Shattered Mirrors

Chapter 1

"And then there were 3"

I lay there, my breathing shallow... scratchy... harsh. My vision blurred. I heard a girl scream.
"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!" she screamed, "You killed him! MURDERER!"
"Murderer?" I heard the calm voice of the man who had shot me reply, "No dear, I am not a murderer. You cannot murder something that is not human. This animal was killing humans. It was not murder, it was extermination."
His words washed over me, not really connecting with meanings. Just words, babble, background static...
"I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU!!!" the girl's voice screamed. I heard a door slam, pounding footsteps, then the heavy male footsteps following her.
I tried to get up, to move, to get away... to get help, but I couldn't. Sorrow came to me and tears poured out of my eyes, soaking my mask and mixing with my blood on the dirty floor.
The last of my strength left me, and my trembling supporting arm dropped me the short distance to the ground with a squishy thud. My vision left me in a flash of final red, and I saw nothing but black.
My headache grew worse and interfered with my thinking. It was getting hard to think... blurry... fragmented. I had one last coherent thought, a scream even, before I slipped, fading into the oblivion beyond. 'And then there were three...'

***


[Three Years Later]

'Death... Death has come to Sunnydale farm...' The old line from a song entered her head and stayed there.
It had been three years, she was supposed to be over this! Why the hell was it coming back NOW?! Hadn't those trips to the psychologist helped at ALL? 'No.' she decided, 'Not at all.' Damn bastard. Sit there in his chair. What the hell did HE know about death? Sitting all posh in his flamboyant, oak-paneled office. Death had no place in the lives of clean, well-mannered, suburban businessmen like him. All she did was tell him the words that he wanted to know. She had told him what he wanted to hear. Now she was supposedly better.
Better. Now that was a laugh. She wasn't better. She had just learned to play the game. Speak the words, let the social workers pull her strings. That's what she felt like. A dead marionette, no life of her own, no emotions. Sunk deep into a cavernous hole of depression. Sucked far down and never wanting to leave.
Abigail flopped down on the bed. It complained under her weight with a moaning creak. She growled and smashed her fist into the wall, balling up her frustration.
She grumbled and squinted as plaster and dust fell onto her face, making her want to sneeze. She suppressed the urge and it went away. 'If only all my urges went away so easily.' Abby's thoughts snarled to her.
An image, an odd, stunned face, flashed in front of her and she shut her eyes tightly. Still she saw it. She shut her eyes tighter, her head starting to throb with anxiety. She wanted to scream out, but she knew that would just attract attention. Attention was not what she needed right now. She hated it when they came. She hated the touching. All their hands so dirty.
Abigail bit her lip as her mind was flooded with images and memories. He had seemed so harmless. It just all got too much.
"Why?" she whispered to herself. She had asked herself that one question time and time again, and she knew there was no adequate answer. She knew she was guilty. She knew there was only one distraction for her now.
She opened her bedside dresser drawer and took out a small penknife. She selected a small raised scar on the back of her hand and started lightly scratching at it with the knife. She watched as the light reddish lines appeared and disappeared as she felt the tingles of pain travel up her arm.
She wondered for a moment if she would ever stop doing this. 'No.' she decided. Not until they let her admit what she had done and get proper punishment. Not until he stopped coming up in her mind. Until then, she would live with the pain.
That twisted face of utter confusion and pain flashed up upon her inner eye again. She screwed her face into a grimace and cut her hand deep on the old wound, her face contorting with the pain as the thoughts of him fled her mind and the distracting pain filled it.

