The Darkness That Follows
Chapter Three - Metal Dreams
Christina couldn't remember the next few days very well. She remembered a green blob saying kind words to her, telling her everything was going to be all right. She also remembered something furry moving over her with care and gentle hands. She didn't hear his soft-spoken words, but she was comforted by his tender murmur. Besides the sharp knives of pain and coldness, she was completely numb. She couldn't feel the moving of her body unless it caused agony, then the soothing noises would start again, and the pain would ease. She then would fall back into slumber.
Most of her dreams were peaceful, if she had them. Her good dreams were of a calm beach and walking hand in hand with her father. It was a beautiful summer day and a warm gentle breeze. She realized it was a memory of her younger years, only she was seeing it outside of her eight-year-old self. She saw her dad swing her small arms and laugh at the small girl's jokes. He would then lift her up and face her towards the water and tell her a story about the beach.
"When your daddy was a young boy, your grandfather would bring me here and tell me a story. This right here was all sand, miles and miles of sand. And the sand was lonely, so very lonely. There were animals and the wind, but the animals trotted all over the sand and the wind blew harshly at it, sending some of it away. It felt so alone and so rejected that it pleased with the angels to give it a companion. And the angels felt the sorrow of the sand and started crying. They cried so much that a pool had started to form on the sand. They kept crying and the tears kept falling until it finally formed into a gulf. The gulf, made from angel tears, felt sorry for the sand and gently caressed it's sorrows away. And till this day, it still does it. See the waves? It's comforting the sand."
"Wow," the little girl exclaimed. "Is that why it's so salty? 'Cause the angel's tears were salty, just like ours?"
"That's right, pumpkin."
The memory would fade then into a blissful nothing, at least, that's what it did most of the time. There was only one time that Christina could dimly recall that it had not. It had faded into something dark and frightening. The blue sky had turned black and the wind turned harsh. The sand turned into rocks and the little girl and her loving father disappeared. In their place was a figure covered in a cloak, hiding his features well from her. At his feet was no longer water, it was blood. The gulf had turned into a sea of blood!
Christina tried to awake from what was sure to be a nightmare. But no matter how she struggled, the image she saw was still there, the figure, the blood, and the coldness. Suddenly, the figure stepped forward heading straight towards her. It was only then did she realize that she was in the dream, not just observing it like she felt with her past self. She moved backwards, trying to get away from the figure, but she stepped wrong and landed hard on the sharp rocks. She felt them under body and how sharp they felt under her tender palms.
She ignored the pain when she saw that the figure continued towards her. She scooted herself across the harsh ground, fighting to get back on her feet to start to run. But just as she had found her balance, the figure reached out of his cloak an armored hand, or at least that was her first impression. When she had a closer look, it was not really armor, just gloved with metal spikes coming out of the back of his hand. By the time she realized what it was, it was too late; the hand grabbed hold of her and pulled her closer.
Christina struggled against the grip, but was too weak against the figure's grip. She cried out as its grip became painful. A harsh laugh filled her mind as the figure tilted what she thinks is its head.
Suddenly the figure spoke; telling her it was a male that held her captive.
"Stop fighting, little girl. I will not harm you yet. Brave as you may be, you are still weak, an unworthy opponent. But I will get you. Let me promise you that."
With that, the figure used his free hand ripped off the cloak and showed her his face, or at least his eyes, how dark and full of hatred they were. She could not see the rest of it due to a metal faceplate covering it.
He threw her away from him then and laughed as she fell. But she didn't feel the painful shards of rock that she had expected. It was a cushioned mattress, the one that she barely remembered being placed on what couldn't have been (but felt) too long ago. It was only when she a worried green face in front of her did she realized that she wasn't dreaming anymore.
She was in a small room, in a semi-soft bed, laying next to a turtle the size of a human. Oh, boy.
"Hi," she said softly, unsure what else to say besides 'Who are you?' and 'Where am I?'
The turtle smiled, showing her a flash of teeth. 'Do turtles have teeth?' she wondered to herself.
