Red Mist

TheBeginning

The wrath of the dream enveloped Liesel as she twisted in labyrinth and bared the pain. She was back at home again. It was black. Her mother's white haunting face stared at her. She was sitting on the bed, her piercing blue eyes staring gaping holes in Liesel. Once more, she revealed her arms. Long cuts and scratches bared down them and Liesel shuddered at the sight of her mother's twisted, pained face. Liesel screamed, and found herself in the sleeping bag she had slept in, by the skin of her teeth, surviving. The sound of anguished screams and begs for mercy filled her ears and she pressed her hands against them to block out the sound. A warm face appeared in front of her and slowly, entwined her fingers with his. A horrible screeching sound filled her ears and her throat was hurting terribly. Realizing she was screaming, she stopped and took a breath.
"Liesel. We have to tell you something." Quane's melodious voice rang in her ears and she calmed, slowing her heartbeat. The pulse and grief racing through her had cooled down and she was no longer panting.
"I can't move," she whimpered as Quane slowly pried her fingers away from her ears.
"Just breathe in through your nose. Don't be scared, they just want to tell you something."
"It's bad."
"Please Liesel, just listen. No matter what your sense tells you, you have to come."
"I know it's bad and I can't come."
"Please."
Liesel peeked at him, removing the hand covering her face. "My sense is always right."
"You can't always rely on your sense."
"Is it bad?"
He didn't move.
"I told you. My sense was right."
"Please."
"I'm coming. But it's only because I can't be here on my own." Slowly, she opened up and stretched her sore, tense muscles. She was led into the underground tunnel where the war couldn't get to her as Quane led ahead. His warm hand closed around hers and pulled the small eight year old into the room.
"Liesel."
His voice was recognizable and Liesel stubbornly turned around. Quane was led out and the door slammed.
"The war is getting worse." His throaty voice informed her. Uriel Norrington.
"Why does this concern me?"
"You have come to see me."
"I was sleeping."
"And if I may mention, screaming. I heard you."
Liesel scowled and kicked the floor with her scuffed shoe.
"We have had telegrams. Five men reported dead."
"Who?" Liesel's throat tightened.
"Vinicent Harris."
"Never heard of him."
"John Kilby."
"No acquaintance of mine."
"Yves Sortai."
"Unknown to me."
"Willis Jones."
"I don't know him."
"Terry Blackmoor."
Liesel felt sick.
"I understand that you were very close to your father but, we were unable to retrieve him."
"You didn't even try!" Liesel spat, her harsh words echoing.
"We did Liesel, we did everything in our power."
"You did no such thing you little rat!" Liesel accused.
"Liesel! Behave yourself please, we have to-"
"I don't care! You didn't try because you're a low down little rotten piece of scum!"
Liesel felt tears brimming. Snapping one last retort, she stomped out of the room and down into her den. That Uriel Norrington, she'd give him a piece of her mind. Terry Blackmoor was dead. No big deal. He was safe now. And no-one could get him. This unfortunate event was going to be many in a series. I'll tell you what else it was going to be. The start of a story. Her story.