Well, I'm back again. I've regained a small amount of my lost
confidence. I'm going to be a published poet!!! Anyway, this story was
formally called "Into the Unknown", but I've changed the title and reworked
the plot. Hope you enjoy!
Infatuation of the Rose
Darkness, a kind that was blacker than sin, fell over the garden like the blade of an axe, slicing through the calm of the day. Silver drops of rain water clung to the plants and shrubs and glitered in the faint light that strayed from the mansion. He bent close to the rose bush, a glimmering object hidden within having caught his eye.
He reached for it quickly, but cautiously, a sense of urgency flowing through his veins. There was something nearby watching him, though he saw nothing when he surveyed the area. Just when he thought he had secured the sacred object, a hooded figure rose from the bushes and towered over his kneeling form in an intimadating manner. The face was hidden in shadows, and the body draped in black cloth. It reached a delicate hand toward him, almost as if reaching for help, but before he had the chance to decide, he looked down at his hands to see that they were bleeding profusely, a thorn in the roses having pricked him.
He found himself in a room suddenly, with a small bed against the wall and a set of open double doors that led to the balcony, allowing a strong breeze to waft in and blow the long white drapes inward. There was a flash of what seemed like lightening, covering the room in blank white light before returning to a nightmarish version of the previous scene. The covers of the bed were smattered in blood, and the soft beige carpet was stained crimson. The billowing drapes were streaked with the offensive liquid, and it ran in thin streams down the walls. The hooded stranger returned then, and stood in the open doorway to the balcony, their back turned toward the outside. The person turned their head over their shoulder as if to stare at him, the hood that covered their head falling back to reveal a bared, dirt-stained skull with teeth like that of a ferocious animal. It lifted a large axe over it shoulder, and the last thing he saw was the shining blade as it rushed at his head...
Squall Leonhart sat up quickly in his bed, cold sweat covering his unclothed form. He shook his head, as if attempting to rid himself of the reoccuring nightmare, and silently thanked the higher powers that the screeching of the train as it came to a stop had woke him up in time.
He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and stood to look out the window, discovering that this was, indeed, his stop. He hurriedly dressed and gathered the few possessions he had brought with him before rushing to disembark from the train. If he missed his stop, and was delayed, chances were he'd lose the case he'd been assigned to handle.
As he stepped off the ramp, he noticed a stern-faced man in a black suit, and matching hat scanning the area, as if expecting someone. Squall calmly approached him, figuring that this was probably his ride.
Before he even reached the man, he called out, "Are you Mr. Leonhart?"
When Squall nodded, the man gave a curt nod and motioned for Squall to follow him. "We've been expecting you."
Squall was led to a black stretch limozine that was parked out front. He tried to ignore the stares he recieved from the passers-by, though he himself was awed that he should be treated to such luxury.
As if reading his mind, the driver whom he had followed said, "The Lady expects that you will deliver to her the outstanding services that you are known for. For this, she will treat you to whatever you may desire. She's very generous."
Squall nodded briefly before sliding into the backseat of the limo while the driver put his bags in the trunk.
The mansion to which he would be traveling to was located on the other side of town, so the journey there gave him an oppurtunity to study the town. It was a small, quaint place, mostly made of gray-stoned apartment complexes and white-washed boarding houses. The population consisted of poor, to middle class people, most of which were employed by his rich client.
After the short ride through the simple town, they drove up into the arc-shaped drive way of the masion. It was three stories tall, and painted a beautiful white. A low brick wall, topped with white iron fencing, inclosed the sides and back of the house, and guards, accompanied by vicious dogs were stationed around the front to keep out unwanted visitors.
"Will you be alright from here, or shall I show you in?" the driver asked as they stepped out of the car.
"I'll be fine," Squall muttered as he made his way up the stairs to the front entrance. Upon ringing the door bell, he was greeted with another older man in a suit.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm here to see Ms. Trepe," he answered.
"You're the private investigator?"
