Disclaimer: I.. no... ownage... ack! Damnit, why must you make me say it?
AN: I was originally planning to wait a little while longer to upload this chapter (as it has been sitting, finished, for quite a while) but impatience is a virtue. So here it is, the first REAL chapter of Devil and Daughter. Which was supposed to be posted a week from now, but a most lovely review from September's Nobara inspired me to put it up today. I hope you enjoy.
Please, Feed back is appreciated!
Chapter One:
Somnium
'Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.'
Albert Einstein
My Mother never wore white.
She'd wear the palest of grays and creams, but never that colour. I remember that I was ten years old when I finally asked her why.
She was silent for a while before staring at me, a foreign emotion in her eyes, one her face should never wear, and never would again. Then she smiled whimsically and turned back to her cross stitching.
"It shows the stains far too easily."
I wouldn't understand until almost a decade later that she wasn't just referring to dirt.
It was the week after my eighteenth birthday and both my mother and her husband, for I so refused to call him father, were both at work. I had never been allowed in the attic, though I had tried many times to enter. Each time I was caught. Erick, mothers' spouse, would catch me by the ear and drag me down stairs, lumping me at mothers' feet. She'd stare at me with sad eyes and say; "I'll show you when you're older."
With the enthusiasm of youth, I thought that eighteen was plenty old enough.
I had been planning this for weeks, biding my time, silently waiting. Mother kept the key to the attic hatch in her music box, and the moment I heard the latch of our front door click I was there, prying apart the old, wooden lid from its old, wooden body. With clumsy haste I sifted through the array of chains, diamonds and, rarest of all, a complete set of pearls, until I found it, dull and rusted with age – a simple nickel key.
I practically flew up the stairs to the top floor, dragging the ladders with me. The lock to the hatch was in pristine condition, of course. Erick would never let anything that kept me innocent and ignorant degrade enough for me to break it. My fingers fumbled with the key, my clumsy nature coming back to bite me as I dropped it several times.
"Damn it!" I cursed, picking the thing up for the fifth time. Jerry was right when he joked I was born a klutz, and that blond suited me for just that reason.
Finally I jammed the small key into its hole and twisted it until I heard the lock click, and the hatch open – straight onto my head.
I filled the air with another stream of colorful curses that I could thank the local boys for, as I rubbed the now forming lump on my skull. Carefully I climbed through the narrow opening, coughing slightly with the dust that assaulted my nose and throat.
It was dark. The only window in the small cubby was coated in a thick layer of grime and hardly any light filtered through, even though it was high noon, not a single cloud in the sky. Boxes were strewn every where, decorated with cobwebs. I almost shrieked when a fuzzed, spindle of a leg brushed my hand. Safe to say I only squealed slightly, jumping out of the vicinity, promptly falling over a clothes rack and travel bags. A dust cloud billowed into the air as I hit the floor.
Quickly I righted myself, dusting off the material of my slacks, and headed for the nearest chest. It was metal, quite common, seen as wood was, as always, a precious commodity here on a planet made of sand.
Or at least it would have been common apart from the fact that my mother had an affinity for the material, and detested metal furnishings of any kind, even if it was just a storage box.
I raised an eyebrow, my curiosity peaked at the oddness of the object. With near silent steps I slid over to the box, fingers, for a second, simply dancing over its smooth finish, marveling slightly at the few dings and dents that had accumulated over the years.
I lifted the lid.
Expecting something miraculous or spectacular – jewels perhaps, gold or even, dare I think, a body – I was severely disappointed at the simple rough canvas that greeted my eyes. I sighed, my shoulders heaving before rolling my eyes and gently lifting the canvas out of place, setting it on the floor next to me. It was bound to gather dust, but I wasn't truly sure that I cared.
The first thing I saw was red. Mounds and mounds of red. With a certain degree of awe I ran my hands experimentally over the material. It was soft, yet undeniably strong, the feel of it weird in my hands. It was like no material I had ever seen before, the folds barely leaving an outline as I lifted it from the box. The wrinkles disappeared within a second and it hung there in my hands feeling as light as air, yet some how heavy – not physically, but the kind of feeling that you get you when you walk in a grave yard and the spirits seem to whisper 'come to us, you'll belong here too, soon enough.'
I shivered at my own morbidness.
