fell. I tried to catch her but the woman she wouldn't, she- she threw the baby and I tried... I tried to catch her." She had stepped forward and clutched his arm with a free hand, looking into his eyes desperately.
For what felt like an eternity Mark just stood there completely shocked. This actually happened? To real people in real churches? Then he noticed the oddest thing – her eyes, they were a stunning mossy shade of green. Then he thought to himself, is this actually a sign? After the few seconds it took to process all of that – really, her eyes? – he pulled her into the church. "Of course, of course, come in hurry. It's okay now, it's all okay."
He rushed to into the back, his mind now racing a mile a minute. He needed clothes, clean dry clothes. For a woman and a baby – the baby! "Wait – wait, ma'am, did you say the baby was in the river?"
The woman shivered and nodded, sobbing again, and clutching the child closer. "It tried to stop her, I tried."
He nodded reassuringly, and rubbed his hands up and down her arms. "I know, ma'am, I know you did. But shouldn't we get the baby to a hospital?"
The woman shook her head violently and clutched the child tightly to her chest. "We can't, we just can't. I need- no - they'll hurt her."
Blinking in surprise he peered at the small child, wrapped in soaked cloth. "Okay, okay let's just get you dried off, shall we?" He asked gently, guiding her to the back. He didn't has a habit keep baby and women's clothing on hand and as such the best he could do was provide her with a alter server's robe. What he did have, however, was food. The church always kept a stock of food available in case of emergencies, if families were ever in need.
The robes were sorted by size and Mark quickly flipped through them, slightly relieved that she seemed to be the size of a young boy. "Here – put this on."
With an owlish blink she stared at the robe, then and the baby in her arms. After a lengthily hesitation that bordered on awkward she placed the baby on the couch and took the robe. Mark nodded abruptly and turned back to the robes, flipped again through them to find something to put the baby in. He heard the 'plop' of wet clothes as they hit the floor and blushed, searching more determinedly through the clothing. Eventually he remembered the small outfit they had for baby Jesus during the Christmas pageants and head to the closet to dig it out. After some rifling he found the small white robe.
"Okay, I'm finished." She mumbled, holding her hands out for the baby's robes. He turned back to her and handed the robe over to her and watched as she grabbed it and made her way over the child. "Hi sweetie..." She cooed, taking the baby and as she unwrapped it her hands stilled and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. For a second she seemed to deliberate on something then, tentatively, she continued undressing the baby. Mark smiled slightly and ducked into the bathroom, grabbing up all the hand towels they had and brought them out.
"Here you are - towels." He said walking over and extending them. She looked over and smiled, reaching to grab them. That's when he was the child, completely uncovered. The small body was covered in a thick coat of black fur, a thin tail twitching unhappily. The ears sat on top of her head, small furry triangles pressed down in irritation. Her face seemed person shaped, the nose slightly more upturned, the nostrils smaller and thinner. He eyes were almond shaped and bright yellow, the vertical slit for a pupil. The fur on her was seemed fine and short; until it reached her cheek bones and jaw where it appeared to be thicker. It was hard to tell as was she was drenched, the fur stuck down and clumping together.
She had taken to mewling sadly now and whimpering, but as her mother started to towel her off she contented. "Oh my..." He mumbled, sitting down weakly on the couch. The baby stretched and fussed under the towels, but stayed mostly quiet. The woman glanced up at him in a way the struck him at panicked, and then focused on her task.
"Ma'am... who are you?" He asked carefully, not wanting to spook her. He couldn't deal with that right now.
"Melanie Middleton. Just call me Mel though." She said softly, now turning the child and wrapping it carefully in the robe he'd given her.
"Okay, well then Mel, my name is Father Mark, I'm the here priest at St. Joseph's. Could you tell me who this is with you?" The baby looked comical now in the white outfit, dressed like a little cat version of baby Jesus.
Mel looked up at him in surprise and then down at the baby, tilting her head to one side and biting her lip. "Uh..." She picked up the baby and held it up in front of her. Suddenly, with an expression that clearly stated she'd had the best idea ever conceived she said: "Well she's Katrina. Kat Middleton."
And Mark didn't know quite what to say to that.
Just a reminder! This first chapter is to gauge the interest of readers, if people are interested I will continue to write the story and I will update one chapter per week. The story will be at least twenty chapters long based on what is already written the outline that has been made and the chapters will be longer then this one, probably double to three times this length. I am looking for a beta reader if I am to continue the story so if you are interested then please contact me. To show you are interested either favourite or review, even anonymously. You do not have to say anything but that you want it continued.
Thank you for reading!
Doodle