Fic: Raven (Veronica) R for adult themes.
Title: Raven
Author: synful_trixx
Characters: Veronica with brief appearances by Wallace, Keith, Lilly, Weevil, Duncan, Logan and Aaron.
Word Count: 4, 574
Rating: R for adult themes.
Summary: Amnesia is just another word for lost.
Spoilers: All of Season One including who killed Lilly Kane
Warnings: Dark themes.
Author’s Note: Written for the Twisted Tales Ficathon. I was assigned The Seven Ravens with the twist of a fantasy film festival /con in town.
Disclaimer: I own nothing… seriously; you won’t get anything if you sue. Rob Thomas owns all.
Lost. Alone and so lost in the darkness she’s fighting through. Sharp, jabbing pains as she attempts to move, attempts to speak, attempts to fight though the fog she’s trapped in.
Slowly. Struggling upwards, outwards. She can hear the soft beeping beside her; can hear the whoosh of air being pumped. Confusion sets in and she’s afraid. Burning alive with fear, the smell of smoke mixed with charred flesh clinging to the air, filling her nose until she’s gagging on it.
Hands. Touching her forehead, soothing words whispered in her ear and she sees now, blurry and light, but, just the same, she sees. A bald shiny head in front of her and she’s cringing, moving away from the gentle touches, the soothing words. She’s not sure she wants to be soothed right now.
Medication. They fill her IV with a sedative and the panic slowly seeps away as she tumbles back into the fog. She’s falling away from herself and the only question in her mind is, 'Who am I?'
She stumbles through the doors. There’s a pause, a brief tremble in her step as Veronica wonders where she’s going, what she’s doing. A moment of panic sets in and she’s frozen in place.
Through the doors she stumbles, there’s a pause, a tremble in her step as Veronica wonders where she’s going, what she’s doing. A moment of panic sets in and she’s frozen in place.
There are people everywhere. Milling around, having conversations, staring at her, not staring at her. Some of them are in costumes. So many elves. There's a girl standing a few feet away with large but elegantly pointed elf ears, and long, straight, auburn hair that's tucked neatly behind them to disappear down her back.
There's excitement in the air, buzzing around her with a steady hum of anticipation. They're moving towards her, away, the ebb and flow of their conversations a steady background noise to the rising sense of panic. She can't move. Can't breathe, can't think. Too many people after being alone so long. Too long a hermit in a little apartment that didn't feel like home.
Trying to think of something other than the stares she's sure are trained on her, Veronica focuses on the booths, multicolored and laden with treasures from far away places. Taiwan, Japan, Korea, made somewhere other than here. She lets the colors slide over her, the bright pinks of fabrics laid across one table. The sea blue slash of a gown hanging against a black curtain. The flash of jewels as one enterprising man taunts the crowd to sell his baubles. She's focusing on anything but the people around her and she can breathe again.
Breathes in ragged gasps as she stands trembling, wanting to leave, to move, to be anywhere but here. Loud masculine laughter jerks her head up, her breath stuttering in her chest as she recognizes the sound. She knows that laugh.
Turning her head quickly, trying to find the source of a sound from the past, and she’s gone, lost in white teeth slashed across a dark face.
Her cheeks flush as she stares at the young boy taped to the flagpole. Caressed by sunlight and shadow as he stands there proudly, lips pressed tightly together as he listens to the laughter surrounding him...
They’re on the beach, sand and surf tickling through her toes as Backup plays nearby, and the remote is hard in her hands as she makes the small plane loop-de-loop in the air above them. There’s a shadow, a fluttering of wings across her vision as he looks behind her, pointing at something from her past.
Shadows grow darker as she turns to look, to stare, but she can’t see past the blinding pain behind her eyes.
There's a shift in the light and she’s back in the present again, in an auditorium looking for the laughter, moving forward with a purpose. The recollection is part of a spark of something worse, something more that she’d forgotten to remember.
Her name is Veronica Mars. She is Five foot two inches. Her hair is blonde. Her eyes are blue. Her father’s name is Keith Mars. Veronica Mars has amnesia.
These are the facts as told to her by Keith Mars, by her father, the doctor confirming at her dubious look of disbelief. Veronica knows by the face in the mirror that her description is accurate; she’s unsure of the rest.
There are other things she’s sure of, things she knows even though no one has told her they are facts. She has nightmares of fire and pain, of death with thick smoke clogging her lungs. Fear dogs her through the hospital, making her look behind her, watching her every step for the danger she feels closing in. Claustrophobia is a word in the dictionary that means fear of confined spaces, another fear she’s plagued with. Her world consists of a hospital room and a few hallways. And her father follows every quaking step she takes.
Sometimes she almost remembers more, but these are the things she’s sure of.
Turning a corner she almost bumps into a member of security. He smiles gently down at her and Veronica can no longer see his face. Another time, another place, another gentle smile, and with barely a shudder she’s gone, slipping into the warm embrace of feathery memory.
Keith Mars cut a strapping figure in uniform. His badge, bright and shiny, pinned to his chest, winking at her as he hugged her closely. Concern evident on his face as the lecture flowed around them. Disappearing overnight with a boy, alone in a limo, who knows what could have happened to her. It’s a gentle reproach and comforting in its familiarity. An argument they’ve had many different times in varying contexts and always ending the same. Guilt, fear, love and adoration; warring emotions, and being grounded for a week, or longer.
