[Josée's Note: Every character got a "Prequel" game. This was mine. I think I will leave you with the original note I wrote to the player group regarding this particular piece. Note that I was 19 years old - hence the "teenage girl" reference!
"I had "I Giorni" by Ludovico Einaudi playing throughout writing this song (it was on repeat and played 21 times.) I had no issue with it until I got to the last italicised part, at which point, probably in part due to me being a teenage girl and it also being gone 4 in the bloody morning, I ended up in tears. Quite a lot. I don't mind admitting this, and I doubt any of you will experience the same, but I did. In short, this was quite emotional to write, and I hope it comes through. One day, I will get round to writing Ceinwyn as if she's not feeling sad...but that day is not today! - A very tired, emotional, pleased, rambling Josée."
Unforgotten Dreams
Ceinwyn reflects on the life she once lead...and regrets a few things along the way.
I couldn't help but let my mind turn to the past, today. Something told me I had to revisit it...as much as it hurt to do so. I try not to dwell on such things as...all it does is make me miss my life...and those within it.
I left the house today, and the fog had cleared, just as we had been told it would. I decided to go alone, as I needed some time to myself. Living in a house together can make you feel like a family...but it can also become claustrophobic and crowded. I found myself along the beach once more, where Raphael and I...the memory still hurt...where he had consoled me, and tried to convince me to carry on, and not let myself fall victim to the despair of my Requiem.
As I thought of that awful time...when this unlife had hardly seemed worth living, I found myself thinking of another person...one I had known well...who had once almost reached the same conclusion. Someone who I had once had so much respect for; so much pride in knowing. His name was Boyd, and he had been my boss during my life...bare months ago.
That wasn't quite true. He had stopped being my boss about half a year prior to that, as I had moved to Canterbury to help a friend of mine in a case of hers. But while I had resided in London, he had been my boss, for about five years...and he had also become one of my closest friends.
I had joined his unit when I was 21, Eleri Ceri James was my name - my legal name, and I was fresh faced from University, raring to get stuck in to life as part (even if it was independently) of the thin blue line. My official role in the unit had been that of a psychological analyst, but I had ended up broadening into mainstream forensic science as well. When I first joined...he had been naturally distrustful of some overenthusiastic student, barely out of her teens, joining his group...but he seemed to warm to me fairly quickly. His teenage daughter, Ellen, and I seemed to share some characteristics (similar hair colour, for one), and this seemed to help me to make sure I was accepted (eventually) as a piece of the team jigsaw.
I decided to stretch my wings, letting my Obfuscate slide, and flapping them gently. I felt myself rise from the ground, as my stream of thought continued.
For those four years, Boyd, Tyler, the Professor and I got on famously. Boyd, while not necessarily always following protocol, was deeply respected by us all, it seemed...and he was liked. I don't think there were many times we argued, and if we did...it was generally resolved in a matter of moments. It was a good team, it really was. Every morning, I would bring Boyd a cup of coffee, and we'd chat about his wife and daughter, and whatever I had found myself doing the evening before, and each week one of us would bring in some kind of treat, be it cake or doughnuts or...some other delectable confectionary of one shape or another. We were like a family. A family hellbent on wiping out crime...but surely that only made us superheroes?
I was high above the town now, the house a small rectangular box below me. I slowed my wingbeats, hovering rather than flying, and surveyed the view below me. Somewhere to my southeast was London. And it was in London, during that fifth year, that everything changed.
The news reports were all over the story. "Cop's Family Murdered at Home!" was splashed over the tabloids; "Vicious torture leaves 15-year-old girl and her mother dead!!" screamed the radio stations. "Detective Chief Inspector Kyle Boyd was forced to sit and watch his family die, claim sources!" the news reporters read from their autocues. Never, in my life, have I felt so much empathy towards a single man. He was back at work barely a week after the horrible attack occurred, and just kept on at it. It seemed as though he was trying to bury his agony by working as hard as he could for as long as he could. I knew I was probably the worst person to comfort him, as I looked so much like an elder version of his daughter...but I was his friend, and that had to come first. Work was important and he was still my boss, sure...but that wasn't the important thing right then. He needed solace; comfort, and compassion. And that's what I believed my role was meant to be, first and foremost.
