Well this is my first and very lame attempt at fanfiction, so please treat
me with the charity and sympathy you would render any writer who presents
their first and very lame fanfiction. Um.alright..here's me "unleashing my
imagination and freeing my soul."
The Language of Silence
Chapter 1
Her senses drifted away into the tangerine, oily lighting of the room. The flames of the prehistoric lamp danced on the wall and she looked upon them with a sort of stolid fascination that overcame her smooth features. Her porcelain skin was burned by the asperity of the floor that she sat upon, clothed only in her undergarments, quickly galloping the rotten, yet scarce, food. There was no connection to the world, she felt isolated in the run down hotel in the more rotten part of Callisto, where truly existed no way of finding her. On the opposite side of the room lay a phone, a rather rare commodity for a place like the one where she was staying in. But she ignored it. It wasn't like she was going to make a phone call. She had no one to call now.
The walls shook with an intensity; in the room next door two seemingly newlywed men were enjoying each other's company and letting the rest of the motel in on their business. The moans collided into a sort of jazzy, background blast that, instead of agitating the woman, relaxed her. She pressed her back against the wall and let the sugary inclinations of their voices massage her neck. It felt good to relax for a moment, to not have to care, to not have to worry about 'them.' It had been a long time since she had felt this secure, it had been a long time since she had felt anything.
Suddenly, the phone rang. It's loud penetration made her jump up and look cautiously at it. Persistently it continued to ring, with long, loud, drawn out moans, as if it somehow hypnotizing her with its vibrations. Her eyes fixated on the receiver and for a moment she could not move. How could anyone find her here, this should have been the last place that they looked. How did they find her? How? Why? After all, she was no longer her old self, she was Rose Shields, she picked the name out herself. Something that one would not notice, would not suspect. The phone continued ringing.
Slowly, she made her way toward it, crawling on her bruised knees upon the floor, it had been a while since she rose to height of the window. Who knew what may have been behind the glass, who might have been there, waiting. Slowly she raised the receiver and pressed it to her ear, afraid that it might explode in her hand, that a bullet might fly out of the object.
"Hello?" she chanted.
"Turn that shit down, you wanna fuck then do it on your own time you fucking bastards!" rang into the phone and she quickly drew it away from her head.
"Stanley, this is Rose," she said, "you got the wrong number again."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Rosey" he said, "it's just---you have to understand a man needs his sleep."
"I understand," she said quietly, "go back to sleep, Stanley, okay?"
"Yeah," he mumbled.
She sighed easily. She was getting worked up for nothing. The phone rang again.
"Stanley, I told you to go back to sleep," she said into the receiver.
"Miss Valentine?" the voice on the opposite end said and her eyes widened, "I've been looking for you for a very long time. I think we should have little chat."
"I-I'm not---I think you got the wrong number----"
"No, most certainly I'm speaking to exactly the right person."
His voice sounded intimidating to her ears, and she wanted to jump out of her skin, to disappear, to not have to worry about anything she'd ever done or would do in her life, not have to worry about what would happen.
"You better talk to me now," said the voice, "when I am still in a somewhat lenient mood."
"I don't know what your talk---"
"Do not be foolish, Miss Valentine, I know everything about you, where you were born, how you ended up being a bounty hunter, I even know about the accident."
Faye quickly leveled to her feet and ran to the drawer where she had left her gun. Circling the room frantically as she firmly gripped the weapon, Faye's body shook compulsively. Why did this have to happen? Why?
"I only want to have a talk with you, Miss Valentine, only a talk."
"How did you find me?" She asked swiftly, turning off her light, trying to buy herself time to devise and escape route.
"Let's just say, Miss Valentine, that we never lost you."
She looked toward the window, moving closely to it, and trying to pry the cheap thing open.
"No, Miss Valentine, you cannot go through there."
She jumped back and got to the floor, a shot rang and it shattered the glass to bits. Faye screamed and a chuckle was heard on the other side of the phone. She dropped it to the ground and moved away slowly. Only now, in the dead silence, she noticed that the window was left untouched, but the noise from the neighboring room was no longer heard. She shook at the realization and fixated on the phone. Slow vibration escaped its barrier, long, drawn out---sobs. She listened closer, 'Rosey.'