"Hey, I see you are feeling better. The fever must have broken," claimed the turtle happily, placing a green three fingered ('Three!' she thought astonishingly) hand on her forehead.
In all honesty, she expected his skin to feel slimy and disgusting, but it felt soft and cool, so much better than the flushed feeling she had recalled feeling earlier in her fevered sleep.
And with his touch, came a memory, a memory of a worried face, and of a fierce battle.
All of sudden, Christina remembered everything that had happened: the attack in the alleyway, the kind turtle that set her arm, April's apartment, and her injury.
And she remembered the dreams of her dad and of herself, and of the creepy man. But also of the turtle's calm soothing words and another's soothing hands. She started at the turtle with new eyes, eyes of appreciation.
"You're Donatello."
The statement apparently started the turtle for he lowered his hand and back up from her a bit. But it looked like it also pleased him, for the lines of worry had relaxed into another smile, one that wasn't weighing down with apprehension.
"Yes I am," said the turtle, "But you can call me Donnie. Everybody else does."
"Donnie," Christina mumbled quietly, then stared at her surroundings again. It was quite smaller than her room was in Louisiana, and probably smaller than the room in the apartment that she shared with her sister. But for what it was worth, it felt much cozier than either of the other rooms, even though it didn't look it.
Its furnishings were small, but scattered. The bed and the small dresser did not match, but it gave the room a lived in look. The walls were covered with Nintendo and movie posters, which gave off youth. There was also a stack of comics lying in the corner, looking well read. Some of pages looked soiled and ripped. It reminded Christina of her book collection before her mother forced her to take care of her personal belongings, or she would not buy anymore.
Christina turned back to Donatello and smiled. "Your room?"
The turtle shook his head, "No, this is Mikey's room. He has the best bed out of all of us, and since he plays nurse more than I do, we placed you in here."
"Oh," she commented, looking away. The realization and remembrance of there being more of them brought her back to reality. She glanced down at herself timidly, almost afraid what she would see. She gasped as she saw the wrappings around her midsection, blood encrusted from the outer part of it. She was hoping the bandage was covering more area than it needed too, for it took up most of torso. The wrappings started from right under her bust line to way past her belly button. She was so in shock of the discovery, she didn't realize for a few minutes that she was only in her bra and jeans.
Her mouth formed a silent "o" and grabbed the blanket, covering up herself. She quickly glanced up at Donatello, whom she found to be blushing and had turned away. He quickly grabbed a T-shirt and handed it to her.
"Er, sorry." Donatello muttered, keeping his eyes down. "We had to cut open your shirt, because of the wound. Master Splinter told us not to put on another shirt because you were still bleeding badly afterwards."
Christina was silent only a moment before she reached out a hand and covered it over his own. She quietly asked, "Master Splinter?"
Donatello could tell from the tone of her voice and the touch of her hand that she forgave them, she forgave him. She stared at him with a look of interest. So Donatello began telling her the story that was memorized long ago. The stories of Master Splinter's old home in Japan, then his travel to America, and of their creation. Donatello didn't get to the part about Sacki(sp) for that was when Christina tried to sit up and went pale with pain. Donatello moved quickly and lowered her back down, calming her frightened and pain-filled eyes with soothing words. After a few moments, her cheeks returned to their natural color and her breathing became less labored.
Christina closed her eyes and kept them closed for a few minutes, trying to concentrate on just breathing in and out slowly. Finally she opened her eyes and looked at him.
"How long have I been here?" It was a question she had been hesitant to ask, for she was afraid of the answer. She knew it had to be more than a few days. The worry lines in the poor turtle's face showed that, unless he was a worrywart all the time (which Christina had a great doubt.) She watched as guilt filled his brown eyes again, but he did not lower them. He started into her blue-green ones and sighed.
"Six days."
Christina almost shot up again, only the burning memory in her abs and Donatello's restraining hands stopped her. Six days, that was almost a week. A week of hiding out, a week of worry, a week of terror.
