Title: Story's End
Author: BethCarielle
Genre: Drama/Angst/Character Death
Rating: R
E-Mail: bethcarielle@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from The Invisible Man.
Author's Note: I was having a bad day. Very dark.
He could feel the warm blood run down his arms, making his shirt sleeves sticky, causing his grip on the metal railing to slide. He had thrown the bastard over, but not before he had almost dismembered him. He turned around to face the scene behind him.
He stepped through a puddle of crimson and gingerly walked up the stairs. Maybe this would be where he woke up and it would be over. He reached the top of the steps and took a deep breath.
He stepped around the corner, through the door to the Keep and bit through his lower lip when he saw the panorama in front of him. Destruction and death painted the room. There was nothing left in tact.
He entered, carefully moving around broken furniture and glassware, the contents of the cooler scattered, drawers opened and dumped. He came upon the Official first. He had gone down in his own blaze of glory. Now he rested with four gun shot wounds to his chest.
By passing his boss, he walked further into the room. Eberts had had his neck snapped unceremoniously when the attack had first started and wasn't in the room. He roughly scrubbed tears from his face and took three more steps, towards and around the treatment chair.
Bobby's lifeless form still clutched his gun, only three rounds spent before he too had been slaughtered. He dropped to his knees next to his partner and gently closed his half open eyes.
If only he had been there. If he hadn't been two blocks away. Maybe he could have done something. Laying his head on Bobby's chest he cried, he tears joining the blood pooled in the fabric of Bobby's shirt.
From his vantage point he saw something he had hoped he wouldn't. Something he had refused to let enter his mind from the first moment he had heard gunfire. He saw a singular black high heel clad foot protruding from the rubble of what had once been a supply closet.
Standing from Bobby's side, he moved to the back of the lab. Using an unacknowledged strength, he flipped the cabinet away from Claire's body.
Her hair was scattered and covering her face. Her lab coat twisted around her, stained with the same crimson that pooled around her from the shot that had shredded her heart.
With his tears flowing freely, he gently tucked her hair away from her face and straightened her lab coat, drawing it closed so that it covered the spreading stain on her shirt.
Claire's face was an image of slight surprise, her pale features in sharp contrast to the blood on her face. He tenderly wiped away the splatter, cursing himself when all it did was smear the drying liquid across her cheek.
Her gun lay a few feet away from her, where it had landed when she fell. No rounds had been fired by the brave woman.
He collapsed next to his Keeper, draped over her body, his body wracked with sobs. Gone. They were all gone. He had returned too late. He had started running when he heard the shots, charging up the stairwell, encountering the last gunman sent to kill the Agency team.
That's when he had attacked the guy, clawing into his flesh, beating him senseless. He had broken his neck without effort and then thrown the body over the railing, leaving himself standing there, coated in the assailant's blood.
This wasn't right, he should wake up now. Yes, he'd wake up and they'd all be alive. He choked back another sob and searched around with his hand for Claire's gun.
Yes, he'd wake up and they'd be fine. He'd come into work and Bobby would be there and Claire, and even the Official and his little lapdog Eberts. He nodded his head to himself, yes that's what would happen he though as he cocked the hammer on the gun, his hands slipping slightly from the combined blood of the massacre.
He held the gun in one hand and shifted himself so he was kneeling next to Claire. He bent over and tenderly kissed the soft lips that belonged to his savior and placed the gun in his mouth.
Yes, he'd wake up and they'd be alright, everything would be fine. And with thoughts of Bobby's playful banter, Claire's beautiful smile, and Official's gruff, but ultimately caring orders and even Ebert's occasional attempts at humor, Darien pulled the trigger and sent the bullet through his skull. Yes, he'd wake up and it would be ok.
Author: BethCarielle
Genre: Drama/Angst/Character Death
Rating: R
E-Mail: bethcarielle@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from The Invisible Man.
Author's Note: I was having a bad day. Very dark.
He could feel the warm blood run down his arms, making his shirt sleeves sticky, causing his grip on the metal railing to slide. He had thrown the bastard over, but not before he had almost dismembered him. He turned around to face the scene behind him.
He stepped through a puddle of crimson and gingerly walked up the stairs. Maybe this would be where he woke up and it would be over. He reached the top of the steps and took a deep breath.
He stepped around the corner, through the door to the Keep and bit through his lower lip when he saw the panorama in front of him. Destruction and death painted the room. There was nothing left in tact.
He entered, carefully moving around broken furniture and glassware, the contents of the cooler scattered, drawers opened and dumped. He came upon the Official first. He had gone down in his own blaze of glory. Now he rested with four gun shot wounds to his chest.
By passing his boss, he walked further into the room. Eberts had had his neck snapped unceremoniously when the attack had first started and wasn't in the room. He roughly scrubbed tears from his face and took three more steps, towards and around the treatment chair.
Bobby's lifeless form still clutched his gun, only three rounds spent before he too had been slaughtered. He dropped to his knees next to his partner and gently closed his half open eyes.
If only he had been there. If he hadn't been two blocks away. Maybe he could have done something. Laying his head on Bobby's chest he cried, he tears joining the blood pooled in the fabric of Bobby's shirt.
From his vantage point he saw something he had hoped he wouldn't. Something he had refused to let enter his mind from the first moment he had heard gunfire. He saw a singular black high heel clad foot protruding from the rubble of what had once been a supply closet.
Standing from Bobby's side, he moved to the back of the lab. Using an unacknowledged strength, he flipped the cabinet away from Claire's body.
Her hair was scattered and covering her face. Her lab coat twisted around her, stained with the same crimson that pooled around her from the shot that had shredded her heart.
With his tears flowing freely, he gently tucked her hair away from her face and straightened her lab coat, drawing it closed so that it covered the spreading stain on her shirt.
Claire's face was an image of slight surprise, her pale features in sharp contrast to the blood on her face. He tenderly wiped away the splatter, cursing himself when all it did was smear the drying liquid across her cheek.
Her gun lay a few feet away from her, where it had landed when she fell. No rounds had been fired by the brave woman.
He collapsed next to his Keeper, draped over her body, his body wracked with sobs. Gone. They were all gone. He had returned too late. He had started running when he heard the shots, charging up the stairwell, encountering the last gunman sent to kill the Agency team.
That's when he had attacked the guy, clawing into his flesh, beating him senseless. He had broken his neck without effort and then thrown the body over the railing, leaving himself standing there, coated in the assailant's blood.
This wasn't right, he should wake up now. Yes, he'd wake up and they'd all be alive. He choked back another sob and searched around with his hand for Claire's gun.
Yes, he'd wake up and they'd be fine. He'd come into work and Bobby would be there and Claire, and even the Official and his little lapdog Eberts. He nodded his head to himself, yes that's what would happen he though as he cocked the hammer on the gun, his hands slipping slightly from the combined blood of the massacre.
He held the gun in one hand and shifted himself so he was kneeling next to Claire. He bent over and tenderly kissed the soft lips that belonged to his savior and placed the gun in his mouth.
Yes, he'd wake up and they'd be alright, everything would be fine. And with thoughts of Bobby's playful banter, Claire's beautiful smile, and Official's gruff, but ultimately caring orders and even Ebert's occasional attempts at humor, Darien pulled the trigger and sent the bullet through his skull. Yes, he'd wake up and it would be ok.