Squall nodded, desperately hoping that he wouldn't have to endure too many more of Trepe's servants. He followed this man through a few formal rooms, until at last he was shown to the room were Trepe was supposedly waiting.
The room was richly decorated with Persian rugs, antique furniture and a grand fire-place. Squall squinted through the dim light of the room, as he waited for Ms. Trepe to address him. Finally, she turned to look at him, her face rigid and emotionless.
"Mr. Leonhart, I presume?" she asked, ackwardly extending a hand.
Squall gritted his teeth, and shook her hand briefly. He hated shaking people's hands, but he had to be polite to his client.
"If you would, could you give me the details of this case?" he asked. "What am I looking for?"
"A culprit," she explained stiffly.
He had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying something rude. "Yes, but why? I need you to give me details."
"As you know, I own a fishing company. Most of the people in this town work for me. Well, recently, my workers have been murdered, one by one. The survivers have quit working, out of fear. My company's been shut down, and the majority of the town's people aren't working."
"As if you have any concern for them," snapped another female voice.
Squall looked beyond Trepe and into the shadows near the fireplace. There stood a young woman, strands of silken midnight falling in her face, and partially covering the dark pools of her eyes, which glinted with unspoken pain. She wore a short black dress, that fit her form perfectly, but blended in with the shadows in which she hid.
"Ignore her," Trepe said. "That's just my half-sister, Rinoa Heartilly."
"Heartilly?" Squall questioned.
"I'm a widow, sir," Trepe explained.
Squall nodded and forced himself to remove his gaze from the dark beauty that stood, enticing his senses with fire. "If that's all, I'll be going to my hotel, now."
She shook her head. "You'll do no such thing. You are to stay here and protect me. And, if you must, my brat of a sister, as well."
He sighed in resignation. He didn't want to spend anymore time than was absolutely necessary with the shrewd bitch that stood before him, but he was hard-up for the money. "Fine, then."
A small smile twisted her stiff expression, and her dull blue eyes seemed to spark with sudden life. "Good. My first name is Quistis, by the way. You may call me that, while you're working under me. I hope you enjoy your stay." She then turned to Rinoa, who stood quietly behind her. "Rinoa, show him to the guest room, and make sure that his possessions are delivered to him."
Rinoa seemed about to protest, but instead shot a brief glance at Squall and began walking out of the room with him following closely behind her, the moth drawn fatally to the flame.
{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}
Squall followed quietly behind Rinoa, who walked briskly down the empty halls, her heels clicking on the marble flooring.
As they came to a staircase, Rinoa slowed to a stop and stood there for a moment, unmoving. Finally, she took a deep breath and turned to face him, her eyes shyly locking with his, and flickering to the ground occasionaly. "How long will you be staying here?" she asked, her voice soft and smooth.
He shrugged. "It depends on how long it takes me to solve this case."
She nodded and smiled slightly, "Maybe by the time you leave, you'll be able to tolerate Quistis' attitude."
He shook his head. "I don't think I'll ever be able to stand her."
"That's too bad. She'll be the only company you have while you're here."
"I don't need company," Squall replied. "And what about you?"
"I'm not a very interesting person to talk to," she said, looking away for a moment before suddenly locking gazes with him, "but if you need someone, to talk to, I mean, you can always come to me."
He fidgeted with his hands while staring at the ground before answering. He never was comfortable with these types of situations. "Thanks..."
She started up the stairs again, motioning for him to follow. After walking down another long hall, she finally came to a halt in front of a set of double doors. "This is your room. I'll make sure someone takes your things up to you before morning. Do you need anything else?"
"I don't know my way around," he pointed out. "In a place this big, I'm likely to get lost."
"I'll give you a full tour tomorrow, I promise," she said. "It's a little late now."
He nodded, and opened the door a crack, prepared to step inside, "Well.... goodnight then, Ms. Heartilly."
"Please, call me Rinoa," she said, as she was turning to leave. "Oh, and one last thing, she said over her shoulder. "Lock your doors."
