This is dedicated to all the fan fiction and hentai that I have read over my years (it's now officially sad - -;) as a Gundam
Wing fan in which I have laughed at, bantered, etc-d the work. For all those authors, now you have something of mine
to ridicule.
Enjoy, for now the universe is at peace.
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing, nor do I know who does. But, if I did, I'd BUY the titles so I DIDN'T HAVE TO WRITE THIS!!!
All originals characters, settings, and situations are copyrighted and owned by me, so please don't steal them!!! Thank
you ^-^
Author: A. Mused
Quote: "No matter how much I tell you, I'm still leaving something out."
Title: This 1920 NeverLand
Warnings: original characters; dream sequences; politics - both internal and external; bisexuality (yet no yaoi…is this
blasphemy? I think not); pasts of certain characters; religious imagery - beware and don't read further if you're easily
offended by things like stigmata or crucifixion (crucifixion's no just a religious image - it's part of history; if you want
to argue about it, IM/E-Mail me);
READ THIS PLEASE: If you are still uncomfortable or uneasy in any way with the September 11th attacks, I heavily
encourage you to not read this fic as it contains themes of violence and militarism, acts of terrorism, and threats of
genocide. So please don't get offended. What happened was in no way inspiration to me.
Pairings: none presently (wow. can you believe it? we could do the implied ones…lets!)
HY+RD, DM+HS, TB+OC, QRW+OC, CW+OC, CB+OC
Point of View: Quatre Raberba Winner
Author's note: I hope you people really enjoy this chapter because I had to overcome writer's block in order to finish it.
I'd like to thank everyone who are actually reading this, you have no idea how much it means to me that I'm actually
getting attention for my writing ("SQUEE!")! And FINALLY the plot thickens! Sorry you had to wait so long. But anyway,
enjoy and send some feedback my way so I know I'm loved. Or not loved.
And if you don't review me, I'll die. No, think about it. Without being noticed and remember, I just...fade...away...
So if you're reading this, please review! I want to know if I should keep going or what!
Come on! Satisfy my constant plead for attention! Just take two seconds to write: I like it, keep writing.
That's all I want people!
I'M A PERSON AND I'M LONELY AND DESPERATE AND...
What's that? A COOKIE! SWEET!!!!
You people out there still have to review however!
*yum*
004: Chapter 3
"It's the crying. It's always the crying that wakes me. Soft and broken, like a child's.
"Weeping in the dark.
"Then I open my eyes to a strange sight.
"A little boy and girl, drenched in shadow. Their night cloths and figures are all that give them away. They sit
in the corner of the room, behind a window curtain. Huddled together in the dark, a girl older a few years than the
whimpering child she holds. A little boy - two at most.
"There's something else about the room we're in. It's not pitch black. There are pools of moonlight on the
walls and the floor. The room's cool and smells of stale air and dust. A wind's blowing from the open window. When
the drape's lifts, I see the kids.
"But there's still something else. A mirror in the room. Cracked and dusty. But there's writing on it. A single
word.
" 'Milk.'
"Nothing else. Just 'milk.' I don't know why. It just is.
" 'What's wrong?' I eventually ask, as low and soft as I can.
" 'The monster's coming,' the little boy sobs in reply. His companion grips him tighter to her.
" 'What monster?' I ask him in the same tone.
" 'I don't know where he came from, but he's here. He's come into the house. He's looking for us.'
" 'Why's he looking for you?'
"The little boy shakes his head.
" 'I don't know. He's chased us all over the house. But we've been hiding in here. This room's hard to find. The
monster doesn't know we're here. I just hope he doesn't find us.'
"I look around the room. Dusty, old, unvisited for many years.
I hear a sharp gasp from the boy.
" 'He's coming! The monster's coming!' the little boy whispers in frightened urgency.
"And that's where I hear it. Low, slow, dragging.
"Footsteps. Below us. With every step, the sound becomes louder.
"Moving up stairs.
" 'Hide!' the little boy whispers hoarsely.
"I look around. There's a drape behind me. One long enough to hide behind. I slip into it, careful to cover
myself fully - feet and all.
"Minutes pass. The little boy whimpers, quieted every now and again by the soft pleadings of his friend. The
movement on the stairs climbs up to us. A door creaks open, and the footsteps are on the same wood floor. You can
actually feel the ground under you quake with the weight of the steps.
"There's a long, shuddering breath. It's sniffing around the room. Smelling us out. I put my hand over my mouth
and back up against a wall as quietly as I can.
"The steps are becoming louder and louder. They're coming over to me. I hear the breath and feel the great
warmth of it's body. I see it's clawed hand as it reaches around the curtain."
"And that's where you wake up?"
"Yeah," I replied. "I never get to see the monster."
"Interesting dream, Quatre." Nadia told me with a quick nod. Nadia Winner - reknowned psychologist and my
older sister.
"Has the word 'milk' ever had any significance before you had this dream?" she asks.
"Not really. But see, that's what puzzles me. I just can't figure it out. No matter how the dream changes, 'milk'
is always on the mirror."
"The dream changes?"
"It's a recurring dream. Didn't I tell you that?"
She gave a short laugh.
"You've had a lot on your mind."
I threw out a smile for show.
"I suppose I have."
The dream came about two weeks before someone took a chance at ending my life.
I'd been asked to play a charity concert for the theater about 50 minutes from my house. Deciding to play a
short piece I'd constructed myself I'd titled "Unfinished," I'd received a standing ovation. But that was before someone
cut the lights and attempted to end my life my putting another hole in my heart.
Though the experience was excruciatingly painful, the surgeons removed most of the bullet. They did,
however, leave a fragment too small to do away with.
Metal dectectors should be a barrel of laughs now.
I couldn't help being depressed. That's what an attempt on your life does to you. I just can't figure out why
anyone had it in their heart to kill me. I hadn't made any political decisions in about two weeks - I'd been vacationing
at home. Just taking some time off my hectic life.
And just when I though peace had settled in the world, that all too familiar sound of a gun firing at me
returned and brought back memories from the war.
I've been a war veteran since age 15. What else is to be expected?
So I've been hanging around the house, mostly in my room, on doctor's orders. They want me to rest up so I
can heal.
Physically, I'm fine. It's my heart I'm worried about.
Nadia's been toying with my mind for the past few days, making me talk and discuss my thoughts and
emotions about anything that came up. That's how we got to talking about the dream.
"How long have you had this dream?" she asked.
"Two weeks, maybe longer. I never really thought too much about it the first time I had it."
That's another thing. I dream almost every night, and a lot of the time, I get nightmares. So it's never really
that unusual that I get one about monster's chasing me. This one just seemed so strange because of 'milk' and the fact
that I hadn't had any other dreams since I had this one.
It's almost like it's conquered my sleeping mind.
Honestly, I think it's a little too strange.
After explaining my nightmare trouble to Nadia, she turned it back on the actual dream. Did the monster
mean anything? Did I think it was a metaphor for my uncaught assassin? Did I think it was this, did I think it was that.
After a few more minutes of batting these questions back and forth - with inconclusive answers on my part -
Nadia decided tea was over and she should go talk to her husband about staying another week.
Some of my sister's and all of the Magnacs came up for my recital. It'd be the first one I'd had since I'd taken
on my father's job.
I don't think I'll be playing publicly for a while.
Just before my sister left, she threw out one more question.
"Did you ever get father's birthday present?" she asked in a quiet tone.
"What?"
She turned in the doorway and leaned on the frame.
"Just before he died, father asked my opinion on a birthday gift he was getting for you. He'd already bought it
when he showed it to me, and I just wondered if you ever got it."
"No." I said quietly, quite bewildered.
She looked toward the ceiling.
"It might be in his room." she replied, thinking more to herself than talking to me. "I'll go up and check later.
Get some sleep, Quatre. I'll see you at dinner."
With that final statement, she shut the door. As I heard her footsteps echo down the hallway, the thought
resurfaced in my mind.
I'd left my father behind when I went to fight on Earth as a Gundam pilot. Since it was my birthday in June, I
celebrated by myself that year.
I didn't know that he bought me anything, he was so angry that I left.
Being cooped up in the same room for three days was making me restless, so I decided to disobey my doctor
and take a stroll around the house.
Walking around without any sense of direction, I just started remembering various scenes of my childhood.
One night, being woken by some nightmare, I went wandering about the house, and I looked out this huge
window on the third floor that faced the back of the house, the gardens and whatnot. It's not as big as I remember it
being (but doesn't everything seem to get smaller as you age?) but I do remember seeing something move outside the
window.
At first it was just looking back up at me, and I was still debating whether or not it was there. It just had to be
a person. I could tell by the silhouette. Then it just turned and walked deeper into the garden.
I screamed like a banshee and ran to my father's room only a few doors away. Being six or seven at the time,
I remember being convinced it was a vampire or a ghost or an alien come to steal me away from my family.
I slept with my father that night, after he calmed me down and convinced me that there was no one in the
gardens. He even got one of out night guards to check while I held on to him for dear life and sobbed until my eyes,
cheeks, and throat killed.