She’s in the County Sheriff’s car, her dad smiling and laughing beside her, the smell of food strong in the air, when the radio bleats static , and they’re off. Off towards a big house with lots of lights, and other cars in the driveway. She’s told to stay in the car, and this she remembers clearly. A boy sitting, rocking in the entryway, lit by so many lights compared to the darkness of the night surrounding her.
Moved without thinking, without knowing the consequences, she’s with him. Touching his knees gently to still the rocking; asking, something, wanting to know. Veronica’s moving out towards the back of the house, to where she hears the voices, and she has no clue what’s pushing her on, what’s making her want to know, to see why her father would have to come here in the middle of the night.
A flash of red and blonde hair, the pool a pale shade of pink. Red on her sneakers, and the strong arms of her father gripping her. There are tears and cries, a distant couple standing a few feet away. There is a body on the floor and she wants to know. Veronica wants to know who it is, and why lilies cling to the air.
Veronica knows she’s a pale imitation of the girl she used to be. There’s a look her father gets when she talks about helping around the office. He looks so wistful for a moment that she’s sure she’s done it before. Done his filing, organizing, a secretarial stand in. He’s wistful for a moment and then it passes, gone behind the mask he wears so effortlessly.
The security officer is holding her arms, keeping her from sliding to the ground. Asking her if she’s okay, staring at her with concern. Eerily reminiscent of her father's face. Veronica can’t help but shake her head and detangle herself from his grip. Moving away quickly, somewhere where the memories can’t find her.
They’ve told her it’s time to leave the hospital. Time to go home with her father to a place she doesn’t remember. Her various scrapes and bruises have long since healed. The places the IVs dug into her are nothing but yellow across her skin. She still doesn’t remember who or what she was, but she’s been assured her memory will come back in time. Veronica knows they lie.
Her father tells her she has a dog waiting at home for her. Backup has been anxiously awaiting her return, doing nothing but sleeping in her bed and whining at the door. She almost feels excited at the prospect of a friend outside of what she knows. Outside of the hospital, doctors, nurses and her father.
Veronica is curious about her life before. She can’t help wondering why no one but her father has been to see her. Didn’t she have friends? Family? A life outside of her father and her dog? There’s one more thing she’s sure of. Something isn’t right with her life, and she wants to know why.
There’s a Princess walking through the crowd and for a moment Veronica is quite sure she’s hallucinating. But then she figures out the woman is in costume, pretty pink gown falling in graceful folds around the petite frame, long blonde hair unbound and hanging down her back. Veronica can’t help but watch her walk away, the rhythmic swaying of her hair is almost hypnotizing. There was a girl once, Veronica remembers, with pretty blonde hair, and then her hair wasn’t so pretty anymore.
She sees a flash of red across her vision and the golden blonde hair is stained with blood and it’s all over Veronica’s shoes. She’s not quite sure how she managed to track bloody footprints all through her mind, but she’s almost positive it has to do with a mischievous laugh and a gleaming smile.
Stomach turning and flipping, trying to claw its way out, she’s running for the door before she’s aware of moving, trying to escape from all that she’s learned. Veronica’s been doing that a lot lately, moving without thinking, running on instinct. The feeling is there, she knows that she’s done this a lot in the time before she can remember.
Out in the sunshine Veronica draws in big gulping breaths, almost hyperventilating as the memories continue to shred her brain with sharp talons. A flash of white teeth gleaming in the sunlight as long blonde hair flows over a pale creamy shoulder. The feel of a soft cheek pressed against her own, childlike voices raised to sing along with the radio, camcorder held in one hand to preserve the moment. The feel of lips, slick, sliding across her own as they kissed for a brief formal moment.
Formal. They were wearing dresses, party dresses, prom dresses? Veronica struggles to remember. Pressing the heel of her hand against her eyes she draws in sharp even breaths, trying to steady herself in the late afternoon sunshine. It's all there, every piece of her life. If she could only remember, want to remember.
She’s been home for more than a month now, but nothing feels like home. She’s lost in the white walls and depressing atmosphere. Veronica almost longs for the darkness of the sleep before waking up in the hospital. At least then she wasn’t aware of the world around her.
Backup stays so close she’s constantly tripping over him. He loves her and missed her, of that she’s sure. She’s tired of her father looking at her with concern and fear in his eyes. Is he afraid she’ll remember? That she won’t? Why doesn’t she feel safe here with him? Why doesn’t this feel like home?
Each day passes with a new question, a new list of things she knows and things she doesn’t know. No answers seem forthcoming.
Books have become her only solace, novels of fantasy, love, heroines saving the day and valiant Knights swooping in just in time to save the Princess. She thinks she could have been a Princess once but she can’t remember. Isn’t sure she ever will.
The roar of a nearby motorcycle has her spinning and gasping as the world tilts and shifts beneath her feet. And she’s flying, taken away by the flap-flap-flap of strength and leather, the helmet obscuring her vision as she tries to see the man in front of her, the one she’s gripping as though her life depends upon it.
They’re on a bike, the white lines of the road a blur on the ground as they race into the night. A noble Knight on his white steed rescuing the damsel in distress and Veronica’s pretty sure she’s the damsel in this picture. She’s had enough of being helpless and fights the memory, fights the man in front of her as they lean into a curve, her body hugging his.
She sees his fist flying, connecting with a solid sound and a body hits the ground. Blood on his knuckles and seeping from a patrician nose. This was for her, all for her, but she knows. She’s sure he enjoyed every second of it. For once, the safeness in the violence comforts her.