{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}
It was past midnight when Rinoa finally managed to find Johnson, their driver, so that she could get the keys to the limo. He and some of his friends had gathered in the celler, and were having a late night game of poker while they had their nightly shots of brandy, accompanied by a box of cigars they'd stolen from a guest's room.
Though Rinoa was technically the joint master of the house, no one really treated her that way, since Quistis didn't. Had it been Quistis asking Johnson to get off his ass and get Mr. Leonhart's belongings, he would have done so right away. Instead, he kept saying that he was in the middle of the game, and couldn't be bothered. Rinoa would have to get it all herself.
Thankfully, he hadn't traveled with much, so it wasn't hard to get it to his room. She just didn't feel right unlocking his door and barging into his room without permission. Still, a promise was a promise.
She unlocked his door and set his bags down on the floor at the foot of his bed. She was about to turn and leave when her eyes caught on his sleeping form, and her feet automatically began moving forward, as if she were hynotized, and in a way she was. She had been hypnotized by his eyes, his lips, his scent, his body. It was almost as if he had her under some kind of spell.
She came to stand next to him, and before she knew what she was doing, she was gently carresing his face, and running her fingertips over his lips. She drew her hand down, over his neck and down his bare chest, biting her lip as she did. Suddenly, he drew in a sharp breath, and she pulled her hand away, panicked, and decided she should go ahead and leave.
Her last task of the evening having been completed, she crept down the corridor, headed to her own room. Once she was inside, she took a quick look at the familiar surroundings, her bad that was pushed against the wall, her double balcony doors, and the white drapes that hung over them. Her room was simple. But at night, with the shadows dancing through the room, and the eerie quiet sinking in, it would start to become something different than just a simple room. Every night she would see the nightmare play out before her eyes, and nothing she did could stop it.
She changed into her night gown and sat on her bed with her knees pulled up to her chest. She would try to resist it as long as possible, but she knew it was coming. And it always started with a rose thorn embedded in her hand.
{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}
A/N: It sucks, so flame me, if you must......
Infatuation of the Rose
Darkness, a kind that was blacker than sin, fell over the garden like the blade of an axe, slicing through the calm of the day. Silver drops of rain water clung to the plants and shrubs and glitered in the faint light that strayed from the mansion. He bent close to the rose bush, a glimmering object hidden within having caught his eye.
He reached for it quickly, but cautiously, a sense of urgency flowing through his veins. There was something nearby watching him, though he saw nothing when he surveyed the area. Just when he thought he had secured the sacred object, a hooded figure rose from the bushes and towered over his kneeling form in an intimadating manner. The face was hidden in shadows, and the body draped in black cloth. It reached a delicate hand toward him, almost as if reaching for help, but before he had the chance to decide, he looked down at his hands to see that they were bleeding profusely, a thorn in the roses having pricked him.
He found himself in a room suddenly, with a small bed against the wall and a set of open double doors that led to the balcony, allowing a strong breeze to waft in and blow the long white drapes inward. There was a flash of what seemed like lightening, covering the room in blank white light before returning to a nightmarish version of the previous scene. The covers of the bed were smattered in blood, and the soft beige carpet was stained crimson. The billowing drapes were streaked with the offensive liquid, and it ran in thin streams down the walls. The hooded stranger returned then, and stood in the open doorway to the balcony, their back turned toward the outside. The person turned their head over their shoulder as if to stare at him, the hood that covered their head falling back to reveal a bared, dirt-stained skull with teeth like that of a ferocious animal. It lifted a large axe over it shoulder, and the last thing he saw was the shining blade as it rushed at his head...
Squall Leonhart sat up quickly in his bed, cold sweat covering his unclothed form. He shook his head, as if attempting to rid himself of the reoccuring nightmare, and silently thanked the higher powers that the screeching of the train as it came to a stop had woke him up in time.