After the guard found nothing (and a bit of arguing between my father and I on the existence of monsters), I
managed to calm down to the point where I just dropped off into his arms.
I don't remember ever sleeping as well as I did that night.
Back in the future, I found myself staring out this window.
And then it hit me. My father's room wasn't that far away.
Even though it had been five years since his death, I still couldn't bring myself to go into his room. I did, once,
and all I felt like was that he would just come strolling in at any moment. It hadn't changed since the day he died.
But then, the idea of the present intrigued me. I wanted to know what he left behind for me. Maybe it was
some heirloom - something passed down from his father to him and now to me.
I couldn't fight my curiosity. I walked down the hallway and stood in front of the French doors that led to his
room.
I don't know how long I stood there. I just stood staring at the doors, fighting myself on whether or not to go
in. Could I handle it again? Could I handle the truth?
Could I handle the fact that he just wasn't coming back?
I had to make a decision pretty quick after I heard Rashid's familiar voice:
"Master Quatre?"
Oh, no. They've found out I'm not in my room.
Deciding I hadn't had any kind of adventure for too long a time, I opened the right door and slipped silently
into the darkness of my father's room, sliding the door shut with quick and untraceable ease.
The adrenaline quickly wore off as the eternal somberness of the room fell over and surrounded me in an
inescapable iron curtain.
Like I mentioned before, the room had been much as it was the last time he left it. The bed's made up, the
curtain's are drawn, everything's in it's place. It's all very sanitized, dark, and numb. It's supposed to be like he was never
here.
Problem was, he was.
I just can't shake the pain that'd swelled in my heart. I felt the tears spreading in my burning eyes. Memories
come back of that night when I saw the shadow. How he calmed me and told me about there not being any such
thing as a monster.
But there always had been. Right inside every human heart, one sat and waited for our weakest moments to
prevail so it could then seize control.
Monster's are just hiding behind human faces. Monster's killed my sister and father.
I slid down the back of the door and just let the tears drip out of my eyes and off my chin, my chest quaking
with each shuddering breath.
Even though I wanted companionship, I still tried hard to contain some control so I wouldn't be heard.
Especially when I heard Rashid's footsteps stop at the door, deciding whether or not to come in, I held my breath, tears
still falling off my chin.
When he finally concluded I wouldn't go into my father's room again, I heard his footsteps traveling down the
hallway.
Letting out the breath I'd been holding, a choked sob tumbled out of my throat as I pulled my knees to my
chest, wrapping my arms around my calves and resting my forehead on my knees.
I must have stayed in that position for about 10 minutes, just until my eyes dried up and I felt better.
I've always compared crying to throwing up: after you're done, you always feel better.
I wiped my eyes one the black wool sleeve of my turtleneck, trying to dry them with the fabric. After I stood
up, i just felt numb. Like none of it had ever mattered.
Apathy was giving me resolve, and I didn't dare argue.
I decided I should just look around for my gift.
The first place I decided to look was the closet. I mean, your parents always hide presents there, right?
As soon as I opened the door, I knew something was wrong with this part of the room. I'd never really been in
my father's entire room before, and I'd never been allowed in the closet, or the private bathroom while we're talking
about it. But among the hung clothing, racks of shoes, and assorted plastic boxes, something just didn't fit. I wasn't sure
just what it was, but something was definitely amiss in this room.
I didn't touch the racks of clothing, or anything else. They just hung there whispering blasphemy if my hands
even came close. So, I didn't touch anything.
But, strangely enough, the back wall was completely bare. There wasn't a thing on it. Just a narrow,
wall-papered space.
But something too was strange about that wall. In a narrow section about a foot from the end of the wall, it
looked like the pattern was just off. Like the people who put it up did a frame first, then finished it out by putting a
rectangular box in the center, meeting the floor. It almost looked like...
It almost looked like there was a door in the back wall of the closet.
My adventurous nature returned, and suddenly that wall became absolutely fascinating. The room seemed
hushed by my approach to it.
It must have been some kind of secret door, leading to a labyrinth that stretched all over the house! The only
problem was, that it wasn't very well hidden, so anyone upon entrance to the closet would know something was up.
Wait.
Secret doors? Secret rooms?
Sounded a lot like my dream.
But that made my interest only climb higher. My dream was leading me to this place.
But why?
Shoving the questions out of my mind, I returned all of my attention to that secret door in the wall and all it's
possibilities.
I first put my hands, palms down, flat on the wall. I was hoping that if I pushed one side enough, the other
would give and the door would swing open. So I applied pressure to my right hand first, hoping against hope that the
door would open.
Nothing.
So then I applied pressure to my left hand, propelling all my weight against the wall.
Again, nothing.
Ok, so maybe it was controlled by some lever.
But I didn't want to touch anything in the room.
This was truly puzzling.
"Stupid door," I muttered to myself as I leaned my back against the wall, crossing my arms.
Suddenly, the wall slipped from under my weight and I fell backwards.
The first thing I hit was sharp and not at all even. I turned to see a really old flight of wooden stairs.
The monster had sounded like it was coming up stairs!
But wait a minute. The monster! Was the monster supposed to be a warning that I shouldn't come up here?
Was I going to find the bodies of two little children cuddled up next to a window?
Wait a minute. A window? If there really was a window up there, wouldn't I have noticed from outside?
Weird.
Spurred on by all the questions about the dream and it's relevance to the secret room I'd just found, I slid the
door back into place (as all I had to do was lean my weight against it to open it), then I started up the stairs.
First off, the stairs were really, really dusty. When I stepped on them, the thick coat of dust made an imprint of
my shoe. Secondly, there had to be a window up pretty high because I could see the stairs and it was pretty late in the
afternoon.
I was definitely inside an area of the house that wasn't meant for entertaining. You could see the insulation
and wood beams of the house. There was dust and spider webs everywhere.
I must have walked up that stairwell for a good five minutes before I found anything. The stairs twisted and
curved in a few places, leading my to believe that I was headed up toward the attic. Also, I tried to be quiet so that
no one would hear me and want to investigate the noise. I mean, there could be more than one of these passages,
and someone might even know about this one and they might head up it and see who's on it and find me and then I'll
be in trouble for leaving my room (not that I wasn't) and I'll get an earful from my sisters and...
Leaving off all the 'ands,' I just kept going up the steps until I found where they left off.
It was a really small bedroom. There was an old bed with an iron frame and dusty white sheets and pillows
over on the other side of the room. There was a huge window with long, sweeping curtains on my left side with a
cushion underneath the glass where you could sit and look out. The glass on the window was really grimy, so you
naturally couldn't see anything through the panes. To my right was an old wooden dresser with an assortment of dusty
bottles with cobwebs and jewelry boxes on top of it. There were wooden boards for a floor and the ceiling was slanted
toward the window, so I was definitely up toward the roof of the house. There was a humidity in the room that was
dizzying from it being so warm and dusty, so it was rather difficult to breathe.
No one must have been in here for a really long time. Maybe even longer than after my father died. I wonder
if he ever knew about the room.
Then an old memory came back to me. An old story my nurse Gretta told me when I was 12. One about my
father's sister.
Apparently, a long, long time ago when my father was young, he had a sister named Umayma. She was
eleven years older than him. My great uncle was supposedly a drug dealer and the black sheep of the family. He was
murdered by an old partner in a drive-by, which Umayma accidentally witnessed on her way to get him. The mere
memory of that was enough to drive the fragile girl insane. Since my grandfather was too proud to see his only
daughter be locked away in an institution, he had a room built inside the house where she could live in secluded
peace. But one day, Umayma said she saw an angel beckoning for her to fly with him, and in attempt to join the angel, she fell to her death from a room high up in the house.
Could this be Umayma's bedroom? It looked like it was made for only one person.
That humid mist that had been choking me ever since I started my ascent. The air seemed to get thicker the
higher I got. And with the wound in my chest, I couldn't take very deep breaths without risking a great deal of pain.
I started to feel light-headed and faint as the room slowly began to blur.
The last thing I remember is grabbing a cloth on the dresser as I feel to the floor, taking whatever was on the
cloth down with me.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I woke in the same place, but I wasn't alone.
A woman and a man were sitting on the cushion under the window, while a second man seemed to be
pacing around the room in great agitation. The room seemed newer, not so dusty and old.
That description alone took me a few minutes to realize, because the way I was seeing everything was like a
picture being blurred by water: it was unfocused.
They seemed to be arguing as well - but to me all sound was muted for some reason. The woman rarely said
anything, but the man pacing on the floor seemed to be spitting venom at the other man, who appeared perfectly
calm, replying with a straight face.
I caught slivers of the conversation here and there.
"...you know you're being selfish and stupid, so I don't see why you're being so stubborn."
"I'd rather die than give...Aaren..."
"Honestly, you act like...done you the greater harm."
"HE HAS!"