Quickly she picked it up again, "Stanley, are you all right?"
All she heard was a groan.
"Oh Stanley, I won't let them hurt you."
She had no control over that, but she preferred to lie to herself, to bar her mind from singing a malicious tune that she had for so long tried to blot out. She stopped herself from thinking, "It's Jet all over again."
But that didn't work, and suddenly, she stood in that room again, looking down, crying histerically, closing her eyes, ripping out her hair. It was all her fault. The man lay lifeless on the floor, and she could do nothing to reverse time. So many had come into her life and left, and she went absolutely mad. She ripped her hair out, and she banged her knuckles against the wall, but nothing could save her from what had become of it all.
Quickly, Faye pulled on some scattered clothing, a striped sweater, old, worn out pants, and heavy boots. Then, with a gun in hand, she looked for a way out. In the distance, through the drawn shades of the window, she saw a blue light. It transfixed her for a moment and she stopped moving, looking at it. A loud sound penetrated her, and some more caught her by surprise.
Suddenly, countless gunshots aimed at her and she fell to the floor, covering her head with her arms. Through the loud chaos, her head pained, and she wept helplessly. The ringing suddenly ceased and she raised her head quickly, wondering what had occurred. She looked up, the room had been destroyed but she was still alive. Quietly, she crawled out of the room into the narrow hall. Quickly pacing to her feet, she looked on the floor only to scream, slapping her hand against her mouth. There lay a corpse of Stanley, bloody, lifeless. But he didn't have to go. It wasn't yet his time to go. And it was all her fault. All the miseries in the world were her fault.
"Miss Valentine," said a voice and she fixated on a tall figure. His face was hidden by the dark, but she could tell he had dark features. She stepped backwards at the sight of the gun in his hand, hanging in a sort of matter of fact way from his fingers, "Or can I call you Faye?"
She screamed piercingly, causing the figure to lose its concentration, loosening the gun in his hand. She quickly pulled her own out and into his direction. He did not move.
"Where are the others?" She asked quickly.
"The others, Miss Valentine?"
"Your men---the others!"
"I assure you there are no---" he continued softly.
"Tell me where they are or I'll blow your head off!" she screamed.
There was silence for a moment. She heard his chuckle. It made her tighten the gun in her hands.
"You can't kill me," he said.
"Yes I can!" she replied.
"No you can't."
"Why not?" she said, almost in indignation.
"Because you're a woman. Women don't kill."
"Oh yes they fucking do!" She screamed, leveling higher her gun, "don't you come any closer."
He laughed, "Not your kind of women."
"My kind is precisely the kind that kills, put your gun on the floor or I shoot."
"If you were going to shoot me, you would have done it already, it's better off for me to be dead anyway" he said, "You can kill me, but you can't."
"Stop it!" she screamed, "And do what I tell you!"
He laughed again, approaching from the dark, his body gradually coming into light.
"Well," he said, "anything for the pretty lady. And you are very pretty."
He walked toward her, her hands began to shake.
"Look at that hair of yours," he continued, "I wish I was the man who could run my hands through that hair."
She began to back away.
"Oh yes," he moved forward, "I'd do anything to kiss those lips."
His tone was cold and she began to shake on the inside.
"But of course," he paused, "my career comes first. I simply can't allow myself to do it, our relationship has to remain a professional one."
"Stop, don't move any closer!" She screamed.
"Or you'll what?" He laughed, frightening her, "kill me? Then go ahead and kill me. Shoot me, shoot me---"
And she shot him. It was in the arm in which he held his gun. It dropped to the floor. He swung his head back and impulsively she ran down the hall, into one of the rooms.
"Miss Valentine!" she heard his sarcastically exclaim from behind as if he had not just been shot, but not hearing footsteps. For some reason, he wasn't following her. It scared and confused Faye.
In the room, she saw the corpses of two men, half naked, lying on the bed, drenching the sheets in red. She wanted to vomit but stopped herself in time. She looked outside. It was dark, and she quickly crawled to a window. Slowly opening it, she rushed out of the hotel, putting her attention into the small forest that lay ahead. A mile or two, and the highway would appear. She ran like the wind, not once daring to look back.