A soft clink and a slink, like paper falling, met my ears as I stood, taking the coat with me. Looking down I couldn't help the crease that formed between my brows.
A pair of sunglasses.
A photograph.
Hesitantly I reached for the Polaroid, my fingers toying with the strange shades. The edges were faded, the bare colour of the picture turning to a dark sepia from the sheer age of the ink. Slowly my eyes looked it over. I have never been one to startle easily, perhaps a mild jump or muttered curse, but never true surprise.
I shot back, dropping the picture as though burned.
The image was of three people – A man and two women. I barely recognized the face of my mother, drawn as it was in the most honest smile I had ever seen on her lips. My aunt stood next to her, hardly a day younger than when she had died.
But it wasn't them that scared me so, they weren't the reason my eyes were wide as saucers, watering from the fear that if I blinked this photo would disappear.
His face was slender, high cheekbones and a soft jaw, lending him an almost feminine look. His nose was straight and strong, curved up just enough at the end to look cute. His skin was pale, like it had never seen a day of sun in all its existence. Spiked hair reached for the sky, black except for the minutest streak of blond at the crest of his fore head.
His eyes sparkled, a crystalline aqua.
He looked like me.
My heart thudded frantically in my chest, breath coming painfully sharp. I was almost sure I was shaking. My eyes tore from his face, settling on the dust of the floor in defense. My mind was screaming at me to run. My heart whispered that I should stay.
With shaking fingers I grasped once more at the faded photograph. Still my eyes avoided him, focusing instead on the light blue of the sky that you could barely see through the buildings in the pictures back ground.
It was a second or two before my mind kick started and the questions came. How? Why?...and most importantly, who?
Slowly, oh so slowly, I drew my eyes back to his face, almost flinching at the reflection of my self that I saw there. It was perfect, right down to the small birth mark below the left eye. My face, only sharper, more masculine.
He was smiling widely, a friendly gesture – it didn't reach his eyes. It was artificial and manufactured. I should know, I wore one like it often enough. It was the smile of a person who so desperately wanted to give up, but was far too stubborn for their own good.
It was false.
A lie.
I was beginning to wonder just how much was true. My life, my personality; was that fake too? I'd never had a real father, but the likeness between myself and this man was too uncanny to be a simple coincidence.
Suddenly the sadness in my mothers eyes finally made sense – She saw Him when she looked at me.
An idle part of my brain that wasn't numbed by the shock, wondered if Erick knew.
With undue haste I shoved the picture back in the box, stuffing the coat and canvas back over the top before slamming down the lid.
I ran.
It wasn't until I was back in my room, panting against the closed door that I realized I still had His sunglasses in my hand.
"Are you alright, Hera?" Mother's voice shook me from my daydream and I turned to glance at her across the dinning table.
"Of course I am." Giving her my best smile, internally I frowned, beneath the cover of the table cloth my hands were still shaking. I couldn't help it. "Just thinking about things, that's all. Finals are coming up, years almost over."
She nodded in understanding, taking another bite of the Tomas steak Erick had cooked for dinner. I pushed my lettuce around my plate, distracted, refusing to touch the meat. I'd been vegetarian since I was twelve, but he always insisted that I should eat what I was given. It was safe to say I got most of my meals else where.
"Have you decided what college you're going to yet?" He asked, voice dripping sugar. I had to physically restrain myself from flinching.
I hated that voice.
My shoulders rose in a half shrug. "Not sure. I was thinking about Mei City State." I'd said the same thing each night since I had gotten the acceptance letters back. Truth was I didn't really even want to go to college. Academics had never interested me as much as they had my mother, and I found lectures unbearably boring. But mother wanted me to follow in her footsteps.
Law was in the Stryfe blood, after all.
Mother clucked disapprovingly. "Saint Martha's Academy in New Oregon would be better. I hear they have a wonderful Pre-Magisterial program." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes – here we go again. "Besides," she continued. "It's closer."
I nodded slowly, not really listening any more and the conversation shifted to Erick's work on the local Plant. Apparently it's 'energy levels' had been strange lately, what ever that meant.
"It's almost like the old girls having a tantrum!" He joked with a laugh that sounded as hollow as an empty bottle of whiskey.
Sighing I rose, picking up my plate and taking it over to the sink.
"Going out?"
