Sounds in the Night
Chapter One
Lane.
I know this is short notice for you, but it’s an emergency.
Your new case is Airebrooke. Details to follow.
Z.
Lane read over the note in her hand for what felt like- and what could easily have been- the thousandth time. It had dropped through the mail chute of her dingy loft apartment a few weeks before, a few lines that would mean little to anybody else, but which told her everything she needed to know.
Airebrooke: it was nothing special, not to most people. Lane had never been "most people". As much as she’d disliked the town at times, she had to admit that some of the happiest times in her life had taken place there, and it had always held a special place in her heart. Airebrooke was a small, sleepy farming town, with only about thousand residents- probably less at any given time, considering all the children and young adults away to school. The idea that there were supernatural things, perhaps even evil things, happening in her old hometown scared Lane more than she cared to show or admit.
Now, sitting on the steps of the fire escape outside her window, with a suitcase and tote bag sitting next to her and a half-smoked cigarette in her hand, Lane allowed herself to feel a small twinge of fear. She wondered briefly if anybody she knew was still there, and whether or not she would have to face them. She looked different, of course, and she had a disguise as part of her cover story, but would that be enough? And if nobody recognized her, would she be able to keep her old feelings to herself?
Lost in thought, Lane jumped as the cell phone in her pocket buzzed loudly. Glancing at the call display, she let out a loud sigh before picking up.
"Hello, Mother..."
"Elaine Angelica Wilder. I absolutely must tell you that taking this case is ridiculous, even for you. I cannot believe that Everett waited so long to tell me that he was sending you to that godforsaken-"
"Mother. It's fine. Dad knows what he's doing-"
"You hated it there."
"I also know it better than anyone here ever could."
Lane massaged her temple with her free hand, trying to assure her mother that she was a big girl; she could take care of herself. Her estranged parents, both involved in the Darkwalk, often bickered about Lane's position in the order. They had met through the Darkwalk, and had been excited when their little daughter had grown to show some impressive abilities. Even though she was young, she had trained hard in an effort to feel like she belonged somewhere, and that had paid off- she was one of the youngest agents the order had ever had. Her father was proud, and always spoke in her favour when the Council dished out cases. Her mother, well, she worried more than anything. Cassandra Wilder had never really approved of her daughter’s active involvement in the order, and she’d only become more vocal since she and Lane’s father, Everett, had split up.
After almost five minutes of repetitive conversation, Lane looked up to see a car pulling into the lot.
"Mom. I gotta go, my ride's here." She paused, then added, "Everything will be fine. I promise. I love you." She slid the phone back into her pocket and picked up her bags, taking one last look at her apartment; she didn't know when she would be back. Then, squaring her shoulders, she headed towards the car.
----
"Some people are born special," Cassandra told the tiny girl sitting on her knee. At four years old, her powers were still small; she was pushing things over with her mind, sending images of things she wanted into her parents' heads, things like that. "They're born with powers," she continued, "and these powers are different for everyone. Some people can do magic, some can tell what people are thinking. People like mommy can move things without touching them. You can do that too."
"Magic, mama?" Lane's eyes were huge as she contemplated that thought. "Am I like a fairy princess?"
"Yes, honey," Cassandra laughed. "You are exactly like a fairy princess."
When she was eleven, Lane learned the hard way that things she saw weren't what everyone else saw.
When she was fourteen, Lane's parents explained to her what the true purpose of the Darkwalk was.
"It's like a secret government, a police force," Everett told her. "There are a lot of people like us in the world, honey- telepaths, witches, vampires, all those things and more. But there are many more humans, and they can’t know about it. So we have our own rules, our own laws, to protect ourselves- and to protect them.”
--
An hour later, in the airport bathroom, Lane stared at herself. Under the harsh neon lights, she looked even more different than she already had. Since she’d moved, her brown hair had been bleached to a dirty blonde, and was now pulled up in a knot on top of her head. Brown contacts hid her green eyes, and her thin frame was hidden under formal black clothes. She looked totally unremarkable, and better, unrecognizable.
“Claire Andrews, FBI,” she tried, slipping into the unremarkable, generic American accent she used when she was undercover. One of the plusses of the Darkwalk was its operatives stationed everywhere that could be of use to their missions; if any local cops kicked up a fuss and tried to look into Claire Andrews, they’d find a real personnel file, complete with ID photos and a made-up history of the girl who never actually existed.
With a final glance at the mirror, Lane checked her watch. Time to fly.
--
Airebrooke was a good two hours’ drive away from the nearest airport, and Lane sent a silent thank-you to whoever had rented the car she found waiting for her in the parking lot: a sleek black BMW- nice and non-descript- with an adapter already plugged in and ready for her MP3 player. Somehow, she doubted that the local radio stations had gotten any better.
After loading her luggage into the trunk, Lane settled herself behind the wheel, switching her MP3 player on and smiling as the sound of Halestorm’s The Rock Show filled the car. If nothing else, at least the drive would go by quickly.
