DISCLAIMER: I am sorry if this sounds a bit like some novels on mental institutes and patients out there, it was not my intention to make it sound like it. But, just to make sure, I don?t own mental institutes or the idea of them and especially GW, but this plot was off the top of my head. Also, obviously, I am not related to Chopin, (I wish though since I?m trying to play the song I make Quatre play!) so I don?t own him or his songs either. All I own is a broken down piano who my grandmother?s grandmother used to play and the half empty bottle of Russian Stolichnaya vodka besides my Dell notebook laptop.
Please don?t sue!
Dedication: To the people who humbly took their time to review!
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ABANDONED SOULS: (Ch1: ?Wandering? )
By: Aisha Kafati
Rating:R
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Quatre held his violin in between his shoulder and chin, humming softly as his fingers strummed across its strings. Meanwhile, his other hand held the bow to pull it back and forth steadily. As he let the harmony take over, he lost himself in the sounds and poured his soul into his playing. He had acquired the scores (printed music) from the original version of Chopin?s Nocturne. He had edited them to his taste so he could play the song on the violin, instead of the piano.
It was not a personal preference that made him do that. He was also a virtuoso by heart on the keys, but his curiosity got the better of him and he wondered how the melody would sound on the strings of his violin. He was quite pleased with the result. It was a song meant for the night, a sad melancholic tune. It exuded loneliness and a sort of weariness that tore at the heart.
It reminded him of Dorothy. As he increased his pace and the intensity became overwhelming he bit back the emotions that had already climbed up his throat. Outside thunder rumbled and lightning hit hard, but he scarcely heard it. As he ended the piece in one long last chord, he removed the small instrument from its comfortable position between his neck and shoulder, sighing all the while.
How long had it been since Trowa had pulled him out of the chaos in Libra. He could remember it vaguely. Her, him, the words they exchanged and the heated emotions that coursed between them. Anger and past remorse were especially bitter at the time, and his heart almost gave out in the end because of it. He could not begin to comprehend what on earth had happened to her to make her feel so passionately about war and death alike. What was it that made her hurt so badly inside, why couldn?t she have let him in? She had so many walls put up around her; like a lost child filled with pain and longing, trapped in a maze trying to get out.
As the storm came to a closing, while a light drizzle played outside, he contemplated his position in the family business and his nonexistent love life. His sisters were not so bent in hiding that fact either. They were positively anxious and acted in desperate ways while trying to find him a ?soul mate?; someone to distract him from the stress he was visibly in. Even thought they meant well, they could not understand the real cause of the so called stress he was in.
As he sat himself in his leather chair behind the grand mahogany desk in his private office, he began to wonder if it really was for the best to contradict his sister?s wishes. He was rather lonely, but not because he wanted to. The problem was, every time one of his sisters introduced him to another fair single lady, he kept envisioning Dorothy in her place and comparing the poor girl to his lost love. It wasn?t really hard to do, how could anyone forget someone like Dorothy? She had a very tough character and a stubborn personality. Her long locks called for his nimble fingers. How he had desired more than once to tangle his hands wrist deep into the golden cascade of strands. She was truly a goddess, and he had become addicted, to her and her memory.
He checked the clock on the mantelpiece above the fire that was smoldering down to ashes. It was late, early in the morning, and he had to get a good nights rest so he could wake up early for his trip to a nearby colony L5 for business matters. As he began to get up, he hesitated and opened up a drawer in his desk with a key from his pocket. There wasn?t much in it. It was bare except for a few newspaper clippings and photographs. Apart from the stab wound in his side, the scarps were all he had left of the girl, merely memories.
Some were of the incident at Libra and how the ?Gundam Pilots? had saves the world. ?More like a certain ?hero? saved the world?, Quatre mused. He gently picked up a frayed clipping of a girl in her 20?s looking lost and confused. It was the last he had heard of her. The more he searched, the less he found out about her. After her trial she had vanished into thin air. The authorities could not divulge any information, it was considered a top secret matter, even for the Gundam pilots who could do nothing more for their friend Quatre.
He was on his own on this one...
