Email: Foxneko@aol.com
Disclaimers: I don't own Weiss Kreuz and any other legal stuff. There, you can't sue me now! :p
Notes: italics are thoughts
<< italics >> are flashbacks
[ italics ] are dream sequences
Second chapter! It was done in kind of a hurry, sorry. I hope it's good enough. Much longer. Er, sorry if it's OOC. And please don't kill me, Yohji fans!
L'il dragon muse: Shhh!!! Don't spoil anything! Or I'll whack you again.
Meep.
[ Her dark hair danced in the wind, flowing behind her. Her feet ran nimbly, barely touching the ground. Her bushy tail kept her balance as she leaped against a tree trunk and turned around to a stop. Her furry ears twitched as she heard the patter of feet, and chuckled lightly. They wouldn't find her. They wouldn't catch her. It was a game that she always won in.]
Bright light glowed on her face, waking her from her slumber. Fragments of her dream drifted in her mind. Somehow, she knew she's had that dream many times before. Maybe when she was younger.
Lifting her arm to rub the sleep from her eyes, she winced at the shock of pain that shot through her from the movement. The feel of thick gauze wrapped around her arm and head reminded her of her wound. But everything else was a blur. She couldn't remember who had struck her. She didn't know where she was. She didn't know who she was.
She spotted a bag in the far corner of her room. Maybe it was hers. She swung her legs over the edge of her bed and pushed herself up. Walking the short distance and picking up the backpack, she then brought it back to her bed.
It was kind of old. Strands of thread had freed themselves from the weaving of the canvas. It was black. Pitch black, making it stand out in the white room. But there was no sign of a tag or anything. There was nothing that might tell her what her name was.
She unzipped the backpack and dumped the contents on the bed. A folded cloth, some coins, a box of matches, a pocket knife, a slightly crumpled picture, a battered stuff animal, a notebook, a pencil, and a wallet. There were a couple bills in the wallet and a card.
An ID.
That's what she needed. Snatching it from its compartment in the wallet, she stared at it. The picture was of a 31-year-old man.
Frank Burkens.
Picking up the pocketknife and pulling the blade out, she stared at the shiny surface. Only one gray eye looked back. Locks of hair were in the way of the other.
The ID wasn't her. She was a girl. A young girl who doesn't even know herself.
While placing the items back into the backpack, she laid her hands on the cloth. It was white, like everything else in the room. Unfolding it, she held it up to examine. It looked like a dress or robe. She sniffed it, a faint, yet distinct scent of lavender reaching her nose.
<< It was the spray. The wretched spray that smelled so sweet it intoxicated her. The spray that made her drowsy and weak. They used it every time. And she hated them for it.
She sat there, her mind numb, her sight blurring. She couldn't protest as someone picked her up and laid her on the bed. She barely realized that the straps were in place.
A woman was talking to her, but she couldn't hear. The lady then smiled. It was a fake smile. Just like how her nails were fake, along with her eye lashes... Even with her distorted vision, she could tell the woman disliked being there, near her. Near the girl that wouldn't let any of the nurses give her the medication. Near the girl that struggled and fought against her bonds, that is, until they invented the spray.
And the last thing she saw were the white walls before sleep overtook her.>>
"Oh, you're awake, miss?"
She snapped around toward the source of the voice. Panic rushed through her. She was surrounded by white. Everything was white! Even the woman who had walked in had white hair.
Wait a minute. Woman?
"I do hope that fall didn't cause too much of a blow to your head. How do you feel, miss?"
She remembered. The woman was a nurse. She was in a hospital. A hospital! They were going to strap her down again, and inject her with that drug that made her sleep. A thick lavender aroma surrounded her, choking her. She trembled, leaning a hand against the bed for support.
"Are you okay, miss?" The nurse came toward her.
"Stay away from me!"
She swung the backpack around, knocking the nurse to the floor. Then she dashed out of the room, the backpack slung across her back and the robe clutched in her hands. She had to get away. Get away from the hospital, the nurse, the bed, the white! They won't get her again. She won't go back. Never again.
Aya quietly shut the door behind him on his way out, and walked down the silent hallway, hands in his pocket as he brooded.
It was just like every other time he had visited. She was a still as ever, and the heart monitor beeped at the steady pace. It pained him to see his sister like that. It was not right for Aya-chan to be quiet and still. She was suppose to be happy and full of life. She was suppose to be making friends and going to school. Instead, she was stuck in the hospital bed, not moving, not smiling, and not laughing.
He frowned as yelling and pounding of feet interrupted his thoughts.
"Stop her!"
"Someone stop her!"
Aya paused and turned around to see a doctor and nurses running toward him. Their target appeared to be a girl around 17 to 19 years of age. As she ran by him, he reached out and grabbed at her wrist, and of course being the expert assassin he was at night, he didn't miss.
She tugged and pulled against him, trying to break free, but his grip just got tighter. Normally, he would have just hit her or pulled on her hair to stop the struggles of this girl, but he didn't think the nurses would appreciate further injuring their patient.