He’s taunting her, pushing her with words without laying a finger on her. Giving and taking and wanting when there’s nowhere else to turn, the words slipping between his smirking lips as Veronica stares up into his face. They’ve never done this before.
And she’s gone again, back to the convention, the sweet smell of lilies hanging in the air around her. The bike is gone, a distant roar to the noise in her head, almost a memory, one she can hold on to.
Therapy isn’t going well. There are too many obstacles, her lack of memory only being one of them. The fact that she’s positive her father doesn’t want her to remember being the other. She wants to remember the life before this one.
The life full of friends and laughter, of happy times and giggles, singing with her best friend before they talk about boys and clothes, makeup and nail polish. She’s sure that was part of her life. It’s part of every girl’s life, this is what she’s learned on T.V. and she's sure it must have been a huge part of hers.
Veronica wonders where her friend is. The beautiful girl that giggles like sunshine and smells like lilies, even though the scent of those blooms clinging to the air when she wakes from a burning nightmare leaves her vaguely nauseated.
She wants her life back.
Back through the doors of the convention, tremors wracking her body as she struggles to find the way, struggles to find a path that doesn’t beat and burn with feathery wings and the smell of gasoline.
Bright colors surround her as she walks on, led by intuition and instinct, towards the conclusion of this little venture. Fingers trailing lightly along the tops of booths, aimlessly wandering in hopes of finding a direction, catching images out of the corner of her eye.
He’s there in the shadows, watching her, following her aimless trek through the convention. She feels alive again with his eyes upon her. Waiting for him to approach, quite sure of his interest as he devours her with his gaze. Refusing to look, to encourage, but wanting to all the same. She stops and waits, turns towards him and she’s flying again, gone away on the wings of memory as she screams at him.
Screaming at him in her mind about rape and panties, crying all the time as she longs for the truth, this little rocking boy. They loved each other once, a long time ago. Her Knight in shining armor, except when he’s not.
He loved her, loved her not, once upon a time. Veronica was his fairy princess, complete with virginal white gown, strolling through the moonlight, trading soft kisses. The gentle touch of his lips, the stony coldness of his stare; the same boy with different faces, alternate ways of looking at her.
She’s in a hallway, her backpack slung over her shoulders, smiling and laughing as she turns to greet him. Stops, watches him walk away, his arm slung around the other boy. Logan. It’s always been about Logan, and he’s gone, her sunshine boy with the dirty blonde hair and gentle smile.
Crying, she remembers crying in a bathroom stall as someone else talks about her crazy boyfriend, her trailer trash self. They’re mean and vicious. She’s so tired of crying.
Standing in front of a mirror, the scissors in her hand as she cuts away her hair; long blonde tresses littering the floor around her. His picture smiling from the corner of the mirror as she cuts him away, cuts him out of her life with every snick.
There’s a book lying on the coffee table when she wakes from her nap. Crisp, with that wonderful new paper smell. Keith leaves them for her when he notices she’s finished her last one. No trips to the bookstore unaccompanied for her. Couldn’t have that.
She feels more claustrophobic than she did in the hospital. Her father is her shadow all night long, and she’s not allowed to leave the apartment without him. She sits out on the balcony when he’s gone, Backup beside her, book in hand as she sips lemonade and dreams of her White Knight riding up to rescue her. Her hair isn’t long enough to throw over the balcony railing, but she’s pretty sure she could tie the bed-sheets together to make a rope.
She opens the book, flipping through the pages at random, before noticing the flyer insert tucked into the book. Neptune Fantasy, sounds like an underwater novel. She pulls the insert out to get a closer look.
Neptune Fantasy Convention, being held in Neptune California in one month.
Her eyes narrow as she ponders her options. Her father would never let her go, at least not by herself. But she knows. As sure as she knows her hair is blonde and her eyes are blue, she knows she has to go.
Walking around the exhibits and booths, she moves aimlessly, searching for another memory. Glancing up, she draws in a sharp breath at the Dragon staring down at her from its perch. A lone Knight stands in front, sword drawn, the silver of his armor glinting in the pale florescent light.
Veronica stumbles, stops and stares at the Knight. The image wavers, flickers, obscured by the dark wings of the past. A memory worming its way into her vision as she sees an unsmiling face, fists flying, concern darkening hazel eyes, a hand reaching out for hers, waiting to be taken in solidarity.
She struggles for a moment, fighting against remembering anything at all. She slides gracelessly to the floor as the memories overwhelm her. Hot kisses traded in the dark, the bathroom counter pressing into her back, the loud crash of the surf as he screams in her face. The sound echoing in her ears until she’s deafened by it.
He was standing over her leering, cruel words slipping off his tongue as easily as his earlier endearments. There was something else, someone standing in the background, a dark shadow that made her quake in fear.
Then it’s all over. Gone, a flutter in the breeze as the moment, the memory, leaves her. She is alone in her head once again. Veronica wonders the boy’s name, and it comes slowly like a feathery soft caress. Logan.
She spends her nights in dreams of orange and gold, flames licking at her hands, pulling at her. During daylight hours she struggles to remember what it means, why she’s always surrounded by fire, why she can’t breathe. She always wakes up choking and gasping for breath, bathed in sweat, still feeling the heat. Veronica is sure she knows what hell feels like.
There’s a carefully practiced routine that runs her life now. She spends her days with tutors since she doesn’t attend school anymore, not since the accident her father and tutors refer to almost weekly. Veronica’s never quite figured out what the accident was, or is, or could be. Her days are filled with studying, and three times a week she visits her therapist, going over and over in bright daylight the dreams that haunt her during the night, trying to make sense of it all.