GWGWGWGW
Dorothy awoke once again to the sounds of screaming from the bed next to her. Gale Sanders was being torn apart limb by limb by 2 of Nurse Ratched?s favorite ghouls, Dan and Harold. She lifted herself up on her elbows to tug back her long braid of hair from her spot under the covers (so as to escape the ?drama? once again). It was clearly impossible to try to evade the horror with which everyone woke up every day of their blasted lives. Gale Sanders would be going into seclusion early in the day, again, for the fifth time this week. Dorothy had no say whatsoever in the matter at hand and no power to try and help a fallen comrade. So, she just stood up and sidestepped the brawl on the linoleum cracked floor so she could get the first spot at the sink in the morning.
As she reached for an old toothpaste tube to scrub her teeth, she began to reflect on Gale?s situation. She couldn?t blame the ?gorillas? better known as Bill, Dan and Harold for scrubbing the floor with her. She did get out of hand sometimes. But they didn?t know Sanders like she did. She really was just another traumatized young soul stuck in an adult?s body. The story she had heard from the rest of their friends was that Gale had been caught in a fire where her little brother and parents died. She had no other choice but to remain as an orphan, alone in the world. The story did not move many hearts in the ward, since other patients, with dozens of other stories, shared a similar lost tales of their past lives. But she was, once again, different from the rest?just like her.
Gale had a certain? no?more like a particular obsession that nobody could understand. She visibly clung to her last fleeting memory of the traumatic incident where she lost everything she had to the flames of the fire. A moth?a single moth was the last thing she saw, flying through the flames. In her young and already broken mind she put the wrong two pieces together and ended up correlating the images of moths to the very same destructive incident.
Her obsession rose to new levels, when as a teenager, depression hit bad and other nurses began to find dead moths everywhere she went. She seemed to find small pleasures in destroying the helpless creatures; later to use the dead remains as stuffing for her pillows in the hospital. Dorothy had the courage to look past all the superficial wrongs and ignore the emotional battles going on in Gale?s head so as to offer her much more than the usual look of disgust or pity?uncommon friendship.
She finished her short routine and re-braided her hair into her usual braid. It kept the long strands out of her way and the heat out of her skin. She began to make her way to the mess hall were she usually sat with the troubled sort of the ward. She passed the hallway were Sanders was being kept in and hesitated at hearing her garbled speech from the lone barred door at the end, with only the usual small window as a passage for light. With a silent sigh she strode purposefully to the small window.
Before she had a chance to peer in, a hand shot out from inside and broke the glass. Startled, Dorothy looked up to see a bloodied hand grope around while grasping a crushed moth in between its fingertips. Cautiously she slid up the opposite wall to a standing position against it while the hand still madly moved around. ?Is it you?Dorothy?? a small voice sneered through the door. Dorothy made no move to reply but put forth a grim expression as she watched one of her best friends get lost in the disease of confusion once again.
?Are you hungry Gale?? Dorothy asked with no emotion whatsoever in her voice. ?Yessssss?.? Hissed Sander?s while moving her fingers a bit. Dorothy reached into the nearly ripped off pocket on the side of her skirt for a biscuit that resembled more a piece of shit than actual bread. It was weeks old and covered mostly in mold and pieces of lint from its dusty hiding spot. Hesitantly, she reached out a hand to grope the mangled arm and soothe it out of its delirium. ?What ya got there Dorothyyy?? Gale asked while straining out Dorothy?s name as a coughing fit erupted from inside the cell she was in. ?Just something I saved.? She put in simply as she grasped her wrist and disentangled her fingers from the bloody moth. As it was freed, it fell to the floor without a sound but Dorothy could hear how Sanders enjoyed the last fighting moments for life the poor creature had.
As her demented smirks and giggling erupted into sobs, Dorothy placed the piece of bread between her fingers and watched as she clutched at it like a lost child clutches her mommy when in pain. The hand disappeared inside once again. As she turned to leave she could faintly hear Gale munching on the biscuit covered in her own blood and bits and pieces of the moths wings. ?I?ll see ya tomorrow Gale... try to stay alive.? Dorothy called out while picturing Gale?s furtive nodding of her head.
?If this is how it feels to ?survive?,? She murmured to nobody in particular, ?I wonder what hell?s like?
