Author's Note: This is a new format I'm trying for a story. There will be three or four chapters of introduction, then a series of oneshots. I'm also looking for a beta for this story, so PM me! Enjoy and please review.
Chapter 1: In Which a Journalist Becomes a Martyr
It's a cheesy way to start a good story, but I woke up.
I had been having a really good dream, one of those fuzzy, bright, ephemeral things which begin to slip away as soon as you awake. Angels, I thought to myself with a smile.Something about angels.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to cling to the fragments of memory before they escaped me. I wasn't able to visualize much besides a tan trench coat, which confused me. I had definitely dreamed about angels, so why the strange outfit? A faint taste of chocolate remained on my tongue and I thought that I remembered lots of fluffy pink stuff.
Shaking my head, I opened my eyes again. It was probably the four cups of coffee I had had the previous day messing with my head.
Speaking of, my sheets were nowhere to be seen. I was lying on my bed but nothing covered my blue-striped pajama bottoms except the watery yellow light filtering through my dilapidated blinds.
"Cas!" I yelled at my apartment in general. "What the Hell?"
I slammed my feet to the floor, unsurprised to feel that it was ice cold. Turns out, journalists usually don't make enough to afford hot water, a warm apartment, and a reasonable amount of food. At least, they don't when they also have to feed another mouth and replace all of the furniture that said mouth inadvertently destroys.
"Cas!" I hollered again, grabbing my coat and wrapping it tight around myself. It wasn't really thick enough to keep out the chill, but the smell of ink and paper comforted me enough to make up for it. The tan color reminded me briefly of my dream, but it wasn't the right style. Now completely awake, I stamped into my still-dark living room/kitchen and flipped on a light switch to see the offending individual lying on my couch, sound asleep and wrapped up in my blankets.
"Cas." This time it was a groan, and the dark hair protruding from the end of the nest twitched lightly. "Dude. Wake up. I've got to get going, and I'm not making you breakfast if it's going to make me late."
The magical promise of food brought my friend around and he snuffled his way to open air.
"C'mon, boy. Brekkie." I turned to the kitchen and heard the scrabble of racing paws following me. By the time I had prepared a nice bowl of kibble with leftover broth drizzled over it, a hopefully twitching nose and pair of soulful brown eyes were waiting for me.
I set the bowl down and my greedy chocolate lab shoved his nose as far into it as he could without inhaling his breakfast through his nose. I sighed. "I swear you eat better than I do, Casper."
I patted my sweetheart on the head and was rewarded with a distracted tail wave. I shrugged and grabbed my biggest mug to fill with coffee, then proceeded to drink two cupfulls. There was a companionable silence as I leaned against the counter and Casper licked his empty bowl.
"That's better, eh?" My roommate cocked his head affectionately. "You're right, I should get ready."
Having perfected the art of dressing in a hurry, I was ready to go out the door in less than five minutes. My ink-smudged blue Oxford was the one I usually wore when I overtimed in the presses, but it just felt right with my hasty auburn bun and rumpled khakis today. I shrugged into my "news coat," as my friends called it, and stuffed my feet into the only-slightly-too-small black pumps which killed my feet every day. I really needed a new pair of flats.
Casper whimpered pathetically at me as he did every morning at precisely this time. "Look, Cas, I promise I'll bring you a doggie bag tonight. Rod's taking me out, remember?" I pointed at him, noting the sparkle in his eyes which meant that he had successfully associated my boyfriend's name with food. "Mrs. Kennedy is coming to feed you and let you out at six. Be a good boy." More soulful eyes. "I mean it. You can keep my sheets for the afternoon, but that's it." I stepped out my peeling white door, but stuck my head back around the frame for a last word. "Love you, Cas. See you tonight."
As I shut and locked the door, I was puzzled to hear Cas barking anxiously. He was usually quiet as soon as I was out of sight, and I briefly wondered whether or not I should check on him. I checked my watch instead, which made my decision for me. I scribbled a note and stuck it to Mrs. Kennedy's door on my way past.
Cas seems a little anxious today, can you keep an eye on him? Thanks. You have my #.
Just like every morning, the shiny blonde woman behind the reception desk looked pointedly at the clock as I ran past. "Running a little late, Andrea?"
"Shut up." I winked to let her know I wasn't actually mad. Just like every morning. Then I kicked open the door, just like every morning, because I was juggling a thermos of coffee and several files of writing, just like every morning. My beat-up, twice-previously-owned, no-discernible-color car sat where I always parked it under a tree. The only thing which made that morning different from any other was the man leaning against the hood of said vehicle.
"Excuse me, sir, I'm running late." I barely glanced at him as I fumbled for my keys and dropped several sheets of paper on the ground. They skittered away across the parking lot and I tried to jam my house key into the door of my car. Damn.
"These yours?" I finally opened the door in time to snatch the draft of "Local Boy Makes All-State Band" which was being handed to me.
"Yeah, thanks." I tried to offer a brief smile, but it faltered when a trick of the light- what else could it have been- made it look like the man's eyes were completely black. "Uhhh… are you OK?"
"Fine, thanks. Just waiting for the bus." He gestured at the sign behind him, and when he turned back around his eyes were normal. I examined him for a moment, then decided that I didn't have time for it.
"I really am late. Sorry. And thanks." I held up the papers then tossed them haphazardly into the passenger seat, throwing myself into the car after them. A slam of the door and a jerk of the key and the abused engine wheezed to life. Gripping the steering wheel tightly because I was still a little unsettled, I nodded to the now benignly-smiling man outside the window and bumped out onto the road.
A few minutes later, both the mysterious man and my strange dream had completely left my mind. I was already a good way through my coffee, and the songs on the radio that morning were very singable. My mood lifted and I actually grinned when I stopped at the intersection from which I could see the dingy newspaper offices.
A school bus pulled up alongside me, and I was even generous enough to ignore the rude gestures and odd faces being aimed at me. Out of the corner of my vision, I saw a metro bus coming awfully fast at us across the intersection. I flexed my fingers and sharpened my awareness, just in case.
The bus wasn't slowing down. The light was clearly red, but it barreled towards the intersection. Directly at the school bus, in fact. And the driver was none other than Mr. Mysterious, I realized with a jolt. By the time he was close enough for me to see, I could also see that his eyes were completely black and that he definitely wasn't stopping.
Without much thought, the caffeine and adrenaline in my system slammed my foot onto the gas in a panicked attempt to stop the inevitable. My wheels spun as I flew into the middle of the intersection at the same time as the bus, making a jerky left turn to slam into it.
In the ensuing red, dizzy spin, I managed to see that the school bus was only grazed. I had somehow, incredibly, altered the bus's course enough to save a couple of lives, at least. I caught the face of one terrified student with her face to the window, and I was happy that she would live to get Mr. Mysterious arrested. Something snapped in my arm, then in my leg, then in my other arm, and my triumph faded in a haze of pain. The car was still spinning, but that power pole was approaching awfully-