Post by Dante "Vagabond" Coles on Aug 8, 2007 16:40:04 GMT -5
The room was dark now, lit only by a few trailing rays of light from a nearby streetlight through the drawn curtains. The girl lay on the hospital bed, clad only in the standard issue hospital gown and covered to her waist by the blankets. Her auburn hair spread out on the pillow around her and her hazel eyes were hidden under the soft flesh of her eyelids as she lay asleep, under a heavy dosage of pain killers.
Her left arm was in a cast that covered the entire forearm, stopping just short of elbow. It rested in a sling that was suspended from a metal arm, twisted around from the bedpost. It had been busted up pretty bad and would take a while to heal, but she would be released the following day should all their tests and examinations come out okay.
Dante sat in a chair in the corner, watching her and studying her intently while idly flicking the phone open and closing it again. After leaving the warehouse district they had made their way straight for the hospital. It was against Dante’s will, however. The Two were looking for her, no doubt, despite being with him now. They would not try to take her personally, but they would most certainly send goons; goons which would be stationed at the hospital, might even be some of the doctors. The connections the Two had were endless.
It was when they reached the hospital, when the adrenaline left her bloodstream, that the real pain in her arm set it. To Dante’s surprise she had kept herself in check. Despite voicing the pain, she didn’t scream, didn’t cry, just gritted her teeth and bared it until they finished fixing her up and gave her some pain killers to dull it.
Visitor hours ran short, but Dante managed to stay behind. He insisted that he was her brother and remained adamant about staying by her side until she was released. In the state they had arrived in there wasn’t much objection. He knew he had to stay by her side, or else when he came to check up on her the following day he’d find she’d never been there, in fact didn’t even exist.
She would also have to come to the match with him, and he’d have to keep a constant eye on her throughout. It would be easy enough to grab her while he was in the ring, but he needed to go to work on getting the Two. It still made him uneasy, with Steele being there too.
She stirred a bit in the bed, the metal arm squeaking slightly as it shifted to keep her arm suspended. As he watched, she remained in her deep sleep, her lips parted very slightly as she drew in quiet breaths. Her right arm, the good one, rested limply across her abdomen, fingers curled gently under her palm.
Anne Sheppard, that was her name. She had been born 1986 in Kingston, Ontario and currently lived in Toronto as a digital photography student at the International Academy of Technology and Design in Toronto. He had taken her wallet, which she gave to him, and checked her in under the name Stephanie King. They were sticking to the story that she had fallen off the roof of their home where they had been fixing a leak. It was simple enough that there were no questions asked.
He turned his attention from her to the phone in his hand. His own phone was in the pocket of his jeans. He rarely used it, but carried it around for emergencies. Emergencies such as this. He had received a text message under a private name calling for help; only the number was given, so he called it. This was the phone that had received his call, had sent the message, had saved Anne’s life.
It was also the phone that had ended a few lives.
It belonged to Johnny, by the description Anne had given of the man she had grabbed it from. No doubt he had a replacement and was already working at cancelling this phone’s service or even tracking it down. But even if it couldn’t make calls, it had numbers on it that would be invaluable in his search for revenge.
He flipped it open and studied the screen. There was nothing remarkable about the phone, it was a Motorola RAZR, one of the most common cell phones out there right now. He had seen people carrying them around everywhere, though it was in danger now of being overrun by the iPhone.
Not that any of this mattered. Dante pushed the button and brought up the contact list. It was all in a code. Five digits, the first and the forth were letters while the other three were numbers. The first contact read A12F7. There was no doubt in Dante’s mind that there was no way to decipher this code, that it had just been put there as a ploy to distract people. Johnny probably had all the contacts memorized by their speed dial number.
There were a few names on the list that were not labelled by the undecipherable coding. Police, Roger, Fire, Steele, Vagabond, and so forth. It took him by surprise that they had his number, but he knew better than to expect otherwise. All in all, between the coded and uncoded contacts there were far too many to count.
He brought the highlight to Steele’s name again. This confirmed it for him. Their man in the federation, in the OWF, was Alistair “Stainless” Steele. But it was not enough proof. He couldn’t fool himself just yet. He needed to be sure of it.