I glanced at Erick over my shoulder, trying to keep my face as neutral as possible – it was getting easier and easier each year. "Jeremiah's band has got a gig at ASK tonight. I'm going to cheer him on." I answered in an automatic monotone.
"My," mother breathed. "They certainly are getting popular lately, aren't they?" She smiled, sweetly at me. "Give Jerry my love, wont you?"
With a bob of my head I ducked out of the room and practically ran upstairs, nearly slamming the door behind me.
The sunglasses blinked up at me from the night stand.
"What?" I asked them, glaring. They just sat there and twinkled, smugly. I swear if they'd have had a mouth they'd have smirked. Damn glasses.
Mentally chastising myself for talking to inanimate objects, I paced over to my dresser, pulling out a pair of black heavy jeans and a tight turtleneck. I muttered inanely to myself as I changed, pulling on a pair of boots almost as an afterthought.
I was half way out the door when they caught my eye again.
They just sat there, sparkling in the dimming light. Yellows lenses, dark metal 'W' frames. As though in a trance I paced over to my night stand and gently ran my finger along the wood next to them, wondering.
The world was tinged a bright amber when I walked out the door, yelling a good bye.
ASK was a small bar on the other side of town, not really much to look at all things considered, but it was the most popular place in Brooklyn, December State, these days. It was rare to pass it by with out seeing at least twenty or more teenagers lined up waiting impatiently to enter.
I grinned as I spied the building. It was barely dark, but already the line up to get in was two blocks long, excited chatter filling the air. Jeremiah was struggling with a guitar amp near the side door, balancing precariously on one leg.
"Need a hand?" I asked, walking over and taking some of the weight off him.
He huffed, face red. "Damn, these things get heavier every show!"
Chuckling we struggled through the small door and into the bar's backstage area where Elijah and Middy were setting up their abused drum kit. Neither acknowledged our entrance, absorbed in their work. I heard a crash from the high hat as I glanced about for an area to dump the amp.
"Just stick it next to the Synth." Jerry inclined his head over to the right side of the stage and we shuffle stepped over to the Keyboard set up there. The amp landed with a thud and I dusted my hands off, attempting to get the feeling back in my fingers as Jerry lit up a cigarette.
"Must you smoke?" I ask, more out of habit by now than anything else.
He grins. "Yup."
And thats that. I turn, shooting him a wink over my shoulder. "Good luck!" A backwards wave and I'm through the curtain and down the stairs of the stage, mingling with the other bodies on the dance floor. Lost. The way I like to be.
Smirking slightly to myself I claimed one of the stools that littered the bar area and waved to the tender.
"What'll it be, hun?" She asked, a southern drawl littering her words making her sound just shy of lazy.
My smirk widened. "Cola, please." She pouted slightly at my choice, an inexpensive order, flipping dark hair out of her face as she went about getting my drink. Truth be told, I couldn't stand alcohol. The smell bothered me.
I stared, half in a dream, at the stage through a haze of smoke and flashing lights as Jerry paced out on stage, his dark hair absorbing and reflecting the different colors of neon that flitted about the club. He looked good, too good. I grinned silently to myself. Gone was the dorky little boy I had known, with the bowl cut hair, horn rimmed glasses, and the disposition of an angel.
We'd pretty much grown up together. He was a Thompson – in relation to the Stryfe's, we might as well have been brother and sister, joined at the hip. Though back then he was the cautious scholar and I had been the overly brash tom-boy. Not much had changed, really. Apart from his looks.
Dark hair and gold tone skin – an inheritance from his father, I was told – And as tall as any of his cousins. He was every girls idol in this town, the poster boy for 'drop dead gorgeous', I was sure a group of girls at my school had even started a fan club. Broad shoulders and a muscled figure, combined with his dark hair and baby blue eyes made sure that he caught every ones attention. Even mine, a long while ago.
But add all that with his voice and you had a thing that only heaven could touch on.
I listened, idly stirring my now warming cola, eyes closed. Lights blinked across my blackened eyelids and I hummed along with each different tune, my mind playing out guitar chords and finger placements. I couldn't help but silently sway in my seat, and dream the night away.
Half time for the gig cam far too early. One second there I am singing along, the next I'm forced to listen to some new mainstream band from Septembre. I pouted insolently and heard a chuckle from my left.
