I raised a hand up to my throbbing head, wincing at the pain the headache brought me. Somewhere in the house, a door slammed shut, sending yet another rocket of pain racing across my head. I angrily threw my reading book across the living room, and watched as it bounced against the white wall. 'Why can nobody be quiet in this goddamn house?' I thought to myself, as I replaced my book on the black sofa and stomped out of the lounge, and into the entrance hall.
It was of course the usual suspect, my younger brother, Maximus or as everyone called him, Max,
''What did the door ever do to you?'' I growled, as Max sauntered past me, into the living room where I'd once sat. He shrugged half-heartedly, smirking that arrogant little smirk he'd seemed to have adopted. He'd been spending way too much time with the 'jocks' during the summer. Well, that's what everybody else called them. I frowned, before walked towards him, ruffling his mop of black hair. I caught him behind, wrapping my arms round his stomach in an attempt to lift him up off the floor.
''Mum told me to tell you that we're leaving to go to the shop in about five minutes, so hurry up with whatever you need to do,'' I informed the 13-year-old, who was two years my junior. He turned around, facing me, flicking my forehead slightly. He was younger than me, yet almost as tall as my five foot frame.
''M'kay, we going into the city? He asked, his light blue eyes sparkling. I simply nodded my head, knowing that we'd be doing one of our large shops and would probably have dinner in the city itself. I pulled my ox-blood Doctor Martens onto my feet, taking my bag which lay on the bottom of the carpeted stairs. I threw in my phone, IPod and headphones as well as various other necessities I might need into the grey material, patterned with Day of the Dead skulls. My father was already waiting outside, standing rather impatiently as he tapped his foot on the assorted cobblestones. I swung the strap of my bag over my shoulder, hooking the black strap over my sleeveless, vest style shirt.
The shirt had been made from a thin fabric, which was extremely good for the hot sun of the American summer. Boy, it was far hotter than British summer. All we seemed to receive was rain. We'd moved from Britain, here to America last year just before I started my tenth year of school. To be perfectly honest, I was still trying to accustom myself to the hotter weather here in America. I hastily walked outside, running a hand through my loose dark brown hair, which had been streaked with electric blue stripes. I'd had it done for my 15th birthday, which had just been a few weeks ago, during the first week of the summer holiday.
''You ready Vanille?'' my father asked, patting my head with his large hand. I nodded, opening to the door to the backseat of the car. I placed my bag in the middle, then sat down in the cushiony seat, strapping the seatbelt into place and waited for my brother and mother. About ten later, we were driving down into New York City, taking Highway 17 as this was apparently the fastest way from where we were living. My headphones were plugged into my ears, blasting out music of the metal-core and pop punk genre. I favoured this type over everything, as a mix of Black Veil Brides, Pierce the Veil and All Time Low played. Of course, there was my old favourites, like Bon Jovi and Whitesnake mixed in. I'd loved them since I'd turned ten, because my mother had introduced them to me. It was something special her and I shared.
I tapped my foot to the beats of the songs, slightly pulling down my bright green shorts. On my hands were small, black gloves which ended at the start of my wrists. I chose to wear them myself, to keep it under control. It all seemed so perfect. It was the perfect temperature, Max and I were getting along for once, often sharing the odd joke with one another between songs and the summer holidays showed no sign of stopping just yet. I should've known it was all too perfect. My father took the next turn, looking at his SATNAV anxiously, when BAM!
A lorry had collided with the front of the car, denting the metal and causing the small car to roll over. I was screaming, trying to grab a hold of my brother, trying to make sure that I could take the hit if it were to happen. Smoke filled my lungs, choking me and blinding my vision slightly. The car had turned over once, rolling into the grassy ditch, the roof of the car hitting the ground. I could smell the pungent stench of burning rubber causing me to cough. As I blindly reached to unstrap my seatbelt, I winced. My left hand seemed to be slightly twisted but this wouldn't stop me from trying to get my family out alive.
The car had been turned right upside down, prohibiting any easy escape through the doors. We were all going to die! I fell forwards, and tapped my father's shoulder, gasping at the large shard of glass embedded in his brain. There was nothing I could do. My mother seemed to have suffered a similar fate, her head bleeding open, her eyes open, never shutting once. I had no time to cry, no time to mourn their unseemly deaths. I had to get Max out of here. I fell backwards, sitting into the roof of the car. From the looks of it he was still breathing, and hadn't seemed to have lost consciousness.
''Max!'' I whispered harshly, shaking him with my good right hand. His eyes opened, and thankfully the worst that had happened only seemed to be a gash to his head.
''We need to get out,'' I said in a matter of fact way, and turned around, facing the back window in the boot. I wriggled forwards into the boot, observing how the toughened glass had been cracked as an effect from the crash. If I tried hard enough, my boot might be able to smash the window. My legs didn't seem to be injured severely, save a few minor bruises. So, I pulled both legs back, then lunged my feet forwards, but with little effect. I tried number after number of times, feeling the heat of the flames from the broken engine ripping through the car. And then after my seventh kick, I had finally managed to shatter the glass.
''Come on Max! We need to get out!'' I shouted into his ear, grabbing his hand with my right. He lifted himself up using his hands, as I grabbed my bag and jumped through the broken window, the broken glass cutting my exposed shoulders, arms and legs as I did so. I winced, however was glad to see my brother on the other side, taking my gloved hand. The fire had torn through the front of the car, the smell burning flesh filling the air. Our parents were dead. We were orphans. Max had frozen, staring at the burning car, which had once been filled with life. I slapped his arm.
