Some Halloween fun for Jkkitty
Title: Once Upon a Graveyard
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1242
Prompt: Some anguish, Terrifyin MFU TV, any genre
jkkitty, I hope you like your Halloween treat. Thanks for playing along and thanks to nursesparky for her beta!
Napoleon checked the map again. “Are you sure about the co-ordinates?”
“I double checked them before we left HQ.” Illya let the car roll to a stop and put the parking brake on. Immediately, ground fog enveloped the car.
“This is a cemetery.” Napoleon was not amused by their destination.
“I’m aware of that. I don’t pick them, I just follow the directions.”
“I feel like we’re in the middle of some huge game of Blind Agents Bluff with THRUSH. What’s the name of the man we’re supposed to be meet?”
Illya flipped open a file and turned on the dome light. “Dubois. His description is medium height, weight, dark hair and dark eyes.”
“I don’t think we’re going to have to pick him out of a crowd. It’s nearly midnight and we’re in a cemetery. The number of folks milling about is likely to be few.”
Illya allowed himself a small smile. “I suspect you are right. Shall we get this over with? I am sensing there’s a bottle of vodka calling my name.”
“Seriously?” There was an edge to Napoleon’s voice. “Are you doing okay?”
“I wish I had a dollar for all the people asking me that these days. Yes, I am fine. I would like some vodka because I like vodka. If you prefer, it can be scotch or even brandy. These nights have me chilled to the bone.”
Napoleon didn’t want to point out that Illya was nothing but a bag of bones at the moment. His last adventure with THRUSH had not been pleasant and it was merely a case of Solo luck and some breaks that they’d found him at all. When they did, the agent hardly had the strength to lift his head. Napoleon had never seen his partner so far gone and it was with secret delight that he put a bullet right between the eyes of Illya’s tormentor.
This courier job marked the first time he’d been allowed back into the field. Napoleon wondered if Illya realized how much depended upon his ability to handle the assignment. Possibly, a graveyard would not have been the best choice.
“Have you ever thought about it?” Illya’s voice broke Napoleon’s train of thought.
“What?”
“When you die. What happens?”
“I suppose it depends upon what dogma you prescribe to. Heaven or hell, sentenced to roam the earth with chains on your feet, rebirth into another lifeform… or maybe nothing.”
“You make them all sound so attractive.” Illya’s voice was dry. He buttoned his jacket closed. “Let’s get this over with.”
Illya pocketed the keys and waited for Napoleon to lead the way. By the time they’d gotten just a few yards from the car, it deemed to have been swallowed by the fog, yet in the cemetery, there seemed little of it, almost as if it was afraid to enter.
The fog clung to the ground, hiding obstacles from view. Both men stumbled more than once as they made their way deeper into the graveyard.
“If you ask me, this whole assignment is off. Why here? Why now? And who is thi--?” Illya tripped and fell against Napoleon, knocking him off balance. They toppled and suddenly the night exploded with bright colors. At first, Napoleon thought they were fireworks, but it was the wrong time, too late for the 4th of July, too early for Guy Fawkes.
He blinked wildly and the night reassembled itself. He was fine, but Illya had a gash at his temple. Blood trickled out of it at an alarming rate. Napoleon was there in a heartbeat, holding his handkerchief to the wound in an attempt to stem the flow.
“Be careful, my friend,” a voice behind Napoleon said. “Not so fast.” He glanced back and gasped.
“You.” Illya’s tormentor stood just behind him, a sadistic smile still painted across his face. “I killed you.”
“Just a hint. If you really want to kill a monster, cut off its head, don’t try to blow it off.” He bowed elaborately and Napoleon made a face at the matted mess at the back of the man’s head. “It’s amazing how little of your brain you really need to function. Henri Dubois, at your service.”
“You’re our contact?” Napoleon tried to edge closer to Illya, but Dubois was having none of it.
“Rather, you’re mine. It is so easy to manipulate the Powers That Be, especially when you know what they want. I only needed half my brain to outwit your Mr. Waverly.”
“I don’t think so. There are another dozen agents in this cemetery.”
“Not anymore.” Dubois drifted closer to Illya. “And soon this one will join them. I really should have killed him back at the fortress, but he was so pretty and such fun to play with. He’s very weak, you know. Another minute and he will be gone. Just think of the report, how you will be found the only man alive in a botched attempt. How the blood from all the other agents will tie back to you. You will slowly slip from view, ineffective and forgotten, a mere ghost of what you had been.”