'Momma!' Christina thought, 'Lynn! Samantha!' Her family and friends that she cared for so much, and who cared for her. Surely they must be worried by now.
As if Donatello read her thoughts, he placed one of his green hands on her forehead again. "It's okay, April sent them a secret notice saying that you are in capable hands and that they should not call the police, we are handling everything. We'll get those bastards for doing this too you."
The fury in the turtle's voice both frightened and calmed her. She had seen this man, er, turtle fight. She would hate to be on the opposite side of him. It had calmed her when she thought this. The Foot was going to be stopped. If his other brother's were anywhere close to his fighting skills, she knew they would be finished.
After a few minutes, Christina allowed Donatello to help her put on the shirt with minimal injury to herself. When they were done and Christina was out of breath, she smiled through the pain.
"It kind of feels like I did a thousand sit-ups," she joked, then proceeded to tell him that she was an exercise-aholic, that should would walk two miles and run one mile a day. "And my abs feel like this after my hundred crunches."
Donatello smiled and placed the covers up to her chin. She giggled, for it reminded her of when she was a littler girl and her father would tuck her in. She actually surprised herself, since the accident that took her father away, every time she had thought of him, it would bring her sadness. But this was a good memory, and she needed good memories now.
Donatello told her that it was time to get some rest that they would try and give her some food tomorrow. Christina was surprised that she hadn't felt hungry before, nor was tempted by the sound of food.
"All right," was all she said about that subject. Donatello turned off the light, and told her goodnight.
But before he closed the door, Christina remembered another question she had wanted answered.
"Donnie? Until you catch the foot . . . I'm going to have to stay away from my family . . . don't I?"
Donatello turned to her, giving her a glance as his sad brown eyes. "Yes, Christina. I'm afraid so . . ."
Christina closed her eyes for a second, then opened them again. "Chrissy. Call me Chrissy. Everyone else does."
Donatello gave a small smile. "Chrissy . . . Goodnight, Chrissy."
With that, Donatello closed the door.
Chapter Three - Metal Dreams
Christina couldn't remember the next few days very well. She remembered a green blob saying kind words to her, telling her everything was going to be all right. She also remembered something furry moving over her with care and gentle hands. She didn't hear his soft-spoken words, but she was comforted by his tender murmur. Besides the sharp knives of pain and coldness, she was completely numb. She couldn't feel the moving of her body unless it caused agony, then the soothing noises would start again, and the pain would ease. She then would fall back into slumber.
Most of her dreams were peaceful, if she had them. Her good dreams were of a calm beach and walking hand in hand with her father. It was a beautiful summer day and a warm gentle breeze. She realized it was a memory of her younger years, only she was seeing it outside of her eight-year-old self. She saw her dad swing her small arms and laugh at the small girl's jokes. He would then lift her up and face her towards the water and tell her a story about the beach.
"When your daddy was a young boy, your grandfather would bring me here and tell me a story. This right here was all sand, miles and miles of sand. And the sand was lonely, so very lonely. There were animals and the wind, but the animals trotted all over the sand and the wind blew harshly at it, sending some of it away. It felt so alone and so rejected that it pleased with the angels to give it a companion. And the angels felt the sorrow of the sand and started crying. They cried so much that a pool had started to form on the sand. They kept crying and the tears kept falling until it finally formed into a gulf. The gulf, made from angel tears, felt sorry for the sand and gently caressed it's sorrows away. And till this day, it still does it. See the waves? It's comforting the sand."
"Wow," the little girl exclaimed. "Is that why it's so salty? 'Cause the angel's tears were salty, just like ours?"
"That's right, pumpkin."
The memory would fade then into a blissful nothing, at least, that's what it did most of the time. There was only one time that Christina could dimly recall that it had not. It had faded into something dark and frightening. The blue sky had turned black and the wind turned harsh. The sand turned into rocks and the little girl and her loving father disappeared. In their place was a figure covered in a cloak, hiding his features well from her. At his feet was no longer water, it was blood. The gulf had turned into a sea of blood!