I know this is short notice for you, but it’s an emergency.
Your new case is Airebrooke. Details to follow.
Z.
Lane read over the note in her hand for what felt like- and what could easily have been- the thousandth time. It had dropped through the mail chute of her dingy loft apartment a few weeks before, a few lines that would mean little to anybody else, but which told her everything she needed to know.
Airebrooke: it was nothing special, not to most people. Lane had never been "most people". As much as she’d disliked the town at times, she had to admit that some of the happiest times in her life had taken place there, and it had always held a special place in her heart. Airebrooke was a small, sleepy farming town, with only about thousand residents- probably less at any given time, considering all the children and young adults away to school. The idea that there were supernatural things, perhaps even evil things, happening in her old hometown scared Lane more than she cared to show or admit.
Now, sitting on the steps of the fire escape outside her window, with a suitcase and tote bag sitting next to her and a half-smoked cigarette in her hand, Lane allowed herself to feel a small twinge of fear. She wondered briefly if anybody she knew was still there, and whether or not she would have to face them. She looked different, of course, and she had a disguise as part of her cover story, but would that be enough? And if nobody recognized her, would she be able to keep her old feelings to herself?
Lost in thought, Lane jumped as the cell phone in her pocket buzzed loudly. Glancing at the call display, she let out a loud sigh before picking up.
"Hello, Mother..."
"Elaine Angelica Wilder. I absolutely must tell you that taking this case is ridiculous, even for you. I cannot believe that Everett waited so long to tell me that he was sending you to that godforsaken-"
"Mother. It's fine. Dad knows what he's doing-"
"You hated it there."
"I also know it better than anyone here ever could."
Lane massaged her temple with her free hand, trying to assure her mother that she was a big girl; she could take care of herself. Her estranged parents, both involved in the Darkwalk, often bickered about Lane's position in the order. They had met through the Darkwalk, and had been excited when their little daughter had grown to show some impressive abilities. Even though she was young, she had trained hard in an effort to feel like she belonged somewhere, and that had paid off- she was one of the youngest agents the order had ever had. Her father was proud, and always spoke in her favour when the Council dished out cases. Her mother, well, she worried more than anything. Cassandra Wilder had never really approved of her daughter’s active involvement in the order, and she’d only become more vocal since she and Lane’s father, Everett, had split up.
After almost five minutes of repetitive conversation, Lane looked up to see a car pulling into the lot.
"Mom. I gotta go, my ride's here." She paused, then added, "Everything will be fine. I promise. I love you." She slid the phone back into her pocket and picked up her bags, taking one last look at her apartment; she didn't know when she would be back. Then, squaring her shoulders, she headed towards the car.
----
"Some people are born special," Cassandra told the tiny girl sitting on her knee. At four years old, her powers were still small; she was pushing things over with her mind, sending images of things she wanted into her parents' heads, things like that. "They're born with powers," she continued, "and these powers are different for everyone. Some people can do magic, some can tell what people are thinking. People like mommy can move things without touching them. You can do that too."
"Magic, mama?" Lane's eyes were huge as she contemplated that thought. "Am I like a fairy princess?"
"Yes, honey," Cassandra laughed. "You are exactly like a fairy princess."
When she was eleven, Lane learned the hard way that things she saw weren't what everyone else saw.
When she was fourteen, Lane's parents explained to her what the true purpose of the Darkwalk was.
"It's like a secret government, a police force," Everett told her. "There are a lot of people like us in the world, honey- telepaths, witches, vampires, all those things and more. But there are many more humans, and they can’t know about it. So we have our own rules, our own laws, to protect ourselves- and to protect them.”
--
An hour later, in the airport bathroom, Lane stared at herself. Under the harsh neon lights, she looked even more different than she already had. Since she’d moved, her brown hair had been bleached to a dirty blonde, and was now pulled up in a knot on top of her head. Brown contacts hid her green eyes, and her thin frame was hidden under formal black clothes. She looked totally unremarkable, and better, unrecognizable.
“Claire Andrews, FBI,” she tried, slipping into the unremarkable, generic American accent she used when she was undercover. One of the plusses of the Darkwalk was its operatives stationed everywhere that could be of use to their missions; if any local cops kicked up a fuss and tried to look into Claire Andrews, they’d find a real personnel file, complete with ID photos and a made-up history of the girl who never actually existed.
With a final glance at the mirror, Lane checked her watch. Time to fly.
--
Airebrooke was a good two hours’ drive away from the nearest airport, and Lane sent a silent thank-you to whoever had rented the car she found waiting for her in the parking lot: a sleek black BMW- nice and non-descript- with an adapter already plugged in and ready for her MP3 player. Somehow, she doubted that the local radio stations had gotten any better.
After loading her luggage into the trunk, Lane settled herself behind the wheel, switching her MP3 player on and smiling as the sound of Halestorm’s The Rock Show filled the car. If nothing else, at least the drive would go by quickly.
♠ ♠ ♠
edited and re-uploaded. (: