A/N: Sorry this took so long. I expected to update long before this but then work just seemed to drag on into the summer and a little bit of writer's block didn't help either. Aack! And this Saturday I'll be leaving home for University across the country. I'm just a little nervous at the moment. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter I've finally gotten out to you all. Just a few extra notes before it starts:

Sobachka means 'little dog' in Russian – it's a little bit of a joke, you'll see. ;)

Leningrad was the name of St. Petersburg during the years of the U.S.S.R.

Disclaimer: I do not own Beyblade.

Warning: Spousal and alcohol abuse and murder.

-

Craving Freedom

-

Chapter 11: Hiwatari History

Kai walked quietly to Voltaire's office. He allowed Black Dranzer to listen to whatever Voltaire might say, but Black Dranzer did not break the peacefulness of Kai's mind at the moment. Kai had decided that no matter what Voltaire told him, Kai wouldn't let it affect him. Lies or not, whatever Voltaire said now could only be about the past and Kai could never change that regardless of how much he wished. So his key to winning this battle against Voltaire was complete indifference. The familiar office door appeared up ahead. This was it. Kai stopped in front of it, took a deep breath to keep his cool and entered.

A breeze of warm air greeted Kai. A fire roared softly in the fireplace to Kai's right. Next to the fire, two armchairs were set up and in one of them Voltaire sat watching the melodic movements of the fire. Kai didn't announce his presence straight away, but decided to glance around the room one more time. The warmly-coloured walls put Kai's mind at ease. This room seemed more inviting and homely than anywhere else in the house where Kai spent two years of his childhood. Kai looked back at the wall where the former Hiwataris' faces were frozen in the stroke of a brush. Kai's gaze followed the row to the end where the painting of the phoenix, with all its magnificence, glowed in the firelight. But, something caught Kai's eye - just before… that painting…

It was the painting of the softly-faced woman he'd seen before. Kai's breath caught in his throat. It was the woman from his vision. Is this why he could remember her face now? Because he'd seen her here earlier? Nevertheless, it was her, the woman he'd always pictured as his mother. Her image in the painting seemed to be a few years younger than the one Kai remembered. She still had pallid skin and long navy hair, but her eyes seemed joyful rather than the ones filled with wisdom from his memory. Those eyes... the ones he remembered, they had been filled with tears… Kai shook his head; memories seemed to be coming to him more easily than before.

"Beautiful, wasn't she?" Voltaire commented. He was now staring at the same painting. He must've seen Kai looking at her. "She was always kind and loving - and trusting. That's what got her killed. She was too trusting. But even to her last breath she was kind and loving." He spoke about her with such affection he hardly sounded like the Voltaire Kai had known all his life.

"I remember her, she was my mother," Kai stated.

"What are you babbling about? I already told you, you were created in the lab at the Abbey. You don't have a mother," Voltaire retorted.

"Then why do I remember her? She was in a field in front of a house… in front of this house." The words formed within Kai's mouth with no pre-meditated thought.

"My – " Voltaire mumbled to himself. He then cleared his throat and looked straight at Kai. "You have no mother. You were made by me in a laboratory."

"Then who is she?" Kai demanded.

"She was my mother. It seems you have somehow inherited some of my own memories."

"But, how?"

"I don't know that!" Voltaire spat. Then he sighed. "I suppose it makes you more like my brother than my creation, doesn't it? Come here, sit down." Voltaire smiled at Kai.

Kai wasn't sure whether Voltaire was actually meaning to be sweet, but the smile made his face more sinister than usual and Kai couldn't help but think about whatever it was that Voltaire wanted from him. However, he wanted answers and to get them, he'd have to continue talking with Voltaire. So, against his better judgment, Kai took a seat next to the fire, his back towards the exit.

"Can you tell me about her? Why was she crying?" Kai asked innocently.

"I suppose my past has a great connection to what is happening now. Perhaps you deserve to know why I created you and what is going on now. I shall start at the beginning though…" Voltaire reminisced.