Behind her, the dark figure watched from the window. She was a pretty one, he thought. To end it here and now would be no fun.
The Language of Silence
Chapter 1
Her senses drifted away into the tangerine, oily lighting of the room. The flames of the prehistoric lamp danced on the wall and she looked upon them with a sort of stolid fascination that overcame her smooth features. Her porcelain skin was burned by the asperity of the floor that she sat upon, clothed only in her undergarments, quickly galloping the rotten, yet scarce, food. There was no connection to the world, she felt isolated in the run down hotel in the more rotten part of Callisto, where truly existed no way of finding her. On the opposite side of the room lay a phone, a rather rare commodity for a place like the one where she was staying in. But she ignored it. It wasn't like she was going to make a phone call. She had no one to call now.
The walls shook with an intensity; in the room next door two seemingly newlywed men were enjoying each other's company and letting the rest of the motel in on their business. The moans collided into a sort of jazzy, background blast that, instead of agitating the woman, relaxed her. She pressed her back against the wall and let the sugary inclinations of their voices massage her neck. It felt good to relax for a moment, to not have to care, to not have to worry about 'them.' It had been a long time since she had felt this secure, it had been a long time since she had felt anything.
Suddenly, the phone rang. It's loud penetration made her jump up and look cautiously at it. Persistently it continued to ring, with long, loud, drawn out moans, as if it somehow hypnotizing her with its vibrations. Her eyes fixated on the receiver and for a moment she could not move. How could anyone find her here, this should have been the last place that they looked. How did they find her? How? Why? After all, she was no longer her old self, she was Rose Shields, she picked the name out herself. Something that one would not notice, would not suspect. The phone continued ringing.
Slowly, she made her way toward it, crawling on her bruised knees upon the floor, it had been a while since she rose to height of the window. Who knew what may have been behind the glass, who might have been there, waiting. Slowly she raised the receiver and pressed it to her ear, afraid that it might explode in her hand, that a bullet might fly out of the object.
"Hello?" she chanted.
"Turn that shit down, you wanna fuck then do it on your own time you fucking bastards!" rang into the phone and she quickly drew it away from her head.
"Stanley, this is Rose," she said, "you got the wrong number again."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Rosey" he said, "it's just---you have to understand a man needs his sleep."
"I understand," she said quietly, "go back to sleep, Stanley, okay?"
"Yeah," he mumbled.
She sighed easily. She was getting worked up for nothing. The phone rang again.
"Stanley, I told you to go back to sleep," she said into the receiver.
"Miss Valentine?" the voice on the opposite end said and her eyes widened, "I've been looking for you for a very long time. I think we should have little chat."
"I-I'm not---I think you got the wrong number----"
"No, most certainly I'm speaking to exactly the right person."
His voice sounded intimidating to her ears, and she wanted to jump out of her skin, to disappear, to not have to worry about anything she'd ever done or would do in her life, not have to worry about what would happen.
"You better talk to me now," said the voice, "when I am still in a somewhat lenient mood."
"I don't know what your talk---"
"Do not be foolish, Miss Valentine, I know everything about you, where you were born, how you ended up being a bounty hunter, I even know about the accident."
Faye quickly leveled to her feet and ran to the drawer where she had left her gun. Circling the room frantically as she firmly gripped the weapon, Faye's body shook compulsively. Why did this have to happen? Why?
"I only want to have a talk with you, Miss Valentine, only a talk."
"How did you find me?" She asked swiftly, turning off her light, trying to buy herself time to devise and escape route.
"Let's just say, Miss Valentine, that we never lost you."
She looked toward the window, moving closely to it, and trying to pry the cheap thing open.
"No, Miss Valentine, you cannot go through there."
She jumped back and got to the floor, a shot rang and it shattered the glass to bits. Faye screamed and a chuckle was heard on the other side of the phone. She dropped it to the ground and moved away slowly. Only now, in the dead silence, she noticed that the window was left untouched, but the noise from the neighboring room was no longer heard. She shook at the realization and fixated on the phone. Slow vibration escaped its barrier, long, drawn out---sobs. She listened closer, 'Rosey.'
Quickly she picked it up again, "Stanley, are you all right?"
