Thank you readers, reviewers, and those of you who have added this story to your favorite and/or follow list! Writing isn't the same without an audience. ^_^
The reason I'm excited: I've been studiously working on this story for five years.
The reason I'm scared: I still can't see the finish line.
Please read, review, and enjoy! : )
I do not own Hellsing.
Having been escorted back to the lab, Amelia hoped the Captain would leave her be and return to the doctor's side. She was tired and emotionally drained; the last thing she wanted was to spend more time with someone driving her towards her wit's end. When he headed for the doctor's desk instead of the exit, she took the opportunity to slip quietly into her room and close the door behind her. Slowly spinning around, she sat herself on the edge of the mattress, her posture hunched and hands folded in her lap.
They had survived the transfusion—both Luke and the other man. She had not been a witness to murder, but she had watched the men suffer, and the consequences of doing so overshadowed the relief of seeing them live.
For almost an hour now, she had been sinking in the memory of her father's final days. Sitting beside him, watching time pass without speaking because neither one of them had the strength to talk. That she could only bring him back to life in such a weak and incomplete form made the distance between them seem that much greater.
Loneliness—cunning, patient, and hungry—was finally making its move.
Amelia was staring blankly at the tiles around her feet when she heard the door swing inwards. The Captain's actions spoke for him: he didn't care if she wanted to be alone. Keeping herself composed, she raised her gaze a fraction.
The silent intruder came close enough to touch and held out a clipboard at her eye-level. The paper on top was blank. Even if the sheet had had a message scrawled on it, she would not have taken it.
After a moment, the Captain must have sensed this, because he lowered his arm. He bent forwards and set the clipboard beside her on the bed.
Amelia didn't look at the board, but as the Captain pulled away, she caught a flicker of red as he paused to make eye contact. She dipped her head stubbornly, clenching her jaw.
Cold. It startled Amelia from her thoughts, sinking deep into her skin and making her teeth chatter.
A dark sea stretched to the horizon on her left, murky waves rising, falling, and crashing a stone's throw from her feet. On her right rose cliffs that were far short of touching the sky, but menacing in the way that they taunted no easy means of escape from a changing tide. The sky above her, hazy and grey, told her nothing more than that it was day. The wind was the worst. Carrying spray and the smell of salt, it seemed to push her backwards, wrapping her long shirt and skirt around her in a chilly embrace.
She couldn't feel her feet on the pebbles and sand, but she knew that she was walking forwards because of the way her muscles shifted to keep her balanced on the uneven substrate. She didn't know how long she had been walking and she couldn't remember the beginning of her journey. The only thing she could remember was walking along the shore.
A few buildings peeked out from behind the sloping rockwork ahead, giving her reason to believe that there was a town waiting for her with food and shelter.
Hugging herself tightly, she continued onwards, panting and shivering and wishing for a hat and coat. And boots.
What a miserable dream.
Her face pulled tight against the wind and her ears filled with the rush of the sea, she did not realize that she had company until it was practically upon her. She happened to glance upward, thinking of the comforts of an unfamiliar town, and saw it running towards her: black hair tangling in the wind; tongue hanging out of its open mouth; bits of sand flying up with every kick.
Amelia let out a gasp that was swept up and carried away. Her hands dropped from her arms, and she glanced behind to confirm that she was the only person on the beach.
The large dog was coming for her.
This was more than a miserable dream. This was a nightmare.
In a second the mutt staggered to a halt in front of her, keeping a small gap between them. It barked twice, its long ears swaying on either side of its face.
"Hi." Amelia's voice was meek, no louder than a whisper. Her hands curled into fists against her stomach, and her legs were itching to retreat.
The dog barked again, its forepaws briefly leaving the ground. Amelia's fists rose higher on her person. On its hind legs the canine surely stood as tall as her, if not a little taller. Amidst the thick black coat of hair on its neck, she caught sight of a leather collar. At least it wasn't a stray.
"Go away," she tried. "Go away." She hated large dogs…and horses…and quite frankly, any other domestic animal whose head measured above her knee.
With a huff, the dog darted forward and then back, its long tail swatting the air like a limp feather duster.
Amelia mimicked its movement with a nervous jump back. God, I hate big dogs! She thought, teetering in the sand. Before she recovered she felt as though she had erred.