Dubois stumbled on something at that point and Napoleon launched himself at the name, taking him down to the ground. This time he didn’t fail. He made sure Dubois had breathed his last.
Winded, he scrabbled to Illya’s side and held his handkerchief to Illya’s head wound. His free hand went for his communicator. “Open Channel D. Emergency, Agent down. Repeat, agent down. Agent…”
“Napoleon, hold still.” Illya’s voice sound deceptively strong, given the amount of blood gushing from his head. “Help will be here soon.”
There was firm pressure to his temple and Napoleon winced. His vision swam and suddenly cleared. Illya was kneeling beside him, his expression concerned. “Ouch,” he managed finally, and pushed a hand away.
“You’re back with us. Excellent.” Illya’s grin was much relieved. “I thought I’d lost you for a minute there. Lie still.”
“You’re hurt,” Napoleon managed after a moment.
“I am?” Illya looked down at himself.
“You hit your head… Dubois…”
“There never was anyone, Napoleon. It was a hoax. Waverly was trying to flush someone out and it failed.”
“No, he was here… that bastard… the one who had you…”
“Franklin?” Illya was confused. “Napoleon, you shot him between the eyes…”
“No, his real name was really Dubois… he wasn’t dead.”
“Couldn’t tell that from the back of his skull.” Illya stood and waved as they heard voice in the distance. “We’re over here.”
He looked down in frustration and then started through Napoleon’s pockets. “Do you mind?”
“No. I want your handkerchief.”
“You have one.” He held up a clenched hand. “This one’s mine.”
“I want yours…” Illya pulled the blood-stained cloth from Napoleon’s fingers. “Napoleon, what did you do?”
“Saved you.” Napoleon’s head dipped then and the medics arrived. Illya took a step back and let them work.
“Indeed, you have, my friend. Many times.”
A distance from them, a half-focused figure watched. He could hear the rustle of dead leaves that the announced the arrival. Heavy broadcloth dragged along the ground leaving a path of dead grass behind it.
“You promised.” Dubois snapped at the robed figure.
“A life for a life.”
“You promised me his.”
“And you failed. A life for a life.” The tip of the Reaper’s scythe sliced through the air and Dubois’s screams fell upon deafened ears.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1242
Prompt: Some anguish, Terrifyin MFU TV, any genre
jkkitty, I hope you like your Halloween treat. Thanks for playing along and thanks to nursesparky for her beta!
Napoleon checked the map again. “Are you sure about the co-ordinates?”
“I double checked them before we left HQ.” Illya let the car roll to a stop and put the parking brake on. Immediately, ground fog enveloped the car.
“This is a cemetery.” Napoleon was not amused by their destination.
“I’m aware of that. I don’t pick them, I just follow the directions.”
“I feel like we’re in the middle of some huge game of Blind Agents Bluff with THRUSH. What’s the name of the man we’re supposed to be meet?”
Illya flipped open a file and turned on the dome light. “Dubois. His description is medium height, weight, dark hair and dark eyes.”
“I don’t think we’re going to have to pick him out of a crowd. It’s nearly midnight and we’re in a cemetery. The number of folks milling about is likely to be few.”
Illya allowed himself a small smile. “I suspect you are right. Shall we get this over with? I am sensing there’s a bottle of vodka calling my name.”
“Seriously?” There was an edge to Napoleon’s voice. “Are you doing okay?”
“I wish I had a dollar for all the people asking me that these days. Yes, I am fine. I would like some vodka because I like vodka. If you prefer, it can be scotch or even brandy. These nights have me chilled to the bone.”
Napoleon didn’t want to point out that Illya was nothing but a bag of bones at the moment. His last adventure with THRUSH had not been pleasant and it was merely a case of Solo luck and some breaks that they’d found him at all. When they did, the agent hardly had the strength to lift his head. Napoleon had never seen his partner so far gone and it was with secret delight that he put a bullet right between the eyes of Illya’s tormentor.
This courier job marked the first time he’d been allowed back into the field. Napoleon wondered if Illya realized how much depended upon his ability to handle the assignment. Possibly, a graveyard would not have been the best choice.
“Have you ever thought about it?” Illya’s voice broke Napoleon’s train of thought.
“What?”
“When you die. What happens?”
“I suppose it depends upon what dogma you prescribe to. Heaven or hell, sentenced to roam the earth with chains on your feet, rebirth into another lifeform… or maybe nothing.”
