Haunted
-A Side Story to a Side Story by Anie
Disclaimer: I don't own Alias. J.J. Abrams, Bad Robot, and countless others do.
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Haunted
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
'It' had to be perfect. Why? Because she's perfect.
Six days. Six days of searching. Examining stores for 'it'. The prize that eluded me. 'It' had to be perfect.
The seventh day I wandered upon a small shop in an older neighborhood. A weathered sign swung in the breeze.
Antiques and Antiquities.
I walked inside. A faint, dusty smell permeated the air. The smell of antiques. The smell of victory. 'It' was here. 'It' couldn't be anywhere else. Because I smelled it in the air. I was giddy with the smell of victory and my thoughts were disjointed and unreasonable. But I knew 'it' was here, even if my justifications sounded asinine.
A squat, elderly woman noticed my appearance. She slid off the stool behind the counter and I noticed that she was incredibly short. She ambled around the counter and straight up to me. I read the miniscule print on her beat-up, classic black nametag.
Catherine Potter.
"May I help you, sir?" she questioned, her voice lilting with an unmistakable English accent. I hesitated, pursing my lips. I wasn't sure if I wanted to share. I felt as if I was the only one who could find 'it.' Catherine Potter would only hinder my search by trying to force me into buying something that wasn't perfect, and wasn't 'it.'
And then I glanced around at the multitude of items in the shop.
"I'm looking for a Christmas gift."
"For whom?" I hesitated again. Catherine Potter stared up at me intently, as if she could read the answer in my face. Should I tell her that I was buying for a co-worker? A friend? A hopefully more-than-friend? A double agent for the CIA working on bringing down an agency by the name of SD-6 that was run by a maniacal control-freak?
"A friend," I answered.
"Male or female?"
"Female."
"Young or old?" I failed to see what this question had to do with finding 'it,' but I answered truthfully.
"Young." By 'young' I hope she meant under the age of thirty.
"Since I do not know your friend, I can not help you find a gift for her. But I will relate to you the history behind the items in my shop," she said. "It may help you to decide. This way." I followed.
She showed me an intricately designed vase from the Victorian era.
Not 'it.'
Then there was the sickly child and her beloved glass elephants.
Almost, but not quite perfect enough.
Then there was the teakettle. And the corner cabinet. And the rocker. But they weren't 'it.' Catherine Potter didn't understand. 'It' needed to be perfect.
A flash of silver. My head whipped around of its own accord and I stared, fascinated with the picture frame. The smell of victory was stronger.
"What about that?" I asked abruptly. I saw her eyes light up. This frame was definitely special. Catherine Potter proceeded to regale me with the tragic story of Liliana Price and Gregory Thorton. I studied the frame with undisguised delight.
The frame was beautiful. She was beautiful. The frame had a tragic past. She had a tragic past. The frame had captured my attention immediately. She had captured my attention immediately. The frame was haunted by former memories. She was haunted by former memories.
The frame was perfect. The frame was 'it.'
The smell of victory overpowered me.
"No one wants to buy it," Catherine Potter sighed. I stared it it for a moment, just to make sure. Yes. The frame was 'it.'
"I do," I said. Catherine Potter looked positively delighted.
"Wonderful. Come, I will ring up the bill."
Ten minutes later I exitted the shop, my package gripped tightly in my hand. The smell of victory still lingered in the air, but it was fading now. Instead, the smell of achievement filled the air around me. I had achieved my goal. I had found 'it.' And 'it' was perfect.
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Author's Notes
A short companion piece to Antiques and Antiquities. Yes, Vaughn seems obsessive. He's supposed to. Written in American spellings because Vaughn is American. I hope you enjoyed.
-A Side Story to a Side Story by Anie
Disclaimer: I don't own Alias. J.J. Abrams, Bad Robot, and countless others do.
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Haunted
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
'It' had to be perfect. Why? Because she's perfect.
Six days. Six days of searching. Examining stores for 'it'. The prize that eluded me. 'It' had to be perfect.
The seventh day I wandered upon a small shop in an older neighborhood. A weathered sign swung in the breeze.
Antiques and Antiquities.
I walked inside. A faint, dusty smell permeated the air. The smell of antiques. The smell of victory. 'It' was here. 'It' couldn't be anywhere else. Because I smelled it in the air. I was giddy with the smell of victory and my thoughts were disjointed and unreasonable. But I knew 'it' was here, even if my justifications sounded asinine.
A squat, elderly woman noticed my appearance. She slid off the stool behind the counter and I noticed that she was incredibly short. She ambled around the counter and straight up to me. I read the miniscule print on her beat-up, classic black nametag.
Catherine Potter.
"May I help you, sir?" she questioned, her voice lilting with an unmistakable English accent. I hesitated, pursing my lips. I wasn't sure if I wanted to share. I felt as if I was the only one who could find 'it.' Catherine Potter would only hinder my search by trying to force me into buying something that wasn't perfect, and wasn't 'it.'
And then I glanced around at the multitude of items in the shop.
"I'm looking for a Christmas gift."
"For whom?" I hesitated again. Catherine Potter stared up at me intently, as if she could read the answer in my face. Should I tell her that I was buying for a co-worker? A friend? A hopefully more-than-friend? A double agent for the CIA working on bringing down an agency by the name of SD-6 that was run by a maniacal control-freak?
"A friend," I answered.
"Male or female?"
"Female."
"Young or old?" I failed to see what this question had to do with finding 'it,' but I answered truthfully.
"Young." By 'young' I hope she meant under the age of thirty.
"Since I do not know your friend, I can not help you find a gift for her. But I will relate to you the history behind the items in my shop," she said. "It may help you to decide. This way." I followed.
She showed me an intricately designed vase from the Victorian era.
Not 'it.'
Then there was the sickly child and her beloved glass elephants.
Almost, but not quite perfect enough.
Then there was the teakettle. And the corner cabinet. And the rocker. But they weren't 'it.' Catherine Potter didn't understand. 'It' needed to be perfect.
A flash of silver. My head whipped around of its own accord and I stared, fascinated with the picture frame. The smell of victory was stronger.
"What about that?" I asked abruptly. I saw her eyes light up. This frame was definitely special. Catherine Potter proceeded to regale me with the tragic story of Liliana Price and Gregory Thorton. I studied the frame with undisguised delight.
The frame was beautiful. She was beautiful. The frame had a tragic past. She had a tragic past. The frame had captured my attention immediately. She had captured my attention immediately. The frame was haunted by former memories. She was haunted by former memories.
The frame was perfect. The frame was 'it.'
The smell of victory overpowered me.
"No one wants to buy it," Catherine Potter sighed. I stared it it for a moment, just to make sure. Yes. The frame was 'it.'
"I do," I said. Catherine Potter looked positively delighted.
"Wonderful. Come, I will ring up the bill."
Ten minutes later I exitted the shop, my package gripped tightly in my hand. The smell of victory still lingered in the air, but it was fading now. Instead, the smell of achievement filled the air around me. I had achieved my goal. I had found 'it.' And 'it' was perfect.
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Author's Notes
A short companion piece to Antiques and Antiquities. Yes, Vaughn seems obsessive. He's supposed to. Written in American spellings because Vaughn is American. I hope you enjoyed.