A/N: The official first chapter of Hearts Burst Into Fire. This one is a little squishy with sweetness but I could not help it.
This story will have a school shooting in it, just be forewarned. I will put a trigger warning for that, so you can read past it.
It will have sexual content, violence, mentions of wounds, parental affection, ghost friendships, and language.
With that said, on we go!
Also, just a little background, there will be odd little tidbits of information that link Royce and Sam together from the beginning. So, keep an eye out.
I have had this story on the backburner for five years. As such, Ellie is Russian. Which was how I originally had it written. She also has another daughter, mentioned in this chapter.
Gotta hold on easy as I let you go.
Gonna tell you how much I love you, though you think you already know.
I remember I thought you looked like an angel wrapped in pink so soft and warm.
You've had me wrapped around your finger since the day you were born.
You're beautiful baby from the outside in.
Chase your dreams but always know the road that'll lead you home again.
Go on, take on this whole world.
But to me you know you'll always be, my little girl.
"My Little Girl"
By Tim McGraw
Saturday, October 11th, 1997
Andrew Mahoney's Junkyard
Andrew watched with shock as the wet, blood splattered infant was gently wrapped in blankets by his son, the tiny creature looking like a football in his giant hands. The mother, Ellie, stared up, sweaty and exhausted with a smile on her face as she watched Horace interact with his daughter.
His daughter.
The word in his mind drew Andrew up short.
Horace, the son he had kept hidden most of his life to protect him, had not only managed to attract a woman who looked past his flaws, but had managed to knock her up.
Horace was a father.
More importantly, he was a grandfather.
Regaining his senses, he walked forward and pushed some of Ellie's sweaty hair off of her forehead. She had been in labor for 72 hours but had refused to go to the hospital. While Andrew had been suspicious that she was hiding - or running - away from something, he had not pressed.
Afterall, what could a pretty girl like her be hiding from?
He glanced over at his granddaughter. She was pale, Horace having managed to clean the newborn goo off her body. She stared up at her father with the most startling green eyes Andrew had ever seen, a dusting of wine-red hair atop her tiny head.
After a moment, she reached up and pressed her tiny fingers toward Horace's malformed cheek and he turned his head, pressing a soft kiss to her little palm, still careful in his movements, fully aware of his abnormal strength.
After twenty-two years of being able to bench press mini vans, he had gotten used to having to actively concentrate to keep from harming anyone.
"She's not ugly," his voice always had a deep timber to it, almost like an echo. "Like me."
Ellie's face darkened as she heard his words. It was at moments like this that Andrew saw something not so innocent behind those doe eyes of hers. Something hidden.
Something dangerous.
"You are not ugly, Horace."
She said it with so much sincerity and finality that Horace almost believed it. But he also knew from two years with Ellie that love tended to blind people to your flaws. Ellie did not see his deformities because she loved him. Deformities his own mother could not look past.
Horace inhaled sharply through his teeth as pain, hard and fast, struck his finger, a harsh snap startling everyone in the room, including the small child in his arms, who was staring in shock at the bent finger in her tiny grasp.
Within seconds, her small face scrunched up and she began to wail. Horace looked panicked and Ellie reached up for the child, taking her gently.
"Shhh, solnyshka," she soothed, shocking both men with a clearly Russian accent. "You didn't mean to hurt your daddy."
Ellie gently nudged her daughter to her chest, a robe concealing her modesty as the tiny child began to nurse.
"Bayu-bayushki-bayu,
Ne lozhisya na krayu!
Pridet seren'kiy volchok,
I ukhvatit za bochok.
On ukhvatit za bochok
I potashchit vo lesok.
I potashchit vo lesok
Pod rakitovyy kustok.
K nam, volchok, ne khodi!
Nashu Mashu ne budi!
Bayu-bayushki-bayu,
Ne lozhisya na krayu!
Pridet seren'kiy volchok,
I ukhvatit za bochok.
On ukhvatit za bochok,
I potashchit vo lesok.
I utashchit vo lesok
Pod malinovyy kustok.
A malinka upadet
Pryamo Mashen'ke v rot.
Bayu-bayushki-bayu,
Ne lozhisya na krayu!
Pridet seren'kiy volchok,
I ukhvatit za bochok.
On ukhvatit za bochok,
I potashchit vo lesok.
I potashchit vo lesok
Pod osinovyy kustok.
Ty k nam, volchok, ne khodi!
Nashu Mashu ne budi!
Bayu-bayushki-bayu,
Ne lozhisya na krayu!
Pridet seren'kiy volchok,
I ukhvatit za bochok.
On ukhvatit za bochok,
I potashchit vo lesok.
A tam babushka zhivet,
I kalachiki pechet.
I detishkam prodayet,
Nu a Mashe tak dayet."
"Samara."
She blinked up at Horace, realizing that in all the hustle and bustle of being pregnant and making sure Dana was mentally well enough for her to be away from her for an indeterminate amount of time, she had forgotten to pick out a name for her daughter. At the thought of Dana, she grew somber. It was odd to look as young as Ellie did and have a twenty two year old daughter. Especially when Ellie was physically twenty two herself. And had been for some time.
"Her name should be Samara."
Ellie nodded, breaking free from her reverie. She shook away the thought of having to leave Horace behind one day and decided to focus on the here and now.
"Our little Samara Rose."
She pressed her lips gently to Samara's head, inhaling that aroma that was so uniquely a new baby smell. The smell of the moon and every dream you've ever had, her mother described it. At the thought of her mother, she began to sing the lullaby from her childhood. The same one she would always sing to Dana.
Horace watched Ellie and Samara as they bonded upon the make-shift bed he and his father had made in the office of the junkyard. It wasn't perfect. But it was clean, the smell of the hospital grade cleaner he had stolen still stinging his nostrils.
His angel and his little girl.
Saturday, October 11th, 1997
Vacant Lot
Madison, Ohio
Royce Clayton's pale blue eyes snapped open as the sound of a baby crying echoed in his ears. An image bloomed in his mind. A tiny pink bundle. Vibrant, almost glowing green eyes, a sprinkling of deep red hair upon a small head.
Thoughts of a girl that had haunted his dreams for years before his death snapped to the forefront of his mind as if they had never faded. Vivid. Colorful. As clear as any film he had ever seen.
The girl that had driven him to the brink of insanity as he had tried to will her into reality in life, turning to dangerous sports for distraction, and developing an anger issue due to her non-existence. The ego, however, had been all his.
How unfair it was that she had been born now and not then. Not when he was alive. Whole. Handsome.
His fists clenched at his sides. Even if he wanted to track her down when she was older - which, given the mental and otherworldly connection they seemed to share, did not seem like it would be a particularly difficult task - he would not be able to bring himself to kill her.
No matter how many years he had been dead, none of his victims had ever been female and he did not plan on breaking that track record.
He let out a snort and closed his eyes again, allowing his consciousness to drift off and connect with hers. Even a baby's thoughts were better than the boring reality of his endless purgatory.
A/N: And that's a wrap for this chapter. I like adding more depth to previously one-dimensional characters. It was implied in his ghost file that Horace was not always insane. He only snapped after his father died.
And honestly, the thought of him with a tiny child just warms my heart in an odd, not so easily described way.
And as for Ellie. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. She sees past Horace's physical flaws and I think that's beautiful.