All she heard was a groan.
"Oh Stanley, I won't let them hurt you."
She had no control over that, but she preferred to lie to herself, to bar her mind from singing a malicious tune that she had for so long tried to blot out. She stopped herself from thinking, "It's Jet all over again."
But that didn't work, and suddenly, she stood in that room again, looking down, crying histerically, closing her eyes, ripping out her hair. It was all her fault. The man lay lifeless on the floor, and she could do nothing to reverse time. So many had come into her life and left, and she went absolutely mad. She ripped her hair out, and she banged her knuckles against the wall, but nothing could save her from what had become of it all.
Quickly, Faye pulled on some scattered clothing, a striped sweater, old, worn out pants, and heavy boots. Then, with a gun in hand, she looked for a way out. In the distance, through the drawn shades of the window, she saw a blue light. It transfixed her for a moment and she stopped moving, looking at it. A loud sound penetrated her, and some more caught her by surprise.
Suddenly, countless gunshots aimed at her and she fell to the floor, covering her head with her arms. Through the loud chaos, her head pained, and she wept helplessly. The ringing suddenly ceased and she raised her head quickly, wondering what had occurred. She looked up, the room had been destroyed but she was still alive. Quietly, she crawled out of the room into the narrow hall. Quickly pacing to her feet, she looked on the floor only to scream, slapping her hand against her mouth. There lay a corpse of Stanley, bloody, lifeless. But he didn't have to go. It wasn't yet his time to go. And it was all her fault. All the miseries in the world were her fault.
"Miss Valentine," said a voice and she fixated on a tall figure. His face was hidden by the dark, but she could tell he had dark features. She stepped backwards at the sight of the gun in his hand, hanging in a sort of matter of fact way from his fingers, "Or can I call you Faye?"
She screamed piercingly, causing the figure to lose its concentration, loosening the gun in his hand. She quickly pulled her own out and into his direction. He did not move.
"Where are the others?" She asked quickly.
"The others, Miss Valentine?"
"Your men---the others!"
"I assure you there are no---" he continued softly.
"Tell me where they are or I'll blow your head off!" she screamed.
There was silence for a moment. She heard his chuckle. It made her tighten the gun in her hands.
"You can't kill me," he said.
"Yes I can!" she replied.
"No you can't."
"Why not?" she said, almost in indignation.
"Because you're a woman. Women don't kill."
"Oh yes they fucking do!" She screamed, leveling higher her gun, "don't you come any closer."
He laughed, "Not your kind of women."
"My kind is precisely the kind that kills, put your gun on the floor or I shoot."
"If you were going to shoot me, you would have done it already, it's better off for me to be dead anyway" he said, "You can kill me, but you can't."
"Stop it!" she screamed, "And do what I tell you!"
He laughed again, approaching from the dark, his body gradually coming into light.
"Well," he said, "anything for the pretty lady. And you are very pretty."
He walked toward her, her hands began to shake.
"Look at that hair of yours," he continued, "I wish I was the man who could run my hands through that hair."
She began to back away.
"Oh yes," he moved forward, "I'd do anything to kiss those lips."
His tone was cold and she began to shake on the inside.
"But of course," he paused, "my career comes first. I simply can't allow myself to do it, our relationship has to remain a professional one."
"Stop, don't move any closer!" She screamed.
"Or you'll what?" He laughed, frightening her, "kill me? Then go ahead and kill me. Shoot me, shoot me---"
And she shot him. It was in the arm in which he held his gun. It dropped to the floor. He swung his head back and impulsively she ran down the hall, into one of the rooms.
"Miss Valentine!" she heard his sarcastically exclaim from behind as if he had not just been shot, but not hearing footsteps. For some reason, he wasn't following her. It scared and confused Faye.
In the room, she saw the corpses of two men, half naked, lying on the bed, drenching the sheets in red. She wanted to vomit but stopped herself in time. She looked outside. It was dark, and she quickly crawled to a window. Slowly opening it, she rushed out of the hotel, putting her attention into the small forest that lay ahead. A mile or two, and the highway would appear. She ran like the wind, not once daring to look back.
Behind her, the dark figure watched from the window. She was a pretty one, he thought. To end it here and now would be no fun.