***


Donatello's eyes watered as he dug around in the garbage to find the entrance to the old sewer lair. The smell in the sewers was putrid, especially after living out at the farmhouse in the clean country air for so long.
A cleaner scent came up from the old lair as Donatello opened the entrance and climbed down the ladder, re-concealing the passageway as he went. As he reached the lair he expected to see or hear Leonardo, for he still lived there. Yet, he heard nothing except a light hum that Don put down to the cars far overhead and the normal sounds of the sewer.
'Heh.' Don thought, 'Still the diligent ninja, as always, ey Leo?' He allowed his eyes to scan the old lair, amazed at the changes Leo had made. Gone was the bright clutter that had occupied the lair when the six of them had lived there. In its place was a neat, tidy environment.
Kanji scrolls hung on the walls, and the bare floor had nothing but a few battered tatami mats strewn here and there. Somehow, Leo had managed to move the old subway cars that they had used for rooms. They were pulled to the far sides of the track, tucked away neatly into the shadows of the station turned lair, and apparently used for storage.
As Donatello looked around the clean, simplistic lair, he noticed a ring of light coming from where his lab used to be. Then he heard the sound of typing.
'Huh?' Don thought, 'Couldn't be Leo in there. Who else is in this lair?' Donatello desperately wished for his bo, but alas he didn't have it with him. Grabbing a nearby broom, Don made do with what he found.
He threw open the door to his lab, hoping to use the element of surprise to his advantage. Donatello stopped and blinked in confusion and wonder at the scene within. Leonardo sat with his back facing the door, typing away on the keyboard.
"Leo??"
His brother turned to face him, revealing a maggot-eaten face, piercing red pupils glowed within the empty eye sockets. "Why didn't you stop me?" the pseudo-Leo hissed.
"NNNOOOOOOO!!!" Donatello sat straight up in bed, sweat-soaked, his heart racing. He began to sob. He hated the nightmares. As he calmed down a little, anxiety started to eek into the corners of his mind. He knew he would get no more sleep this night.
Don turned on the small lamp that sat next to the mattress he slept on. He looked around the empty lair, trying to calm his racing mind, fighting off the overwhelming feelings of anxiety and fear he felt. He sighed deeply, still breathing shakily, and picked up the notebook and pencil that lay near the mattress.
Organizing his scattered thoughts, he put the pencil to paper and let the thoughts flow out of him, forming into solid paragraphs of his strong handwriting.

I guess we have lost. There is nothing left here. I'm beginning to wonder if there was ever anything there to begin with. However, I digress, and to digress is to confuse.
I guess to tell my story, I should start at the beginning. My name is Donatello. I am a mutant. A mutant turtle. One of four originally... well, actually one of five. We, along with our sensei, Splinter, lived in the sewers. Eventually we met up with the fifth turtle of our group, Meih Pei Chi.
We fought together for many years. Many villains fell to our hands. Together we were an unstoppable force. Unfortunately, our keystone was beginning to weaken. Splinter. We all knew it was coming. It was inevitable. Yet, his death still hit us hard. We fell apart.
Without Splinter to guide us and hold us together, we all started drifting. Raphael was the first to leave. We still don't know where he is, or if he's even alive. He just left. One morning soon after Splinter's burial, he just disappeared. A note was left that said he was leaving. He said that he would be fine. He said not to worry about him. I didn't. I knew Raph could take care of himself.
Poor Michealangelo, he couldn't help but worry. The loss of his sensei and then the disappearance of his best friend and brother nearly broke the poor guy. Emotionally, he collapsed into the nearest, sturdiest "arms" he could find. Venus. Those two were the next to leave. I don't know exactly where they went then, but they ended up in China. I don't know if they are still there. I haven't heard from either in a few years.
Leo stayed here, in the sewer lair. He still refused to give up his old ways of protecting and defending the city.
I was the last to drift away. I went to April's farmhouse. I really liked the countryside. It was so quiet and peaceful. Nobody to annoy me while I was working, no villains to attack me or harass me. It was easy to concentrate on my inventions and gadgets. My computer kept me connected to the outside world that I wanted to connect to. I even started getting people to buy my designs and manufacture some of my devices. My favorite was the pocket reader. It digitally scanned in words when you ran it over them then said them aloud. It was a great improvement for people with visual impairments.
For a while, life was good for me. I was getting the money from my inventions, and I was almost distracted enough to forget about the problems with my brothers... almost.
I came back to the lair because I was in New York to deliver some new prototypes for my inventions. I wanted to pick up some of the equipment I had left here. I found Leo here, and I was surprised to find the he had been using my computer here to go online and he had started chatting online somewhat. He seemed a lot mellower.
It was eerily odd, but I let it go to the fact that Raph and Mike weren't around to do things to make him get so uptight. I took my leave of him after spending about a week in the lair. Little did I know that would be the last time I would see him alive.
About a month after I visited the lair, Leo died. My whole memory of the experience is a confusing blur of emotions, starting with a mental cry of 'And then there were three'. I remember recovering Leonardo's body from a warehouse down by the shore. He had been shot several times. He was dead...
I took his body to the nearest place I could find in a confused stupor. The lair. I got there and the phone rang. I answered it, probably sounding like a drunken wreck, my emotions were so high. It was Michealangelo, and he didn't sound much better than me.
I remember his exact words. Words that still chill me. "He's dead, isn't he Donnie? Leo's dead." He said it with a shaking, fearfilled voice. I swallowed and told him what I knew. We cried.
That was the last time I talked with Mike. I haven't heard from him since. I just knew that he was in China with Venus at the time.
I took Leo's body and cremated it out at April's Farm. Shadow and Casey both showed up for the scattering of the ashes. We scattered them near the cliff where Splinter was buried. I could tell it was hard for Shadow and Casey. April had passed away only about a year earlier.
I stayed on the farm for a while, but something just kept pulling me back to the lair. It seemed the farm only had death surrounding it. I wanted to go to a place that had happier memories. That's when I moved back to the lair.
I started up again with my ninja exercises when I moved back here. I had dropped out of practice when Splinter had died. It had been too painful and I didn't see the point anymore. Yet, when Leo died, I felt the opposite. Practicing brings back fond memories, and I feel I must continue the legacy, to honor the memory of both of them.
It's odd. Next week will mark three full years since his death. Leo's that is. I still feel like it just happened yesterday. I have no desire to go back to the farm, but I know I will. Something always draws me there around this time of year. I guess it's just my sentimental side.