''Max! We have to go, once we've dialled 911,'' I told him, as he nodded at my response. A few cars had stopped, many people on their phones, presumably trying to report the accident. Some were rushing forwards, trying to help my brother and I. I pulled out my phone, not caring that my IPod and headphones were most likely destroyed in the wrecked car. My hand was shaking as I hastily dialled the emergency number, waiting for the operator to pick up the phone.
''Which service do you require?'' a female voice asked. I bit my lip, knowing we'd most likely require all three.
''Well, I've been in a car crash. The car is on fire, my and brother and I are injured and I think my parents are dead,'' I gabbled. Silence.
''Right, I'm just going to ask you some questions. First, what's your name?'' she asked.
''Urm, it's Vanille,'' I replied, sparing her the surname.
''Okay Vanille, do you know where you are?'' she asked. By now more cars had stopped at the sight of the accident.
''We're on Highway 17, coming into New York City,'' I replied, waiting.
''Okay, I'm sending the ambulance and the fire brigade your way. There should be-'' the lady began to tell me, until I was interrupted by a deafening sound. A long click sounded near me. It was a single shout. From a gun. I whipped round, turning towards Max. Except Max was no longer standing. He lay sprawled on the hard concrete, his eyes closed in pain. And there, right over to the left side of his chest, just above his heart was the bloody bullet hole. I wanted to scream his name, anything to bring him back, but the words stuck, clogged in the back of my throat. Onlookers crowded around, some screaming in shock.
''Vanille? What's happened?'' the woman working for the emergency services said rather calmly over the phone, snapping me back into the grips of reality.
''Someone s-shot my brother,'' I stammered, looking around for the killer in question. Due to the crowd, I assumed they'd managed to make an escape. I was wrong. The hilt of the handgun shone in the sunlight, illuminating the killer. Their head was covered by a black balaclava, destroying an means of properly identifying them.
''Vanille, stay right where you are, the police are on their way,'' the woman instructed, as I made my way over to my brother, rushing through the crowd. Kneeling down, I grabbed his arm feeling for a pulse. Nothing. My own brother was dead, and I hadn't even been to save him, let alone say goodbye. Many offered me their hand, wanting to help. Well tough, I didn't want it. I'd realised something. The killer was still here. Why hadn't he escaped after ending Max's life?
There was only one possible reason.
I was his next target.
''The killer's still here,'' I whispered to the woman, pressing the phone close to my ear.
''Run,'' a voice said, into the phone. This voice was definitely not the lady. The voice was low, and had a whole different accent to it. To be perfectly honest, I didn't care. I didn't need telling twice. I couldn't even take Max's body, I could only run as fast as I possibly could. I shot through the crowds, my bag banging against my back. Hell, my left hand hurt, and badly needed medical attention. I tried to ignore the pain. Many tried to grasp me, to stop my escape, however I pushed past them brushing them aside like dust on the floor. I didn't even look back to see if the killer was following me, just ran for my life. I skirted down countless streets and alleyways, and decided to back into a small coffee shop, my breath coming in sharp, long and heavy pants.
The two baristas eyed me suspiciously, as well as the three customers, each sat at a different table than the other. I raised the phone to my ear, still panting.
''Where are you?'' a voice asked, and I relaxed, relieved that it was the lady this time.
''I'm in the… Blue Tulip Café, in the outskirts of New York City,'' I panted. I could hear the typing of a keyboard, and then she finally spoke.
''Okay Vanille. I'm sending an ambulance your way. They'll check you up and then we'll go from there,'' she said, and I could even hear the sirens approaching as I stood against the wall, next to the two double doors into the café.
''Thank you, thank you,'' I simply repeated, then hung up, sinking down onto the floor. That's when the tears began to leak out of my green eyes, spilling over my paling cheeks. I sobbed, letting out all the emotions I'd been keeping in ever since that fateful crash. I'd tried to stay strong for my brother, but even he had died. My hands began to tingle, dangerously heating up.
''No, no, no! Not now! Conceal it Nille,'' I hissed to myself, clenching my gloved hand into a balled fist, the hot tears leaking down my face. I could barely move my other hand, as waves of hot pain surfed through the twisted bone. Hot tears leaked down my face, and I wiped them away with my fist. I looked up, and saw the baristas eye me anxiously, looks of empathy in their eyes. Two police officers marched through the door, making sure not to hit me in my sitting position. They'd followed the ambulance, and a paramedic followed swiftly after them. The female officer bent down, her blonde hair tied tightly into a bun.
''It's going to okay sweetheart,'' she told me, hooking an arm under my shoulder as she helped me stand up. I was a shivering wreck and almost collapsed into her arms. All I wanted was a hug. My hands were tingling, they'd gone completely numb yet were warm with the fire inside. The second officer, a male, began to scribble something in his notebook, and asked the two baristas questions. I couldn't hear him, I could just remember the lorry coming in, smashing into our car. Why? Why had this happened?
The paramedic stepped forwards, supporting me and helped me walk through the door of the café. She helped me into the ambulance parked outside, letting me lower myself onto the bed situated inside the ambulance. I was pretty sure I was going into complete shock, as I sat shaking.
In the space of about an hour, I'd lost the three most important people in my entire life, however I was certain of one thing.
Their deaths weren't accidents.
Assassins had clearly been involved.
A/N: So, a new fanfiction! That's the Prologue sort of chapter thing that I wrote when I was on holiday. This is a Spiderman fanfiction (using Andrew Garfield's version of Spiderman), and I hope you enjoyed it! I should be posting the first chapter soon, hopefully. Just a note, Nille is pronounced (in my head) as 'Nil', as in how you would say a football score e.g. Four nil to Fulham! (I wish). Also, I am an ignorant Brit, who knows nothing of American roads, or New York City. If I have got something wrong, please tell me! Thank you!