The chair creaked slightly as he stood up. His feet made no noise as he crossed the tiles in the room. He didn’t want to wake Anne, she needed her rest. She had a long journey ahead of her. She knew of the Two, she had stolen their phone. They would want her, and would likely torture her before killing her if they got her. Vagabond wouldn’t let that happen, though, he would not give the sadistic monsters the pleasure.
Don’t get attached, though, he told himself. Don’t get attached, because if they do get her, they can use her against you. Use her as another piece in their game. Another Annabelle.
He cringed as the name ran through his mind. With it came the same images that have haunted him since his first night in the OWF, in the ring. Not quite where everything started, but the same concept, the same principles, the same man running everything, it was enough to haunt him with images of Annabelle’s fading eyes, of the gunshot that had killed her.
Focusing on the task at hand, he stared down at Steele’s name on the phone. He looked at the phone number that was under it. He would not risk calling from this phone; the Two might have any number of way to track it down. They could be just outside right now, there because he accessed the contact list or some similar trigger.
Pulling out his own phone, he flipped it open and began to dial the numbers. Each press of the button seemed slow. He was about to confirm the next breadcrumb, but where he should go from there might be a bit more difficult. As he dialled, he pulled open the door and stepped into the hall. He could not venture too far, but he didn’t want to wake Anne up either.
With the final digit pressed, he double checked it with Johnny’s phone, making sure each number was exact. Then, with a strange feeling in his stomach, the feeling of anxiety and excitement, he hovered his thumb over the SEND button. Something was wrong, though. He couldn’t do it. Not just yet.
He realized then what his subconscious knew. If he called Steele now, and provoked him, then it might lead to Steele trying something against Anne. Dante cursed to himself. He had sworn not to let anything get in between him and the Two, yet here was another person drawn into this. But she was not leverage. They couldn’t use her against him quite yet.
His thumb switched from the SEND button to press a series of buttons, saving Steele’s name and phone number into his contacts. Once he was sure that was done and safe and the speed dial number memorized, he pocketed his phone and looked down at Johnny’s. No doubt there were measures being taken. He couldn’t risk it.
Popping the back off the phone, he pulled out the battery and placed it in his other pocket. He looked at the useless phone, then moved back inside the hospital room and placed it in the pocket of his duster.
Settling down in his chair, he watched Anne as she stirred again, her face shifting into the light supplied by a ray of moonlight.
She wouldn’t become another Annabelle.
Her left arm was in a cast that covered the entire forearm, stopping just short of elbow. It rested in a sling that was suspended from a metal arm, twisted around from the bedpost. It had been busted up pretty bad and would take a while to heal, but she would be released the following day should all their tests and examinations come out okay.
Dante sat in a chair in the corner, watching her and studying her intently while idly flicking the phone open and closing it again. After leaving the warehouse district they had made their way straight for the hospital. It was against Dante’s will, however. The Two were looking for her, no doubt, despite being with him now. They would not try to take her personally, but they would most certainly send goons; goons which would be stationed at the hospital, might even be some of the doctors. The connections the Two had were endless.
It was when they reached the hospital, when the adrenaline left her bloodstream, that the real pain in her arm set it. To Dante’s surprise she had kept herself in check. Despite voicing the pain, she didn’t scream, didn’t cry, just gritted her teeth and bared it until they finished fixing her up and gave her some pain killers to dull it.
Visitor hours ran short, but Dante managed to stay behind. He insisted that he was her brother and remained adamant about staying by her side until she was released. In the state they had arrived in there wasn’t much objection. He knew he had to stay by her side, or else when he came to check up on her the following day he’d find she’d never been there, in fact didn’t even exist.
She would also have to come to the match with him, and he’d have to keep a constant eye on her throughout. It would be easy enough to grab her while he was in the ring, but he needed to go to work on getting the Two. It still made him uneasy, with Steele being there too.
She stirred a bit in the bed, the metal arm squeaking slightly as it shifted to keep her arm suspended. As he watched, she remained in her deep sleep, her lips parted very slightly as she drew in quiet breaths. Her right arm, the good one, rested limply across her abdomen, fingers curled gently under her palm.
