Chapter 1
Brandon
The boy ran down the large field. His hands were outstretched, and a bit dirty. His hair was a light shade of brown, and it was matted to his head with sweat. His eyes were a light shade of blue. His shirt clung to his back.
Several figures with dark shirts ran after him, panting to keep up with this person who dared steal their sacred object.
"Get it in the net, Brandon!" Cried an older man, possibly the boy's father. "Get it in the net!" Artemis Fowl, among other parents, were seeing the soccer tournament in which Brandon Fowl, Artemis's son was participating. Brandon had the ball and was being chased by his opponents.
The goalie, a big lout with a shaved head and a small goatee stood between Brandon and the goal. He snarled at Brandon as if challenging him. Brandon prepared for a kick toward the left side of the net, from which the goalie was blocking-
--and sent it hurtling toward the right side. He did so with great agility, and all the goalie could do was grunt in surprise. Goal.
Brandon's team cheered. His team had just broken a tie with the opposing team. They lifted Brandon by the back. "Brandon! Brandon! Brandon!" They cheered in unison.
Brandon stepped into his father's limousine. His friends were waving to him, and Brandon waved back. They couldn't see him of course. It was a one way mirror. "Congratulations, sir." Said the tall man whom was driving the car, Butler.
"Thanks." Said Brandon. Butler was always polite, but his sophisticated tone sometimes bothered him a bit. It gave Brandon a snobby feeling to him. He bet his father didn't mind when he was his age, but he didn't know. He always kept mum on his childhood.
The car pulled up on a large mansion. It was the only house in miles. Artemis liked the sense of privacy that it gave him, Brandon didn't. He wanted to visit his friends, not lolly gag on the computer as Artemis spent his childhood. Butler opened the door for Brandon and bowed. Brandon walked up into the house, walked up the stairs and plopped down on the bed, exhausted.
It was around midnight or so when he woke up to a loud noise downstairs. Everyone in the house was asleep. Brandon put on his slippers and tiptoed down the stairs. "Hello? Is anyone there?" He inquired into the silence. No answer. Brandon shrugged, and walked down the stairs.
He heard footsteps, and hushed whispers coming from the living room. Was it dad? What would his father be doing right now in the middle of the night? What would--
A scabby hand pressed itself against Brandon's mouth. Brandon jammed his elbow backward. It sank in the soft flesh of whoever was holding his mouth shut.
"Geeyaargh!!" Cried the person behind him. "That hurt!" Brandon withdrew his elbow, and noticed there were red drops of blood of blood on it. It had pierced the attacker's skin.
The grip loosened, but he noticed more figures, their faces concealed by darkness, come out from the kitchen. One grabbed him, while another pulled out a knife. There were dried flecks on it. Brandon knew they were certainly not rust. The face came into view. It was a horrid site, with warts and pimples covering the majority of the face. Its nose was grotesque, long and crooked. The creature held the knife to his neck.
"Be quiet, damn you." It croaked its voice sounding like the frogs his father had shown Brandon at the pond outside his house. "Or I'll be slittin' ye throat."
Brandon noticed the creature's large belly, and grinned. It seemed its years of self-indulgence had finally caught up with him. He kicked it's belly, causing it clutch its stomach and drop the knife. Quick as a flash, Brandon grabbed it. He held it warningly to the creatures.
"Stay back." He warned, holding the bloody knife. "I don't want to do this, but if I have to, I will." Their faces changed from frightened, too an expression he knew all to well. Gloating. What would they gloat about, though? Didn't he have the upper hand? Didn't he have-
Brandon felt a sharp, thin jab of pain below his left armpit. He turned around to see another creature, holding a tranquilizer needle of some sort. Brandon meant to grab it, but everything seemed to fade away, and everything was getting darker until it was pitch black.
The Next Morning
Artemis had a long sleep. It was a pretty perfect life, finally getting his own family and his own son. Although he longed for the days of crime, he didn't want his son caught in the crossfire by an enemy's empire. When he got up, it was 10:00 am, according to the clock beside his bed.
Artemis walked down the stairs, and got the newspaper. He picked it up, when he noticed the small needle on the floor. Artemis noticed what it was at once. It was the same type of curare and succinylcholine chloride-based tranquilizer that he had injected into that fairy years ago. What was her name? It was so long ago.
Holly.
It was Holly.
When he remembered her name, memories flashed into his head like people getting onto a train at the last minute. Everything came back. Including.
Artemis dropped the tranquilizer. It seemed to fall in slow motion, the tiny bits of glass rising from the air when it shattered onto the finely polished floor. Artemis put his hands to his face. Brandon was with.them. Them. He remembered.them.
Keep a hold on yourself, said a tiny voice in his head. What would the smart, sophisticated Artemis do?
"What would I do?" Artemis asked himself. Answering his own question, he thought of Holly sitting in the cellar her tiny face covered by her tiny hands. He thought of Brandon, in the same exact position, chained to a bench somewhere deep in the ground.
"Pay some debts."