The animal sprung forward, and she could not move fast enough to avoid it. Its forelegs came up, one damp paw pressing below her ribs and the other landing on her raised forearm. Amelia stumbled backwards. The dog's paws slipped on the fabric of her clothing, but as soon as they hit the sand they were coming back up. She blanched as the dog barked again, paws on her sleeves and jaws unbearably close to her face.
"Get down!"
The command meant nothing to the canine.
Amelia pushed it away with one hand, creating some space, and a pair of dark eyes followed her fingers. It snapped.
Amelia jerked her hand out of its reach and leaned away, only to feel the weight of the dog shift against her. A dismayed cry left her lips as she toppled over, the dog jumping away before her back hit the ground.
Not two seconds after she landed, the beast was in her face, sniffing and pressing a damp muzzle against her neck, in her hair. It tickled, and Amelia lashed out, frightened. The dog nipped excitedly at her hand a second time. She managed to sit up, and the dog bounced over to her legs, sniffing around the hem of her skirt and stepping on her ankle.
"No! Go!" She kicked, enticing the dog to return to her upright half. Why won't it leave me alone? Curling her legs and wrapping her arms around her head, she tried to protect herself from the canine assault.
The dog sniffed and snorted, poking her once in a while with a wet nose as it circled, even going so far as to push off her hip like it was a spring board. Amelia wavered but held her position. Another bark came from directly in front of her. Then it was panting by her ear, trying to fit its muzzle into a gap between her arms.
Eventually the prodding stopped.
For a while, the breaking of waves on the shore was the only sound to be heard.
Something settled against her left ankle and hip.
After what felt like a few minutes, Amelia cautiously lifted her arms and head. The dog was lying down beside her, its sides heaving. It turned away from the whitecaps, jaw hanging slack, and fixed its eyes on her face. She froze, but the dog did not stand or jump on her. It almost looked like it was smiling.
As if she needed a reminder that her hairy companion was not her only problem, a gust of wind blasted her in the face, carrying with it some sand.
"I have to go," she said aloud, wincing at the sting. As she pushed herself off her backside, the dog twitched and hopped to its feet.
No! Her heart jumped and she leaned away, but the dog merely looked at her and started wagging its tail.
I don't like you. And I don't trust you. Her eyes on the black beast, she took a few hesitant steps towards her destination, unsure how it would react. The dog didn't move.
She began walking with a little more confidence, and the dog padded after her. Sighing heavily, she pressed her hands to her aching ears. Is this thing going to follow me the—
Amelia started at the sharp noise.
Snuggly wrapped in her blankets, she rolled over, blinking away sleep. No black dog. She grunted; out of one bad dream and into another.
Her vision sharpening, she noticed that the clipboard was no longer on the bed where the Captain had left it. The far corner of the room where she remembered seeing the Captain last was also disserted.
What time is it? Propping herself up on an elbow, she pulled off the covers and slid her legs over the side of the bed. Something glinted by her feet, catching her eye: the clipboard.
Only after she checked that her door was completely shut did she pick it up.
The front page was still blank. She flipped the paper over and saw that the following sheet was also unmarked. So were the third and fourth.
Is this supposed to mean something? The Captain had made no effort to explain what the paper was for. Amelia suddenly scowled, recalling her disinterest. She moved to put the clipboard on the bedside dresser but paused at the sight of a pen already sitting there. Retracting her arm, she rested the clipboard on her lap and grabbed the pen with her other hand.
For several seconds she sat with the pen held tight in her fist, the tip hovering over the top sheet. Then, slowly, she lowered the pen to the paper and pressed gently, ready to fill the empty page.
'I wish…'
The doorknob clicked.
Amelia stood up, the clipboard sliding off her lap and clattering on the floor where it was joined by the pen. As the Captain stepped through the doorway, she dove under the bed covers. It might have been the lingering resentment, the ever-present, sometimes subconscious fear, or any number of other things, but she could not pin down a specific reason for her concealing act.
Humiliation burned on her cheeks. The Captain could open a door faster than she could dispose of a clipboard, throw on a few blankets, and feign sleep.
A pair of footsteps halted beside her bed. Something rattled softly as it was placed on the nightstand, followed by a brief silence.
Amelia held her breath.
A light scraping sound on the floor—the Captain was picking up the things she had dropped. He would see her writing.
