Ghost Story: Chapter 7
Title: Fear Not Drowning
Author: Me
Pairing: None
Rating: PG 13
Summary: Jack's vengeance continues
Raimundo wasn’t sure exactly how he was holding himself together as he waited for someone to pick up the phone. He still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that Kimiko was dead.
How could she be dead?
The only thing that anyone knew was that they’d heard a scream and gone into the vault to find Kimiko at the bottom, evidently dead from a long fall. Part of Rai kept insisting that it wasn’t right: The Dragon of Fire had lived through deadly battles for the last three years with nothing but minor injuries, only to die falling down the stairs?
Another part of Rai suggested she might have had help falling.
“Bailey residence,” sighed a voice on the other end of the line.
“Oh, um, hi . . . . . Jessie, right? You probably don’t remember me. This is Raimundo from the Xiaolin Temple. This is Clay’s little sister, right?”
There was a long pause. For a moment Raimundo thought he had the wrong number, but the sad girl’s voice came back.
“Yeah. Yeah, this is Jessie,” she stated, punctuating the sentence with a sniff.
“Can I talk to Clay?”
“No.”
“Uh, it’s kind of important,” Rai tried. “It’s about Kimiko.”
“You can’t talk t’ Clay ‘cause he ain’t here,” Jessie said thickly.
Something about the way the girl was speaking seemed forced. There was definitely something wrong.
“When will he be home?”
“I don’ know!” Jessie blurted suddenly, tears breaking through the façade she had put up. “There was an accident! I - I was ridin’ my bike up towards town when I saw th’ ambulances . . . . he was hurt so bad they had t’ call in a helicopter! I rode with ‘im t’ th’ hospital in Abilene! His heart stopp’d twice on th’ way there!”
Raimundo’s face was slack in shock.
“Th’ - Th’s doctor’s have got ‘im stable now, but he ain’t woke up yet. They said . . . . they said he might never wake up an’ - an’ - an’ if he does, he’ll be in a wheelchair th’ rest of his life!”
Raimundo’s jaw hung slack. After a while, he found the presence of mind to speak.
“Kim - Kimiko’s dead.”
“W - what?!” Jessie asked, sniffling.
“Kimiko died last night,” Rai started carefully. “She fell down the stairs. Wh-what happened to Clay?”
“He was in a car accident,” Jessie repeated. “One of th’ other drivers said he was on the wrong side a’ th’ road.”
“Why would he drive on the wrong side of the road?”
“I don’ know,” Jessie muttered.
“Did -“ Rai broke off, not believing he was going to ask this question. “Did anyone see someone with him?”
The long, long pause from the other end of the phone answered his question.
“Th’ semi driver said he saw a redheaded kid in the passenger’s seat,” Jessie stated. “But there wasn’t nobody there.”
Raimundo had a long, long pause of his own.
“Raimundo?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I heard you,” Raimundo sighed quietly. “If - When Clay wakes up, will you tell him about Kimiko?”
“All right,” Jessie said.
Raimundo didn’t remember if he said goodbye. He didn’t remember if Jessie said goodbye. He just remembered setting the phone down on the cradle with an audible ‘click’.
Raimundo stayed in Master Fung's office for a long, long time. His hand continued to grip the old handset of the non-cordless telephone - a model that was almost antique by his standards, even though it was only fifteen years old.
His mind played through all of the information he knew about the strange phenomenon that had occurred since Spicer's death.
He remembered, especially, Kimiko's scoffing cry - inviting Jack to do his worst.
Remembered that Kimiko had been the only one to see someone on the side of the road a few moments later.
"That's gotta be it," he said softly. "Gotta be."
Forcing his fingers to uncurl from the phone, Raimundo got up and went in search of Omi.
They had to prepare.
Jack had finished with Clay.
Now that all that remained was he and Omi.
Raimundo couldn't help the wild shudder that thrashed through his body as he realized that, even at that very moment, a dead boy was probably watching him with malice in his ghostly eyes.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Search though the Dragon of the Wind might, Omi would not be found in the Temple. He wouldn’t be found because he wasn’t there.
Omi had no mental barriers against the belief in the supernatural; he had been raised on histories of magic and good and evil. Ghosts were no great leap in logic for him.
He knew Jack Spicer had returned from the grave to seek vengeance. He knew it the instant Kimiko had invited disaster upon them all. Now he went to seek help from the one person Jack Spicer respected above all others.
If anyone could convince the dead boy to stop his attacks, it was Chase Young.
The yellow-skinned monk levered himself up over the edge of the platform leading into Chase’s castle. The fire bowls burning merrily around the edges of the platform took the chill out of the air and Omi dusted himself off and started for the entrance.