The last bit of the conversation was screamed, and blasted into my ears like the whistle of a steam engine. At
the same time, the pacing man kicked over the dresser, making the woman jump slightly. The man sitting next to her
remained perfectly still. The angry man sat on the floor, next to the toppled dresser, his legs curled up against his chest.
"...You know what's best. Think of..."
"I hate this. I fucking hate this."
At this point the man on the seat stood and hit the other man so hard he fell over. The fallen man looked up
at his assailant, shocked.
The man that hit him said something I didn't quite catch.
"Please..." I heard the woman say. The first time she spoke, the picture seemed to clear. She was really pretty.
She had long blonde hair and a flowing white dress.
After her mouth stopped moving, the picture went back to being blurry.
There was a long pause that must have lasted, god, twenty minutes. I'm not kidding. One man was standing,
the other was still sprawled on the floor. The woman just sat, her head tilted toward the floor.
And then, finally:
"All right."
The tension seemed to be smashed out of the room like his short sentence was in itself a hammer. The woman
let out a deep breath, while the man who remained standing didn't really change at all.
"Thank you." I heard one of them say, most likely the woman, just before everything faded to an impenetrable
darkness.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
When I woke up, I was lying on my arm, so that remained sore for pretty much the rest of the day.
I only seemed to be out for a few minutes, maybe an hour at most. The light coming through the window
was more slanted, but I'd left relatively late in the afternoon anyway.
I shook my head first, because my mind was a little muddled. It was then that I started to make some of the
connections.
The room in my dream and the room I was in were exactly the same, except for the dresser being upright and
time getting to the room I was in.
It was almost like the room was conveying one of it's memories to me.
Deciding to investigate, I made my way quietly over to the dresser.
Looking at the contents on top of it, I saw much of what I saw before: Bottles and boxes.
But there was something interesting on that dresser as well. A small clock in the very middle, covered in dust
and cobwebs, and surprisingly still ticking.
I leaned in to look at the clock face and read that it was almost seven.
Oh, no!
I remember I agreed to meet a detective just now, and here I was, investigating secret rooms and covered in
dust.
In my rush, I accidentally hit the dresser. Spinning around to see if there was any damage being done, I
watched as the piece of furniture wobbled and a small wooden box fell off and smashed onto the floor, opening the
lid.
Deciding I'd come back later tonight, I left the box and hurried as quietly as I could back to the entrance.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I got a lucky break. Nobody saw me sneak back to my room, so I didn't get in any trouble. I brushed out my
hair, washed my face and hands, and then changed my shirt and pants, being wary of my injury.
In fact, I actually stopped to look at it in the mirror.
The white bandage was secured over my heart with medical tape. It just felt so surreal looking at it.
My entire life could have ended in that one second. It scared me.
I heard the door open as I just finished pulling my shirt over my head.
It was Nadia.
"Quatre!" she yelled as she entered the room, "Where have you been?"
"Out walking around."
Another stroke of luck: I'd already placed my dirty cloths in the hamper.
"You know you shouldn't!" she replied, quite exasperated. "But I'll save my rantings for later. Detective Kelley is
in the study on the first floor."
"I'm coming," I told her as I laced up my shoes.
Down in the study, an older looking man stood and smiled at me upon my entrance.
"Mister Winner, you're looking well. How're you healing up?"
"Better than the doctor's expected," I told him as I shook his hand.
"I'm Detective Andrew Kelley, by the way," he said. He had light brown hair that was thinning back and
friendly, dark brown eyes.
"It's nice to meet you," I motioned for him to have a seat in an armchair across from mine, a coffee table
separating us.
"So shall we get right to it then?" he asked.
I nodded quickly.
"First of all, did you notice anything strange? See anyone in that balcony?"
"No, I can't say I did. A CLE investigator told me that balcony had been reserved for the woman who put
together the concert."
"That's right. No one we asked said they saw anyone up there, and security didn't see anyone acting
suspicious or anyone even near the entrance. It was really odd."
He picked up an old leather briefcase from the floor and picked out a manila folder.
"At first we thought it was two people, but then we found a mechanism attached to the main power switch
that could have been controlled by a remote, so it could have been one person after all. It's just so odd that no one
was seen, but the shot was heard - it just doesn't seem to fit in this day and age. It almost seems like it was a ghost!"
I chuckled.
"Mr. Winner, do you have any enemies who might do this that you know of?"
"I've been vacationing for some times, so I haven't really done anything too political, but I suppose there's
always the possibility that there someone. But I don't think I know of anyone who would want to kill me right now."
"It seems terroristic, but there's no trace. So it might have been an assassin working for someone else."
My thoughts then turned to Heero. He or Trowa could have pulled off a job like that, but why...
Shaking the dark thoughts of my comrades trying to murder me, I returned my attention to the detective.
He was suddenly quiet, busy studying the folder he held. Then he looked back up at me.
"Did you here anything about the big fire in France a while ago?"
"No, not really."
"Every government department was under strict orders not to discuss any detail of that fire, but I've been
given permission by the Earth Sphere United Nation to let you in on what's going on.
"Have you ever heard of an organization called the Baccalights [1]?"
"Can't say that I have."
"There a cult that started up in Russia, about sixteen years ago. Begun by a man named Akuma Jalh. Ever
heard of him?"
I shook my head. He looked even more tired and old.
"Akuma Jalh is the king of Aasyl."
"Oh! And Csi Jalh's the queen."
He sighed.
"Right. Akuma gave up his throne to his wife shortly after he was coroneted - two or three years after, I think. I
don't know why he did it - Aasyl's the richest kingdom in the entire Earth Sphere.
"Anyway, he committed himself to an asylum up in Russia a few months after his daughter died in a car
accident - about 16 years ago. There, he was diagnosed as having a split personality disorder, as well as some other, er,
problems. On one side, he was completely rational, charming - a real nice guy to have around if you're looking for
something to do. Quite a gentleman, I've heard. On the other side, completely unpredictable. He's been known to kill
men, women, -"
The detective took a deep breath.
"- children, infants in all sorts of torturous manners. Most are found crucified to trees. The government's been
keeping it quiet for a long time because they never knew who was responsible, and they could never catch him. Then
Akuma committed himself, and in doing so, incriminated himself. He had a manuscript which he called "The Little Black
Book." It was full of information on every single person he killed, from the very first, to the very last. It turns out, he'd go
to confession every time he murdered someone, and a priest began this book to relieve himself of some of the guilt. The
priest suicided some years after. Akuma obtained the book and continued to write in it. The doctor's at the asylum
looked through the book, but were unable to study it extensively as Akuma took it with him when he escaped the
asylum after staying only a week."
He paused to let me digest all this information, which I was having some difficulty in doing.
"Anyway, that's the longest Akuma's ever been in captivity - one week. Now you know why the government's
been wary of releasing information about all of this: they're afraid it will cause a huge panic.
"But that's not the worst part. The cult I was talking about before, the Baccalights? Akuma started that soon
after he escaped from the hospital. He made people this promise: he'd give them whatever it was in his power to give
as long as they were completely loyal to him."
I know my face was completely unreadable.
"He was building an army..."
"Something like that. All they had to do was pledge their undying loyalty and receive a mark on their right
arm. The number 969 was first burned than tattooed into their skin with an indestructible ink, so that they would never
be able to escape him. It didn't take long for people to get up and follow him. It's estimated over 50,000 people are a
part of this cult secretly. Another 75,000 are out in the open. That's 125,000 people who are under Akuma's ultimate rule.
Not to mention that he keeps people on his toes by proving his power over them. It's known that during the
get-together's the cult's secret member's have with Akuma, Akuma selects one person who's done him wrong and cuts
a mark into his or her forehead. He says a word to his crowd of followers and they literally tear the traitor limb from limb
in a chaotic frenzy. I actually have a picture here of a girl who was...marked. If you think you'd like to see it..."
I nodded slowly.
He opened a manila folder and looked a little surprised.
"I have a picture here of Akuma taken in the Russian institution 16 years ago." he said to me as he handed me
said photo.
It was a black and white, with a man sitting on a hospital-looking bed in a white shirts and pants with a
barred window above his head, sunlight streaming in. He had dark colored hair and a muscularly proportioned body.
He was throwing a ball up into the air, as the ball was directly in front of the window, the sunlight streaming all around
it, Akuma's arm up in the air.
I nodded, then handed the picture back to him.
"You sure you want to see this?" he asked again, looking straight into my eyes. I'd absorbed a lot during out
chat, and didn't know if I could indeed handle more. But let's just call it morbid curiosity that spurred me on.
The picture was indeed of a girl. She was wearing what looked like a Catholic School girl's uniform, but she
was definitely older than a teenager. You could see the mark was cut into her forehead as blood was dripping down
over her eyes and nose. The mark itself was interesting: an arrow pointing down toward the body as a circle finished
the other end of the arrow. There were claw marks and bruises all over her, and a clean slice across her throat. Her skin
was hanging off muscle in some places, and you could see a bone was sticking straight out of her elbow.
She didn't look real. She looked like a dummy that had been attacked by rabid animals.