Sometimes she thinks she really doesn’t want to remember, and that’s why it remains beyond her grasp; she’s willfully pushing it to a dark corner of her mind. Her therapist agrees and calls it some fancy name, but in the end it all comes down to simple stress dressed up with psychobabble. ‘Post Traumatic Stress Disorder’, becomes an empty phrase used to describe remembering nothing before waking up in the hospital a year ago.
She’s learned things about herself during her long year of recovery. Made lists of the things she knows and stuck them to the empty walls in her bedroom. She knows she loves sundaes with maraschino cherries, a gooey, sticky mess drowning in chocolate sauce and sprinkles. Her favorite color is green, although she’s not sure if that’s just now or if it always has been. She doesn’t like confined spaces, and hates the heat of the midsummer days. She loves to read, has lost entire days to books. Her favorite novels are fantasies, long drawn out tales of fairies and dragons, the white knight that rides in to save the day. When the hero shows up she always cries and she’s never quite sure why. It’s just a memory that flickers across her brain and remains too elusive to grasp.
There’s always a fight with her father when she mentions wanting some freedom. She’s tried to sneak away from his watchful eye on several occasions. He always catches her, hugs her gently to him then leads her back to their apartment with eyes full of love.
There’s a stand selling ice cream nestled into the back corner of the convention, she stumbles upon it as she’s fleeing the dragon and her memories. Veronica’s mouth starts to water at the thought of rocky road or double fudge. Automatic movement, she’s standing there without realizing how she managed it. Her fingers slide over the slick white surface of the freezer, she’s falling back into the darkness, into the fog of before.
The white hot flames are licking at the walls, the air thick with smoke, and someone’s taunting her, laughing at her fear. There’s no way out, no way to not die here. His gravelly voice is taunting her, singing, killing her with every word. Nothing but a voice in the darkness.
She’s on the floor, on her knees, people are touching her, asking if she’s alright, and she’s not. She’ll never be alright because he’s here. Here, in her head, taunting her about lilies and love and romance and singing and she’s going crazy with the voice in the darkness.
A flutter of wings and she’s off again. Lost in the pain of not being able to tell, the sweet smile as he offers to drive her home, tells her that Logan is a better person with her. And she’s falling, hook, line and sinker, for the pretty words spilling from his lips, but she’s sure she’s not.
She can see him on the television with the lilies crawling over his skin, only it isn’t lilies. Not the flower. It’s Lilly crawling on his skin, over him, and she’s smiling and laughing and his in that moment, even as his voice taunts her from the darkness.
She knows her name is Veronica Mars. She is Keith Mars’ daughter. Her eyes are blue and her hair is blonde. She used to be Lilly Kane’s best friend. They laughed, sang along to the Spice Girls, and talked about clothes while staring at boys.
Duncan Kane used to be her boyfriend before he thought she was his sister. They were in love, a love that was supposed to last forever but was destroyed by jealousy and adultery. Not their own.
There were friends, before and after Lilly Kane. People who cared about her because of who she was and people who pretended to because of who she dated. People who liked her for standing out and people who loved her for blending into the crowd.
Veronica knows she was never a fairy tale princess. Not like in the stories. She had long blonde hair and wore pretty dresses, but the likeness stopped there. She lost her virginity to a drug she didn’t take and lost her innocence to a life she didn’t live.
The wings of the raven flutter in her mind, but she doesn’t fight it, lets them slide over her, gentle and hers. Her ravens, her memories, her life is hers now.
There was a time she traded kisses with Lilly Kane’s boyfriend Logan Echolls in bathrooms and corners, when she was so lost in having a White Knight of her own she ignored the fact he belonged to someone else.
Her best friend’s name is Wallace Fennel and he would travel to the ends of the earth for her. He has on occasion, and he’s not here because her father wouldn’t let him be, because she wasn’t safe before. Like she’s known all along.
She is Veronica Mars. Born and baptized in flame, out of the dark, the fog, into a new life full of love and laughter, surrounded by friends and memories. No longer lost to the night, to the voice in the darkness that tried to steal her soul.
She feels familiar hands pulling her out, out of the darkness, away from the flames and smoke and into the light. She’s fighting against them until she’s shaken roughly.
Looking up into concerned eyes, her face alight with horror, whispering over and over as her Father nods in understanding.
“Aaron killed Lilly.”
Today, she breathes, is going to be different. She’s been planning today for over a month. Planning and plotting where her father can’t see. A bus ticket sits at the bottom of her purse, a ticket to Neptune. She’s finally getting a taste of freedom, all courtesy of a Fantasy Convention being held there this weekend. Her father is going to be furious.
Checking and double checking all her plans she leaves exactly twenty minutes after her father closes the door on his way to work. Veronica knows she has to be far away from here before her father comes home for lunch. The bus station isn’t a far walk from the apartment and she’s made it before, she’s actually thought about going.
Taking a deep breath, she hands her ticket to the woman behind the counter. It’s out of her hands now, she thinks, as she’s stepping onto the bus. All that’s left is the fields of California skipping by the tinted window as she presses her face to the glass. She sees a raven sitting on a fencepost and has the feeling she’s moving towards something more than freedom.
She’s at the door and paying her entry fee before she can fully process the consequences of her actions. Dad is going to be pissed; she’d turned off her cell as soon as she sat down on the bus. Today is her day. She has to be here, undisturbed, even if she isn’t sure why.