Kai listened intently and Voltaire spoke on uninterrupted. The two of them sat around the fire like two children sitting at a campfire telling legends and spooky stories.

---

flashback

---

Laughter echoed in a large field. It was a mid afternoon in the month of August. The sky was grey and the temperature was cool. There seemed to be a cold spell upon Moscow that summer. "Go get it!" More laughter ensued. A puppy scampered across the solid ground. It panted as it chased a blue rubber ball which bounced and rolled along the field until it came to a stop in the long grass near the edge of the open plane. Once the dog caught up to the ball, it stopped also and sniffed happily at the ball. "Sobachka, come here!" At the call of its name, the dog grabbed the ball in its teeth and headed back the way it came. Meanwhile, the boy who'd called to it continued to run toward the dog. They both stopped when they reached one another. The boy, who could be no more than six years old, grabbed his dog and hugged it. "Good boy, Sobachka!" The boy petted his dog.

"Voltaire!" A new voice called out. This was one of a woman's. Her voice was soft but carried well over the field. Voltaire, the boy, recognized it immediately. It was the voice of his mother. "Voltaire, come here." Her voice was not angry or harsh, but it did carry authority over the young boy.

"Coming Mother," Voltaire replied. He let go of his dog and ran to the woman. Sobachka ran alongside him as if he were racing his master. Voltaire continued to giggle but when he reached his mother, he noticed a serious expression on her face. She smiled and what little light the sky offered reflected off her pale skin. She looked something like an angel come to earth. She had resonating beauty and her love for her child was too deep to ever waver. Voltaire knew that. But there was something in her face that showed she was conflicted. She seemed happier than usual, but uneasy as well. Of course this was too much for a small child to understand and any emotions Voltaire had seen were quickly swept away in his own joy to see his mother.

"Mother, you're back. But I thought you were going to the train station," Voltaire asked in his own confusion.

"Yes, dear, but I wasn't going anywhere. I was meeting someone. And that someone is waiting inside for you right now," her eyes sparkled.

"There is someone here for me?" Voltaire asked.

His mother nodded. "Now let's go inside and greet this guest." Voltaire allowed himself to be ushered into his home. His mother brought him to the lounge where an unfamiliar smoke caught in Voltaire's nostrils. The smell was putrid. Voltaire coughed and his eyes watered. He took a few more steps at the insistence of his mother's push and came to a stop. Rubbing his eyes, he looked back into the room. The smoke was less thick where he stood now. Quickly looking over the room, Voltaire found the man who had been waiting for him.

Voltaire had never seen this man before from what he could recall of his mother's social gatherings. The man sat lazily in the large chair at the centre of the room. In the man's right hand was a long, cylindrical object that emitted the rancid smoke which filled the room. The man seemed to be older than Voltaire's mother, his hair was greying and he had a thick moustache which covered his mouth entirely. To match the hair over his lip, he also had thick brows which seemed the least drained of its former brown colour. Underneath the brow, odd red eyes, just like Voltaire's, stared back at him with intrigue. This looked caused Voltaire to flinch. The man stood up and walked over to Voltaire. He was tall, at least a foot taller than Voltaire's mother, and he had a long, thin body. Despite his elderly appearance, he had a powerful stride when walking.

"So, you're Voltaire?" It was a simple question but Voltaire felt unable to answer. Something about this man seemed perturbing.

"Voltaire," his mother's reassuring voice rang, "this is your father, Nikolai." This was the first time Voltaire had ever seen his father and still Voltaire felt nothing but fear of this man.

-

The life Voltaire had once known changed dramatically from the day his father returned. There always seemed to be something wrong with the way Voltaire acted and Voltaire also noticed a change in the former cheery personality of his mother. She seemed more distant with him and they no longer played together like they had before. Meanwhile, Nikolai seemed to be the law in the house and anything Voltaire did of his own free will was shot down. "You must learn your place and act the way a son should to his father. You should only do as I say and never act of your on free will. Do not speak unless spoken to and answer in as few words as is needed." In other words – be invisible unless his father needed him.

