Disclaimer: SinCity belongs to Frank Miller. I'm just playing with his characters a bit.
That Yellow Bastard is dead. He's smashed, squashed, beaten to a yellow pulp, unrecognizable as anything even approaching human- Though he wasn't all that human to begin with really. I am floating on cloud nine. I swear I can barely breathe I'm so happy. OK so moments ago I was a mewling mess, and right now those places where his whip slashed my back are stinging like nobodies business, but I am happy. I'm happy because I know that my beloved is on his way home.
John. My own darling John Hartigan is on his way to my crummy little condo with its crummy lock and its crummier plumbing. He's exonerated and now, finally, we can be together. I know this because he told me so and John's not the lying kind… Any minute now he'll walk through that door and we'll be together. Together Forever, John and I…
It's getting later, and still no sign of him. I know that these things take time, but one would think that after the kind of day he's been through he would be allowed to go to bed. A thrill of excitement races down my spine when I think about whose bed he'll be sleeping in…
It's too late, something's wrong. John- Hartigan should have been back hours ago and my back is starting to swell. I have a migraine from the sheer pain of it, and every now and then I start trembling and just can't stop. It's ok Nancy girl, get it together. Just breathe in, breathe out… Where's my gun? Didn't I take the gun with me?
I must have dozed. What time is it? It's 9am I reach for the phone listen to the emptiness on the other end. My line's been cut… Oh that's right… I was robbed last night wasn't I? Fuckers could've left the phones working at least.
I really wish I had my gun.
Ms. Johansson down stairs let me use her phone. I called the police about my condo, and stole a bottle of rubbing alcohol. It's going to hurt like hell but I've got to clean these marks. The police are on their way. I wonder if John will be with them…
Fuck. Oh Jesus oh fuck. Damnit Nancy! What an idiot you are. The cops haven't heard a damn thing about Hartigan. Last any of them knew he was put away for raping some kid. Oh fuck no. I have to get to the farm. I have to get back to him. But the cops have tagged that sweet little Ferrari Hartigan loaned me. I'll call Kadie and see if there's someone to give me a ride…
It's on the news. It's on the goddamned news before I hear a word about it. I feel like someone should've mentioned it. Why didn't someone call me? He's dead. My John, the only man I've ever loved is dead. If the gun were here I'd turn it on myself. If the gun were here I'd find fucking Senator Roark and put a few slugs in him before his secret servicemen could take me out. I'd find that dumb fuck from the farm. What did the Yellow Bastard call him? Kevin. I'd find him and make him tell me who killed John. Torturing him would be easy after what I saw last night. The Yellow Bastard brought me in, slung over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes and he told Kevin,
'You can have what's left of her when I'm done.'
Now why would that fuck want what was left of my dead remains? I can think of only one thing, and it's not pleasant.
John you dumb adorable fucking hero. Why did you stay? Was it really to clear your name or did you think to take out every warm body at that farm and leave the place in blazes? Or… And this is the thing that really burns me up… Did you use that gun from under my car seat and do the job yourself? I have this sinking feeling that you lied. But John, John baby, you're not the lying kind.
It's been three days and I think I have a staff infection or something. My back is a mass of oozing blisters and red streaks. I get Ms. Johansson to drive me to the hospital and tell Shellie to let Kadie know it's going to be a couple more days.
Hartigan is being given a pauper's funeral while I let the doctor inject me with some kind of anti-bacterial. He asks what caused the slashes on my back and I tell him I fell down some stairs. Somehow the truth just doesn't seem like it would matter like it should.
While they lower a plain wooden coffin into the hard desert earth I let the doctor wrap my bandages.
While his ex-wife, his lone mourner, wipes a bitter tear from her cheek, I agree to re-dress the bandages every six to eight hours and apply the proper ointment.
While John Hartigan's soul leaves this earthly plane I flash an insurance card at the nurse at checkout.
He's staring at me from heaven, and I'm already planning how I'll kill the son of a bitch who kept him in prison so long. Already forming the plan of how Senator Roark, one of the most powerful men in Sin City will die.
I love you John.
A/N: Ok so here's Nancy's first chapter. The chapters will skip from character to character (Gail, Shellie, maybe some others… Who would y'all like to read from the perspective of?) I think that this is pretty true to the character. Nancy seems like a victim at times in the comic but the chick has clearly got clout. She's got a gun, and she's as forward as they come with Hartigan. R&R please! Comments and crits are always welcome. - LMB