Author: synful_trixx
Characters: Veronica with brief appearances by Wallace, Keith, Lilly, Weevil, Duncan, Logan and Aaron.
Word Count: 4, 574
Rating: R for adult themes.
Summary: Amnesia is just another word for lost.
Spoilers: All of Season One including who killed Lilly Kane
Warnings: Dark themes.
Author’s Note: Written for the Twisted Tales Ficathon. I was assigned The Seven Ravens with the twist of a fantasy film festival /con in town.
Disclaimer: I own nothing… seriously; you won’t get anything if you sue. Rob Thomas owns all.
Lost. Alone and so lost in the darkness she’s fighting through. Sharp, jabbing pains as she attempts to move, attempts to speak, attempts to fight though the fog she’s trapped in.
Slowly. Struggling upwards, outwards. She can hear the soft beeping beside her; can hear the whoosh of air being pumped. Confusion sets in and she’s afraid. Burning alive with fear, the smell of smoke mixed with charred flesh clinging to the air, filling her nose until she’s gagging on it.
Hands. Touching her forehead, soothing words whispered in her ear and she sees now, blurry and light, but, just the same, she sees. A bald shiny head in front of her and she’s cringing, moving away from the gentle touches, the soothing words. She’s not sure she wants to be soothed right now.
Medication. They fill her IV with a sedative and the panic slowly seeps away as she tumbles back into the fog. She’s falling away from herself and the only question in her mind is, 'Who am I?'
She stumbles through the doors. There’s a pause, a brief tremble in her step as Veronica wonders where she’s going, what she’s doing. A moment of panic sets in and she’s frozen in place.
Through the doors she stumbles, there’s a pause, a tremble in her step as Veronica wonders where she’s going, what she’s doing. A moment of panic sets in and she’s frozen in place.
There are people everywhere. Milling around, having conversations, staring at her, not staring at her. Some of them are in costumes. So many elves. There's a girl standing a few feet away with large but elegantly pointed elf ears, and long, straight, auburn hair that's tucked neatly behind them to disappear down her back.
There's excitement in the air, buzzing around her with a steady hum of anticipation. They're moving towards her, away, the ebb and flow of their conversations a steady background noise to the rising sense of panic. She can't move. Can't breathe, can't think. Too many people after being alone so long. Too long a hermit in a little apartment that didn't feel like home.
Trying to think of something other than the stares she's sure are trained on her, Veronica focuses on the booths, multicolored and laden with treasures from far away places. Taiwan, Japan, Korea, made somewhere other than here. She lets the colors slide over her, the bright pinks of fabrics laid across one table. The sea blue slash of a gown hanging against a black curtain. The flash of jewels as one enterprising man taunts the crowd to sell his baubles. She's focusing on anything but the people around her and she can breathe again.
Breathes in ragged gasps as she stands trembling, wanting to leave, to move, to be anywhere but here. Loud masculine laughter jerks her head up, her breath stuttering in her chest as she recognizes the sound. She knows that laugh.
Turning her head quickly, trying to find the source of a sound from the past, and she’s gone, lost in white teeth slashed across a dark face.
Her cheeks flush as she stares at the young boy taped to the flagpole. Caressed by sunlight and shadow as he stands there proudly, lips pressed tightly together as he listens to the laughter surrounding him...
They’re on the beach, sand and surf tickling through her toes as Backup plays nearby, and the remote is hard in her hands as she makes the small plane loop-de-loop in the air above them. There’s a shadow, a fluttering of wings across her vision as he looks behind her, pointing at something from her past.
Shadows grow darker as she turns to look, to stare, but she can’t see past the blinding pain behind her eyes.
There's a shift in the light and she’s back in the present again, in an auditorium looking for the laughter, moving forward with a purpose. The recollection is part of a spark of something worse, something more that she’d forgotten to remember.
Her name is Veronica Mars. She is Five foot two inches. Her hair is blonde. Her eyes are blue. Her father’s name is Keith Mars. Veronica Mars has amnesia.
These are the facts as told to her by Keith Mars, by her father, the doctor confirming at her dubious look of disbelief. Veronica knows by the face in the mirror that her description is accurate; she’s unsure of the rest.
There are other things she’s sure of, things she knows even though no one has told her they are facts. She has nightmares of fire and pain, of death with thick smoke clogging her lungs. Fear dogs her through the hospital, making her look behind her, watching her every step for the danger she feels closing in. Claustrophobia is a word in the dictionary that means fear of confined spaces, another fear she’s plagued with. Her world consists of a hospital room and a few hallways. And her father follows every quaking step she takes.
Sometimes she almost remembers more, but these are the things she’s sure of.
Turning a corner she almost bumps into a member of security. He smiles gently down at her and Veronica can no longer see his face. Another time, another place, another gentle smile, and with barely a shudder she’s gone, slipping into the warm embrace of feathery memory.
Keith Mars cut a strapping figure in uniform. His badge, bright and shiny, pinned to his chest, winking at her as he hugged her closely. Concern evident on his face as the lecture flowed around them. Disappearing overnight with a boy, alone in a limo, who knows what could have happened to her. It’s a gentle reproach and comforting in its familiarity. An argument they’ve had many different times in varying contexts and always ending the same. Guilt, fear, love and adoration; warring emotions, and being grounded for a week, or longer.