?Hmm?maybe they just opened up a spot for you, you cheap bitch! While they?ve denied me mine!? Gale bit out in a sudden fit of rage.
Dorothy walked out without as much as a word.
GWGWGWGW
Sighing softly, Quatre adjusted his seat in his private jet to his preference. He had not been able to get any shut eye last night or more so this morning. Quatre chuckled, but then abruptly stopped. He had had that nightmare again and it was even more vivid then the other times he had experienced it. In it he seemed to be walking down a long hallway were the shadows seemed to betray him and his sight. It seemed like they were mocking him, laughing at his failure to locate Dorothy. Before he could reach the end of the hallway he would always wake up. But this time, he didn?t fare so well; he got so far as to reach the end.
At first it seemed to be a dead end, there was nothing there except a large cement wall. But then he heard her sobs and screams, it was frightening and it shook him to the bones to be able to hear her but not see or reach her. Just as a door materialized out of nowhere and opened up to show the macabre sight of a hanged Dorothy in an empty room, he woke up out of his mental stupor covered in sweat and crying out. He had awoken Rashid in the process and he had come up to his room to see what was going on. Embarrassed, Quatre had played it off as a mere nightmare. But, as Rashid left to go back to sleep in his quarters, Quatre began to question his dream and the way he had gone about to search for Dorothy. Maybe she was still alive, held up somewhere without a chance to escape. The more Quatre pondered the matter the less sleep he got.
Now as he found himself blinking to try and keep himself awake, he realized there was no way on earth that he could escape the fact that he would not rest until he knew she was safe and at peace. ?Mr. Winner, we will be landing shortly in about 10 minutes will you need anything else?? the kind stewardess asked him. ?No?I?ll be fine? he answered.
The landing was smooth, he didn?t even notice when he was suddenly ushered into his limo and driven to the fanciest Hotel in the colony, ?The Royal Palace?. It was actually very huge and antique looking but it was equipped with all the modern necessities and technology. Suddenly Quatre found himself inside his private suite with nothing to do and a faraway look in his eyes. He lay back on his bed and drifted off into a restless sleep.
He was back in the same dark hallway. Voices filtered through the walls calling him, enticing him to keep going further and further in?
In an almost hypnotic state he felt his feet moving against his will. He began to hear the same whimpering noises he had heard before, except they were stronger and seemed to be coming from his right. He made a sharp turn and turned into a new hallway with cracked floors and a powerful stench of urine and like something or someone had died in there. Quatre covered his nose and mouth and began to cough. Suddenly he caught a flash of white and lace and turned again to follow the fleeting image. He began to shout out, trying to call out to whatever or whoever was down there with him. ?Wait! Who are you! Please?I?I?m lost!?
As he turned yet another corner he found himself in a different hallway, the lights were blinding this time and he had to place one of his hands over his eyes to shield himself from all the brightness. Suddenly they seemed to flicker on and off?and then?the bloody screams began. They were so loud, and so pained, Quatre stumbled back in shock and found himself huddled back in a fetus position against one of the nearby walls. The lightning once again changed and as suddenly as lightning it tuned pitch black. All was dark except for a ray of light that seemed to be too far away to see where it came from.
As he regained his bearings, Quatre stood up while his legs began to shake. Leaning against the wall, he began to make his way to the ray of light, fearful of what he might find. As he got closer, the screams came back and he could make out a small window where a light seemed to be coming out in waves. Getting a closer look at the window it wasn?t a light he had seen but flashes of lightning electricity. As he gathered his courage he peered though the tiny window and could make out a figure convulsing on a gurney, the sight was too gruesome to behold. The whole room seemed to be tainted with that person?s blood, but what chilled his blood was what that person was screaming?it was his name, over and over?and he could recognize that voice anywhere?it was?it was...
?Dorothy!? he suddenly woke up screaming in a cold sweat in his suite. He gasped out and closed his eyes as he started to calm himself. Suddenly he cried out in pain and made a mad grab at his chest. ?What?is...wro-wrong with me?? Quatre asked himself. He knew something was definitely not right, with the way his chest pounded in pain he knew he had to get out?maybe take a walk or something?