Brandon
The boy ran down the large field. His hands were outstretched, and a bit dirty. His hair was a light shade of brown, and it was matted to his head with sweat. His eyes were a light shade of blue. His shirt clung to his back.
Several figures with dark shirts ran after him, panting to keep up with this person who dared steal their sacred object.
"Get it in the net, Brandon!" Cried an older man, possibly the boy's father. "Get it in the net!" Artemis Fowl, among other parents, were seeing the soccer tournament in which Brandon Fowl, Artemis's son was participating. Brandon had the ball and was being chased by his opponents.
The goalie, a big lout with a shaved head and a small goatee stood between Brandon and the goal. He snarled at Brandon as if challenging him. Brandon prepared for a kick toward the left side of the net, from which the goalie was blocking-
--and sent it hurtling toward the right side. He did so with great agility, and all the goalie could do was grunt in surprise. Goal.
Brandon's team cheered. His team had just broken a tie with the opposing team. They lifted Brandon by the back. "Brandon! Brandon! Brandon!" They cheered in unison.
Brandon stepped into his father's limousine. His friends were waving to him, and Brandon waved back. They couldn't see him of course. It was a one way mirror. "Congratulations, sir." Said the tall man whom was driving the car, Butler.
"Thanks." Said Brandon. Butler was always polite, but his sophisticated tone sometimes bothered him a bit. It gave Brandon a snobby feeling to him. He bet his father didn't mind when he was his age, but he didn't know. He always kept mum on his childhood.
The car pulled up on a large mansion. It was the only house in miles. Artemis liked the sense of privacy that it gave him, Brandon didn't. He wanted to visit his friends, not lolly gag on the computer as Artemis spent his childhood. Butler opened the door for Brandon and bowed. Brandon walked up into the house, walked up the stairs and plopped down on the bed, exhausted.
It was around midnight or so when he woke up to a loud noise downstairs. Everyone in the house was asleep. Brandon put on his slippers and tiptoed down the stairs. "Hello? Is anyone there?" He inquired into the silence. No answer. Brandon shrugged, and walked down the stairs.
He heard footsteps, and hushed whispers coming from the living room. Was it dad? What would his father be doing right now in the middle of the night? What would--
A scabby hand pressed itself against Brandon's mouth. Brandon jammed his elbow backward. It sank in the soft flesh of whoever was holding his mouth shut.
"Geeyaargh!!" Cried the person behind him. "That hurt!" Brandon withdrew his elbow, and noticed there were red drops of blood of blood on it. It had pierced the attacker's skin.
The grip loosened, but he noticed more figures, their faces concealed by darkness, come out from the kitchen. One grabbed him, while another pulled out a knife. There were dried flecks on it. Brandon knew they were certainly not rust. The face came into view. It was a horrid site, with warts and pimples covering the majority of the face. Its nose was grotesque, long and crooked. The creature held the knife to his neck.
"Be quiet, damn you." It croaked its voice sounding like the frogs his father had shown Brandon at the pond outside his house. "Or I'll be slittin' ye throat."
Brandon noticed the creature's large belly, and grinned. It seemed its years of self-indulgence had finally caught up with him. He kicked it's belly, causing it clutch its stomach and drop the knife. Quick as a flash, Brandon grabbed it. He held it warningly to the creatures.
"Stay back." He warned, holding the bloody knife. "I don't want to do this, but if I have to, I will." Their faces changed from frightened, too an expression he knew all to well. Gloating. What would they gloat about, though? Didn't he have the upper hand? Didn't he have-
Brandon felt a sharp, thin jab of pain below his left armpit. He turned around to see another creature, holding a tranquilizer needle of some sort. Brandon meant to grab it, but everything seemed to fade away, and everything was getting darker until it was pitch black.
The Next Morning
Artemis had a long sleep. It was a pretty perfect life, finally getting his own family and his own son. Although he longed for the days of crime, he didn't want his son caught in the crossfire by an enemy's empire. When he got up, it was 10:00 am, according to the clock beside his bed.
Artemis walked down the stairs, and got the newspaper. He picked it up, when he noticed the small needle on the floor. Artemis noticed what it was at once. It was the same type of curare and succinylcholine chloride-based tranquilizer that he had injected into that fairy years ago. What was her name? It was so long ago.
Holly.
It was Holly.
When he remembered her name, memories flashed into his head like people getting onto a train at the last minute. Everything came back. Including.
Artemis dropped the tranquilizer. It seemed to fall in slow motion, the tiny bits of glass rising from the air when it shattered onto the finely polished floor. Artemis put his hands to his face. Brandon was with.them. Them. He remembered.them.
Keep a hold on yourself, said a tiny voice in his head. What would the smart, sophisticated Artemis do?
"What would I do?" Artemis asked himself. Answering his own question, he thought of Holly sitting in the cellar her tiny face covered by her tiny hands. He thought of Brandon, in the same exact position, chained to a bench somewhere deep in the ground.
"Pay some debts."