At this change of lifestyle, Voltaire found himself crying more and more when he went to bed every night. His life had made such a reversal and his mother wouldn't do a thing about it. And of course, Voltaire was too young to do anything himself. He was only six, after all…

Another change in Voltaire's life was announced the morning of the 27th of August. At the breakfast table, Nikolai announced: "Tomorrow, boy, you will be taking a train to Leningrad. I have enrolled you in one of the finest school's for young boys. You will be taught the discipline you so desperately need there." Voltaire dropped his fork.

"You're sending me away?"

"Don't talk back! You need schooling. Be thankful you'll be getting it now rather than later on in your life." Voltaire looked unbelievingly to his mother waiting for her to tell him differently but instead, his mother had her eyes down and was trying to hide her face shamefully from her son. It took all of Voltaire's will to keep himself from crying before he was excused from the breakfast table and able to retreat to his room. It seemed like his life had become one breakdown of misery after another.

And sure enough, as Voltaire boarded the train a day later, red streaks ran down his face. It was the first time he'd be away from his home but, judging by the way things had changed, his home was already long gone. Voltaire politely said goodbye to his father and then, unable to restrain himself, threw his arms around his mother who bent down to hug him back. "Be safe, Voltaire. I love you." It was no more than a whisper but Voltaire appreciated those words more than anything else.

And so, with that, Voltaire boarded the train, not to return until the following summer. The school year was long and tough. It seemed like every boy at the school had already more than enough friends and they refused to welcome Voltaire into their groups. Voltaire also learned on the first day about what 'punishment' really meant. After a single beating Voltaire learned that he must never do anything wrong again in the fright that next time, it could be worse. At night time, Voltaire would cry silently, unable to scream out in the fear of what the other boys in his dormitory might do. Voltaire would also reflect upon his life before his father's return. What sin had he committed to deserve such a life in hell? He never found his answer.

When the year was over, not having received a single letter from his mother, Voltaire wondered if he was any better off at home than where he was now. He convinced himself on the train to Moscow, however, that anywhere with his mother was better than being alone. As the train pulled into the station, Voltaire's stomach tightened uncomfortably. He couldn't see any sign of his mother there to welcome him. When he exited the train, one of the old family butlers, whom he had never known the name of, came to fetch him. The man brought Voltaire to the car and they returned to the Hiwatari Manor. Pulling up to the front entrance, Voltaire now saw his mother. She was almost running to the car, but trying to keep proper composure while doing it.

"Mother!" Voltaire exclaimed happily.

When his mother reached him, she sank to her knees, all propriety forgotten, and hugged him tightly. "Oh, my baby – my baby, never leave me again!"

"Maria! What are you doing on the ground like that?" The voice screamed at Voltaire's mother with absolute rage. It was Nikolai. He was looking at them sternly from the door. Voltaire's mother got quickly to her feet and muttered an apology. Nikolai deemed it to be enough and retreated into the house. She turned back to Voltaire and in that instant, Voltaire almost lost balance. He looked up at his mother with alarm.

"Mother! What happened?" His voice was full of concern. He hadn't noticed before. She had several bruises on her face. The delicate skin of her neck was spotted with small scratches. Burn marks were also apparent on the back of her hands. The injuries varied in size and age. Some looked partially healed while others were fresh; probably a reminder to stay indifferent with her son around. Some more still looked to have turned into scars. Voltaire, being only seven, didn't understand what was going on and so, did not protest the poorly formed excuse that his mother told him about clumsiness and being careful around the kitchen.

Later that day, Voltaire found out that Sobachka had died while out hunting with Nikolai one day. His collar lay on the mantle of the fireplace. Above it, Nikolai's hunting gun was mounted as 'a stark reminder of the deadliness of guns' as his father had said, although to Voltaire it was more of a warning against disobeying Nikolai.