As he drew nearer, his spirits rose. Of course Chase Young would be able to stop this; the dragon lord detested Jack Spicer and went out of his way to vex the albino genius.
Omi stopped.
The flames in one of the fire bowls suddenly parted and bent as neatly as blades of grass pushed aside by an unseen hand.
The Dragon of Water froze, feeling a cold chill grip him to his very bones.
Then, against all expectations, nothing else happened.
Omi was still bitterly cold, but he hurried forward into the inviting warmth of Chase Young’s lair.
The little round one, the soft-sweet one with that tantalizing odor of goodness and niceness and a streak of lean muscle that undoubtedly flavored the flesh *just so* came into their home. Warriors - ancient, proud, strong - gathered in a hunting circle around the young monk.
They would not attack; not yet. They were under orders from their master to let the little one remain unmolested.
But the scent of him teased them and made them rumble in vicious hunger.
Omi drew himself up to his full, unimposing height.
“I am here to see Chase Young,” he announced haughtily. “I wish to speak with him.”
The Dragon of Water tried to fight back the urge to shiver and rub his arms. He was still cold; so very cold even though he was inside now.
Above him, around him, there was a ripple of darkness; a muffle of not-sound; a soft, smug snort.
Omi whirled, looking behind him, but seeing nothing.
But the warrior cats saw something.
They could not attack the little monk.
Jack Spicer, however, was most definitely on their hit list.
A tiger - large and powerfully male, and so very hungry - was the first to leap towards the smirking, taunting, red haired apparition.
A bone-shattering roar filled the air as the great cat leapt, claws extended, fangs bared for the mauling bite.
Omi felt the charge more than heard it and leapt high to avoid the pouncing cat.
“Why do you attack me?!” He demanded. “I mean you no harm!”
Over his shoulder, as if the speaker were leaning over and whispering in his ear, a deathly cold voice whispered:
‘Here, kitty, kitty.’
Omi whipped his head towards the sound, leaving himself wide open.
An agile jaguar was next.
Its leap towards the white-skinned specter sent it crashing into Omi, flattening the little monk beneath its weight.
The automatic flex and dig of its claws as it powered forward towards Spicer left four gaping rents in the yellow chest.
Omi screamed in pain, crashing gracelessly to the ground.
A laugh, easily discernable and mocking, echoed through the lair. Crouched on the floor, curled around the wounds in his chest, Omi saw out of the corner of his eyes two long legs clad in black jeans spread out in front of him, as if their owner were sitting right on his shoulders.
A lion loped forward, roaring majestically even as it punched forward with a paw. That paw went through the ghost, and when the lion leaped back in surprise, its claws caught on a large, round head and dragged.
Another scream ripped from Omi’s throat as the lion left lacerations in his head. Realizing the cats would tear him to shreds; the Dragon of Water pushed himself up on his hands and knees and began to crawl towards the door. His hands slipped and slid in the torrent of blood that gushed from his head wounds.
“Ooooooomiiiiiiiii,” Jack breathed, the source of sound spinning and whirling around the wounded monk’s head.
“N-no,” Omi whispered, feeling light headed.
The apparition was no longer important in the warrior cats' awareness.
The scent of pain/terror/blood was.
Especially the blood.
Trembling, snarling, the cats crept closer and closer to Omi - stalking the little monk; deep in the grip of single-minded instinct that demanded food.
“No! No, I cannot die! I am . . . too magnificent,” the little monk protested weakly, still dragging himself towards the entrance.
The disembodied laughter rang out again, this time with a touch of true hilarity to it.
The cats raced forward - each determined to get a hunk of the blood-scented flesh.
Screaming shrilly for all of four, perhaps five seconds, Omi was torn apart as lions and tigers and jaguars vied for the tender morsels of fatty thigh, luscious giblets, and salty brains.
When Chase arrived in the courtyard a few seconds after the gory feast had begun, he found himself staring in shock as what was left of Omi quickly disappeared into the gullets of his warriors.
A translucent Jack Spicer stood nearby, watching the warriors consume Omi.
He was singing a song under his ghostly breath.
“Teenagers scare, the living shit outta me,
They could care less, as long as someone’ll bleed
So darken your clothes or strike a violent pose,
Maybe they’ll leave you alone-“
The specter suddenly whipped his head towards Chase Young.
“But not me!”
A two hundred year old clock in a nearby anteroom began to chime the half-hour. Seven-thirty in the evening . . . . but that clock was always two minutes slow.
