A/N: As you may have noticed, this fanfiction only has six chapters. That isn't a mistake, since I intended for this to be somewhat like a short story simply split into chapters. However, due to some of my friends' encouragement, I'm going to be working on a sequel that has to do with the abrupt ending of this story. It starts off where this one leaves off, and it's going to be a lot more serious than this fanfiction. It also rooted more so into the Hellsing manga than this one is, too.
So, if you liked this story at all, feel free to check out my sequel when I post it. It will be under The Visitor II:...well, the rest of the title is still pending, but I'm sure you get the idea.
However, before I could walk after Alucard, I heard Kirk Costello shriek in the background. Everyone looked over to the boy, and what I saw was enough to keep me laughing for the next two weeks: Kirk stood there, next to Logan Murray, in a frilly, silk and pink chiffon dress. He wore white stockings and pastel pink stilettos, with a dainty pink bow tied into his hair.
Every one of my friends, including most of the students, were laughing unbelievably hard at the sight of Kirk in his newly found school attire. Yet, even with the immense ruckus, I could hear Logan whispering to Kirk.
"Baby, you know I'm usually not into dresses, but looking at you right now... let's go somewhere where we can be alone," Logan spoke faintly as he rubbed Kirk's bare arm affectionately.
"How about the cafeteria?" Kirk suggested, bending his neck to the side with a smile as he responded happily to Logan's caresses. It's a good thing the skirt on his dress was so wide and frilly, or someone might've noticed an extra bulge in the front.
Logan sighed accordingly, then grabbed Kirk's hand and turned his body away from view, probably trying in vain to hide the easily visible bump in his sweatpants. "All right, just don't get spunk in yesterday's baked macaroni tray again."
With that, the two were off, leaving me with my hopeless thoughts of trying to possibly puke up the lunch I had consumed from the beginning of the school year. Instead, I let out a loud and attention-grabbing "ewww," which caught the ears of every single one of my peers.
"What?" Mirabelle asked me, to which I could only respond one thing without hacking up the cheese sticks and marinara sauce I had just eaten.
"Just never eat the baked macaroni from this school ever again, okay?"
She gave me a curious look. "Scarlett, today is our last day here."
"Good thing, 'cause if I even see Clearview's macaroni one more time..."
Suddenly, I remembered Alucard. I looked around, but he was no where to be seen. Inside, I was screaming hysterically at myself for being such a ditz and not following him in the first place, but outside, all I managed to do was let out a sigh... that is, until I heard a soft laugh from behind me.
Missing me already? I heard Alucard chuckle, and as soon as I pivoted around on my left heel, I was face-to-chest with the infamous No-Life King.
No. I'm just ... bored, is all. As soon as I realized what I had thought, I knew that was one of the worst lies I had ever told. There was nothing boring about my last day of school in any way, and Alucard knew that just as much as I did.
He didn't answer me, but I felt the silence wasn't entirely true silence, and I had a strange notion that Alucard was laughing at me without actually thinking it to me or showing it outwardly. So I responded in the only way I felt was right, and with a mental sigh, I thought, Okay, so I lied. You can stop laughing at me now. I missed you ... is that at all surprising?
No. But I wanted to hear you tell me. You humans can act so cute sometimes.
I instantly murmured something rude about him under my breath, then looked to Desdemona, who was slouched on the ground, thumbing through the pages of her manga in frustration. I then remembered how she wanted to show me something earlier, and approached her with my natural untrusting caution.
"Hey Dez. What did you want to show me earlier?" I kneeled down next to her, not caring at all if I got grass stains on my jeans. If anything, those stains would forever remind me of my wonderful last day of eighth grade.
She didn't look up at me. Instead, she simply handed me the manga and had me flip through the pages. "What do you see on the pages?"
I looked through briefly, and then gave Desdemona a skeptical look. "Erm... Dez, I don't see anything. The pages are all blank... Including the cover."
Desdemona let out a sigh and grabbed the book back, exasperated. "Exactly! When I had this book earlier, it was just like any other manga book I've ever read. Each page was filled with comics, and now, look at it! How am I going to explain this to Kayla? I borrowed this book from her, and now look what happened."
I was speechless. This had never happened before ... in fact, hardly anything about that day had ever occurred before in my entire lifetime. "Dez, I don't know what to say. All you can do is tell Kayla the truth, and then hope she believes you."