Donatello sat back and rubbed his eyes, glancing at the clock. He noticed it was almost 5:30. The sun would be coming up soon. He might as well go see the sunrise. Don set the notebook back by the mattress.
Don bound his forearms and calves with the gray binding cloth before slipping on his brown leather kneepads, armpads and belt. Don sighed as he picked up the red mask. After Leo's death, Donnie had gone back to wearing the simple red mask and leather pads rather than the purple adornments he had fashioned for himself to wear before. A small tribute to Splinter, he supposed, and a bittersweet wish to return to the simplicity that was there when he first wore these.
Don picked up his Bo and the thick purple cloak from their places by the entrance to the lair. He turned out the lights, then headed up and out.

***


Two silent figures walked through the sewer pipe. The larger one grabbed the smaller one and pulled her into his arms and into a crevice in the wall. They stayed still and silent, and soon Donatello passed by wearing his cloak. The larger figure watched him intently as he passed, trying to shake the feeling of recognition.
Finally, when he thought the coast was clear, the larger figure released his hold on the smaller one. "Let's go." he whispered quietly and he led her towards the lair. Digging in the rubbish used to conceal the entrance, he found the ring and pulled up the door. The smaller figure went down first, then the larger one followed her, concealing the entrance behind him.
He was surprised to feel the plush carpeting below his feet, but something told them this was the right place. Maybe it was the smell. The larger one felt along the wall for the large circuit breaker, and found in its place many light switches. He turned them on. He squinted in the sudden brightness, the light revealing his reptilian features. A smile spread across his face and he looked at the other figure, she pulled back her teal hood, revealing her aged, also strange appearance.
"We're here, Venus." Mike said, "I'm home." A small smile came onto his face.
"and just in time," Venus smiled, unwrapping the large bundle she held "He's getting feisty." She pulled back the blanket and a little three-fingered hand reached out and grasped at her face, catching ahold of her eyemask.
Mike's small smile grew wide as he looked at her and the little one. So much had been lost here, but in coming back, he had gained.