GWGWGWGW
It was late at night when Dorothy found herself unable to sleep. She fought the covers that held her prisoner to the itchy bed. The beds at the hospital were made so tightly that you could practically be able to slide in and not budge an inch throughout the night. She managed to crawl out horizontally off the bed and land hard on the cold floor. Lifting herself up just enough to peek over the side of her bed, she checked if she had woken anybody up. The coast clear, she scrambled to the door at the end of the long hall of beds and carefully slipped out.
She searched for the whereabouts of Mrs. Ratched and her burly attendants. Eventually finding them inside her office discussing, rather avidly, something she couldn?t quite make out. She noticed she had to go past her office to get to the gardens. She mentally made a plan of action and counted off the minutes while waiting for Bill, Harold and Dan to leave. Meanwhile she could not keep herself from hearing whatever the bitch had to say. She knew it would do her no good and would make her stay even worse. Hearing your captors talk about how exactly they plan to kill you in the end, will only serve to torment you until the inevitable deed is done.
After 25 minutes Mrs. Ratched ushered them out and sat back down into her chair and fell asleep. Dorothy let out a long held breath and began to make her way on her hands and knees towards the edge of the hall to try to make a run for the exit. As she crossed the main window she heard Ratched let out a snort and begin to snore. Smirking for a while she continued her way until she was way past her office and already in the threshold to the path of limited freedom.
It was raining. Thunder-lightning-pouring raining. And, she did not hesitate in stepping forward out of the cover of the door and roof and into the welcoming storm.
She let the raindrops fall softly, pelting her heated skin and cooling her off. She walked into the center of the garden and tilted her head back giving off a real smile for the first time in months. It felt so good. She didn?t want to leave, even if she was already getting soaked to the bone. She dropped her head down, chin resting at her chest, and silently made her way over to her tree?lightning and all.
GWGWGWGW
Quatre made his way out of his hotel and declined the offer for the usual black limo that was there at his service and command. He walked a couple of blocks before it started to drizzle and rain. He didn?t mind it all. He found it actually quite relaxing, it took the stress off and kept his mind off of the nightmare he had back at his suite in the hotel.
He walked a couple of blocks into the city and then it began to pour down hard. In a few minutes he was drenched. He looked down at his clothes, and lifted a soggy sleeve to confirm a well known fact: he definitely had not come prepared to take a walk in the rain. He had chosen to wear one of the few pairs of clothing that he considered normal, apart from the many Italian suits made especially for him. They were a bit uncomfortable on certain days much like this one; days where he just wanted to slip on some jeans. They were heavy on his hips and if not for his leather belt with the large buckle they would have plopped down.
He chose to wear a white button down shirt that was rolled at the sleeves by now in a desperate effort to keep them from hanging off his hands. He smiled as he blew at his bangs to keep them from sticking to his eyes, which was considered a futile attempt by now, as they hung over his pupils while dripping wet from the rain. He raised a hand to brush them back and to figure out where his restless feet had carried him now. He raised his head and a hand once again to peer through the rain and look for the closest shelter. The only visible buildings this far were a run down bar (which looked ready to collapse), a closed pharmacy, and a lone dark looking building on top of a hill looming down at him. He decided to take his chances with that one and began to make his way across the dirt path leading to the main gates to see if they would offer him some shelter and maybe a phone?damn, he really should have taken the limo.
By the time he reached the rusty bars of the entrance he looked for someone who would notice him and maybe help him out. Nobody could be seen out in the rainy night. There were no lights on and he asked himself if it was even inhabited at all. He moved his glance towards the other side of the building, perhaps there was another way into the grounds. He turned away and began to circle the property searching for another gate or door that would lead him inside.
He found a small back door made of rotting wood which he pushed aside with a creak. As the door slid back on its hinges he found himself in a badly cared garden of some sorts. As he took his first step inside, he failed to notice the looming sign above his head that read: ?Byberry Mental Hospital for women??
GWGWGWGW
So, what do you think?
I?ve been sick with a bloody virus all week and have not been able to sleep at all from the constant nightmares. Mum thinks it?s because of my story, the constant reading and writing, yeah right?as if I?d stop.
TBC
**Abandoned Souls**(Ch1: ?Wandering?)-(R)-(QxD)
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