Why am I hiding? She had already worked out the answer to this question, but nonetheless, she viciously spat it back at herself, upset that she was not satisfied with it. I don't know!
She let out the breath that she was holding and sat up, throwing the blankets off with a violent jerk of her arms. Twisting on the mattress, she pulled her feet out from the warmth of the covers. Her toes were almost on the floor when she froze, hands on either side of her legs, preparing to push herself off the bed.
The Captain stood in front of the small dresser, closer to her than she was expecting. But it wasn't the proximity that bothered her. From her vantage point, she could easily read the man's body language, could see discrete changes that she would not usually pick up on. That being said, what she saw did not comfort her.
His left hand sat upon the clipboard on her dresser, fingers slightly curled over the paper. A nervous glance would not have been long enough to note the details: how far apart his fingers were splayed, the stretch of the white fabric over the tops of his knuckles, the sharp angle at which his thumb was bent... Although empty, his right hand was similarly set. Amelia didn't have to raise her eyes higher than his elbows to know that his shoulders were stiff and squared in her direction. Like her, he held very still.
He looked like he was preparing for a fight.
What do I look like? Amelia wasn't sure whether he was responding or instigating.
For an instant she remembered the feeling of his gloved hand around her throat, fingers digging into her lower jaw as he forced her head back, the doctor nodding in approval as he approached them with a container of blood. Her mouth went bone dry.
Help me, she pleaded to no one. Excruciatingly slowly, she lowered her feet to the tiles. Toes. Ball. Heel. Then she waited for him to move; she would not be the first to relax.
The fingers on his left hand uncurled, and he picked up the clipboard.
Amelia gaze began to follow his left hand, but then did a double at the dresser, distracted by the tray resting on it. Food. She didn't know how long she stared at the platters, but it was too long not to go unnoticed.
By the time she remembered that her focus should have been elsewhere, the Captain had already made his next move, offering her the clipboard as he had earlier. Her meal had to wait.
'I wish…' The phrasing seemed childish now that she read over it. Her handwriting was so small that the emptiness of the page threatened to swallow the words, as if mocking their significance.
Amelia pursed her lips and warily lifted her hand, delicately wrapping her fingers around the corner of the board. The weakest of tugs brought it fully into her possession.
After she accepted the pen, the Captain stepped away, returning to the corner of the room that was farthest from her. Crossing his arms, he leaned slightly against one wall, his posture still too rigid for the pose to be considered casual. The lip of his cap fell farther over his face as he tilted his head at a downward angle, purposefully avoiding eye contact. It was as much privacy as he was willing to give her.
Amelia's chin dropped towards her chest as she lowered her gaze to the clipboard in her lap. Experiencing a sense of déjà vu, she held her pen against the paper for a couple of minutes, anticipating the words that would come next.
'I wish…'
She could finish the sentence however she wanted. It didn't matter if she changed her mind; there was no requirement that she write only the first thought that surfaced. She had an entire page—four pages, actually—to write on. There was plenty of room. For everything. Her lower lip trembled, but she forced herself to keep her mouth shut.
'I wish…' She carefully traced the words with the pen and kept going, making each letter as neat and precise as possible, as though they were the last words she would ever write. Her brow was wrinkling when she finished the sentence, her work coming to a decisive end with a period. The silence was interrupted by short, irregular exhalations out her nose and the occasional sniff.
Balancing her left elbow on the clipboard, she laid her forehead against the palm of her hand. It was easier to pretend that her anguish went unseen if she could not see the man standing in the corner.
Her eyes drifted over the sentence. There was probably enough space on the page for sixty-seven more sentences just like it. She read it again.
Amelia put down the pen and brought her other hand up to her face, cradling her head above the clipboard while reading the words over and over again.
'I wish you were here.'
The black dog sniffed at the sandy footprint that marked the abrupt end of a journey. Seconds later, its ears were blown about its face by a sea breeze, making it pull back from the print and give its head a shake.
Turning towards the town, the dog trotted forward a few steps before it returned to the footprints. A bark echoed off the cliffs and faded somewhere over the sea.
The young woman did not reappear.
For the next hour the canine would pace up and down the beach, barking and calling for a master who would never answer. After all, the hound was a familiar. It was not within its power to summon its master.