He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and stood to look out the window, discovering that this was, indeed, his stop. He hurriedly dressed and gathered the few possessions he had brought with him before rushing to disembark from the train. If he missed his stop, and was delayed, chances were he'd lose the case he'd been assigned to handle.
As he stepped off the ramp, he noticed a stern-faced man in a black suit, and matching hat scanning the area, as if expecting someone. Squall calmly approached him, figuring that this was probably his ride.
Before he even reached the man, he called out, "Are you Mr. Leonhart?"
When Squall nodded, the man gave a curt nod and motioned for Squall to follow him. "We've been expecting you."
Squall was led to a black stretch limozine that was parked out front. He tried to ignore the stares he recieved from the passers-by, though he himself was awed that he should be treated to such luxury.
As if reading his mind, the driver whom he had followed said, "The Lady expects that you will deliver to her the outstanding services that you are known for. For this, she will treat you to whatever you may desire. She's very generous."
Squall nodded briefly before sliding into the backseat of the limo while the driver put his bags in the trunk.
The mansion to which he would be traveling to was located on the other side of town, so the journey there gave him an oppurtunity to study the town. It was a small, quaint place, mostly made of gray-stoned apartment complexes and white-washed boarding houses. The population consisted of poor, to middle class people, most of which were employed by his rich client.
After the short ride through the simple town, they drove up into the arc-shaped drive way of the masion. It was three stories tall, and painted a beautiful white. A low brick wall, topped with white iron fencing, inclosed the sides and back of the house, and guards, accompanied by vicious dogs were stationed around the front to keep out unwanted visitors.
"Will you be alright from here, or shall I show you in?" the driver asked as they stepped out of the car.
"I'll be fine," Squall muttered as he made his way up the stairs to the front entrance. Upon ringing the door bell, he was greeted with another older man in a suit.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm here to see Ms. Trepe," he answered.
"You're the private investigator?"
Squall nodded, desperately hoping that he wouldn't have to endure too many more of Trepe's servants. He followed this man through a few formal rooms, until at last he was shown to the room were Trepe was supposedly waiting.
The room was richly decorated with Persian rugs, antique furniture and a grand fire-place. Squall squinted through the dim light of the room, as he waited for Ms. Trepe to address him. Finally, she turned to look at him, her face rigid and emotionless.
"Mr. Leonhart, I presume?" she asked, ackwardly extending a hand.
Squall gritted his teeth, and shook her hand briefly. He hated shaking people's hands, but he had to be polite to his client.
"If you would, could you give me the details of this case?" he asked. "What am I looking for?"
"A culprit," she explained stiffly.
He had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying something rude. "Yes, but why? I need you to give me details."
"As you know, I own a fishing company. Most of the people in this town work for me. Well, recently, my workers have been murdered, one by one. The survivers have quit working, out of fear. My company's been shut down, and the majority of the town's people aren't working."
"As if you have any concern for them," snapped another female voice.
Squall looked beyond Trepe and into the shadows near the fireplace. There stood a young woman, strands of silken midnight falling in her face, and partially covering the dark pools of her eyes, which glinted with unspoken pain. She wore a short black dress, that fit her form perfectly, but blended in with the shadows in which she hid.
"Ignore her," Trepe said. "That's just my half-sister, Rinoa Heartilly."
"Heartilly?" Squall questioned.
"I'm a widow, sir," Trepe explained.
Squall nodded and forced himself to remove his gaze from the dark beauty that stood, enticing his senses with fire. "If that's all, I'll be going to my hotel, now."
She shook her head. "You'll do no such thing. You are to stay here and protect me. And, if you must, my brat of a sister, as well."
He sighed in resignation. He didn't want to spend anymore time than was absolutely necessary with the shrewd bitch that stood before him, but he was hard-up for the money. "Fine, then."
A small smile twisted her stiff expression, and her dull blue eyes seemed to spark with sudden life. "Good. My first name is Quistis, by the way. You may call me that, while you're working under me. I hope you enjoy your stay." She then turned to Rinoa, who stood quietly behind her. "Rinoa, show him to the guest room, and make sure that his possessions are delivered to him."