She had stopped her desperate attempts to flee. Instead, she had positioned herself behind him, staring at the approaching doctors, eyes wide open with fear like a deer in the headlights. As the doctors and nurses drew closer, she looked at him, silently pleading. He could almost hear her say, "Please don't let them take me. Don't make me go back" just by looking into her eyes. He glanced at the bandages wrapped around her forehead. It troubled him to think that another girl would be stuck in the hospital. She could have just woken up from a coma.
Aya-chan...
"Thank you, sir, for catching this..." The doctor paused. "...patient." He huffed. Aya didn't know if it was from the running or from the fact this girl was most...uncooperative.
"Now, young lady, you're to go right back-"
"I'm here to take her home."
"What?" Both doctor and the girl stared at him.
"Ran." One young nurse said. She had seen him come frequently. Aya remembered running into her a couple times...Rena. Her name was Rena.
"She had just awoken from a hard fall. She has a suffered a dramatic blow to the head. Not to mention that cut on her arm. For all we know, she could have brain damage. You can't take her-"
"I can and I will." Aya cut her off, glaring at them, daring anyone to try and stop him. Of course, no one did.
"Let's go." He let go of the girl's wrist and started walking down the hall toward the exit without as much as glancing back.
She paused, then followed obediently behind the stranger while stuffing the robe into her backpack and zipping it up. Even though the strange boy had saved her, she was nervous, and kept looking back, half-expecting the nurses to jump her and drag her back. The smell of the hallway made her sick. She wanted to bolt out of the hospital and get away as fast a possible, but she couldn't. She had to keep the torturous steady pace lest the one called "Ran" decided to change his mind if she tried to run for her life.
Once the outside breeze washed against her face, she felt immensely better. But now she didn't know where to go. And so, she kept following the boy, who never looked back to see if she was still behind him.
The streets were crowded. Men and women were striding in a hurry, trying to get to their destination as quickly as possible. Children tugged their parents' hands, asking for the toy in the window. Street vendors shouted, trying to sell the last of their product. Bikers ringed their bells while weaving between the pedestrians.
And it all scared her.
The crowd, the noise, it all scared her. Everything was spinning, faster and faster. The images and colors blurred together, and the din grew louder, so loud that her ears hurt. She curled into a tight ball, eyes squeezed shut, covering her ears and holding her head. Forget the red-haired boy. Forget trying to find her way. Forget everything, this was unbearable! Everything was closing in on her, ready to smother the life out of her.
"Hey, you alright?"
She leaped up into a defensive position, alert and ready.
"Whoa there, baby. I'm not going to hurt you. Not someone as beautiful as you are."
A growl grew at the back of her throat. She didn't like sweet talkers.
"Rrowr to you too." The boy before her smiled, then turned to his companion. It was Ran.
"Now I see what you do when you go out, Aya."
She calmed down a hair's breath. The blonde was a friend of the redhead. Not that it reassured her any. But why did he call him Aya? Wasn't his name Ran? Two identities? Hn...
"You followed me." Aya narrow his violet eyes at Yohji.
"Well, some of us have to wonder where you go all the time," The blonde smiled again. "And I see you pick up pretty girls at the hospital." His green eyes peeked over his sunglasses at the girl and winked. She stared back impassively.
"What I do with my time is none of your business."
But Yohji wasn't listening anymore. Instead, he had stepped over next to the girl, flirting like he always was. Normally, Aya would ignored everything, but not this time. This time it was different.
She didn't respond like all the other girls. No, she didn't blush like a tomato or giggle and bat her eyes. She just stood there, her hands tightening on the straps of her backpack until her knuckles were white. Her face was paling, as if afraid of something, but her one visible eye was sparkling dangerously, like a cat that was ready to strike.
"Yohji."
His warning was too late. Aya didn't know what Yohji did, but she had punched him. Not slapped, punched. Right in the stomach, sending him buckling forward onto his knees from the surprise attack.
And he could see Yohji's confusion. The playboy was use to being able to charm any girl he wanted to in less than 2 minutes. Never had a single girl hit him before. Until now.
Aya sighed. Yohji's pride would be hurt. And he knew of only one way that the blonde could bring up his self-esteem: More girls.
The older boy straightened up despite his pain, refusing to damage his ego anymore by appearing weak to the public. He looked around.
As if reading his mind, Aya spoke.
"She's gone."
Ken groaned. For once he was enjoying a quiet moment reading on a nice Friday afternoon. Nothing needed cleaning. Nothing needed pruning or watering. Nothing needed to be arranged and delivered. And best of all, no talkative girls. And just as he was getting to the good part of his book, both Aya and Yohji stormed in through the front door.
He peeked over the top of the pages, meeped and ducked back behind the leather-bound covers. Aya was...Aya, only a little worse. Probably caught Yohji following him. And Yohji...was not happy. He was not grinning and did not have that mischievous glint in his eyes. Ken watched him slump against the counter, taking out a cigarette, and lighting it, ignoring their rule of no smoking in the store. He must have been really upset about something.