She’s in the County Sheriff’s car, her dad smiling and laughing beside her, the smell of food strong in the air, when the radio bleats static , and they’re off. Off towards a big house with lots of lights, and other cars in the driveway. She’s told to stay in the car, and this she remembers clearly. A boy sitting, rocking in the entryway, lit by so many lights compared to the darkness of the night surrounding her.
Moved without thinking, without knowing the consequences, she’s with him. Touching his knees gently to still the rocking; asking, something, wanting to know. Veronica’s moving out towards the back of the house, to where she hears the voices, and she has no clue what’s pushing her on, what’s making her want to know, to see why her father would have to come here in the middle of the night.
A flash of red and blonde hair, the pool a pale shade of pink. Red on her sneakers, and the strong arms of her father gripping her. There are tears and cries, a distant couple standing a few feet away. There is a body on the floor and she wants to know. Veronica wants to know who it is, and why lilies cling to the air.
Veronica knows she’s a pale imitation of the girl she used to be. There’s a look her father gets when she talks about helping around the office. He looks so wistful for a moment that she’s sure she’s done it before. Done his filing, organizing, a secretarial stand in. He’s wistful for a moment and then it passes, gone behind the mask he wears so effortlessly.
The security officer is holding her arms, keeping her from sliding to the ground. Asking her if she’s okay, staring at her with concern. Eerily reminiscent of her father's face. Veronica can’t help but shake her head and detangle herself from his grip. Moving away quickly, somewhere where the memories can’t find her.
They’ve told her it’s time to leave the hospital. Time to go home with her father to a place she doesn’t remember. Her various scrapes and bruises have long since healed. The places the IVs dug into her are nothing but yellow across her skin. She still doesn’t remember who or what she was, but she’s been assured her memory will come back in time. Veronica knows they lie.
Her father tells her she has a dog waiting at home for her. Backup has been anxiously awaiting her return, doing nothing but sleeping in her bed and whining at the door. She almost feels excited at the prospect of a friend outside of what she knows. Outside of the hospital, doctors, nurses and her father.
Veronica is curious about her life before. She can’t help wondering why no one but her father has been to see her. Didn’t she have friends? Family? A life outside of her father and her dog? There’s one more thing she’s sure of. Something isn’t right with her life, and she wants to know why.
There’s a Princess walking through the crowd and for a moment Veronica is quite sure she’s hallucinating. But then she figures out the woman is in costume, pretty pink gown falling in graceful folds around the petite frame, long blonde hair unbound and hanging down her back. Veronica can’t help but watch her walk away, the rhythmic swaying of her hair is almost hypnotizing. There was a girl once, Veronica remembers, with pretty blonde hair, and then her hair wasn’t so pretty anymore.
She sees a flash of red across her vision and the golden blonde hair is stained with blood and it’s all over Veronica’s shoes. She’s not quite sure how she managed to track bloody footprints all through her mind, but she’s almost positive it has to do with a mischievous laugh and a gleaming smile.
Stomach turning and flipping, trying to claw its way out, she’s running for the door before she’s aware of moving, trying to escape from all that she’s learned. Veronica’s been doing that a lot lately, moving without thinking, running on instinct. The feeling is there, she knows that she’s done this a lot in the time before she can remember.
Out in the sunshine Veronica draws in big gulping breaths, almost hyperventilating as the memories continue to shred her brain with sharp talons. A flash of white teeth gleaming in the sunlight as long blonde hair flows over a pale creamy shoulder. The feel of a soft cheek pressed against her own, childlike voices raised to sing along with the radio, camcorder held in one hand to preserve the moment. The feel of lips, slick, sliding across her own as they kissed for a brief formal moment.
Formal. They were wearing dresses, party dresses, prom dresses? Veronica struggles to remember. Pressing the heel of her hand against her eyes she draws in sharp even breaths, trying to steady herself in the late afternoon sunshine. It's all there, every piece of her life. If she could only remember, want to remember.
She’s been home for more than a month now, but nothing feels like home. She’s lost in the white walls and depressing atmosphere. Veronica almost longs for the darkness of the sleep before waking up in the hospital. At least then she wasn’t aware of the world around her.
Backup stays so close she’s constantly tripping over him. He loves her and missed her, of that she’s sure. She’s tired of her father looking at her with concern and fear in his eyes. Is he afraid she’ll remember? That she won’t? Why doesn’t she feel safe here with him? Why doesn’t this feel like home?
Each day passes with a new question, a new list of things she knows and things she doesn’t know. No answers seem forthcoming.
Books have become her only solace, novels of fantasy, love, heroines saving the day and valiant Knights swooping in just in time to save the Princess. She thinks she could have been a Princess once but she can’t remember. Isn’t sure she ever will.
The roar of a nearby motorcycle has her spinning and gasping as the world tilts and shifts beneath her feet. And she’s flying, taken away by the flap-flap-flap of strength and leather, the helmet obscuring her vision as she tries to see the man in front of her, the one she’s gripping as though her life depends upon it.
They’re on a bike, the white lines of the road a blur on the ground as they race into the night. A noble Knight on his white steed rescuing the damsel in distress and Veronica’s pretty sure she’s the damsel in this picture. She’s had enough of being helpless and fights the memory, fights the man in front of her as they lean into a curve, her body hugging his.
She sees his fist flying, connecting with a solid sound and a body hits the ground. Blood on his knuckles and seeping from a patrician nose. This was for her, all for her, but she knows. She’s sure he enjoyed every second of it. For once, the safeness in the violence comforts her.