Rinoa seemed about to protest, but instead shot a brief glance at Squall and began walking out of the room with him following closely behind her, the moth drawn fatally to the flame.
{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}
Squall followed quietly behind Rinoa, who walked briskly down the empty halls, her heels clicking on the marble flooring.
As they came to a staircase, Rinoa slowed to a stop and stood there for a moment, unmoving. Finally, she took a deep breath and turned to face him, her eyes shyly locking with his, and flickering to the ground occasionaly. "How long will you be staying here?" she asked, her voice soft and smooth.
He shrugged. "It depends on how long it takes me to solve this case."
She nodded and smiled slightly, "Maybe by the time you leave, you'll be able to tolerate Quistis' attitude."
He shook his head. "I don't think I'll ever be able to stand her."
"That's too bad. She'll be the only company you have while you're here."
"I don't need company," Squall replied. "And what about you?"
"I'm not a very interesting person to talk to," she said, looking away for a moment before suddenly locking gazes with him, "but if you need someone, to talk to, I mean, you can always come to me."
He fidgeted with his hands while staring at the ground before answering. He never was comfortable with these types of situations. "Thanks..."
She started up the stairs again, motioning for him to follow. After walking down another long hall, she finally came to a halt in front of a set of double doors. "This is your room. I'll make sure someone takes your things up to you before morning. Do you need anything else?"
"I don't know my way around," he pointed out. "In a place this big, I'm likely to get lost."
"I'll give you a full tour tomorrow, I promise," she said. "It's a little late now."
He nodded, and opened the door a crack, prepared to step inside, "Well.... goodnight then, Ms. Heartilly."
"Please, call me Rinoa," she said, as she was turning to leave. "Oh, and one last thing, she said over her shoulder. "Lock your doors."
{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}
It was past midnight when Rinoa finally managed to find Johnson, their driver, so that she could get the keys to the limo. He and some of his friends had gathered in the celler, and were having a late night game of poker while they had their nightly shots of brandy, accompanied by a box of cigars they'd stolen from a guest's room.
Though Rinoa was technically the joint master of the house, no one really treated her that way, since Quistis didn't. Had it been Quistis asking Johnson to get off his ass and get Mr. Leonhart's belongings, he would have done so right away. Instead, he kept saying that he was in the middle of the game, and couldn't be bothered. Rinoa would have to get it all herself.
Thankfully, he hadn't traveled with much, so it wasn't hard to get it to his room. She just didn't feel right unlocking his door and barging into his room without permission. Still, a promise was a promise.
She unlocked his door and set his bags down on the floor at the foot of his bed. She was about to turn and leave when her eyes caught on his sleeping form, and her feet automatically began moving forward, as if she were hynotized, and in a way she was. She had been hypnotized by his eyes, his lips, his scent, his body. It was almost as if he had her under some kind of spell.
She came to stand next to him, and before she knew what she was doing, she was gently carresing his face, and running her fingertips over his lips. She drew her hand down, over his neck and down his bare chest, biting her lip as she did. Suddenly, he drew in a sharp breath, and she pulled her hand away, panicked, and decided she should go ahead and leave.
Her last task of the evening having been completed, she crept down the corridor, headed to her own room. Once she was inside, she took a quick look at the familiar surroundings, her bad that was pushed against the wall, her double balcony doors, and the white drapes that hung over them. Her room was simple. But at night, with the shadows dancing through the room, and the eerie quiet sinking in, it would start to become something different than just a simple room. Every night she would see the nightmare play out before her eyes, and nothing she did could stop it.
She changed into her night gown and sat on her bed with her knees pulled up to her chest. She would try to resist it as long as possible, but she knew it was coming. And it always started with a rose thorn embedded in her hand.
{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}{+}
A/N: It sucks, so flame me, if you must......