Ken looked at Aya, but the redhead gave him no clue of what was bugging the playboy.
"What's wrong, Yohji-kun?"
Only Ken turned to look at Omi, who had just walked in from the storage room, a box of tissue paper in his arms.
"S'nothing."
"Don't lie to me. What happened?"
Silence.
"A girl punched him."
Ken and Omi swung their gaze toward Aya, then gaped at Yohji, who was blushing.
"You don't have to sound so damn smug about it," The blonde muttered angrily from embarrassment.
Ken couldn't believe his ears. The almighty playboy Yohji got rejected? It seemed Hell had frozen over. It was hard for him to stifle his snickers, as it was for Omi, who had given up trying to hold it in and fell laughing, the box landing roughly next to him. It looked like the boy would die laughing, if Yohji didn't kill him first.
Just as Yohji was advancing on the young boy, the front door bell jingled.
"Manx!"
Ken did not like the situation. It had been a simple mission. They just had to kill some guy who was doing some illegal trading. In, out, nothing else. But no, they couldn't have a break. It was dark, cold, and looked like bad weather ahead. To top it off, Schwartz had to show up.
"Well well, fancy meeting you here," Schuldich said nonchalantly.
"Farfarello, Nagi, get the shipment for Mr. Takatori," Crawford barked out.
And that's how it started.
Just hearing the name sent Aya into a red rage. He charged at Crawford, katana in hand. Yohji set out to help him, but stopped dead in his tracks. Ken saw the expression on the older boy's face and knew right away: Schuldich.
Aya had somehow knocked the gun from Crawford's hand, sending it skidding a couple feet away. He looked at Ken, and the brunette hurried off with Omi, chasing the other two members that were going for the goods.
Ken tackled Farfarello while Omi sent a dart flying toward Nagi. The dart was stopped in midair and dropped to the floor, but the Irish assassin had slammed hard onto the concrete. Ken leaped back, barely avoiding the tip of a knife. He watched Omi run after Nagi, who was getting away.
He cried in pain as a searing heat emitted from his shoulder. Farfarello had thrown the knife at him while he was distracted. He yelled and rushed forward, striking down with his claw. A metallic cling sounded has his claw made contact with a dagger.
The two assassins glared at each other while in their deadlock, both straining to overpower the other. Finally, they broke apart, slightly panting. Suddenly, Farfarello grinned, which left Ken confused. He didn't like the look of triumph in his opponent's eye. Feeling the other's gaze directed behind him, the brunette looked over his shoulder.
At first he couldn't understand. Omi and Nagi had reappeared on the scene, and Omi was fairing well against the Schwartz boy. A look at Yohji showed him that he had broken from Schuldich's hold on his mind, and was fighting back with his wire. Then he saw it.
Time seemed to slow down. He watched Crawford dive over Aya's swing, roll, and pick up his gun. Before he could even get a sound out of his mouth, a loud shot rang out.
Time to go, Farfie.
But Farfarello didn't heed Schuldich's message. Crawford had shot blindly in the dark. Probably didn't even scratch the target. It was a distraction so they could get away. He was just as tired as they were, but he had no intention to leave yet. No, he wasn't done yet. There was still something he had to do.
[ Her dark hair danced in the wind, flowing behind her. Her feet ran nimbly, barely touching the ground. Her bushy tail kept her balance as she leaped against a tree trunk and turned around to a stop. Her furry ears twitched as she heard the patter of feet. But this time, she didn't chuckle. Fear gripped her heart as her pursuer came closer, and she ran. It was no longer a game. No, this time it was real. Yeah, she knew she would get caught, but that didn't stop her from fleeing.
The pain tore through her as she was cut. He was playing with her. But eventually, the hunter would come to collect his prize, his prey. Until then, she would run...]
She woke with a start. It was raining, and the top of her cardboard box was sagging. A shiver ran down her spine as water slid down her hands. The dream scared her. Her unknown attacker could still be out there. But that couldn't be. After all, it was only a dream. Only a dream and nothing more.
She stopped in mid-thought, looking up from her curled position. Her box wasn't leaking yet. So what was dripping down her hands?
Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes adjusted to the dimness. Forget what she said about the dream. Her hands...
They were bleeding.
It was too easy.
Too easy to find her. Too easy to cut her. Too easy to make her suffer.
But she did not scream. Even when he had cut her in her sleep and sliced where her nerve ends clustered the most, she did not scream. And it made him angry. Sure, her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Was God protecting his little angel? No, if He were, He wouldn't have let her stay here. He wouldn't have let her remain for him to slowly kill.
Had God made his black angel mute? No! God can't have! He would not be denied the satisfaction of hearing God's angel scream. He would not!
He grinned. He will make her scream. He will cut every inch of her body and pluck every feather from her wings if he has to. But she will succumb to him. He will make God's angel his.
~ Silver Fox ~