Christina tried to awake from what was sure to be a nightmare. But no matter how she struggled, the image she saw was still there, the figure, the blood, and the coldness. Suddenly, the figure stepped forward heading straight towards her. It was only then did she realize that she was in the dream, not just observing it like she felt with her past self. She moved backwards, trying to get away from the figure, but she stepped wrong and landed hard on the sharp rocks. She felt them under body and how sharp they felt under her tender palms.
She ignored the pain when she saw that the figure continued towards her. She scooted herself across the harsh ground, fighting to get back on her feet to start to run. But just as she had found her balance, the figure reached out of his cloak an armored hand, or at least that was her first impression. When she had a closer look, it was not really armor, just gloved with metal spikes coming out of the back of his hand. By the time she realized what it was, it was too late; the hand grabbed hold of her and pulled her closer.
Christina struggled against the grip, but was too weak against the figure's grip. She cried out as its grip became painful. A harsh laugh filled her mind as the figure tilted what she thinks is its head.
Suddenly the figure spoke; telling her it was a male that held her captive.
"Stop fighting, little girl. I will not harm you yet. Brave as you may be, you are still weak, an unworthy opponent. But I will get you. Let me promise you that."
With that, the figure used his free hand ripped off the cloak and showed her his face, or at least his eyes, how dark and full of hatred they were. She could not see the rest of it due to a metal faceplate covering it.
He threw her away from him then and laughed as she fell. But she didn't feel the painful shards of rock that she had expected. It was a cushioned mattress, the one that she barely remembered being placed on what couldn't have been (but felt) too long ago. It was only when she a worried green face in front of her did she realized that she wasn't dreaming anymore.
She was in a small room, in a semi-soft bed, laying next to a turtle the size of a human. Oh, boy.
"Hi," she said softly, unsure what else to say besides 'Who are you?' and 'Where am I?'
The turtle smiled, showing her a flash of teeth. 'Do turtles have teeth?' she wondered to herself.
"Hey, I see you are feeling better. The fever must have broken," claimed the turtle happily, placing a green three fingered ('Three!' she thought astonishingly) hand on her forehead.
In all honesty, she expected his skin to feel slimy and disgusting, but it felt soft and cool, so much better than the flushed feeling she had recalled feeling earlier in her fevered sleep.
And with his touch, came a memory, a memory of a worried face, and of a fierce battle.
All of sudden, Christina remembered everything that had happened: the attack in the alleyway, the kind turtle that set her arm, April's apartment, and her injury.
And she remembered the dreams of her dad and of herself, and of the creepy man. But also of the turtle's calm soothing words and another's soothing hands. She started at the turtle with new eyes, eyes of appreciation.
"You're Donatello."
The statement apparently started the turtle for he lowered his hand and back up from her a bit. But it looked like it also pleased him, for the lines of worry had relaxed into another smile, one that wasn't weighing down with apprehension.
"Yes I am," said the turtle, "But you can call me Donnie. Everybody else does."
"Donnie," Christina mumbled quietly, then stared at her surroundings again. It was quite smaller than her room was in Louisiana, and probably smaller than the room in the apartment that she shared with her sister. But for what it was worth, it felt much cozier than either of the other rooms, even though it didn't look it.
Its furnishings were small, but scattered. The bed and the small dresser did not match, but it gave the room a lived in look. The walls were covered with Nintendo and movie posters, which gave off youth. There was also a stack of comics lying in the corner, looking well read. Some of pages looked soiled and ripped. It reminded Christina of her book collection before her mother forced her to take care of her personal belongings, or she would not buy anymore.
Christina turned back to Donatello and smiled. "Your room?"
The turtle shook his head, "No, this is Mikey's room. He has the best bed out of all of us, and since he plays nurse more than I do, we placed you in here."