In the next instant, the shade of Jack Spicer was gone.
Author: Me
Pairing: None
Rating: PG 13
Summary: Jack's vengeance continues
Raimundo wasn’t sure exactly how he was holding himself together as he waited for someone to pick up the phone. He still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that Kimiko was dead.
How could she be dead?
The only thing that anyone knew was that they’d heard a scream and gone into the vault to find Kimiko at the bottom, evidently dead from a long fall. Part of Rai kept insisting that it wasn’t right: The Dragon of Fire had lived through deadly battles for the last three years with nothing but minor injuries, only to die falling down the stairs?
Another part of Rai suggested she might have had help falling.
“Bailey residence,” sighed a voice on the other end of the line.
“Oh, um, hi . . . . . Jessie, right? You probably don’t remember me. This is Raimundo from the Xiaolin Temple. This is Clay’s little sister, right?”
There was a long pause. For a moment Raimundo thought he had the wrong number, but the sad girl’s voice came back.
“Yeah. Yeah, this is Jessie,” she stated, punctuating the sentence with a sniff.
“Can I talk to Clay?”
“No.”
“Uh, it’s kind of important,” Rai tried. “It’s about Kimiko.”
“You can’t talk t’ Clay ‘cause he ain’t here,” Jessie said thickly.
Something about the way the girl was speaking seemed forced. There was definitely something wrong.
“When will he be home?”
“I don’ know!” Jessie blurted suddenly, tears breaking through the façade she had put up. “There was an accident! I - I was ridin’ my bike up towards town when I saw th’ ambulances . . . . he was hurt so bad they had t’ call in a helicopter! I rode with ‘im t’ th’ hospital in Abilene! His heart stopp’d twice on th’ way there!”
Raimundo’s face was slack in shock.
“Th’ - Th’s doctor’s have got ‘im stable now, but he ain’t woke up yet. They said . . . . they said he might never wake up an’ - an’ - an’ if he does, he’ll be in a wheelchair th’ rest of his life!”
Raimundo’s jaw hung slack. After a while, he found the presence of mind to speak.
“Kim - Kimiko’s dead.”
“W - what?!” Jessie asked, sniffling.
“Kimiko died last night,” Rai started carefully. “She fell down the stairs. Wh-what happened to Clay?”
“He was in a car accident,” Jessie repeated. “One of th’ other drivers said he was on the wrong side a’ th’ road.”
“Why would he drive on the wrong side of the road?”
“I don’ know,” Jessie muttered.
“Did -“ Rai broke off, not believing he was going to ask this question. “Did anyone see someone with him?”
The long, long pause from the other end of the phone answered his question.
“Th’ semi driver said he saw a redheaded kid in the passenger’s seat,” Jessie stated. “But there wasn’t nobody there.”
Raimundo had a long, long pause of his own.
“Raimundo?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I heard you,” Raimundo sighed quietly. “If - When Clay wakes up, will you tell him about Kimiko?”
“All right,” Jessie said.
Raimundo didn’t remember if he said goodbye. He didn’t remember if Jessie said goodbye. He just remembered setting the phone down on the cradle with an audible ‘click’.
Raimundo stayed in Master Fung's office for a long, long time. His hand continued to grip the old handset of the non-cordless telephone - a model that was almost antique by his standards, even though it was only fifteen years old.
His mind played through all of the information he knew about the strange phenomenon that had occurred since Spicer's death.
He remembered, especially, Kimiko's scoffing cry - inviting Jack to do his worst.
Remembered that Kimiko had been the only one to see someone on the side of the road a few moments later.
"That's gotta be it," he said softly. "Gotta be."
Forcing his fingers to uncurl from the phone, Raimundo got up and went in search of Omi.
They had to prepare.
Jack had finished with Clay.
Now that all that remained was he and Omi.
Raimundo couldn't help the wild shudder that thrashed through his body as he realized that, even at that very moment, a dead boy was probably watching him with malice in his ghostly eyes.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Search though the Dragon of the Wind might, Omi would not be found in the Temple. He wouldn’t be found because he wasn’t there.
Omi had no mental barriers against the belief in the supernatural; he had been raised on histories of magic and good and evil. Ghosts were no great leap in logic for him.
He knew Jack Spicer had returned from the grave to seek vengeance. He knew it the instant Kimiko had invited disaster upon them all. Now he went to seek help from the one person Jack Spicer respected above all others.
If anyone could convince the dead boy to stop his attacks, it was Chase Young.
The yellow-skinned monk levered himself up over the edge of the platform leading into Chase’s castle. The fire bowls burning merrily around the edges of the platform took the chill out of the air and Omi dusted himself off and started for the entrance.