"So what does all this have to do with the fire?" I asked, swallowing down my growing nausea and disgust as
I handed the picture back to him.
"At first we thought nothing. It was terrorism definitely, as it was a government building and all, but no one
stepped up to take responsibility. But then the ESUN [2] received a disc from Akuma - one that showed and explained
everything the Baccalights did. The air ducts were coated with gasoline, and the Baccalights had complete control of
the building. They locked everyone in and guarded the doorways. Secretary Micheal Keel was killed by Akuma, and they
recorded his murder. Every gruesome detail, every cry of mercy gone unheeded, all there on that disc.
"Something rather interesting was after Akuma killed Keel, he wrote on the walls with the blood. But it was
always the same word. 'Milk.' No one knows what it means or if really has any connection at all.
"Anyway, the disc was sent to the President's office. Akuma made one statement on the disc: He wants the
Earth Sphere United Nation to be handed over to him."
"What?" I cried.
"It's true. And he'll continue to kill politicians until his demand is met. We're at a loss at what to do. We can't
catch him, we can't tell the people that we can't catch him."
"So you think he came after me because I'm a delegate?"
"Not him personally, but that's the theory. We think it was one of the Baccalights that tried to shoot you, but
simply missed."
I felt a great surge of pain in my chest as he fell silent. I put my hand over my heart as I leaned forward.
"Mister Winner?!" I heard the detective cry as my eyes seemed to be glued together.
"If...that's all..." I began to say.
"Quatre!" I heard Nadia's voice and footsteps hurry over to me. She kneeled down next to me and put her
hands on my back.
"I'm...fine..." I said as I managed to open my eyes and look up at Nadia. "...really..."
"I'm sorry detective, but he needs rest."
"Yes, yes, I understand completely." he said as he quickly shoved the folder back into his briefcase.
The last thing I remember hearing before I fainted was Nadia asking Aasim to show detective Kelley out.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
After the doctor told Nadia and I that I just became over stressed, I got eight hours of sleep.
But when I woke up, I felt rested and energetic - which was somewhat unusual as it was 3 AM.
It was then that I remembered the attic.
Slipping out of my room and up into the attic took quite a long time as I had to dodge the graveyard shift
of guards.
But when I was finally up there, the air seemed to be a lot clearer. Maybe because it was night.
Then I noticed the box I'd toppled over earlier.
I walked over and picked it up. It was nicely carved wood - dark in color. Cherry, I think. Sadly, when I
knocked it down, the top part of the lid had come off.
No, wait. There was something in the lid. What was it? A disk...
As it was a very interesting development, I could hardly contain my enthusiasm to see what was on the disk as I snuck back down to my room.
Popping the disk into my laptop, I sat up on my bed and waited for the computer to read it.
It was a video. The beginning image was that of a beautiful woman with long, crimpt blonde hair falling
over her shoulders in a gorgeous wave. She had a flowing, white peasant dress on, tied all along the sleeves with pink
ribbons. She sat in what looked to be a greenhouse. Also, her stomach protruded in a way that lead me to believe she
was pregnant.
I hit play.
"This message..." the disc skipped. It was of course, very old.
"This message is for my son, Quatre Raberba Winner, and no one else."
She smiled.
"But even if you aren't him, you'll still watch. Quatre, you don't know who I am because your father and I
agreed it would be best if you were told you were a test tube child until you were ready to know the truth. Since you
have this disc in your possession, I hope it means your father gave it to you. If he did not, I can assume that he has since
passed and you have found the room and the hidden disc on your own. Either way, you are now ready to learn the
truth."
The disc skipped and the picture went fuzzy for a second, then quickly became once again clear.
"Quatre, my name is Quaterine Winner. I was married to your father when I was 19 years old, and I have since
spent 15 happy years with him. We have had 29 test tube children together, all of them girls. But now being 7 months
pregnant with you," she smiled again softly and touched her protruding stomach, "I have found that you will be a boy,
and your father and I have agreed on your name. Quatre Raberba Winner. If you're wondering about your middle
name, it was my maiden name.
"But I'm getting ahead of myself. You're probably wondering why, Quatre, you were born naturally, unlike your
sisters. You see, I have a rather weak constitution, and Aaren [2] and I agreed all of our children would be born from
test tubes, as the strain of having a child would most likely kill me. So, why then, am I pregnant with you?
"Quatre, your father and I were on our 15th anniversary down on earth, in Jeda. Your father had an
emergency in space and was forced to leave me.
"After he was gone, I found an old childhood friend of mine named Canaan Aeda. And yes, his father was
Arvaanel Aeda [3]. When I was sixteen, Canaan and I were to be married but...things got in the way and our
engagement had to be called off. My father arranged my marriage to Aaren and Canaan was furious. The last time I
saw Canaan was at my wedding to your father.
It was right then that I started getting a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I'd swallowed
earthworms and they were crawling around the lining of my intestines. My muscles felt prickly and my thoughts became
clouded.
"Canaan was unusually placid that night, and we simply drank and talked of many things long into the night.
He escorted me back to my room and I invited him in. And well...one thing led to another and..."
I had to pause the disc. I couldn't take it.
It wasn't true! IT COULDN'T BE TRUE! My entire life...I'd spent my whole life pretending to be someone I wasn't...
I wasn't the Winner heir.
It was just too much for me to take. I pushed the computer off my lap and cried into my arms.
I didn't want to believe it. It just didn't make sense. It couldn't be right. It had to be wrong.
But when I pushed the laptop off me, I accidentally hit the button that started the disc back up.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she began to cry as well. "When I woke the next morning, I called Aaren and told him
everything. He forgave me and came and got me. A couple of months later, I discovered I was with child, with you. I
didn't tell Aaren until I began to show. For what I did, I deserve to die! I betrayed him and placed this burden on you...I
can't begin to say how sorry I really am. I hate myself for doing what I did."
She stopped and wiped her tears on her sleeve.
"Aaren and I had been trying to have a boy for so long. You were the answer to our prayers. It took so long to
convince Canaan that it was for the best if Aaren adopted you...
"I'm sorry. But you had to know and it had to be me who told you. I'm so sorry, Quatre, for laying this on you. I
don't want you to forgive me, I just want you to understand everything.
"I've requested to be cremated, but Aaren told me he was having a statue built of me to place in the
garden.
"Quatre, above all, know that I love you. I want you to be happy, but you had a right to know all this. Please,
do not seek out Canaan. It will only bring you more trouble.
"Quatre, I love you."
It was there that the disc ended. I had long ago finished crying. I didn't want to believe it, but in my heart I
forgave her.
The statue, I knew where it was. And know I wanted to see it more than anything.
I didn't even bother putting on my shoes as I raced out my bedroom door, running to the garden.
It didn't take me long to find it. She was made in marble and had long angel wings folded against her back.
I was taking deeper and deeper breaths, and the tears were welling in my eyes.
"I HATE YOU!" I screamed, even though it was empty plea. "I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!"
I cried and screamed so long and loud that lights came on inside the house.
I fell my knees, staring up at the statue, tears streaming out of my eyes.
"i hate you." I said one last time. The statue didn't smile or frown, it simply looked on me with love in it's eyes.
I let my head drop as I cried. I felt two hands pull me to my feet and pick me up into their arms. I was just
glad to have a warm body in the cold as I curled up against whoever it was [4].
They carried me back into my room. I felt hollow and empty. I'd heard too much, discovered too much. I
wanted it all to be over. I wanted to return to before I was shot, to before I knew anything.
I wanted to lie with the dead and not know the cruelty of the living.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
When I woke in the late morning I noticed something different about the room.
"Heero?"
Heero sat in a chair beside my bed, reading a book. He looked up at me after I said his name.
"Quatre..." it was Nadia's voice as she entered my room.
I remembered all of what had happened then. For some few vital seconds, I made myself believe it was a
dream.
"You knew..." was all I could say to her.
"Yes, Quatre, I did know. But none of us were allowed to tell you. You understand why, don't you?"
I said nothing.
Nadia sighed.
"Remember, father's gift to you for your 16th birthday?" she asked as she came closer. She opened an
envelope and lay the a key on the bed.
"This key is to the box where mother's confession was. He was going to tell you, but with everything else...it
would have had a more drastic effect on you. I'm sorry, Quatre."
"Go away." I told them both quietly.
"Just go away."
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Author's Note: YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY! I'm finally done! *note to people, this took forever to write*
And I'm sorry it's so depressing! *grows sad* Quatre gets someone who really does make him happy later on (and no, it's not Dorothy or Catherine - she's dead, anyway).
[1] Baccalights - a strange spelling of people who were supposed to worship Dionysus, Greek God of Wine.
They often ripped people apart in madness, too. Weren't they special.
[2] Aaren Winner - Quatre's father. I had to make up a first name. Ya like?
[3] Arvaanel Aeda - Big time weaponry dealer; supplied most of the materials needed to create mobile suits
for the Alliance.