"Enjoy the show?" He asked, flicking sweat soaked hair from his eyes and grinning at me. I returned the expression, nodding vehemently.
"Kick ass." I intoned, sagely, waving to Middy as she bound over to us.
Sliding her arms around my shoulders she smirked. "How's about a kiss for the best damn Drummer in the world?"
Her expression was so ridiculously hopeful that I had to laugh. "Keep dreaming, Darlin'." I said, imitating the waitresses accent and flicked her nose. She pouted and winked at me before slinking off to find another girl to harass, a sway in her hips. I rolled my eyes at Jerry and he coughed to vainly stifle a laugh.
"Who's up next?" I asked, toying with the swizzle stick of my drink.
"Some new lot," he glanced toward the stage where the next band was setting up. I eyed the small group with bemusement, they couldn't have been a day over fifteen.
"A little young aren't they?"
"Doesn't mean they aren't good." I 'hmm'-ed in speculative agreement before sipping at my cola.
It was quiet for a while, a good minute or so before I realized that he was staring at me. Raising an eyebrow I turned his way. "What?"
As an answer he reached over and tapped the twisted metal frames that rested on my ears. "New?" He asked, a smile in his eyes. "They're unique, I'll give you that." I shrugged.
"Found them in the attic."
He straightened in his seat, staring at me intently. "Attic?" The word was sharp, clipped, and full of accusation. "You didn't..."
"I did." Silence, then -
"Tell. Now."
I smiled slightly, pushing the shades further up my nose. "There's not much to tell. Just a box with a some old junk in it." I hoped he didn't hear the slight unsteadiness of my voice.
"Don't lie to me, Vash." No such luck.
"There was a coat." I started, staring at my hands, folded on the bar top. "And a picture."
He quirked his head to the side in a silent question.
"There was a man," I glanced at him out the corner of my eye, gaging his reaction. "He – He looked just like me." I couldn't help the stutter, and was glad he couldn't see the tremor of my shoulders in the flickering lights.
"Like you?" He asked, confusion painting his face.
"Eyes, face," I replied. "Everything, Jere'. Right down to the goddamn smile." I paused. "It scared me, Jeremiah. Shook me up."
He leaned back in his seat, nodding in understanding. "What do you think it means?"
I shrugged balefully, closing my eyes, hoping to block out the world. "I don't know, Jere, I haven't got a clue."
It was past midnight when I left.
That night I dreamed.
When I was younger I would dream each night. Pace his footsteps on a floor I had never walked, in halls I had never seen, but knew so intimately – Each turn, each incline, each minuscule, barely there dent in the metal that made the walls. Places I could never have imagined, and that, in my waking hours, were cloaked as though with a veil of cotton. Vague, obscure visions. But for those few moments after opening my eyes I would remember, I would realize.
I was Him, but not.
I was me, but not.
I told my mother when I was four years old. Stood there and recanted each detail that I could. The first time she stood there for a while, a haunted look on her face as I told her about the man in red, with the soft eyes and the kind smile. Then she laughed at me – a nervous thing, and told me to go play out side.
Eventually I repeated it enough that she broke. She yelled and screamed and wept. Tears and shouts for some one I had never met, but knew so instinctively that it hurt.
I didn't dream again after that, not for fourteen years. Not until that night.
It was different from the rest, clearer, yet some how not. Like when you try to grasp for a memory from the days before you could really think. Distant, out of reach, but still there.
The colors were blurred, each image a mesh of shapes that bled together in my mind, hazy and indistinct.
There was a man, in black. He laughed at me, holding up a bottle of something – I couldn't read the label – asked a question and waited for an answer. My mouth moved in reply, but His voice came out, and I felt myself smile.
"Another drink, Tongari?" he had asked.
"Not tonight, Nick." I had replied.
My feet carried themselves over to a bed and my body sat heavily on the uncomfortable mattress. I looked at the man in black. He didn't seem quite so happy anymore.
"You need to stop this, Vash." My heart lept at the sound of my name and He sighed. "It's not natural."
A bitter laugh. I think it was mine.
"What about me is, Nick?"
And I woke up.
But this time, I remembered the face that I had seen reflected in the window of the old hotel. A thin, weary face, a birth mark.
And those sad, infinite, aqua eyes.
Please R+R, my in-box is hungry.