As he drew nearer, his spirits rose. Of course Chase Young would be able to stop this; the dragon lord detested Jack Spicer and went out of his way to vex the albino genius.
Omi stopped.
The flames in one of the fire bowls suddenly parted and bent as neatly as blades of grass pushed aside by an unseen hand.
The Dragon of Water froze, feeling a cold chill grip him to his very bones.
Then, against all expectations, nothing else happened.
Omi was still bitterly cold, but he hurried forward into the inviting warmth of Chase Young’s lair.
The little round one, the soft-sweet one with that tantalizing odor of goodness and niceness and a streak of lean muscle that undoubtedly flavored the flesh *just so* came into their home. Warriors - ancient, proud, strong - gathered in a hunting circle around the young monk.
They would not attack; not yet. They were under orders from their master to let the little one remain unmolested.
But the scent of him teased them and made them rumble in vicious hunger.
Omi drew himself up to his full, unimposing height.
“I am here to see Chase Young,” he announced haughtily. “I wish to speak with him.”
The Dragon of Water tried to fight back the urge to shiver and rub his arms. He was still cold; so very cold even though he was inside now.
Above him, around him, there was a ripple of darkness; a muffle of not-sound; a soft, smug snort.
Omi whirled, looking behind him, but seeing nothing.
But the warrior cats saw something.
They could not attack the little monk.
Jack Spicer, however, was most definitely on their hit list.
A tiger - large and powerfully male, and so very hungry - was the first to leap towards the smirking, taunting, red haired apparition.
A bone-shattering roar filled the air as the great cat leapt, claws extended, fangs bared for the mauling bite.
Omi felt the charge more than heard it and leapt high to avoid the pouncing cat.
“Why do you attack me?!” He demanded. “I mean you no harm!”
Over his shoulder, as if the speaker were leaning over and whispering in his ear, a deathly cold voice whispered:
‘Here, kitty, kitty.’
Omi whipped his head towards the sound, leaving himself wide open.
An agile jaguar was next.
Its leap towards the white-skinned specter sent it crashing into Omi, flattening the little monk beneath its weight.
The automatic flex and dig of its claws as it powered forward towards Spicer left four gaping rents in the yellow chest.
Omi screamed in pain, crashing gracelessly to the ground.
A laugh, easily discernable and mocking, echoed through the lair. Crouched on the floor, curled around the wounds in his chest, Omi saw out of the corner of his eyes two long legs clad in black jeans spread out in front of him, as if their owner were sitting right on his shoulders.
A lion loped forward, roaring majestically even as it punched forward with a paw. That paw went through the ghost, and when the lion leaped back in surprise, its claws caught on a large, round head and dragged.
Another scream ripped from Omi’s throat as the lion left lacerations in his head. Realizing the cats would tear him to shreds; the Dragon of Water pushed himself up on his hands and knees and began to crawl towards the door. His hands slipped and slid in the torrent of blood that gushed from his head wounds.
“Ooooooomiiiiiiiii,” Jack breathed, the source of sound spinning and whirling around the wounded monk’s head.
“N-no,” Omi whispered, feeling light headed.
The apparition was no longer important in the warrior cats' awareness.
The scent of pain/terror/blood was.
Especially the blood.
Trembling, snarling, the cats crept closer and closer to Omi - stalking the little monk; deep in the grip of single-minded instinct that demanded food.
“No! No, I cannot die! I am . . . too magnificent,” the little monk protested weakly, still dragging himself towards the entrance.
The disembodied laughter rang out again, this time with a touch of true hilarity to it.
The cats raced forward - each determined to get a hunk of the blood-scented flesh.
Screaming shrilly for all of four, perhaps five seconds, Omi was torn apart as lions and tigers and jaguars vied for the tender morsels of fatty thigh, luscious giblets, and salty brains.
When Chase arrived in the courtyard a few seconds after the gory feast had begun, he found himself staring in shock as what was left of Omi quickly disappeared into the gullets of his warriors.
A translucent Jack Spicer stood nearby, watching the warriors consume Omi.
He was singing a song under his ghostly breath.
“Teenagers scare, the living shit outta me,
They could care less, as long as someone’ll bleed
So darken your clothes or strike a violent pose,
Maybe they’ll leave you alone-“
The specter suddenly whipped his head towards Chase Young.
“But not me!”
A two hundred year old clock in a nearby anteroom began to chime the half-hour. Seven-thirty in the evening . . . . but that clock was always two minutes slow.
In the next instant, the shade of Jack Spicer was gone.