The summer months passed swiftly and before Voltaire had a chance to decide which place he preferred, he was back on the train to Leningrad. The years continued in the same manor, Voltaire trying so desperately hard to find the cheerfulness he once had. It seemed like no more than a distant dream and he had finally woken up to the harsh realities of life. But no matter what, Voltaire kept the hope that it would get better. After all, his mother was still there, hanging on with him. She would never abandon him, he knew that, and with her, there was nothing he had to face alone.

When he was twelve, Voltaire learned the truth. He had always been alone but had been too blind to see it. It was evening on the day he returned from school. His mother had greeted him with tears. She was skinnier than he had ever seen her. She looked frail, as if a small shove would break her. Scarring demented her once beautiful features. That evening, he lay in bed wide awake. Her frightened screams echoed in his ears.

"Please! No, please!"

"I will do as I wish!" sounded the harsh voice of his father.

"Please… not him, he doesn't deserve that life."

"He is mine. He will obey."

"No, not him!"

A loud slap resounded.

"It is not your decision."

"He is my son!"

"Come here!"

A shrill scream pierced through the night. Voltaire grabbed his sheets and pulled them tight around him. Although their voices died away, he could still hear scuffling from his parent's room. It did not cease but seemed to increase in intensity. Finally, Voltaire decided to go see what was going on. He was scared beyond belief, but he had to be brave – for his mother.

Leaving the safety of his bed, Voltaire crept along the floors of the old house careful to not make the floors creek. He was guided through the dark hallway by the sliver of light that came from his parent's bedroom. His eyes were focused solely on that light. His ears were on full alert for any sign that his father heard him coming. So far, he was okay. A strong, pungent smell overpowered Voltaire's lungs and it was all he could do to keep himself from retching. When Voltaire reached the doorway, he peaked around the corner. Afraid that someone would notice him, he used the mirror over the dresser to look at the struggle. He saw his mother's nightgown, shredded and hanging from her thin form. She fell backward onto the bed as Voltaire recognized the heavy thud of muscle being hit. Once she was down, Voltaire could see the face of his father clearly in the mirror. He had a blood-thirsty look on his face. He looked down upon his wife with a hungry expression just as a predator looks at its prey.

"He will do as I say and someday – someday, he will bring me the power I so rightly deserve!" Nikolai spat at the helpless woman below him.

"Please, don't do this – " Maria pleaded. But Nikolai was beyond listening. He slapped her again. It was at this point that Voltaire noticed the bottle in Nikolai's hand. It was a bottle of Vodka – nearly empty. Maria did not get up again after the last hit. Voltaire listened hard and could barely make out the short, staggered breathing of his mother.

"I'll teach you, bitch." Nikolai turned and vanished somewhere into the back of the room where Voltaire could no longer see him. Maria lay still on the bed. Voltaire took this opportunity to creep into view. He wanted to help his mother. He wanted to stop Nikolai and save his mother. Maybe then she would play with him again…

The image from the mirror poorly reflected the real state of the room. Voltaire gasped in shock of what he saw and felt unable to move from the doorway. Glass from previous bottles of liquor was scattered across the floor. Some of the edges were stained red. Small, sprayed dots of blood decorated areas of the walls and floor. An upturned chair leaned against the desk where piles of paper lay haphazardly. On the bed, the demented and abused form of his mother lay curled in a ball, trying to ease the pain of her injuries. Voltaire felt terror run through him. His mother lay broken before him. It was as if Voltaire had never seen her more clearly. She was no longer the perfect angel he had always imagined her to be. Her eyes were red and her skin blotched from tears. She wasn't struggling to breath but whimpering quietly. She was shaking slightly and Voltaire was horrified to see that her clothes had fallen completely off. The humiliation of her laying there, in her naked sorrow, must have been a satisfying victory for Nikolai.

At Voltaire's gasp, his mother slowly drudged up the energy to lift her head and lean on one arm. Shock was evident in her face. "Please, Voltaire, run. Run from this place and don't come back. It's the only way… you can be safe and… happy…" Fresh tears fell from her eyes.