[4] Whoever carried Quatre in - that would be Heero. Isn't that sweet?
Wing fan in which I have laughed at, bantered, etc-d the work. For all those authors, now you have something of mine
to ridicule.
Enjoy, for now the universe is at peace.
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing, nor do I know who does. But, if I did, I'd BUY the titles so I DIDN'T HAVE TO WRITE THIS!!!
All originals characters, settings, and situations are copyrighted and owned by me, so please don't steal them!!! Thank
you ^-^
Author: A. Mused
Quote: "No matter how much I tell you, I'm still leaving something out."
Title: This 1920 NeverLand
Warnings: original characters; dream sequences; politics - both internal and external; bisexuality (yet no yaoi…is this
blasphemy? I think not); pasts of certain characters; religious imagery - beware and don't read further if you're easily
offended by things like stigmata or crucifixion (crucifixion's no just a religious image - it's part of history; if you want
to argue about it, IM/E-Mail me);
READ THIS PLEASE: If you are still uncomfortable or uneasy in any way with the September 11th attacks, I heavily
encourage you to not read this fic as it contains themes of violence and militarism, acts of terrorism, and threats of
genocide. So please don't get offended. What happened was in no way inspiration to me.
Pairings: none presently (wow. can you believe it? we could do the implied ones…lets!)
HY+RD, DM+HS, TB+OC, QRW+OC, CW+OC, CB+OC
Point of View: Quatre Raberba Winner
Author's note: I hope you people really enjoy this chapter because I had to overcome writer's block in order to finish it.
I'd like to thank everyone who are actually reading this, you have no idea how much it means to me that I'm actually
getting attention for my writing ("SQUEE!")! And FINALLY the plot thickens! Sorry you had to wait so long. But anyway,
enjoy and send some feedback my way so I know I'm loved. Or not loved.
And if you don't review me, I'll die. No, think about it. Without being noticed and remember, I just...fade...away...
So if you're reading this, please review! I want to know if I should keep going or what!
Come on! Satisfy my constant plead for attention! Just take two seconds to write: I like it, keep writing.
That's all I want people!
I'M A PERSON AND I'M LONELY AND DESPERATE AND...
What's that? A COOKIE! SWEET!!!!
You people out there still have to review however!
*yum*
004: Chapter 3
"It's the crying. It's always the crying that wakes me. Soft and broken, like a child's.
"Weeping in the dark.
"Then I open my eyes to a strange sight.
"A little boy and girl, drenched in shadow. Their night cloths and figures are all that give them away. They sit
in the corner of the room, behind a window curtain. Huddled together in the dark, a girl older a few years than the
whimpering child she holds. A little boy - two at most.
"There's something else about the room we're in. It's not pitch black. There are pools of moonlight on the
walls and the floor. The room's cool and smells of stale air and dust. A wind's blowing from the open window. When
the drape's lifts, I see the kids.
"But there's still something else. A mirror in the room. Cracked and dusty. But there's writing on it. A single
word.
" 'Milk.'
"Nothing else. Just 'milk.' I don't know why. It just is.
" 'What's wrong?' I eventually ask, as low and soft as I can.
" 'The monster's coming,' the little boy sobs in reply. His companion grips him tighter to her.
" 'What monster?' I ask him in the same tone.
" 'I don't know where he came from, but he's here. He's come into the house. He's looking for us.'
" 'Why's he looking for you?'
"The little boy shakes his head.
" 'I don't know. He's chased us all over the house. But we've been hiding in here. This room's hard to find. The
monster doesn't know we're here. I just hope he doesn't find us.'
"I look around the room. Dusty, old, unvisited for many years.
I hear a sharp gasp from the boy.
" 'He's coming! The monster's coming!' the little boy whispers in frightened urgency.
"And that's where I hear it. Low, slow, dragging.
"Footsteps. Below us. With every step, the sound becomes louder.
"Moving up stairs.
" 'Hide!' the little boy whispers hoarsely.
"I look around. There's a drape behind me. One long enough to hide behind. I slip into it, careful to cover
myself fully - feet and all.
"Minutes pass. The little boy whimpers, quieted every now and again by the soft pleadings of his friend. The
movement on the stairs climbs up to us. A door creaks open, and the footsteps are on the same wood floor. You can
actually feel the ground under you quake with the weight of the steps.
"There's a long, shuddering breath. It's sniffing around the room. Smelling us out. I put my hand over my mouth
and back up against a wall as quietly as I can.
"The steps are becoming louder and louder. They're coming over to me. I hear the breath and feel the great
warmth of it's body. I see it's clawed hand as it reaches around the curtain."
"And that's where you wake up?"
"Yeah," I replied. "I never get to see the monster."
"Interesting dream, Quatre." Nadia told me with a quick nod. Nadia Winner - reknowned psychologist and my
older sister.
"Has the word 'milk' ever had any significance before you had this dream?" she asks.
"Not really. But see, that's what puzzles me. I just can't figure it out. No matter how the dream changes, 'milk'
is always on the mirror."
"The dream changes?"
"It's a recurring dream. Didn't I tell you that?"
She gave a short laugh.
"You've had a lot on your mind."
I threw out a smile for show.
"I suppose I have."
The dream came about two weeks before someone took a chance at ending my life.
I'd been asked to play a charity concert for the theater about 50 minutes from my house. Deciding to play a
short piece I'd constructed myself I'd titled "Unfinished," I'd received a standing ovation. But that was before someone
cut the lights and attempted to end my life my putting another hole in my heart.
Though the experience was excruciatingly painful, the surgeons removed most of the bullet. They did,
however, leave a fragment too small to do away with.
Metal dectectors should be a barrel of laughs now.
I couldn't help being depressed. That's what an attempt on your life does to you. I just can't figure out why
anyone had it in their heart to kill me. I hadn't made any political decisions in about two weeks - I'd been vacationing
at home. Just taking some time off my hectic life.
And just when I though peace had settled in the world, that all too familiar sound of a gun firing at me
returned and brought back memories from the war.
I've been a war veteran since age 15. What else is to be expected?
So I've been hanging around the house, mostly in my room, on doctor's orders. They want me to rest up so I
can heal.
Physically, I'm fine. It's my heart I'm worried about.
Nadia's been toying with my mind for the past few days, making me talk and discuss my thoughts and
emotions about anything that came up. That's how we got to talking about the dream.
"How long have you had this dream?" she asked.
"Two weeks, maybe longer. I never really thought too much about it the first time I had it."
That's another thing. I dream almost every night, and a lot of the time, I get nightmares. So it's never really
that unusual that I get one about monster's chasing me. This one just seemed so strange because of 'milk' and the fact
that I hadn't had any other dreams since I had this one.
It's almost like it's conquered my sleeping mind.
Honestly, I think it's a little too strange.
After explaining my nightmare trouble to Nadia, she turned it back on the actual dream. Did the monster
mean anything? Did I think it was a metaphor for my uncaught assassin? Did I think it was this, did I think it was that.
After a few more minutes of batting these questions back and forth - with inconclusive answers on my part -
Nadia decided tea was over and she should go talk to her husband about staying another week.
Some of my sister's and all of the Magnacs came up for my recital. It'd be the first one I'd had since I'd taken
on my father's job.
I don't think I'll be playing publicly for a while.
Just before my sister left, she threw out one more question.
"Did you ever get father's birthday present?" she asked in a quiet tone.
"What?"
She turned in the doorway and leaned on the frame.
"Just before he died, father asked my opinion on a birthday gift he was getting for you. He'd already bought it
when he showed it to me, and I just wondered if you ever got it."
"No." I said quietly, quite bewildered.
She looked toward the ceiling.
"It might be in his room." she replied, thinking more to herself than talking to me. "I'll go up and check later.
Get some sleep, Quatre. I'll see you at dinner."
With that final statement, she shut the door. As I heard her footsteps echo down the hallway, the thought
resurfaced in my mind.
I'd left my father behind when I went to fight on Earth as a Gundam pilot. Since it was my birthday in June, I
celebrated by myself that year.
I didn't know that he bought me anything, he was so angry that I left.
Being cooped up in the same room for three days was making me restless, so I decided to disobey my doctor
and take a stroll around the house.
Walking around without any sense of direction, I just started remembering various scenes of my childhood.
One night, being woken by some nightmare, I went wandering about the house, and I looked out this huge
window on the third floor that faced the back of the house, the gardens and whatnot. It's not as big as I remember it
being (but doesn't everything seem to get smaller as you age?) but I do remember seeing something move outside the
window.
At first it was just looking back up at me, and I was still debating whether or not it was there. It just had to be
a person. I could tell by the silhouette. Then it just turned and walked deeper into the garden.
I screamed like a banshee and ran to my father's room only a few doors away. Being six or seven at the time,
I remember being convinced it was a vampire or a ghost or an alien come to steal me away from my family.
I slept with my father that night, after he calmed me down and convinced me that there was no one in the
gardens. He even got one of out night guards to check while I held on to him for dear life and sobbed until my eyes,
cheeks, and throat killed.
