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Chapter or Story
Disclaimer: The Pretender nor any of it’s characters is not mine. And I have to admit I sure as hell have stolen from the work of a few other talented people. I use some lines from songs and adapt them to my liking. But I do refer to and when I do that. And, the title and all chapter titles are not mine either. They are all different song-titles that just seem to fit. All songs are owned by Bruce Springsteen.
AN: All right folks, this is my first take in a fanfic, actually in fiction at all. Please take note that English is not my first language, so the inevitable grammar/spelling mistakes should be blamed on my teachers! (yeah right!) This Story is betaed from Part 4!
Souls of the Departed – 1
‘Secret Garden’
Daylight was fading, it was an October afternoon, when night took over every day a little earlier. She stood there, statue-like, silent, in her own backyard, in the already cold and wet grass.
She was cold but not for the external forces of nature, but for the coldness inside her, creeping down her body, from head downwards, inspired by the view her eyes took in, sending the message down right into her soul. She looked up at her porch, the very porch she found her then lover, Thomas – God has it really been more than three years? – dead. Shot, point blank in the head.
Cold, she felt cold, numb and empty. Looking up there, lost in thought. Thoughts about him, about what could have been and never will be.
She had loved him, and he had loved her. It was all that counted, well back then anyway. But love was not enough, their love was not enough – no, not theirs, hers. Her love could not save him, quite to the contrary. Her love for his life. That’s what it had been really .
It became dark quickly, the tall woman stood there nevertheless. She was a beautiful woman, and she knew it. She was that kind of woman that made men turn around, whistle and drool. Eying her, made men brave in bars – only to the point until they got to look into her steel-blue eyes. When she was in the mood, that look could freeze lava, it would make one shiver even if in mid-summer Louisiana.
But it was him, Thomas, that made her feel really beautiful. Not just outside, but inside as well. It was in his arms, that she began to hope that she not just looked like her mother, but she WAS like her mother.
More than three years have passed since she last was in his arms and God did she miss him, miss waking up in his arms, feeling beautiful.
Only two men made her feel that way in her life. For the longest time she thought the other was her father, but she was merely deceiving herself. (That biologically he was not her father did not matter to her in this regard) Deceiving to an almost self-destructing level. How she had wanted that other to be her father.
When she was honest to herself, and now she could, he had never made her feel that way. He may have commented her on her looks, and she was even sure he had been somehow proud at the fact that she looked just like her mother. But he had never WANTED her to be like her mother, that one was for sure.
For her safety or his, was still a gnawing question.
The very man she’d loved as her father all her life, she’d craved attention from, she would’ve done anything for – and she had done anything for him, going even so far as killing, and risking her own life more than once – would never grant her her biggest wish: becoming the woman her mother would have wanted her to become, would have been proud of.
No, the other man who made her feel so much better, so much more beautiful and so much more worth being her mothers’ daughter, was her very enemy.
Well not really her enemy, her prey. An enemy would be someone you hate. And she did not hate him. She may loath him at times, be angry at him beyond reason and curse him in a way that made grown men blush, but she did not hate him.
She chased him, he was her prey, she was his huntress, that was their fate. Did she have a choice in that matter, as he so frequently claimed? She did not think so, that fate had been sealed a long time ago, for both of them. At a time when choice had not been an option, at least not for her. Her father had told her so.
For him neither. Why else would he stay there for thirty years and not escape sooner. He could have - he should have.
She knew he was that other person. She had known him almost all her life. They had met at the Centre, both so young, so incredibly young. Both were children of their environment, and it was not a healthy environment. They found solace in each other’s presence, found friendship in a place that did not know about the concept of friendship.
She remembered their first kiss, she remembered how he consoled her after Faith had died, took her into his arms and gave her hope against hope. But what she remembered most, was the way he looked at her. The look of admiration, awe, regret, sympathy, the look of love in such a pure childish innocent way, but still, the look of love.
He still gave her that look at times, she had seen it. She recognized it, and she still felt rewarded in a way by it. Rewarded, for she knew that he still admired her beauty, her stubbornness, her ability to adapt and to survive, he admired her strength. And she drew that very strength out of that look more than out of everything else in her life.
And now, after almost six years of chasing, it maybe was time for her to choose.
Not because of him, though. She was tired of chasing, of fighting, of schlepping across the country and never getting anywhere.
Not for him. For her and her only. She had dreamed about leaving many times.
Is a dream a lie when it does not come true?
By god, she has had her fill of lies in her life. So many lies they would last three lives!
It was now complete dark in her backyard. Finally she moved. One step after the other, up the three steps to the backdoor. With a longing sigh, she took one more look to her left. The spot where she found Thomas with the small crimson-red spot on his temple.
Has it been really more than three years? – ‘Well’, she thought, ‘I guess it is time to choose.’
AN: All right folks, this is my first take in a fanfic, actually in fiction at all. Please take note that English is not my first language, so the inevitable grammar/spelling mistakes should be blamed on my teachers! (yeah right!) This Story is betaed from Part 4!
Souls of the Departed – 1
‘Secret Garden’
Daylight was fading, it was an October afternoon, when night took over every day a little earlier. She stood there, statue-like, silent, in her own backyard, in the already cold and wet grass.
She was cold but not for the external forces of nature, but for the coldness inside her, creeping down her body, from head downwards, inspired by the view her eyes took in, sending the message down right into her soul. She looked up at her porch, the very porch she found her then lover, Thomas – God has it really been more than three years? – dead. Shot, point blank in the head.
Cold, she felt cold, numb and empty. Looking up there, lost in thought. Thoughts about him, about what could have been and never will be.
She had loved him, and he had loved her. It was all that counted, well back then anyway. But love was not enough, their love was not enough – no, not theirs, hers. Her love could not save him, quite to the contrary. Her love for his life. That’s what it had been really .
It became dark quickly, the tall woman stood there nevertheless. She was a beautiful woman, and she knew it. She was that kind of woman that made men turn around, whistle and drool. Eying her, made men brave in bars – only to the point until they got to look into her steel-blue eyes. When she was in the mood, that look could freeze lava, it would make one shiver even if in mid-summer Louisiana.
But it was him, Thomas, that made her feel really beautiful. Not just outside, but inside as well. It was in his arms, that she began to hope that she not just looked like her mother, but she WAS like her mother.
More than three years have passed since she last was in his arms and God did she miss him, miss waking up in his arms, feeling beautiful.
Only two men made her feel that way in her life. For the longest time she thought the other was her father, but she was merely deceiving herself. (That biologically he was not her father did not matter to her in this regard) Deceiving to an almost self-destructing level. How she had wanted that other to be her father.
When she was honest to herself, and now she could, he had never made her feel that way. He may have commented her on her looks, and she was even sure he had been somehow proud at the fact that she looked just like her mother. But he had never WANTED her to be like her mother, that one was for sure.
For her safety or his, was still a gnawing question.
The very man she’d loved as her father all her life, she’d craved attention from, she would’ve done anything for – and she had done anything for him, going even so far as killing, and risking her own life more than once – would never grant her her biggest wish: becoming the woman her mother would have wanted her to become, would have been proud of.
No, the other man who made her feel so much better, so much more beautiful and so much more worth being her mothers’ daughter, was her very enemy.
Well not really her enemy, her prey. An enemy would be someone you hate. And she did not hate him. She may loath him at times, be angry at him beyond reason and curse him in a way that made grown men blush, but she did not hate him.
She chased him, he was her prey, she was his huntress, that was their fate. Did she have a choice in that matter, as he so frequently claimed? She did not think so, that fate had been sealed a long time ago, for both of them. At a time when choice had not been an option, at least not for her. Her father had told her so.
For him neither. Why else would he stay there for thirty years and not escape sooner. He could have - he should have.
She knew he was that other person. She had known him almost all her life. They had met at the Centre, both so young, so incredibly young. Both were children of their environment, and it was not a healthy environment. They found solace in each other’s presence, found friendship in a place that did not know about the concept of friendship.
She remembered their first kiss, she remembered how he consoled her after Faith had died, took her into his arms and gave her hope against hope. But what she remembered most, was the way he looked at her. The look of admiration, awe, regret, sympathy, the look of love in such a pure childish innocent way, but still, the look of love.
He still gave her that look at times, she had seen it. She recognized it, and she still felt rewarded in a way by it. Rewarded, for she knew that he still admired her beauty, her stubbornness, her ability to adapt and to survive, he admired her strength. And she drew that very strength out of that look more than out of everything else in her life.
And now, after almost six years of chasing, it maybe was time for her to choose.
Not because of him, though. She was tired of chasing, of fighting, of schlepping across the country and never getting anywhere.
Not for him. For her and her only. She had dreamed about leaving many times.
Is a dream a lie when it does not come true?
By god, she has had her fill of lies in her life. So many lies they would last three lives!
It was now complete dark in her backyard. Finally she moved. One step after the other, up the three steps to the backdoor. With a longing sigh, she took one more look to her left. The spot where she found Thomas with the small crimson-red spot on his temple.
Has it been really more than three years? – ‘Well’, she thought, ‘I guess it is time to choose.’