"What are you mumbling about?" Nikolai looked around from the back of the room and, to Voltaire's horror, he was holding a dagger.

The dagger had an ivory handle that was encrusted with small opals and the blade looked to be about 5 inches long. If Voltaire was more worldly, he would have known it to be a valuable relic from a distant land. However, to Voltaire, the dagger seemed little impressive.

Nikolai stopped halfway to the bed when he spotted Voltaire. His wicked smile broadened and twisted his face. He looked positively insane. "Boy, stay where you are. This concerns you! Watch – watch what happens to those who do not listen to my command!" He stepped closer to Maria.

"Don't touch her!" Voltaire yelled shrilly from his spot. Although he had courage enough to shout at his father, Voltaire was still unable to move. All the time, his mother continued to mouth the words 'run' and 'please'.

"My word is law, boy. You'd do best to learn that." He walked over to the bed and grabbed Maria's hair, pulling her head backwards. Voltaire watched horrified but unable to act. Nikolai whispered into Maria's ear, "I have no more use for you," he said. "You've outlived your worth."

It happened so fast. Maria's scream of 'RUN!' echoed still after her neck was slit. Blood sprayed everywhere. The dagger glinted red in the light. Nikolai laughed maniacally. Maria's blank eyes stared up at her son. A final tear raced down her face. Voltaire stared. Nikolai advanced upon him, dagger still in hand…

---

end flashback

---

Kai sat peacefully, allowing what he had heard to sink in and waiting for Voltaire to continue. But Voltaire's voice did not resume. Finally. Kai decided to break the silence. "Is that it? Is that all you have to tell me?" he said sceptically.

"No, that is all I will tell you," Voltaire responded. Kai felt cheated.

"Didn't you say that this had to do with me? Isn't that why you agreed to tell me?" Kai was frustrated with Voltaire's lack of helpfulness.

"We will get to that part, another time. Not right now." That's when Kai heard it. Although Voltaire seemed to be taunting Kai with the information he had, Kai distinctly heard a small waver and a little bitterness in Voltaire's voice. Reliving such a sad memory, even for Voltaire it was hard. "It's time you go to bed. And this time, stay there," Voltaire added. Kai nodded reluctantly and left.

So, it all started when Voltaire's father returned, did it? But, what started? Kai was finding it annoyingly difficult to ponder on the information Voltaire had given him. He knew Voltaire was leaving out some big piece of information that brought everything together, he just didn't know what that was.

-------------------------------------------------

Well, I really tried to capture Voltaire's innocence as a child in this one. I hope I did alright with that. I don't believe that anyone is born evil and so this is his story – of why he is the way he is. And of course, it'll play an important part in the plot ;) Please leave any questions, comments, suggestions. I assure you, I am reviewer-friendly. I appreciate all forms of feedback. :)

And to those who have already reviewed:

Pointed Teeth: Thank you for stopping by! I hope you've found the time since I last updated to read what has been posted so far. If not, well, I do promise that I won't abandon this story so I hope that inspires you somewhat to keep on reading.

Light of the Blue Rose: Heya again. You know, your reviews really do give me a good laugh sometimes, so I really hope you haven't died of the wait (has been so long TT). Forgive me?

CrystallineWolf: So to answer your question, the woman was Kai's genetic mother in a way… Anyway, I hope the rest of my story will be worth the long (6 month?) interval between the updates.

Golden Lunar Eclipse: Do I even have to say anything? We've probably said it at home already anyway… Well, I guess I could apologize for not letting you read this before posting – I could – but I won't. ;)

Just one more author's note, I do have a habit of drawing scenes and I've posted two pics – Voltaire in Leningrad and Maria's death – in my account at deviantart. If you would like to see them, just follow the homepage link from my bio page to my deviantart page.

The next chapter will be titled The Snowy City. 'Till then!

A child's hand in yours -- what tenderness and power it arouses. You are instantly the very touchstone of wisdom and strength. Marjorie Holmes

.:Fey Phantom:.