He’s taunting her, pushing her with words without laying a finger on her. Giving and taking and wanting when there’s nowhere else to turn, the words slipping between his smirking lips as Veronica stares up into his face. They’ve never done this before.
And she’s gone again, back to the convention, the sweet smell of lilies hanging in the air around her. The bike is gone, a distant roar to the noise in her head, almost a memory, one she can hold on to.
Therapy isn’t going well. There are too many obstacles, her lack of memory only being one of them. The fact that she’s positive her father doesn’t want her to remember being the other. She wants to remember the life before this one.
The life full of friends and laughter, of happy times and giggles, singing with her best friend before they talk about boys and clothes, makeup and nail polish. She’s sure that was part of her life. It’s part of every girl’s life, this is what she’s learned on T.V. and she's sure it must have been a huge part of hers.
Veronica wonders where her friend is. The beautiful girl that giggles like sunshine and smells like lilies, even though the scent of those blooms clinging to the air when she wakes from a burning nightmare leaves her vaguely nauseated.
She wants her life back.
Back through the doors of the convention, tremors wracking her body as she struggles to find the way, struggles to find a path that doesn’t beat and burn with feathery wings and the smell of gasoline.
Bright colors surround her as she walks on, led by intuition and instinct, towards the conclusion of this little venture. Fingers trailing lightly along the tops of booths, aimlessly wandering in hopes of finding a direction, catching images out of the corner of her eye.
He’s there in the shadows, watching her, following her aimless trek through the convention. She feels alive again with his eyes upon her. Waiting for him to approach, quite sure of his interest as he devours her with his gaze. Refusing to look, to encourage, but wanting to all the same. She stops and waits, turns towards him and she’s flying again, gone away on the wings of memory as she screams at him.
Screaming at him in her mind about rape and panties, crying all the time as she longs for the truth, this little rocking boy. They loved each other once, a long time ago. Her Knight in shining armor, except when he’s not.
He loved her, loved her not, once upon a time. Veronica was his fairy princess, complete with virginal white gown, strolling through the moonlight, trading soft kisses. The gentle touch of his lips, the stony coldness of his stare; the same boy with different faces, alternate ways of looking at her.
She’s in a hallway, her backpack slung over her shoulders, smiling and laughing as she turns to greet him. Stops, watches him walk away, his arm slung around the other boy. Logan. It’s always been about Logan, and he’s gone, her sunshine boy with the dirty blonde hair and gentle smile.
Crying, she remembers crying in a bathroom stall as someone else talks about her crazy boyfriend, her trailer trash self. They’re mean and vicious. She’s so tired of crying.
Standing in front of a mirror, the scissors in her hand as she cuts away her hair; long blonde tresses littering the floor around her. His picture smiling from the corner of the mirror as she cuts him away, cuts him out of her life with every snick.
There’s a book lying on the coffee table when she wakes from her nap. Crisp, with that wonderful new paper smell. Keith leaves them for her when he notices she’s finished her last one. No trips to the bookstore unaccompanied for her. Couldn’t have that.
She feels more claustrophobic than she did in the hospital. Her father is her shadow all night long, and she’s not allowed to leave the apartment without him. She sits out on the balcony when he’s gone, Backup beside her, book in hand as she sips lemonade and dreams of her White Knight riding up to rescue her. Her hair isn’t long enough to throw over the balcony railing, but she’s pretty sure she could tie the bed-sheets together to make a rope.
She opens the book, flipping through the pages at random, before noticing the flyer insert tucked into the book. Neptune Fantasy, sounds like an underwater novel. She pulls the insert out to get a closer look.
Neptune Fantasy Convention, being held in Neptune California in one month.
Her eyes narrow as she ponders her options. Her father would never let her go, at least not by herself. But she knows. As sure as she knows her hair is blonde and her eyes are blue, she knows she has to go.
Walking around the exhibits and booths, she moves aimlessly, searching for another memory. Glancing up, she draws in a sharp breath at the Dragon staring down at her from its perch. A lone Knight stands in front, sword drawn, the silver of his armor glinting in the pale florescent light.
Veronica stumbles, stops and stares at the Knight. The image wavers, flickers, obscured by the dark wings of the past. A memory worming its way into her vision as she sees an unsmiling face, fists flying, concern darkening hazel eyes, a hand reaching out for hers, waiting to be taken in solidarity.
She struggles for a moment, fighting against remembering anything at all. She slides gracelessly to the floor as the memories overwhelm her. Hot kisses traded in the dark, the bathroom counter pressing into her back, the loud crash of the surf as he screams in her face. The sound echoing in her ears until she’s deafened by it.
He was standing over her leering, cruel words slipping off his tongue as easily as his earlier endearments. There was something else, someone standing in the background, a dark shadow that made her quake in fear.
Then it’s all over. Gone, a flutter in the breeze as the moment, the memory, leaves her. She is alone in her head once again. Veronica wonders the boy’s name, and it comes slowly like a feathery soft caress. Logan.
She spends her nights in dreams of orange and gold, flames licking at her hands, pulling at her. During daylight hours she struggles to remember what it means, why she’s always surrounded by fire, why she can’t breathe. She always wakes up choking and gasping for breath, bathed in sweat, still feeling the heat. Veronica is sure she knows what hell feels like.
There’s a carefully practiced routine that runs her life now. She spends her days with tutors since she doesn’t attend school anymore, not since the accident her father and tutors refer to almost weekly. Veronica’s never quite figured out what the accident was, or is, or could be. Her days are filled with studying, and three times a week she visits her therapist, going over and over in bright daylight the dreams that haunt her during the night, trying to make sense of it all.