"Oh, there won't be any need for explaining to anyone," I heard a deep voice say behind us, which made both Desdemona and me jump. I looked back and met Alucard's boot, which satisfied me not and forced me to look all the way up to his face while straining my neck.
"Why would you say that?" I queried distrustfully, although I'm not sure why I was doubting any word he said. That whole day was like a fairytale, and yet it had really happened, so I have no idea why I felt I still needed a reason to believe.
Alucard's answer was vague and undefined, as was his expression. "You will see, soon enough."
The last thing I remember is waking up here, in this small room. I opened my eyes from beneath a blue canopy of a strange bed, the covers still intact and curtains on my window undrawn and open. The light filtered through the large plate glass window, and I nearly screamed at the peculiarity of it all.
However, I was able to salvage my vocal chords and simply jumped up from the bed, running into the open bathroom in the room. I hastily looked to the mirror above the sink, but the girl I saw was not me. She had large, sparkling brown eyes the color of fresh coffee grounds, and bouncy dark red hair. Her face was flawless and somewhat pale, and as I scanned my body, this girl hadn't an extra ounce of fat on her that was displeasing to the eye.
I still had a large chest like I had, yet this one looked so much bigger, and my thighs and butt were both toned from what I could see with my clothes still on. In fact, my clothes weren't even mine. I had on a knee-length black shirt, a black blazer, and a pastel green halter top that seemingly connected to the chain of a gold cross that hung right beneath my clavicle. I was even wearing knee-high socks that coordinated with my top in color.
This girl, whoever she was, was a beautiful creature, and she surely wasn't me. After all, as far as I could remember, I was thirteen-year-old, and this girl looked to be at least seventeen, if not older. I would never aspire to such beauty at that age, I thought inside, whilst staring admirably into the mirror at such a person.
This can't be me, I thought lightly and reached out to the shimmering glass in front of me. My bare hand made contact, and as I watched the girl in the mirror mimic my movements at the exact same time, I felt a spark of doubt as to my assumptions. However, to disprove such skepticism, I tried to speak aloud. Surely, this girl would have a different voice, and when such a thing was confirmed, I would be safe.
I tried to utter a phrase, yet as soon as I tried, I felt a sharp pain collect at my throat. Running my hands beneath my chin and down, I hit a sore that made me inhale sharply with a wince. Lifting up my chin and looking to the mirror, I saw a medium-deep wound in the shape of teeth marks lining my neck. I ran my fingers over the lacerations, knowing such rough texture to belong to an authentic bite, and realizing the stinging that resonated at my throat could not be fake. The aching was of my own body, which bore the shape and face of this girl.
Before I could respond with a blood-curdling screech of the Lord's name in vain at the blasphemous reality of what appeared to be body-swapping, there was a rap at the door.
"Miss Cross, your breakfast is here," I heard a refined manly voice call to me. The door opened, and in stepped an older man with a monocle over his left eye, and he was dressed in a formal butler's outfit. He wore his obsidian hair in a ponytail, and a genuine smile on his face. It was Integra's butler, Walter.
He rolled in a white cart topped with a silver platter, sparkling silverware, and a small cup of what smelled to be tea, along with another glass of orange juice. Once Walter revealed the breakfast, I nearly fainted at the sight of such luxury. What he revealed was an immaculate meal consisting of scrambled eggs, sausages, black pudding, mushrooms, bacon, baked beans, hash browns, and a half of a tomato. From what I remembered by reading complex travel brochures on England, this was something like the full English breakfast.
I suppose I made my usual "deer-caught-in-the-headlights" look, for Walter began to chuckle softly and walk over to escort me to the small dining table in my room. He placed the plate, silverware, napkins, and drinks all on the table before I realized I was still staring.
"Don't worry, Miss Cross," Walter smiled, pulling out my chair so I would finally sit down. "Your breakfasts won't always be this large. Sir Integra simply wanted to ease you into your first day here and had something special prepared for you."
I must've nodded, for he let himself out of the room while I continued to stare blankly at my plate. A few seconds later, Walter returned and caught my attention.
"I almost forgot. I know it's only a bit after eight, but Sir Integra has requested a meeting with you this morning at ten-fifteen. I believe she wants you to begin your training today, so make sure you're prompt." I saw his greyish-blue eyes drop to the food. "You should start eating, or you'll faint by noon."
I looked at him, dazed and only half-conscious. Yet, before I felt like pondering anything else, I glanced at the breakfast, picked up a fork, and stabbed at a piece of sausage. Even though my throat was sore, I managed a response. "Of course."