A/N: So...a new story...and I have yet to update my other ones...I apologize enormously for that. However I promise, and I bet upon my whole writing career (or something) that I will update the other stories as well soon. I have them all on my computer just waiting to be finished and I don't plan on abandoning them anytime soon. My summer holidays just got a bit more busy than I'd thought they would.
Anyways, as I have a thing for darkening my stories (I'm better at horror than humor in other words) this one will as well take on a darker, more gritty, theme than the actual canon. I might update the rating from T to M and other stuff. Now without further ado, please read on!
Disclaimer: I do not own the original work; One Piece nor any of it's characters. I do however own my ocs and some of the future plot.
Prologue
Ellen Williams may not have worked for a specifically long time as a Journalist, but she had seen her fair share of destruction and mayhem during her years in the office. It was quite usual with a job like hers. Was there a report on an accident, or a crime, which had been committed somewhere in the city she was to be there on a moment's notice. Hopefully before the cops were. But however many burning buildings, wrecked cars and dead bodies she saw; none devastated her as formidably as the one truck (with a semitrailer) crash on Westeros st. that day in September.
Westeros street was on most days a vivid and welcoming neighborhood. With finely built and painted villas, lush gardens and the park - with the ever popular playground - filled with children's laughter. The traffic along the road was mostly not very heavy either - who would travel so far from the center of London only to see a mass of suburban houses? - and the inhabitants could usually enjoy a quiet afternoon with their families. Not the inner city hustle nor the sound of engines roaring were to disturb anyone who lived there within the afternoon.
Ellen, whose house was the number 16 of that very street - the large brick house with the white fence enclosing it's courtyard -, should know.
The smoke had been the first thing she had noticed as she drove her black SUV from the hospital - which was just a few kilometers from the collision site. Grey, near black, pillars of toxic. Foreboding, and deadly. Her mind had immediately jumped to the worst case scenario.
Was it her house the smoke was coming from? Had something happened to her family?
As she drove up Willowbed street, speeding she was sure, the picture of what had happened was being painted in her head. There were tire markings all along the end of the road - where Willowbed st became Westeros st - black as coal against the greyed asphalt. The imprints were twisting and turning as though the driver had thought he'd been steering a rollercoaster instead of a car; or whatever vehicle it was. And one of the trash bins had been overrun along with several mailboxes.
When she came across that turning point just where the left side of the road twisted into the parking lot of the park it was obvious what kind of incident had taken place. The large truck with it's advertising grocery pictures stamped upon the semi-trailer was unmistakeable upon the wreckage of the big climbing frame, and the still burning flames all around and on the crash site looked like death.
The street hadn't been completely shut off by the police, ambulance and firemen who had arrived and Ellen could carefully drive into her garage on the sixteenth without inquiries, however as soon as the engine was off and she had with the push of a button locked all the car's doors she was running towards the area of impact - and consequently into the arms of an officer.
"Ellen!", the policeman beseeched with a voice she recognized instantly as belonging to her husband - Brandt Williams -, "Please you don't want to get closer…"
"You cannot be serious!", Ellen hollered, "There might be people we know who are in there! Let go of me this instant!".
She struggled against him and surprisingly, even as Brandt had the superior body build, she managed to break free. With no hesitation at all she ran the rest of the way to the park and to were the police had shut off the area from the public with their yellow tape. She raised the tape and continued into the area where the emergency service workers were all stationed. Save most of the firemen who were by the wreckage. Putting out flames and saving any people caught in the crash. A large firefighter, clad of course in the usual corn colored uniform, was carrying a blonde unconscious girl from the site. Ellen felt immensely guilty that she felt relieved when it was obviously not one of her children.
"Ellen, get out of here, the area is out-of-bounds!", another officer whom's voice she recognized from her husband's gaming nights, called.
Jeremy Warrens, who was large man, not half as attractive as her husband, with double-chins and a hot-temper (she remembered from a certain incident involving a bet and a lost game of poker) strode towards her from an ambulance where he had seemingly been talking with one of the victims, a teenager, perhaps a babysitter, who had sat with one of the paramedics and was having her blistered arm taken care of. Out of the corner of her eye Ellen could see her husband walking towards her as well. All worried glances and squinting eyes - though the squinting could have been due to the smoke filling the area.
"Jeremy, it's alright, I'll take care of her", Brandt said as he tucked her hand within his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze, "I promise she won't be any trouble".