Anne Sheppard, that was her name. She had been born 1986 in Kingston, Ontario and currently lived in Toronto as a digital photography student at the International Academy of Technology and Design in Toronto. He had taken her wallet, which she gave to him, and checked her in under the name Stephanie King. They were sticking to the story that she had fallen off the roof of their home where they had been fixing a leak. It was simple enough that there were no questions asked.
He turned his attention from her to the phone in his hand. His own phone was in the pocket of his jeans. He rarely used it, but carried it around for emergencies. Emergencies such as this. He had received a text message under a private name calling for help; only the number was given, so he called it. This was the phone that had received his call, had sent the message, had saved Anne’s life.
It was also the phone that had ended a few lives.
It belonged to Johnny, by the description Anne had given of the man she had grabbed it from. No doubt he had a replacement and was already working at cancelling this phone’s service or even tracking it down. But even if it couldn’t make calls, it had numbers on it that would be invaluable in his search for revenge.
He flipped it open and studied the screen. There was nothing remarkable about the phone, it was a Motorola RAZR, one of the most common cell phones out there right now. He had seen people carrying them around everywhere, though it was in danger now of being overrun by the iPhone.
Not that any of this mattered. Dante pushed the button and brought up the contact list. It was all in a code. Five digits, the first and the forth were letters while the other three were numbers. The first contact read A12F7. There was no doubt in Dante’s mind that there was no way to decipher this code, that it had just been put there as a ploy to distract people. Johnny probably had all the contacts memorized by their speed dial number.
There were a few names on the list that were not labelled by the undecipherable coding. Police, Roger, Fire, Steele, Vagabond, and so forth. It took him by surprise that they had his number, but he knew better than to expect otherwise. All in all, between the coded and uncoded contacts there were far too many to count.
He brought the highlight to Steele’s name again. This confirmed it for him. Their man in the federation, in the OWF, was Alistair “Stainless” Steele. But it was not enough proof. He couldn’t fool himself just yet. He needed to be sure of it.
The chair creaked slightly as he stood up. His feet made no noise as he crossed the tiles in the room. He didn’t want to wake Anne, she needed her rest. She had a long journey ahead of her. She knew of the Two, she had stolen their phone. They would want her, and would likely torture her before killing her if they got her. Vagabond wouldn’t let that happen, though, he would not give the sadistic monsters the pleasure.
Don’t get attached, though, he told himself. Don’t get attached, because if they do get her, they can use her against you. Use her as another piece in their game. Another Annabelle.
He cringed as the name ran through his mind. With it came the same images that have haunted him since his first night in the OWF, in the ring. Not quite where everything started, but the same concept, the same principles, the same man running everything, it was enough to haunt him with images of Annabelle’s fading eyes, of the gunshot that had killed her.
Focusing on the task at hand, he stared down at Steele’s name on the phone. He looked at the phone number that was under it. He would not risk calling from this phone; the Two might have any number of way to track it down. They could be just outside right now, there because he accessed the contact list or some similar trigger.
Pulling out his own phone, he flipped it open and began to dial the numbers. Each press of the button seemed slow. He was about to confirm the next breadcrumb, but where he should go from there might be a bit more difficult. As he dialled, he pulled open the door and stepped into the hall. He could not venture too far, but he didn’t want to wake Anne up either.
With the final digit pressed, he double checked it with Johnny’s phone, making sure each number was exact. Then, with a strange feeling in his stomach, the feeling of anxiety and excitement, he hovered his thumb over the SEND button. Something was wrong, though. He couldn’t do it. Not just yet.
He realized then what his subconscious knew. If he called Steele now, and provoked him, then it might lead to Steele trying something against Anne. Dante cursed to himself. He had sworn not to let anything get in between him and the Two, yet here was another person drawn into this. But she was not leverage. They couldn’t use her against him quite yet.
His thumb switched from the SEND button to press a series of buttons, saving Steele’s name and phone number into his contacts. Once he was sure that was done and safe and the speed dial number memorized, he pocketed his phone and looked down at Johnny’s. No doubt there were measures being taken. He couldn’t risk it.
Popping the back off the phone, he pulled out the battery and placed it in his other pocket. He looked at the useless phone, then moved back inside the hospital room and placed it in the pocket of his duster.
Settling down in his chair, he watched Anne as she stirred again, her face shifting into the light supplied by a ray of moonlight.
She wouldn’t become another Annabelle.