Sometimes she thinks she really doesn’t want to remember, and that’s why it remains beyond her grasp; she’s willfully pushing it to a dark corner of her mind. Her therapist agrees and calls it some fancy name, but in the end it all comes down to simple stress dressed up with psychobabble. ‘Post Traumatic Stress Disorder’, becomes an empty phrase used to describe remembering nothing before waking up in the hospital a year ago.
She’s learned things about herself during her long year of recovery. Made lists of the things she knows and stuck them to the empty walls in her bedroom. She knows she loves sundaes with maraschino cherries, a gooey, sticky mess drowning in chocolate sauce and sprinkles. Her favorite color is green, although she’s not sure if that’s just now or if it always has been. She doesn’t like confined spaces, and hates the heat of the midsummer days. She loves to read, has lost entire days to books. Her favorite novels are fantasies, long drawn out tales of fairies and dragons, the white knight that rides in to save the day. When the hero shows up she always cries and she’s never quite sure why. It’s just a memory that flickers across her brain and remains too elusive to grasp.
There’s always a fight with her father when she mentions wanting some freedom. She’s tried to sneak away from his watchful eye on several occasions. He always catches her, hugs her gently to him then leads her back to their apartment with eyes full of love.
There’s a stand selling ice cream nestled into the back corner of the convention, she stumbles upon it as she’s fleeing the dragon and her memories. Veronica’s mouth starts to water at the thought of rocky road or double fudge. Automatic movement, she’s standing there without realizing how she managed it. Her fingers slide over the slick white surface of the freezer, she’s falling back into the darkness, into the fog of before.
The white hot flames are licking at the walls, the air thick with smoke, and someone’s taunting her, laughing at her fear. There’s no way out, no way to not die here. His gravelly voice is taunting her, singing, killing her with every word. Nothing but a voice in the darkness.
She’s on the floor, on her knees, people are touching her, asking if she’s alright, and she’s not. She’ll never be alright because he’s here. Here, in her head, taunting her about lilies and love and romance and singing and she’s going crazy with the voice in the darkness.
A flutter of wings and she’s off again. Lost in the pain of not being able to tell, the sweet smile as he offers to drive her home, tells her that Logan is a better person with her. And she’s falling, hook, line and sinker, for the pretty words spilling from his lips, but she’s sure she’s not.
She can see him on the television with the lilies crawling over his skin, only it isn’t lilies. Not the flower. It’s Lilly crawling on his skin, over him, and she’s smiling and laughing and his in that moment, even as his voice taunts her from the darkness.
She knows her name is Veronica Mars. She is Keith Mars’ daughter. Her eyes are blue and her hair is blonde. She used to be Lilly Kane’s best friend. They laughed, sang along to the Spice Girls, and talked about clothes while staring at boys.
Duncan Kane used to be her boyfriend before he thought she was his sister. They were in love, a love that was supposed to last forever but was destroyed by jealousy and adultery. Not their own.
There were friends, before and after Lilly Kane. People who cared about her because of who she was and people who pretended to because of who she dated. People who liked her for standing out and people who loved her for blending into the crowd.
Veronica knows she was never a fairy tale princess. Not like in the stories. She had long blonde hair and wore pretty dresses, but the likeness stopped there. She lost her virginity to a drug she didn’t take and lost her innocence to a life she didn’t live.
The wings of the raven flutter in her mind, but she doesn’t fight it, lets them slide over her, gentle and hers. Her ravens, her memories, her life is hers now.
There was a time she traded kisses with Lilly Kane’s boyfriend Logan Echolls in bathrooms and corners, when she was so lost in having a White Knight of her own she ignored the fact he belonged to someone else.
Her best friend’s name is Wallace Fennel and he would travel to the ends of the earth for her. He has on occasion, and he’s not here because her father wouldn’t let him be, because she wasn’t safe before. Like she’s known all along.
She is Veronica Mars. Born and baptized in flame, out of the dark, the fog, into a new life full of love and laughter, surrounded by friends and memories. No longer lost to the night, to the voice in the darkness that tried to steal her soul.
She feels familiar hands pulling her out, out of the darkness, away from the flames and smoke and into the light. She’s fighting against them until she’s shaken roughly.
Looking up into concerned eyes, her face alight with horror, whispering over and over as her Father nods in understanding.
“Aaron killed Lilly.”
Today, she breathes, is going to be different. She’s been planning today for over a month. Planning and plotting where her father can’t see. A bus ticket sits at the bottom of her purse, a ticket to Neptune. She’s finally getting a taste of freedom, all courtesy of a Fantasy Convention being held there this weekend. Her father is going to be furious.
Checking and double checking all her plans she leaves exactly twenty minutes after her father closes the door on his way to work. Veronica knows she has to be far away from here before her father comes home for lunch. The bus station isn’t a far walk from the apartment and she’s made it before, she’s actually thought about going.
Taking a deep breath, she hands her ticket to the woman behind the counter. It’s out of her hands now, she thinks, as she’s stepping onto the bus. All that’s left is the fields of California skipping by the tinted window as she presses her face to the glass. She sees a raven sitting on a fencepost and has the feeling she’s moving towards something more than freedom.
She’s at the door and paying her entry fee before she can fully process the consequences of her actions. Dad is going to be pissed; she’d turned off her cell as soon as she sat down on the bus. Today is her day. She has to be here, undisturbed, even if she isn’t sure why.