Jeremy let out an irritating grunt - which made him sound a lot like a pig - but nodded still.
"Yes, yes. As long as she doesn't go around asking any questions just yet".
Ellen felt something tighten in her chest.
"How dare y-"
"Good, alright!", her husband cut of and began to lead her toward an empty ambulance at the furthest edge of the park.
"Brandt! He was going to - Again! In a situation like this!", Ellen frustratedly shrieked, but not loud enough for anyone but her husband to hear.
"I know, I know. He's got some bad dealings with the media in the past, forgive him for the moment", Brandt said, however still with that nervous tick of his - the averting of eyes - as he talked. Her husband never did that unless something was severely wrong - or he was lying.
"Brandt, what are you hiding from me?", Ellen demanded and halted their journey, harshly gripping onto Brandt's arm in the process, "if it's got something to do with this crash - for god's sake tell me!".
Brandt glanced towards the diminishing flames of the wreckage. Their twins used to play there whenever they could - after school or during the weekends when there was nothing else to do - and -
The twins!
"Brandt, where are the twins?!", Ellen gasped.
Her husband guiltily looked into her eyes.
"They're missing Ellen…", he said.
Amidst the hollering and cries of those injured and helping Ellen thought she'd heard wrong. The smoke was clogging her ears - if that was possible. Or it was making her brain work strangely in some way. The ash and toxin was getting her high - possibly.
"What…".
"They...we called your sister to babysit them today right?", Brandt asked as though he was wishing for something. Praying.
No. He had specifically called the Anderson's son, Samuel, to babysit the twins today because - as they both knew - her sister was working on Fridays. She was always working on Fridays. And they always - nearly always - called Samuel to babysit them. They had done so for years.
"No...it was Samuel...as usual…", Ellen answered.
"...As usual….", Brandt whimpered.
"The twins…..", Ellen pleaded, "they are not….they're not…".
She could not finish the sentence before moist began to gather behind her now closed eyelids. A whimper, followed by a cough, escaped her throat. Her husband wrapped his arms around her and she clung to him like a lifeline.
"We don't know…", Brandt whispered with uneven breaths, "they're...they're just missing at the moment. Samuel also…".
"So..they could really be...how many deaths are there…?", Ellen snivelled.
"...two, as of yet…", Brandt said, "but both the climbing frame, and that fucking truck were so large...there could be more people under the rubble….".
"Oh God", Ellen squeaked.
The Journalist sagged against her husband's shoulders and let his weight support her. Her body felt too heavy to hold up. Hadn't she, and her husband too, seen enough of these kinds of events during their work hours? And how come they hadn't kept a tighter leash on their children?
"We're terrible adoptive parents aren't we?", she moaned against the shoulder her head was resting on. Her left fist clenched around the front of her husband's uniform.
The both of them were shivering. But not from the cold. It couldn't be because the heat from the fire was still strong in the air and it warmed everybody in a close enough proximity until the point of uncomfortableness. That and the lingering warmth of the gone-by summer. No doubt the firefighters were sweating like pigs by this point - the heat was even smothering her.
Brandt was combing his left hand fingers through Ellen's hair and kissing her from temple to the top of her head and back again. The two stood there, holding onto each other for what felt like an hour - yet was more likely just another five minutes - before, with a yell that startled every inattentive person near, one of the firemen announced that they had found yet another survivor. The fireman was carrying the squirming body of a child, a girl around the age of eight or nine, clad in a yellow striped dress (which was ruined). He carried the small girl to one of the ambulance stretchers and carefully placed her on it. A paramedic, a woman around Ellen's age, ran to the stretcher with medical equipment - but Ellen noticed no more before she, with panicked breaths, sprinted towards the stretcher as well.
"Marion!", she called desperately as she reached the stretcher.
The small girl, who was breathing heavily, crying, and had a large gash upon her left arm (from the elbow to the shoulder), had deep red hair. The color almost identical to the blood running down her arm and shoulder. There were only two children whose hair had that color in the neighbourhood. And that yellow dress was one Ellen herself had helped choose only that morning.
"Oh, Marion, oh god, oh god, oh god, Marion, Marion, Marion, baby…", Ellen wailed. She was keeping her distance despite wanting to cradle her daughter in her arms, letting the paramedic work on Marion's injuries.
Brandt walked up, with hurried steps, behind his wife and exhaled harshly.
"Oh god", he groaned.