“You make them all sound so attractive.” Illya’s voice was dry. He buttoned his jacket closed. “Let’s get this over with.”
Illya pocketed the keys and waited for Napoleon to lead the way. By the time they’d gotten just a few yards from the car, it deemed to have been swallowed by the fog, yet in the cemetery, there seemed little of it, almost as if it was afraid to enter.
The fog clung to the ground, hiding obstacles from view. Both men stumbled more than once as they made their way deeper into the graveyard.
“If you ask me, this whole assignment is off. Why here? Why now? And who is thi--?” Illya tripped and fell against Napoleon, knocking him off balance. They toppled and suddenly the night exploded with bright colors. At first, Napoleon thought they were fireworks, but it was the wrong time, too late for the 4th of July, too early for Guy Fawkes.
He blinked wildly and the night reassembled itself. He was fine, but Illya had a gash at his temple. Blood trickled out of it at an alarming rate. Napoleon was there in a heartbeat, holding his handkerchief to the wound in an attempt to stem the flow.
“Be careful, my friend,” a voice behind Napoleon said. “Not so fast.” He glanced back and gasped.
“You.” Illya’s tormentor stood just behind him, a sadistic smile still painted across his face. “I killed you.”
“Just a hint. If you really want to kill a monster, cut off its head, don’t try to blow it off.” He bowed elaborately and Napoleon made a face at the matted mess at the back of the man’s head. “It’s amazing how little of your brain you really need to function. Henri Dubois, at your service.”
“You’re our contact?” Napoleon tried to edge closer to Illya, but Dubois was having none of it.
“Rather, you’re mine. It is so easy to manipulate the Powers That Be, especially when you know what they want. I only needed half my brain to outwit your Mr. Waverly.”
“I don’t think so. There are another dozen agents in this cemetery.”
“Not anymore.” Dubois drifted closer to Illya. “And soon this one will join them. I really should have killed him back at the fortress, but he was so pretty and such fun to play with. He’s very weak, you know. Another minute and he will be gone. Just think of the report, how you will be found the only man alive in a botched attempt. How the blood from all the other agents will tie back to you. You will slowly slip from view, ineffective and forgotten, a mere ghost of what you had been.”
Dubois stumbled on something at that point and Napoleon launched himself at the name, taking him down to the ground. This time he didn’t fail. He made sure Dubois had breathed his last.
Winded, he scrabbled to Illya’s side and held his handkerchief to Illya’s head wound. His free hand went for his communicator. “Open Channel D. Emergency, Agent down. Repeat, agent down. Agent…”
“Napoleon, hold still.” Illya’s voice sound deceptively strong, given the amount of blood gushing from his head. “Help will be here soon.”
There was firm pressure to his temple and Napoleon winced. His vision swam and suddenly cleared. Illya was kneeling beside him, his expression concerned. “Ouch,” he managed finally, and pushed a hand away.
“You’re back with us. Excellent.” Illya’s grin was much relieved. “I thought I’d lost you for a minute there. Lie still.”
“You’re hurt,” Napoleon managed after a moment.
“I am?” Illya looked down at himself.
“You hit your head… Dubois…”
“There never was anyone, Napoleon. It was a hoax. Waverly was trying to flush someone out and it failed.”
“No, he was here… that bastard… the one who had you…”
“Franklin?” Illya was confused. “Napoleon, you shot him between the eyes…”
“No, his real name was really Dubois… he wasn’t dead.”
“Couldn’t tell that from the back of his skull.” Illya stood and waved as they heard voice in the distance. “We’re over here.”
He looked down in frustration and then started through Napoleon’s pockets. “Do you mind?”
“No. I want your handkerchief.”
“You have one.” He held up a clenched hand. “This one’s mine.”
“I want yours…” Illya pulled the blood-stained cloth from Napoleon’s fingers. “Napoleon, what did you do?”
“Saved you.” Napoleon’s head dipped then and the medics arrived. Illya took a step back and let them work.
“Indeed, you have, my friend. Many times.”
A distance from them, a half-focused figure watched. He could hear the rustle of dead leaves that the announced the arrival. Heavy broadcloth dragged along the ground leaving a path of dead grass behind it.
“You promised.” Dubois snapped at the robed figure.
“A life for a life.”
“You promised me his.”
“And you failed. A life for a life.” The tip of the Reaper’s scythe sliced through the air and Dubois’s screams fell upon deafened ears.