After the guard found nothing (and a bit of arguing between my father and I on the existence of monsters), I
managed to calm down to the point where I just dropped off into his arms.
I don't remember ever sleeping as well as I did that night.
Back in the future, I found myself staring out this window.
And then it hit me. My father's room wasn't that far away.
Even though it had been five years since his death, I still couldn't bring myself to go into his room. I did, once,
and all I felt like was that he would just come strolling in at any moment. It hadn't changed since the day he died.
But then, the idea of the present intrigued me. I wanted to know what he left behind for me. Maybe it was
some heirloom - something passed down from his father to him and now to me.
I couldn't fight my curiosity. I walked down the hallway and stood in front of the French doors that led to his
room.
I don't know how long I stood there. I just stood staring at the doors, fighting myself on whether or not to go
in. Could I handle it again? Could I handle the truth?
Could I handle the fact that he just wasn't coming back?
I had to make a decision pretty quick after I heard Rashid's familiar voice:
"Master Quatre?"
Oh, no. They've found out I'm not in my room.
Deciding I hadn't had any kind of adventure for too long a time, I opened the right door and slipped silently
into the darkness of my father's room, sliding the door shut with quick and untraceable ease.
The adrenaline quickly wore off as the eternal somberness of the room fell over and surrounded me in an
inescapable iron curtain.
Like I mentioned before, the room had been much as it was the last time he left it. The bed's made up, the
curtain's are drawn, everything's in it's place. It's all very sanitized, dark, and numb. It's supposed to be like he was never
here.
Problem was, he was.
I just can't shake the pain that'd swelled in my heart. I felt the tears spreading in my burning eyes. Memories
come back of that night when I saw the shadow. How he calmed me and told me about there not being any such
thing as a monster.
But there always had been. Right inside every human heart, one sat and waited for our weakest moments to
prevail so it could then seize control.
Monster's are just hiding behind human faces. Monster's killed my sister and father.
I slid down the back of the door and just let the tears drip out of my eyes and off my chin, my chest quaking
with each shuddering breath.
Even though I wanted companionship, I still tried hard to contain some control so I wouldn't be heard.
Especially when I heard Rashid's footsteps stop at the door, deciding whether or not to come in, I held my breath, tears
still falling off my chin.
When he finally concluded I wouldn't go into my father's room again, I heard his footsteps traveling down the
hallway.
Letting out the breath I'd been holding, a choked sob tumbled out of my throat as I pulled my knees to my
chest, wrapping my arms around my calves and resting my forehead on my knees.
I must have stayed in that position for about 10 minutes, just until my eyes dried up and I felt better.
I've always compared crying to throwing up: after you're done, you always feel better.
I wiped my eyes one the black wool sleeve of my turtleneck, trying to dry them with the fabric. After I stood
up, i just felt numb. Like none of it had ever mattered.
Apathy was giving me resolve, and I didn't dare argue.
I decided I should just look around for my gift.
The first place I decided to look was the closet. I mean, your parents always hide presents there, right?
As soon as I opened the door, I knew something was wrong with this part of the room. I'd never really been in
my father's entire room before, and I'd never been allowed in the closet, or the private bathroom while we're talking
about it. But among the hung clothing, racks of shoes, and assorted plastic boxes, something just didn't fit. I wasn't sure
just what it was, but something was definitely amiss in this room.
I didn't touch the racks of clothing, or anything else. They just hung there whispering blasphemy if my hands
even came close. So, I didn't touch anything.
But, strangely enough, the back wall was completely bare. There wasn't a thing on it. Just a narrow,
wall-papered space.
But something too was strange about that wall. In a narrow section about a foot from the end of the wall, it
looked like the pattern was just off. Like the people who put it up did a frame first, then finished it out by putting a
rectangular box in the center, meeting the floor. It almost looked like...
It almost looked like there was a door in the back wall of the closet.
My adventurous nature returned, and suddenly that wall became absolutely fascinating. The room seemed
hushed by my approach to it.
It must have been some kind of secret door, leading to a labyrinth that stretched all over the house! The only
problem was, that it wasn't very well hidden, so anyone upon entrance to the closet would know something was up.
Wait.
Secret doors? Secret rooms?
Sounded a lot like my dream.
But that made my interest only climb higher. My dream was leading me to this place.
But why?
Shoving the questions out of my mind, I returned all of my attention to that secret door in the wall and all it's
possibilities.
I first put my hands, palms down, flat on the wall. I was hoping that if I pushed one side enough, the other
would give and the door would swing open. So I applied pressure to my right hand first, hoping against hope that the
door would open.
Nothing.
So then I applied pressure to my left hand, propelling all my weight against the wall.
Again, nothing.
Ok, so maybe it was controlled by some lever.
But I didn't want to touch anything in the room.
This was truly puzzling.
"Stupid door," I muttered to myself as I leaned my back against the wall, crossing my arms.
Suddenly, the wall slipped from under my weight and I fell backwards.
The first thing I hit was sharp and not at all even. I turned to see a really old flight of wooden stairs.
The monster had sounded like it was coming up stairs!
But wait a minute. The monster! Was the monster supposed to be a warning that I shouldn't come up here?
Was I going to find the bodies of two little children cuddled up next to a window?
Wait a minute. A window? If there really was a window up there, wouldn't I have noticed from outside?
Weird.
Spurred on by all the questions about the dream and it's relevance to the secret room I'd just found, I slid the
door back into place (as all I had to do was lean my weight against it to open it), then I started up the stairs.
First off, the stairs were really, really dusty. When I stepped on them, the thick coat of dust made an imprint of
my shoe. Secondly, there had to be a window up pretty high because I could see the stairs and it was pretty late in the
afternoon.
I was definitely inside an area of the house that wasn't meant for entertaining. You could see the insulation
and wood beams of the house. There was dust and spider webs everywhere.
I must have walked up that stairwell for a good five minutes before I found anything. The stairs twisted and
curved in a few places, leading my to believe that I was headed up toward the attic. Also, I tried to be quiet so that
no one would hear me and want to investigate the noise. I mean, there could be more than one of these passages,
and someone might even know about this one and they might head up it and see who's on it and find me and then I'll
be in trouble for leaving my room (not that I wasn't) and I'll get an earful from my sisters and...
Leaving off all the 'ands,' I just kept going up the steps until I found where they left off.
It was a really small bedroom. There was an old bed with an iron frame and dusty white sheets and pillows
over on the other side of the room. There was a huge window with long, sweeping curtains on my left side with a
cushion underneath the glass where you could sit and look out. The glass on the window was really grimy, so you
naturally couldn't see anything through the panes. To my right was an old wooden dresser with an assortment of dusty
bottles with cobwebs and jewelry boxes on top of it. There were wooden boards for a floor and the ceiling was slanted
toward the window, so I was definitely up toward the roof of the house. There was a humidity in the room that was
dizzying from it being so warm and dusty, so it was rather difficult to breathe.
No one must have been in here for a really long time. Maybe even longer than after my father died. I wonder
if he ever knew about the room.
Then an old memory came back to me. An old story my nurse Gretta told me when I was 12. One about my
father's sister.
Apparently, a long, long time ago when my father was young, he had a sister named Umayma. She was
eleven years older than him. My great uncle was supposedly a drug dealer and the black sheep of the family. He was
murdered by an old partner in a drive-by, which Umayma accidentally witnessed on her way to get him. The mere
memory of that was enough to drive the fragile girl insane. Since my grandfather was too proud to see his only
daughter be locked away in an institution, he had a room built inside the house where she could live in secluded
peace. But one day, Umayma said she saw an angel beckoning for her to fly with him, and in attempt to join the angel, she fell to her death from a room high up in the house.
Could this be Umayma's bedroom? It looked like it was made for only one person.
That humid mist that had been choking me ever since I started my ascent. The air seemed to get thicker the
higher I got. And with the wound in my chest, I couldn't take very deep breaths without risking a great deal of pain.
I started to feel light-headed and faint as the room slowly began to blur.
The last thing I remember is grabbing a cloth on the dresser as I feel to the floor, taking whatever was on the
cloth down with me.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I woke in the same place, but I wasn't alone.
A woman and a man were sitting on the cushion under the window, while a second man seemed to be
pacing around the room in great agitation. The room seemed newer, not so dusty and old.
That description alone took me a few minutes to realize, because the way I was seeing everything was like a
picture being blurred by water: it was unfocused.
They seemed to be arguing as well - but to me all sound was muted for some reason. The woman rarely said
anything, but the man pacing on the floor seemed to be spitting venom at the other man, who appeared perfectly
calm, replying with a straight face.
I caught slivers of the conversation here and there.
"...you know you're being selfish and stupid, so I don't see why you're being so stubborn."
"I'd rather die than give...Aaren..."
"Honestly, you act like...done you the greater harm."
"HE HAS!"