When their daughter's injuries were tended to to the best of the paramedic's abilities - the woman had while she worked informed the couple of how bad Marion's injuries were and asked them some questions to calm them - the stretcher was heaved into one of the ambulances and an EMT climbed into the driving seat. The paramedic who had tended to Marion climbed in at the back alongside the stretcher.
"Mrs Williams you might want to come with us to the hospital. Your husband should stay here for the time being however - you had another daughter right? - but Marion will most likely want you by her side once she comes to her senses", the paramedic said as she motioned for the EMT to start the engines.
"But….Tereza...oh god she could still be beneath the rubble..", Ellen whimpered - however she did not protest when her husband, with shaking limbs, pushed her up the ramp and onto one of the seats which stuck out from the right wall beside the stretcher.
"I promise I'll call you the moment they find her, just go, Marion... you know she would hate to be alone in a hospital", Brandt said.
Her husband kissed her on the temple and climbed out of the ambulance. Before he closed the back doors Brandt let a unsure, but consoling, smile grace his lips. Ellen did not return the gesture but simply nodded. The ambulance was then off with a roar.
For the second time that day Ellen found herself heading to the hospital - earlier that day a rather famous singer had drunk too much and got himself admitted - but this time she was neither the one driving nor was she calm in any sense. Her heart felt as though it wanted to break out of her chest.
"Mrs Williams, your daughter will be fine", the paramedic said after about five minutes of driving.
"...I...", Ellen said, "...what is your name? I never got it while you were helping my daughter…".
The paramedic smiled.
"It's Emelie, Emelie Campell".
Ellen clasped her hands together and looked down to the floor. She was sure she looked as though she was begging.
"Emelie...thank you...thank you for helping my daughter".
"It's no matter Mrs Williams, it's my job", Emelie sid and checked a few of the medical devices around her and re-checked the whimpering girl between them, "besides I would dare to imply that your daughter should take just as much credit, if not more, than me at the job. She's a strong one".
"That she is…", Ellen chuckled.
The ambulance arrived at the hospital at exactly 05.15 pm and the few hours after that were mostly a stressful blur. Her daughter had been forced to undergo surgery due to the heavy damage her left arm had taken and several injuries to her stomach, and for too long Ellen had been forced to sit and wait. Despite what the paramedic, Emelie Campell, had said, that her daughter would be fine and the injuries weren't too severe, she had a sick feeling within her stomach that something would go wrong. What if something happened and these were the last breaths her nine year old would breathe? It would be horrible. Ellen did not know if she could live with it if something were to happen. And what about Tereza? Brandt hadn't called, which meant that they hadn't found her yet. Was Tereza to die due to a fucking truck driver?! The livelier of the twins wasn't supposed to die like that. Ellen had decided already as her and her husband had adopted them when they'd been four - four and with only vague memories of their blood related parents. She had decided that Tereza would live a long and exciting life, perhaps become an artist of some sort, or an athlete, and find love at some point. Her life was to last until she was old and frail and Ellen herself was already long gone.
And what about Marion? Maybe she would become a firefighter, or a police like her father. As long as nothing went awry with the surgery.
When then the surgery was finished and two nurses rolled out the bed on which Marion lay Ellen felt immensely relieved.
Marion was assigned a room on the second floor with a large window and a tv in front of the bed. The room was large, and at least another sickbed could fit inside, but the nurses had informed Ellen that her daughter would not have to share just yet. The walls were painted white - like all the other hospital walls - and the floor was grey. In Ellen's eyes the room looked mockingly dead as she sat on a chair beside her shallowly breathing daughter. The girl had awakened slowly during the ride up the elevator.
"E-Ellen…", Marion whimpered.
The twins never called her nor her husband by mother or father. But that had never either been of any importance to the two adults.
"...i-it hurts…".
Ellen smiled sadly at her daughter and replied;
"Yeah, I know baby...but it'll be over soon".
A few moments of silence followed.
"E-Ellen…", Marion said later.
"What is it?", Ellen asked.
"I…I...", she stammered.
The girl was quiet for a few moments as though she was contemplating what to say before she slowly opened her mouth once more.
"I saw her vanish….it..it wasn't a dream, I know it….Reza was there in front of me...she was yelling...because the truck was coming….but I wanted to hold her hand…..and then she was gone. She vanished…".
A/N: So, how was it? Good? Bad? Sad? Please review!
P.S This is the rewritten version of the prologue - the first upload was accidentally only a draft.