Chapter One -- Witchblade--Storyboard 2

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Date Posted: 11:15:11 10/07/04 Thu
Author: moondreamer
Subject: Chapter One
In reply to: moondreamer 's message, "The Ghost in the Machine - PG-13" on 11:11:12 10/07/04 Thu

The Ghost in the Machine
by moondreamer
http://www.geocities.com/moon_dreamer66/moondreamerwbfanfiction.html

(Don�t panic faithful readers, I�m not really giving up on my eternal devotIAN. I am just letting the fingers and the mind wander in a different direction once again.)

A/N: I�m not yet sure where in the WB season timeline this falls � or even if it will continue � but it wouldn�t go away until I gave it a home.

Chapter One � 07/28/04

He was alone. Wasn�t that the way things had been lately? Wasn�t that what he was here for? To finally be alone? To be able to let the mask he wore to hide himself slip away and be forgotten for a few solitary moments?

He sat at a table in the back, almost hidden in the shadows. His back was to the wall; a force of habit more than anything else. The bar wasn�t crowded. It wasn�t that kind of place and probably hadn�t been for years.

It wasn�t one of the bright, hip places full of happy, busy people. It wasn�t even one of the darker and more desperate establishments; one where those who frequented it engaged in the painful, fumbled conversation of one lost soul to another in an ever failing attempt to reconnect to the human race. Nor was it a cop bar. Filled with that most insatiably curious creature; a fellow officer.

No one here was looking for connection. That suited him just fine. No one here was looking for anything beyond the momentary solace to be found in the bottom of a glass. Just a few moments of anonymity in a shadowed dive deep in the heart of darkened city.

He raised his glass to himself in silent toast. He had made it through another day. Somehow, he had gone through all the motions that were expected of him as a functional member of the human race. So now, it was time for his reward. Instead of taking a drink, he sat the glass back down on the scarred table and watched the hypnotizing swirl of the amber fluid.

He knew he shouldn�t be out in public. Knew he should go back to his apartment. But he didn�t like drinking at home. Drinking alone was one thing. Drinking at home, alone. Well, that was a habit he couldn�t afford to fall into.

An old rule, a promise made in the old days that he couldn�t forget. When he had first moved to the city he had searched for a place, this place where he could keep his promise to a ghost and not have to pretend.

It was hard work, pretending to be alive. It had taken him a while to get the hang of it. It would�ve have been harder without his past experience in undercover work to help him. He could somehow still be thankful for that. All those years on the job were paying off. Moving to the new city had helped. If they didn�t know you from before, if they didn�t know what had happened, they couldn�t see a difference. That made it easier.

He knew it had been a courtesy transfer. They didn�t know what to do with him so they had shipped him out. It was easier on everyone. The new assignment was a token one. No one cared if he succeeded. Just as long as he went through the motions it was all ok.

Sometimes he didn�t know why he bothered. Why did he keep on? It was a question he asked himself every night as he sat here in the smoky bar. What would happen if one day he woke up and said the hell with it all? The hell with putting on a personality that wasn�t his, and had never been? It was just on loan, borrowed from someone he knew in a different time.

He knew the answer. He had lived the answer. He smiled at the irony. He wasn�t living. He was dead. A walking, talking dead man. The first lesson he had learned when after it had happened was that it made people uncomfortable to be around a dead man. They felt as if they had to fix you, help you. They didn�t understand how being dead was salvation all its own.

Being dead was acting as if you didn�t have a care or a thought in the world because you didn�t know how to do anything else. Because you couldn�t feel anymore, and you didn�t know how to act anymore so you just kept playing the game. It�s all people wanted; just enough to make them feel better. It was easier on you also. Because you don�t know how to let anyone know that there was so much pain bottled up inside you that if it didn�t come out it was going to eat you up alive.

He tightened his grip on the glass, the pads of his fingers white when viewed through the inside of the dirty crystal. As long as he pretended, as long as he gave them all what they wanted they would leave him alone. And that made it all worthwhile.

He raised his glass and downed the bitter fluid in one gulp. He was ready now. He could go back to his apartment and face the ghosts that waited so patiently for him to return.

As he threw a couple of dollars down on the table, his cell phone chirped. He hesitated and then flipped it open and placed it up to his ear.

�McCartey, here. What do you need?�

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Replies:

Chapter 2 -- moondreamer, 22:33:34 10/07/04 Thu