Hi, my name is Ashley and I cope with my feelings by writing sad fan fics inspired by Author Derek Landy's skeleton books...
Let Her Go
Haggard was dull, gray place. But then again, so was the rest of Ireland this time of year. Spring. Drizzling rain and new growth. The roads were slick with the morning precipitation and a big, black gleaming car drove slowly through the narrow streets. Sunlight escaped through the break in the clouds where it could, solitary rays dancing over roof tops, making the town shimmer as though it had rained diamonds. Skulduggery brought the Bentley to an idle at a stop sign and angled his rear view mirror to hone in on the front garden of a very familiar house. There were two girls playing in the puddles. Well, the little one was playing in the puddles, squealing every time a bit of water splashed inside of her wellies. The older girl was just holding her sisters hand and trying to keep her from getting completely soaked. Alice was the toddler's name. Alice and Stephanie Edgely.
He didn't realize how long he'd been watch them, until Stephanie looked up at the car. She stared at him for a long time before gently shaking her head. No. He dipped his head in acknowledge meant and she returned the gesture before scooping her little sister, no, Valkyrie's little sister, into her arms and walked into the house. Alice saw his car and with a big grin on her little face, she waved to him. Skulduggery gave a little wave before curling his fingers into a fist and pressed it to his chest. A futile attempt to quell that familiar ache. He watched the door close behind them, then gripped then steering wheel tightly and drove on. Out of sheer routine, he found himself at the pier. Killing the engine, Skulduggery slumped back against his seat and stared at the ocean. That beach was where Valkyrie first discovered her magic. Innocent times, where all they'd had to worry about was stopping the bad guys. Such simple tasks they seemed now, where the enemy was always at a safe distance. She had been so brave, facing her demon and fighting her until her last breath. Valkyrie had been braver than Skulduggery could have ever hoped to be. Single-handedly saving the world at the age of 18, and paying the ultimate price without hesitation.
The image of her pale face staring into his, her broken body cradled in his arms, flashed into his mind and choking gasp escaped him. He wanted to cry but couldn't. He was a dead thing, like her, but he still had the liberty to walk and talk and just be. Something Valkyrie would never do again. He struck the steering column with his fist and cried out. It felt good to lash out. He struck again, and again, and again. Screaming his rage all the while. He stopped and rested his forehead on the wheel with a great sigh. Skulduggery turned his head slightly to look at the passenger seat. The Bentley suddenly felt empty and cold. He sat up and traced the winged logo in the center of the column with his index finger. God, he loved this car, his most prized possession. And now it meant absolutely nothing. Removing the keys from the ignition, he got out of the car.
Closing the door, he slowly walked around to the passenger side, tracing his fingertips over the gleaming surface, memorizing everything. Every line, every little scratch and curve until they finally brushed over the insignia on the boot. You're such a goon he heard her say in his mind. Skulduggery choked out a laugh.
"Yes, Valkyrie. Yes I am." He clutched the key in his hand so the sharp end stuck out from the base of his closed fist. "Until the end." He whispered. Then Skulduggery dug the key into the polished black paint and carved a capital V into the surface. There was a loud crack as the engine split in two. Skulduggery backed away as he watch the frame of the Bentley buckle and the metal rupture and the glass shatter and the tyres burst. Just as the mechanic had said. In a matter of seconds, it was over, and one of 208 R-Type Continental's ever made, lay in shambles before him.
Skulduggery turned on his heel and walked to the end of the pier, letting the wind whip his coat around him. He reached the end and didn't even hesitate to launch his keys as far out as he could throw. There wasn't even a splash as the ocean swallowed them. Head held high, he walked back down the pier, past the crumpled remains of the Bentley and never looked back.
Happy pre-book 9 hiatus. Rage, rage against the Dying of the Light, my fellow Skuttlebugs. Rage, rage...