Anyway, this will extend to be a mix of "Jack: Secret Histories" and Wire in the Blood. Sort of. Yeah. I hope you like it and please leave me plenty of constructive criticism, because this story will need it, I think. Oh, and if you think of a name better than "Aaron" feel free to tell me...))
CHAPTER ONE
“Shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot!” Aaron shook his hand, two fingers closest to his thumb obviously bloody.
There was a broken mirror at his feet; shattered into seemingly endless shards, all spread out at his feet and on the hard wood floor.
“Aaron, what are you doing up there?” His Grandmother’s voice rose up from downstairs, raspy as ever.
“Nothing,” he responded.
“That didn’t sound like nothing, sonny, what did you break?”
“Uh, just that old mirror.”
“This is why I told you not to go up in that attic. I swear.”
He heard her shuffle, getting closer to being directly under the attic access. “Did you hurt yourself, sonny?”
“Just my hand,” he answered, glaring at the mirror. His hand hurt. And it was the mirror’s fault for jumping at him. Honestly, he hadn’t even touched it. He hadn’t even moved anything around it. It was just some random accident; a weird one at that.
“Well, come on down and let me take you to the hospital.”
“Wait, what?” He glanced down to see his stout grandmother staring up at him, square jaw obvious as ever (or maybe more so with the addition of what she called whiskers). She was wearing the same horn-rimmed glasses he’d seen in pictures of her holding him as a baby, too.
It was weird to think she was supposed to be taking care of him.
“You don’t want lockjaw, do you?” she asked, as he finished his once over of her.
“What?” he repeated.
“Oh, just come down here, you idiot. You young people, I swear, you’re a bunch of idiots.”
He just huffed and made to get down the ladder. His grandmother moved back, giving him room. He let out a yelp when he tried to grab at a rung with his bad hand, by mistake, and about fell.
“Like I said, you’re all idiots.”
He rolled his eyes and managed to steady himself. He moved down and hopped off the last rung, before turning to his grandmother. He noticed, for the first time, the stark difference in height they had now. She couldn’t have been taller than 5’2” and he was 6’3”.
“Man,” he began, while looking her up and down again, “when did you shrink?”
#
“You know, I think riding in that old truck of yours with you driving was more dangerous than the risk of getting ill or whatever.”
“Weren’t you listening to anything the doctor said?”
“I stopped listening after they said I was going to have to get a shot.”
His grandmother sighed, glancing up at the ceiling. He felt uncomfortable, then, at seeing how yellowed the whites of her eyes were.
It was like looking at his future and seeing death. And that wasn’t something fun; no one liked being reminded of something that depressing.
“Anyway, it was your grandfather’s truck. I’d rather you not speak badly about his things, especially since he can’t come around booming in that loud way of his anymore.”
He just blinked at her, before moving across the room, across her ancient rug until he reached the couch. He sat down and he was pretty certain enough cat hair to smother a person floated into the air.
“That’s Milton’s couch.”
“I can see that.”
#
“No, Milton, for the last time; you’re not allowed to be up here!”
The fluffy, white tomcat just winked at him.
He just sighed and swept another load of glass into the blue plastic dustpan at his feet. “You know, I don’t even know why I’m up here cleaning this up. I have a hurt hand, after all.”
The tom just continued to stare, blue eyes flashing once a bit of light hit them.
He shuddered, before going back to sweeping. “Of course, Granny’s an invalid,” he whispered, “so it’s not like she could do this. And she doesn’t have any money so it’s not like she could hire anyone.”
The cat just jumped onto an old trunk and circled, before lying down—completely ignoring him.
“I think I was sent here to be a helper, you know, since hiring a nurse or sending her to a home would be too expensive. And since my mum wanted me gone anyway, it’s a win-win, right?”
He sent another wave of glass into the dustpan at that, his movements becoming slightly aggressive. “You think so, Milton? Or are you even listening to me?”
The cat made no move and Aaron let out a small growl. “Of course, you’re deaf then, are you?”
He stopped his movements then, when the glass under the broom made a new sound, different from the scraping that had been caused by the rough edges rubbing against the unpolished wood.
He glanced down. A piece of yellowed paper was attached to one of the glass pieces. He bent down and plucked it out of the mess, careful not to cut his hand again.
He turned it over, only to see a blurred, black shape—it looked like ink, with water run over it, and it seemed to have dripped down the rest of the paper snatch. He frowned at it, noticing its torn corners. He glanced down, but saw no other papers amidst the mess.
He then turned his attention to the old, slightly rusted backing of the mirror. Nothing was there except the rusted metal itself.
“Well, that’s weird. But it’s probably no stranger than me talking to you, Milton, huh?”
Milton let out a meow, then, and he could only chuckle.
He put the piece of paper in his pocket, though, gaze never leaving the snow-white cat; a learned habit, perhaps, leading him to do it.
((I hope you enjoyed your read. Standby for the next chapter...if you want. It may take me a week or so to get it out, for the sole reason I've bitten off more than I can chew (several ongoing fan-fiction pieces and various novel ideas that won't leave me alone). Now, if you add on the schoolwork I have to do...ugh...I don't even like thinking of that.
Anyway...comments/thoughts?))
