InsaneJournal

Current mood:	contemplative
Current music:	"Helena" Nickel Creek

The Prologue
Okay, y'all, here is the prologue to my novel, the working title of which is "An Extraordinary Girl." I hope you like it!






Title: “An Extraordinary Girl”
Author: auntiewrites
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: none
Summary: Every story has a beginning. Every life has a start. And every dynasty must meet its end.
Warning: Harm to an infant, but don’t worry… she’ll be fine!
Words: 2, 212
Disclaimer: This is a piece of original fiction, written by me. Please do not take, or use without permission!
A/N: This has been in my head for ages, and I’ve made stops and starts writing it. Now, I think it’s time to get it out of my head, and onto paper. Enjoy!







Prologue





In Houston’s Heights, a small house sheltered by ancient oak trees glowed in the dim light of a street lamp. Inside, a woman slept with her infant daughter snugly cuddled in the curve of her arm. Her face was marked with exhaustion and worry, and the man who walked into the bedroom paused to contemplate it, watching the two breathing softly in the quiet of the room, disturbed only by the nearly silent ceiling fan. The woman stirred and opened light green eyes, meeting those of the man and the marks faded with her sudden smile.

“Tired?” the man asked.

She snorted. “You try pushin’ a baby out for twelve hours and then two more days of fightin’ off over-eager nurses and see how you feel!” But she smiled at the infant against her side. “How’re the boys?”

“They miss us, and can’t wait to meet their new little sister.” The man came to sit next to her on the bed, looking at the little bundle in the crook of her arm. “I can’t blame them.”

She stroked a rounded cheek, so soft and new, then looked up at her husband again. “James… are we doing the right thing?” There was a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

He caught a narrow hand in his larger one. “How can you even ask? You know we are! You know where she’d be right now if we hadn’t broken with your family’s tradition?”

“I know, I know.” The woman’s lips trembled and she looked back down at the baby, stroking the pale golden red tufts of hair that peeked out from the blankets.

“Vivi,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips. “I know you wanted your family all around you, like when we had Rob, and Pip. But it was too dangerous. You see that, honey… don’t you?”

Vivi sighed. “Oh, I do, James, I do. I’m just on the Hormone Highway right now. And yes, I do miss having my parents… having my… my mother and… and my … sister…” her face crumpled and she gave a tiny sob.

“Which is precisely why we’re doing it this way,” James said firmly, hiding his own tears. “We don’t want our daughter to suffer like your sister, do we?”

“No,” came the pained whisper.

James drew his wife up into his arms. “Vivi… Vivi… we are going to get through this. We will figure this out and we will keep her safe… somehow.” He kissed her hair, then said, “Why don’t you take a nap while the baby sleeps? I need to run to the store for diapers and a few other necessities we seem to be out of. I could have sworn we had diapers!”

Vivi smiled drowsily as she lay against her husband’s chest, listening to the reassuring heartbeat. “Maybe you were thinkin’ so hard about it that you convinced yourself you had gotten them?” she drawled with amusement.

He laughed softly. It wasn’t uncommon for him to do that. “I know, but… I could have sworn I set the bags on the counter. You went into labor so fast after we got here that I barely had time to put the milk away! Though… that seems to be gone, too. Oh well, what does it matter?” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Rest, Vivi. I’ll be back soon.”

She nodded and turned to face the baby, tucking the little head under her chin as she wrapped her arms around the little body that curled do trustingly against her chest. It wasn’t long before her breathing slowed, and she was deeply asleep.

James watched, waiting until she was completely asleep before he crept over and lifted his tiny daughter out of the curled arms of his wife, murmuring softly to the baby before laying her gently in the little bassinet nearby. Vivi had slept like this with both of their sons, and they had never come to any harm, but this little one, so very tiny compared to the big, strapping babies her older brothers had been, brought out all of James’ most protective instincts. He had a vague sense of unease, of danger close by, and as a result, felt a need to reduce the dangers he could see. It was completely ironic, therefore, that he had just placed his infant daughter in greater danger.

Certain that all was well, though the presentiment did not quiet, James kissed his sleeping wife again, and tiptoed from the room. Not long after, the distant jangle of keys and the thud of the deadbolt in the front door engaging could be heard. The house was silent except for the soft breathing of the remaining inhabitants, the faint creak of the ceiling fan, and the ticking of the antique kitchen clock.





In the weedy little alley behind the sleeping house, a dark shape slipped past a garbage can where an unopened pack of diapers, a loaf of bread, and a gallon of milk covered in condensation sat on top of several torn bags. The light over the garage flickered uncertainly as the figure moved through the back gate, swinging it open and closed soundlessly, a minor detain taken care of earlier in the day with the judicious use of a can of WD-40. The items in the garbage can were part of the earlier preparation as well. What better way to get the over-protective wolf that was James Ryan out of the house?

The house slept on, unaware as light feet moved almost soundlessly through the grass. Every step closer to the house became heavier, more reluctant, as if some sort of inner struggle were holding them back. But finally, inexorably, the back porch was reached.