The last bit of the conversation was screamed, and blasted into my ears like the whistle of a steam engine. At
the same time, the pacing man kicked over the dresser, making the woman jump slightly. The man sitting next to her
remained perfectly still. The angry man sat on the floor, next to the toppled dresser, his legs curled up against his chest.
"...You know what's best. Think of..."
"I hate this. I fucking hate this."
At this point the man on the seat stood and hit the other man so hard he fell over. The fallen man looked up
at his assailant, shocked.
The man that hit him said something I didn't quite catch.
"Please..." I heard the woman say. The first time she spoke, the picture seemed to clear. She was really pretty.
She had long blonde hair and a flowing white dress.
After her mouth stopped moving, the picture went back to being blurry.
There was a long pause that must have lasted, god, twenty minutes. I'm not kidding. One man was standing,
the other was still sprawled on the floor. The woman just sat, her head tilted toward the floor.
And then, finally:
"All right."
The tension seemed to be smashed out of the room like his short sentence was in itself a hammer. The woman
let out a deep breath, while the man who remained standing didn't really change at all.
"Thank you." I heard one of them say, most likely the woman, just before everything faded to an impenetrable
darkness.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
When I woke up, I was lying on my arm, so that remained sore for pretty much the rest of the day.
I only seemed to be out for a few minutes, maybe an hour at most. The light coming through the window
was more slanted, but I'd left relatively late in the afternoon anyway.
I shook my head first, because my mind was a little muddled. It was then that I started to make some of the
connections.
The room in my dream and the room I was in were exactly the same, except for the dresser being upright and
time getting to the room I was in.
It was almost like the room was conveying one of it's memories to me.
Deciding to investigate, I made my way quietly over to the dresser.
Looking at the contents on top of it, I saw much of what I saw before: Bottles and boxes.
But there was something interesting on that dresser as well. A small clock in the very middle, covered in dust
and cobwebs, and surprisingly still ticking.
I leaned in to look at the clock face and read that it was almost seven.
Oh, no!
I remember I agreed to meet a detective just now, and here I was, investigating secret rooms and covered in
dust.
In my rush, I accidentally hit the dresser. Spinning around to see if there was any damage being done, I
watched as the piece of furniture wobbled and a small wooden box fell off and smashed onto the floor, opening the
lid.
Deciding I'd come back later tonight, I left the box and hurried as quietly as I could back to the entrance.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I got a lucky break. Nobody saw me sneak back to my room, so I didn't get in any trouble. I brushed out my
hair, washed my face and hands, and then changed my shirt and pants, being wary of my injury.
In fact, I actually stopped to look at it in the mirror.
The white bandage was secured over my heart with medical tape. It just felt so surreal looking at it.
My entire life could have ended in that one second. It scared me.
I heard the door open as I just finished pulling my shirt over my head.
It was Nadia.
"Quatre!" she yelled as she entered the room, "Where have you been?"
"Out walking around."
Another stroke of luck: I'd already placed my dirty cloths in the hamper.
"You know you shouldn't!" she replied, quite exasperated. "But I'll save my rantings for later. Detective Kelley is
in the study on the first floor."
"I'm coming," I told her as I laced up my shoes.
Down in the study, an older looking man stood and smiled at me upon my entrance.
"Mister Winner, you're looking well. How're you healing up?"
"Better than the doctor's expected," I told him as I shook his hand.
"I'm Detective Andrew Kelley, by the way," he said. He had light brown hair that was thinning back and
friendly, dark brown eyes.
"It's nice to meet you," I motioned for him to have a seat in an armchair across from mine, a coffee table
separating us.
"So shall we get right to it then?" he asked.
I nodded quickly.
"First of all, did you notice anything strange? See anyone in that balcony?"
"No, I can't say I did. A CLE investigator told me that balcony had been reserved for the woman who put
together the concert."
"That's right. No one we asked said they saw anyone up there, and security didn't see anyone acting
suspicious or anyone even near the entrance. It was really odd."
He picked up an old leather briefcase from the floor and picked out a manila folder.
"At first we thought it was two people, but then we found a mechanism attached to the main power switch
that could have been controlled by a remote, so it could have been one person after all. It's just so odd that no one
was seen, but the shot was heard - it just doesn't seem to fit in this day and age. It almost seems like it was a ghost!"
I chuckled.
"Mr. Winner, do you have any enemies who might do this that you know of?"
"I've been vacationing for some times, so I haven't really done anything too political, but I suppose there's
always the possibility that there someone. But I don't think I know of anyone who would want to kill me right now."
"It seems terroristic, but there's no trace. So it might have been an assassin working for someone else."
My thoughts then turned to Heero. He or Trowa could have pulled off a job like that, but why...
Shaking the dark thoughts of my comrades trying to murder me, I returned my attention to the detective.
He was suddenly quiet, busy studying the folder he held. Then he looked back up at me.
"Did you here anything about the big fire in France a while ago?"
"No, not really."
"Every government department was under strict orders not to discuss any detail of that fire, but I've been
given permission by the Earth Sphere United Nation to let you in on what's going on.
"Have you ever heard of an organization called the Baccalights [1]?"
"Can't say that I have."
"There a cult that started up in Russia, about sixteen years ago. Begun by a man named Akuma Jalh. Ever
heard of him?"
I shook my head. He looked even more tired and old.
"Akuma Jalh is the king of Aasyl."
"Oh! And Csi Jalh's the queen."
He sighed.
"Right. Akuma gave up his throne to his wife shortly after he was coroneted - two or three years after, I think. I
don't know why he did it - Aasyl's the richest kingdom in the entire Earth Sphere.
"Anyway, he committed himself to an asylum up in Russia a few months after his daughter died in a car
accident - about 16 years ago. There, he was diagnosed as having a split personality disorder, as well as some other, er,
problems. On one side, he was completely rational, charming - a real nice guy to have around if you're looking for
something to do. Quite a gentleman, I've heard. On the other side, completely unpredictable. He's been known to kill
men, women, -"
The detective took a deep breath.
"- children, infants in all sorts of torturous manners. Most are found crucified to trees. The government's been
keeping it quiet for a long time because they never knew who was responsible, and they could never catch him. Then
Akuma committed himself, and in doing so, incriminated himself. He had a manuscript which he called "The Little Black
Book." It was full of information on every single person he killed, from the very first, to the very last. It turns out, he'd go
to confession every time he murdered someone, and a priest began this book to relieve himself of some of the guilt. The
priest suicided some years after. Akuma obtained the book and continued to write in it. The doctor's at the asylum
looked through the book, but were unable to study it extensively as Akuma took it with him when he escaped the
asylum after staying only a week."
He paused to let me digest all this information, which I was having some difficulty in doing.
"Anyway, that's the longest Akuma's ever been in captivity - one week. Now you know why the government's
been wary of releasing information about all of this: they're afraid it will cause a huge panic.
"But that's not the worst part. The cult I was talking about before, the Baccalights? Akuma started that soon
after he escaped from the hospital. He made people this promise: he'd give them whatever it was in his power to give
as long as they were completely loyal to him."
I know my face was completely unreadable.
"He was building an army..."
"Something like that. All they had to do was pledge their undying loyalty and receive a mark on their right
arm. The number 969 was first burned than tattooed into their skin with an indestructible ink, so that they would never
be able to escape him. It didn't take long for people to get up and follow him. It's estimated over 50,000 people are a
part of this cult secretly. Another 75,000 are out in the open. That's 125,000 people who are under Akuma's ultimate rule.
Not to mention that he keeps people on his toes by proving his power over them. It's known that during the
get-together's the cult's secret member's have with Akuma, Akuma selects one person who's done him wrong and cuts
a mark into his or her forehead. He says a word to his crowd of followers and they literally tear the traitor limb from limb
in a chaotic frenzy. I actually have a picture here of a girl who was...marked. If you think you'd like to see it..."
I nodded slowly.
He opened a manila folder and looked a little surprised.
"I have a picture here of Akuma taken in the Russian institution 16 years ago." he said to me as he handed me
said photo.
It was a black and white, with a man sitting on a hospital-looking bed in a white shirts and pants with a
barred window above his head, sunlight streaming in. He had dark colored hair and a muscularly proportioned body.
He was throwing a ball up into the air, as the ball was directly in front of the window, the sunlight streaming all around
it, Akuma's arm up in the air.
I nodded, then handed the picture back to him.
"You sure you want to see this?" he asked again, looking straight into my eyes. I'd absorbed a lot during out
chat, and didn't know if I could indeed handle more. But let's just call it morbid curiosity that spurred me on.
The picture was indeed of a girl. She was wearing what looked like a Catholic School girl's uniform, but she
was definitely older than a teenager. You could see the mark was cut into her forehead as blood was dripping down
over her eyes and nose. The mark itself was interesting: an arrow pointing down toward the body as a circle finished
the other end of the arrow. There were claw marks and bruises all over her, and a clean slice across her throat. Her skin
was hanging off muscle in some places, and you could see a bone was sticking straight out of her elbow.
She didn't look real. She looked like a dummy that had been attacked by rabid animals.