"Oh," she commented, looking away. The realization and remembrance of there being more of them brought her back to reality. She glanced down at herself timidly, almost afraid what she would see. She gasped as she saw the wrappings around her midsection, blood encrusted from the outer part of it. She was hoping the bandage was covering more area than it needed too, for it took up most of torso. The wrappings started from right under her bust line to way past her belly button. She was so in shock of the discovery, she didn't realize for a few minutes that she was only in her bra and jeans.
Her mouth formed a silent "o" and grabbed the blanket, covering up herself. She quickly glanced up at Donatello, whom she found to be blushing and had turned away. He quickly grabbed a T-shirt and handed it to her.
"Er, sorry." Donatello muttered, keeping his eyes down. "We had to cut open your shirt, because of the wound. Master Splinter told us not to put on another shirt because you were still bleeding badly afterwards."
Christina was silent only a moment before she reached out a hand and covered it over his own. She quietly asked, "Master Splinter?"
Donatello could tell from the tone of her voice and the touch of her hand that she forgave them, she forgave him. She stared at him with a look of interest. So Donatello began telling her the story that was memorized long ago. The stories of Master Splinter's old home in Japan, then his travel to America, and of their creation. Donatello didn't get to the part about Sacki(sp) for that was when Christina tried to sit up and went pale with pain. Donatello moved quickly and lowered her back down, calming her frightened and pain-filled eyes with soothing words. After a few moments, her cheeks returned to their natural color and her breathing became less labored.
Christina closed her eyes and kept them closed for a few minutes, trying to concentrate on just breathing in and out slowly. Finally she opened her eyes and looked at him.
"How long have I been here?" It was a question she had been hesitant to ask, for she was afraid of the answer. She knew it had to be more than a few days. The worry lines in the poor turtle's face showed that, unless he was a worrywart all the time (which Christina had a great doubt.) She watched as guilt filled his brown eyes again, but he did not lower them. He started into her blue-green ones and sighed.
"Six days."
Christina almost shot up again, only the burning memory in her abs and Donatello's restraining hands stopped her. Six days, that was almost a week. A week of hiding out, a week of worry, a week of terror.
'Momma!' Christina thought, 'Lynn! Samantha!' Her family and friends that she cared for so much, and who cared for her. Surely they must be worried by now.
As if Donatello read her thoughts, he placed one of his green hands on her forehead again. "It's okay, April sent them a secret notice saying that you are in capable hands and that they should not call the police, we are handling everything. We'll get those bastards for doing this too you."
The fury in the turtle's voice both frightened and calmed her. She had seen this man, er, turtle fight. She would hate to be on the opposite side of him. It had calmed her when she thought this. The Foot was going to be stopped. If his other brother's were anywhere close to his fighting skills, she knew they would be finished.
After a few minutes, Christina allowed Donatello to help her put on the shirt with minimal injury to herself. When they were done and Christina was out of breath, she smiled through the pain.
"It kind of feels like I did a thousand sit-ups," she joked, then proceeded to tell him that she was an exercise-aholic, that should would walk two miles and run one mile a day. "And my abs feel like this after my hundred crunches."
Donatello smiled and placed the covers up to her chin. She giggled, for it reminded her of when she was a littler girl and her father would tuck her in. She actually surprised herself, since the accident that took her father away, every time she had thought of him, it would bring her sadness. But this was a good memory, and she needed good memories now.
Donatello told her that it was time to get some rest that they would try and give her some food tomorrow. Christina was surprised that she hadn't felt hungry before, nor was tempted by the sound of food.
"All right," was all she said about that subject. Donatello turned off the light, and told her goodnight.
But before he closed the door, Christina remembered another question she had wanted answered.
"Donnie? Until you catch the foot . . . I'm going to have to stay away from my family . . . don't I?"
Donatello turned to her, giving her a glance as his sad brown eyes. "Yes, Christina. I'm afraid so . . ."
Christina closed her eyes for a second, then opened them again. "Chrissy. Call me Chrissy. Everyone else does."
Donatello gave a small smile. "Chrissy . . . Goodnight, Chrissy."
With that, Donatello closed the door.