The back door opened silently, swinging into the kitchen slowly. For several minutes, nothing moved, though the door swung slightly when a light breeze slipped in from the back porch steps, pushing it open further. A shadow spilled in through the door, crossing the threshold, courtesy of the same sputtering light over the garage. Almost as an afterthought, a gloved hand slipped over the doorknob as a face peered into the kitchen. He wasn’t tall, a slender young man, maybe in his late twenties. “Vivi? James?” he called softly in a somewhat strained voice. When there was no answer, he stepped in the rest of the way and closed the door quietly behind him, leaning back against it. He stood there for a moment, trembling, beads of sweat running down his narrow face. “No,” he muttered to himself. “Not… going… to do it… No…no… don’t make me. Just… just a baby… for God’s sake!” He bit back a cry of pain as his back arched, his head going back to hit the door. Teeth clenched, a tiny whine of pain came from high in his throat as he tried to remember how to breathe, trying to deny the soft, insistent voice in his mind. “No, no, no,” he gritted out. But the pain was too much, and blood slowly trickled from one nostril as he finally sobbed, “No more… no more… I’ll… I’ll do it, God help me… I’ll do it… Mercy…”

He pushed away from the door, staggering to the counter and grabbing the roll of paper towels, pulling one free to wipe his face. He ignored the blood staining the paper and took a few slow, deep breaths to steady himself, straightening slowly. His eyes now looked strangely flat, though there were occasional flickers of awareness in them, as if he were still fighting whatever compulsion held him in its grip. Slowly, he turned and walked into the little hallway, beginning to walk silently toward the dimly lit bedroom. He paused in the door, watching the bed and its sleeping occupants, waiting, his eyes flicking as if listening to distant orders. Once he was sure the woman was deeply asleep, he moved into the room and toward the bassinet by the bed. All that could be seen of the infant within was a small sock clad foot, and a tuft of strawberry blonde hair peeping out at the top. He moved the blanket carefully, reaching into his pocket to pull out something that looked like a flashlight, but with a strange metal piece at the end that began to glow after he flicked a switch at the end. He eased the blanket away and leaned forward, startled when he saw the baby’s eyes were open. Dark little eyes watched him, alert and aware. “Hello there, little one,” he said softly. “I am your Uncle Louis. If your mother wasn’t so stubborn, I would have met you three days ago.” He ran a finger down her little arm and watched as she clasped his finger instinctively. “That’s right, that’s right,” he murmured, tears running down his face as he kept his tone light and gentle. “Everything is all right.” He brought the glowing rod closer. “I am so sorry, little one. I do not want to do this, but… I have to. I have to…”

The baby’s eyes fastened on the glowing object as it drew nearer. Fascinated, the little eyes watched, never leaving it even when the man turned her arm, slipping his finger out of her grasp to hold her small arm firmly. “Forgive me,” he whispered, bringing the rod up, the glowing tip casting a pale light on his face.






James Ryan stood in the middle of the grocery store, a package of disposable diapers on top of the others in his arms, and froze. An overwhelming sense of danger, of pain and fear, swept over him, making him dizzy for a moment, nausea looming to make his mouth rancid. Danger, pain, a baby’s scream echoing through his brain, seizing his heart and squeezing it hard. “No!” he whispered, horrified. Dropping the packages and turning, he raced out of the store. “No, no, no, they can’t have found us, no!!”

He peeled out of the parking lot, and hoped desperately that his presentiment would give him enough time to make a difference.






Louis looked into the baby’s eyes, so trusting, so curious, and he struggled. But the will driving his own pushed at him again, clamping over his mind with a determined grip, and he nearly sobbed as he watched his own hand, the hand holding the rod, move toward the baby’s tiny hand. Her eyes followed the glowing tip, wonder filling them, and he struggled, he fought, but his hand moved and then pushed the glowing metal into the tender flesh of the tiny wrist. The little eyes widened, then the entire face scrunched up and the little body spasmed. The little rosebud mouth opened and she screamed, the high-pitched, panicked cry of a newborn in pain and fear. A sizzle could barely be heard, but the smell of burning flesh rose in the air.

Vivi sat up, feeling the bedclothes as her groggy mind tried to catch up. “Lovie?” she said sleepily, then turned. Her eyes widened. “Louis? What are you… NO!!” she suddenly screamed, wide awake now and lunging toward the bassinet and her baby.

The front door slammed open and feet pounded through the little frame house. James burst into the room in time to see Vivi snatching a wailing, screaming daughter into her arms. He crossed the floor in two strides, grabbing the man by the collar and yanking him up until they were nose to nose. “What the hell did you do, Louis?” he snarled, fingers tightening threateningly.

Louis laughed weakly, blood trickling from his nose and ears now. “You could not hide her forever, James. A child that powerful? Every sensitive in a five hundred mile radius heard her birth cry!” He coughed, wiping his upper lip and staring bleakly at the blood on his fingers before his eyes returned to James. “She wants her, James,” he rasped, staring toward the bed where Vivi tried to soothe the wailing infant and get her to stop flailing long enough to look at the damaged wrist. “She wants her bad. She would have marked her sooner or later. You know that.”

James yanked Louis again, staring intently into the other man’s eyes, then dropped him before turning to where his wife was trying to treat their screaming daughter. “He’s under her control,” he said with defeat.

Vivi looked up, a water gel bandage in her hand. “What? Oh, no! No! Did she…. Did she touch…?”

“No,” gasped Louis, sitting up and gripping his head. “No… kept her… out. No… no touch-bonding… ah… get away!!! Flee!! Flee now!! I… I can’t hold her… hold her off…”

James needed no second urging. He snatched up the baby’s bag, grabbed blankets, his wife’s purse and coat, and pulled his wife and daughter from the room. Louis du Boissey screamed, his back arching, and he fell back on the bed. “No!” he shrieked. “No! Won’t… do… it!!” He heard a car start up viciously, belts squealing in protest. “Let… them… go!! Haven’t you… ah… done enough??” His back arched again, his body stiffening as a strangled cry caught in his throat, and his body slumped to the mattress, twitching feebly.

“Free,” he breathed before his eyes closed, and he surrendered to unconsciousness.