***


High up on the rooftop, a silent figure practices a subtle dance, thrusting his body into sharp contortions, only to flex back like a ribbon. Any onlookers chancing to see this marvel would feel privileged because of the beauty held in these deadly moves.
The dim orange light began to peek its rounded bright head over the skyline of the busy metropolis. Donatello paused in his actions to watch the beauteous rays of light cut through the smog to grace the city. Even the scum and filth of the place looked marvelous this morning.
It had snowed last night, and it had a clean look, a new feeling. Don knew that what little spots of white that were left would be gone by nightfall, consumed by the filth of the city, but the diamond gems among the rooftops made the place look almost godlike.
Donnie sighed happily and leaned against his bo. Soon the blissfulness was cut by the quiet sounds of someone entering the rooftop. Sensing them coming, Don grabbed up his cloak off the roof, and jumped to the fire escape, the cloth fluttering behind him. He took one final look up at the smoggy, yet beautiful landscape, then he wrapped his cloak about him and started down to the streets, and eventually, to the sewers.
As Don entered the depths of the sewers, he wondered why the world seemed so wondrous in the morning light. He, as well as anyone, knew the evils of this city. Yet, he was suckered in by the sight of the patches of diamond clean snow around the city. 'Prolly just me being sentimental again.' Don thought to himself as he neared the lair.
He felt a presence... someone was near the lair... Don went into stealth mode, melting into the shadows with ninja sleekness. 'Who..?' Don mouthed the silent question. For some reason he couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity.
Donatello examined the entrance to the lair, and with a terrifying shock he realized that the person, whomever they were, was in, or had been in the lair itself.
Drawing his bo, Don entered the lair stealthily. Noting the lights were on, he spied around the corner to see who dared to invade the sanctity of his home. His eyes widened at the sight within. The back of a green head... and yet, Don knew who he was. Damn, like he could EVER forget.
Don paused for a second, gathering himself, half torn between wanting to kill Michaelangelo for scaring him so and just wanting to hug him anyway. "M-Mikey?" he finally managed to stutter out.
Mike spun around, 'chucks out of the folds of his cloak and at the ready in an instant. But all hostility fell when he saw the speaker of the words. "Donnie!" Mike dropped the nunchuku and ran to grab Donatello in an embrace. He was practically sobbing in happiness.
Tears of joy slipped down his cheeks as Don returned the embrace emotionally. After a few moments, Don pulled out of the hug and held Mike at arms length to look at him. Although the spark of mischief and spryness was still about him, Don could see he had aged. Fine lines ringed his familiar eyes. A smile still sat on his features though. "Oh god, I missed ya Don." he said.
"Me too, Mikey." Don replied, "It's great to see you again." He then looked at Venus and the bundle she held as if he was seeing them for the first time. "Mike? Who's this?"
Venus chuckled a little. "Oh c'mon, I don't look THAT different, Donatello."
"Meih Pei Chi???" Donatello asked, astonished.
"One in the same Don." she smiled. Don was very surprised. She looked so different. He remembered Venus as a little wisp of a thing, with an indignant look in her eyes and sharp, well-defined features, in both her body and face. This Meih Pei Chi that stood before him was nothing like that. Pleasantly plump, she had gentle curves that flowed harmoniously throughout her body. Her eyes were warm and kind, and her smile bore a twinkle of youth and mischief.
'Wow.' was all Donatello's stunned mind could think. Then his eyes chanced upon the bundle in her arms. "What's that?" he asked.
"You mean who, Donnie." Mike answered him. Donatello looked closer at the bundle and was treated to a sight he never thought he'd see. Large, clear, amber colored eyes looked at him from within the blankets.
"Hi!" the little turtle chirped.
"This is Tyler, Don." Venus said, "He's Mike's and my son."
"Wow." Don said, "Congrats! How old is he?"
"He'll be a year old next week." Venus answered.
Don invited them all to sit down. He himself sat backwards on one of the kitchen chairs. He crossed his arms over the back of it and looked at them, still trying to grasp the situation. "So..." he began "What are you doing in New York?"

***


A cloaked figure is silhouetted in the rising sun against a cold plain of white. Flutters of fabric swathed about him obscure his features. He disappeared into the treeline as the sliver of gold-orange stains the sky it's beautiful hues.
Taking back his patched hood, a mud streaked, oddly shaped face is uncovered. From his pack he pulled a piece of flint and some dry wood. Carefully clearing a place within the shelter of the windbreak, he lit a small fire and pulled a piece of wild game out, a raccoon or beaver perhaps. He erected a small spit and began cooking the meat on it.
He took off the shabby mittens and revealed his odd, three fingered hands. Leathery tough green skin covered the palms. He warmed his hands over the small fire. Then he gathered up pine needles into a small bed in the only rays of light coming through the trees.
A bit of light chanced upon his face, revealing deep scars on it. One of his eyes is covered with a ragged black patch. His face is definitely reptilian.
The mutant sighed and produced a ragged blanket from his pack and lays it on the pine needles. He does not know why he is going north. He does know it is stupid. However, something is pulling him, calling to him, and his resistance to it is nothing. It is something he must do.
The mutant took out a pair of pronged weapons, sai, and, in a ritualistic way, thrust them into the ground by his bed. Then he turned to his supper again.
"Here's to you Leonardo." he said quietly, "Wherever you may be."

I hope you enjoy this story...

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