"So what does all this have to do with the fire?" I asked, swallowing down my growing nausea and disgust as
I handed the picture back to him.
"At first we thought nothing. It was terrorism definitely, as it was a government building and all, but no one
stepped up to take responsibility. But then the ESUN [2] received a disc from Akuma - one that showed and explained
everything the Baccalights did. The air ducts were coated with gasoline, and the Baccalights had complete control of
the building. They locked everyone in and guarded the doorways. Secretary Micheal Keel was killed by Akuma, and they
recorded his murder. Every gruesome detail, every cry of mercy gone unheeded, all there on that disc.
"Something rather interesting was after Akuma killed Keel, he wrote on the walls with the blood. But it was
always the same word. 'Milk.' No one knows what it means or if really has any connection at all.
"Anyway, the disc was sent to the President's office. Akuma made one statement on the disc: He wants the
Earth Sphere United Nation to be handed over to him."
"What?" I cried.
"It's true. And he'll continue to kill politicians until his demand is met. We're at a loss at what to do. We can't
catch him, we can't tell the people that we can't catch him."
"So you think he came after me because I'm a delegate?"
"Not him personally, but that's the theory. We think it was one of the Baccalights that tried to shoot you, but
simply missed."
I felt a great surge of pain in my chest as he fell silent. I put my hand over my heart as I leaned forward.
"Mister Winner?!" I heard the detective cry as my eyes seemed to be glued together.
"If...that's all..." I began to say.
"Quatre!" I heard Nadia's voice and footsteps hurry over to me. She kneeled down next to me and put her
hands on my back.
"I'm...fine..." I said as I managed to open my eyes and look up at Nadia. "...really..."
"I'm sorry detective, but he needs rest."
"Yes, yes, I understand completely." he said as he quickly shoved the folder back into his briefcase.
The last thing I remember hearing before I fainted was Nadia asking Aasim to show detective Kelley out.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
After the doctor told Nadia and I that I just became over stressed, I got eight hours of sleep.
But when I woke up, I felt rested and energetic - which was somewhat unusual as it was 3 AM.
It was then that I remembered the attic.
Slipping out of my room and up into the attic took quite a long time as I had to dodge the graveyard shift
of guards.
But when I was finally up there, the air seemed to be a lot clearer. Maybe because it was night.
Then I noticed the box I'd toppled over earlier.
I walked over and picked it up. It was nicely carved wood - dark in color. Cherry, I think. Sadly, when I
knocked it down, the top part of the lid had come off.
No, wait. There was something in the lid. What was it? A disk...
As it was a very interesting development, I could hardly contain my enthusiasm to see what was on the disk as I snuck back down to my room.
Popping the disk into my laptop, I sat up on my bed and waited for the computer to read it.
It was a video. The beginning image was that of a beautiful woman with long, crimpt blonde hair falling
over her shoulders in a gorgeous wave. She had a flowing, white peasant dress on, tied all along the sleeves with pink
ribbons. She sat in what looked to be a greenhouse. Also, her stomach protruded in a way that lead me to believe she
was pregnant.
I hit play.
"This message..." the disc skipped. It was of course, very old.
"This message is for my son, Quatre Raberba Winner, and no one else."
She smiled.
"But even if you aren't him, you'll still watch. Quatre, you don't know who I am because your father and I
agreed it would be best if you were told you were a test tube child until you were ready to know the truth. Since you
have this disc in your possession, I hope it means your father gave it to you. If he did not, I can assume that he has since
passed and you have found the room and the hidden disc on your own. Either way, you are now ready to learn the
truth."
The disc skipped and the picture went fuzzy for a second, then quickly became once again clear.
"Quatre, my name is Quaterine Winner. I was married to your father when I was 19 years old, and I have since
spent 15 happy years with him. We have had 29 test tube children together, all of them girls. But now being 7 months
pregnant with you," she smiled again softly and touched her protruding stomach, "I have found that you will be a boy,
and your father and I have agreed on your name. Quatre Raberba Winner. If you're wondering about your middle
name, it was my maiden name.
"But I'm getting ahead of myself. You're probably wondering why, Quatre, you were born naturally, unlike your
sisters. You see, I have a rather weak constitution, and Aaren [2] and I agreed all of our children would be born from
test tubes, as the strain of having a child would most likely kill me. So, why then, am I pregnant with you?
"Quatre, your father and I were on our 15th anniversary down on earth, in Jeda. Your father had an
emergency in space and was forced to leave me.
"After he was gone, I found an old childhood friend of mine named Canaan Aeda. And yes, his father was
Arvaanel Aeda [3]. When I was sixteen, Canaan and I were to be married but...things got in the way and our
engagement had to be called off. My father arranged my marriage to Aaren and Canaan was furious. The last time I
saw Canaan was at my wedding to your father.
It was right then that I started getting a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I'd swallowed
earthworms and they were crawling around the lining of my intestines. My muscles felt prickly and my thoughts became
clouded.
"Canaan was unusually placid that night, and we simply drank and talked of many things long into the night.
He escorted me back to my room and I invited him in. And well...one thing led to another and..."
I had to pause the disc. I couldn't take it.
It wasn't true! IT COULDN'T BE TRUE! My entire life...I'd spent my whole life pretending to be someone I wasn't...
I wasn't the Winner heir.
It was just too much for me to take. I pushed the computer off my lap and cried into my arms.
I didn't want to believe it. It just didn't make sense. It couldn't be right. It had to be wrong.
But when I pushed the laptop off me, I accidentally hit the button that started the disc back up.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she began to cry as well. "When I woke the next morning, I called Aaren and told him
everything. He forgave me and came and got me. A couple of months later, I discovered I was with child, with you. I
didn't tell Aaren until I began to show. For what I did, I deserve to die! I betrayed him and placed this burden on you...I
can't begin to say how sorry I really am. I hate myself for doing what I did."
She stopped and wiped her tears on her sleeve.
"Aaren and I had been trying to have a boy for so long. You were the answer to our prayers. It took so long to
convince Canaan that it was for the best if Aaren adopted you...
"I'm sorry. But you had to know and it had to be me who told you. I'm so sorry, Quatre, for laying this on you. I
don't want you to forgive me, I just want you to understand everything.
"I've requested to be cremated, but Aaren told me he was having a statue built of me to place in the
garden.
"Quatre, above all, know that I love you. I want you to be happy, but you had a right to know all this. Please,
do not seek out Canaan. It will only bring you more trouble.
"Quatre, I love you."
It was there that the disc ended. I had long ago finished crying. I didn't want to believe it, but in my heart I
forgave her.
The statue, I knew where it was. And know I wanted to see it more than anything.
I didn't even bother putting on my shoes as I raced out my bedroom door, running to the garden.
It didn't take me long to find it. She was made in marble and had long angel wings folded against her back.
I was taking deeper and deeper breaths, and the tears were welling in my eyes.
"I HATE YOU!" I screamed, even though it was empty plea. "I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!"
I cried and screamed so long and loud that lights came on inside the house.
I fell my knees, staring up at the statue, tears streaming out of my eyes.
"i hate you." I said one last time. The statue didn't smile or frown, it simply looked on me with love in it's eyes.
I let my head drop as I cried. I felt two hands pull me to my feet and pick me up into their arms. I was just
glad to have a warm body in the cold as I curled up against whoever it was [4].
They carried me back into my room. I felt hollow and empty. I'd heard too much, discovered too much. I
wanted it all to be over. I wanted to return to before I was shot, to before I knew anything.
I wanted to lie with the dead and not know the cruelty of the living.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
When I woke in the late morning I noticed something different about the room.
"Heero?"
Heero sat in a chair beside my bed, reading a book. He looked up at me after I said his name.
"Quatre..." it was Nadia's voice as she entered my room.
I remembered all of what had happened then. For some few vital seconds, I made myself believe it was a
dream.
"You knew..." was all I could say to her.
"Yes, Quatre, I did know. But none of us were allowed to tell you. You understand why, don't you?"
I said nothing.
Nadia sighed.
"Remember, father's gift to you for your 16th birthday?" she asked as she came closer. She opened an
envelope and lay the a key on the bed.
"This key is to the box where mother's confession was. He was going to tell you, but with everything else...it
would have had a more drastic effect on you. I'm sorry, Quatre."
"Go away." I told them both quietly.
"Just go away."
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Author's Note: YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY! I'm finally done! *note to people, this took forever to write*
And I'm sorry it's so depressing! *grows sad* Quatre gets someone who really does make him happy later on (and no, it's not Dorothy or Catherine - she's dead, anyway).
[1] Baccalights - a strange spelling of people who were supposed to worship Dionysus, Greek God of Wine.
They often ripped people apart in madness, too. Weren't they special.
[2] Aaren Winner - Quatre's father. I had to make up a first name. Ya like?
[3] Arvaanel Aeda - Big time weaponry dealer; supplied most of the materials needed to create mobile suits
for the Alliance.
[4] Whoever carried Quatre in - that would be Heero. Isn't that sweet?