He never admitted he was grieving. He never admitted that it hurt...but you could tell, so, so easily...or at least you could if you'd worked with him for as long as we had. The photos were gone from his desk, the conversations we had each morning were almost non-existent...and he had lost the sparkle in his eye. He was a shell, compared to who I had begun my career working with. He was empty...and nothing could change that. We all tried to carry on like normal, but his usual fatherly...protection, as such, over me suddenly became suffocating. He wanted me stay and file rather than come to survey crime scenes - which, you know...was my job - and visit the "seedier" parts of the city. Tyler seemed to find the whole situation, when it came to times like those, quite funny. It always ended in me grabbing my coat and leaving ahead of them all, even if I did occasionally have to be a little harsh and remind him that...as much as he missed her...I wasn't Ellen.
The day in question gave us a couple of our more unusual cases. The first was a woman outside a nightclub, who had been torn to shreds, effectively. Above her, written in (we presumed) her own blood was the roman numeral "VII". There were two puncture marks on her neck. Had I known then what I know now...I would have asked everyone to take a step away and call in some of Angus' friends at that point alone. We weren't Hunters. We didn't have a clue about what we were facing. I would have refused to go to Canterbury had I known that we were facing...what I am now. Kindred. The Damned. Vampires.
The other was a man, found drowned in the swanky part of London. He also had puncture wounds, and a tattoo of a spiked ankh on his wrist. Well...I call it a tattoo...it was a brand, actually. I aided the Professor in an autopsy while Boyd, Tyler and a new addition to the unit, DCI Carlisle, kept scouring for any extra clues.
We all met up, except from Boyd, and the Professor gave his findings. I, while this was happening, decided to go and search for him. He was out near an underpass that smelt of ammonia from all the urine expelled on to it, and it was covered in graffiti. It seemed an unlikely place for him to be, and that instantly made me concerned as to why he was there. He was reading something, and when I asked about it...he got very protective. It doesn't make me proud to say this...but I pushed him. I kept asking what it was, and what it was about. He refused to tell me and claimed it was personal. If so...it probably related in some way to the case about his wife and daughter. I shouldn't have threatened him so, but I knew that if it were so, he had to declare it as evidence. This brought on a blazing row, which I had never expected to rage for quite as long nor quite as furiously as it did. We both said things we went on to regret...or at least I know I did. I was awful to him. And the letter itself was hardly top secret. All it said was "read me" in all different newspaper fonts. I did apologise to him afterwards...but he was drinking from a hip flask too. I couldn't help but feel like I was pushing him further out to sea than saving him from the currents.
He managed to slip away later too, which, unbeknownst to us, would prove to be a near fatal error of judgement. It wasn't until hours later that someone rang up asking for him and we realised he hadn't been seen. Having been approached early that morning by DCI Luther, and warned that higher powers were keeping tabs on him, I called him, letting him know there had been a group of bodies recovered at the Natural History Museum. He said he'd be there and all of us minus the Professor headed off.
Boyd didn't turn up. I tried calling him numerous times, but his phone rang off every single time. DCI Luther and the Special Branch guys took over from us - after a slight situation with me...it was the first time I realised that I was perfectly capable of standing on my own two feet and asking the pedantic questions to the senior officers. The look on his face when I told him that watching over Boyd was "above my remit" was one I will treasure for many, many years to come...and there are many, many left for me yet...
As we left the museum, I rang a couple of my contacts, one to try and get access to the files that Special Branch would soon write on their findings, and the other to rearrange a meeting with them yet again. I then rang the office and got the Professor to try and track Boyd's phone. What was interesting was the reactions of the whole of the team. All of us suddenly got active. We all wanted to find him, and to find him safe at that. Tyler drove us to the GPS location given by the Professor...and we found the phone...just not on Boyd's person. As we rang back to the Professor, he told us he was on his way to join us. One of Kray's mates (Kray had been the one who had tortured Boyd's family, and Boyd had a personal vendetta against) asked if we were "Boyd's guys", and a brilliant tag-team plan was hatched. While Tyler quickly got behind the lad and held his gun at point blank range, I set about trying out the "bad cop" routine. I usually play the good cop...or at least the seductive one...but this was my chance to try something new. And it worked...almost too well. The lad's trousers were a mess, as were his wits. He was a sobbing wreck, and I felt lucky to get anything out of him, let alone Boyd's position. As we made our way over, we were joined by the Professor.
I began to let myself descend at this point, my mind replaying the events as if they were but hours previous.
As I tripped and fell over dustbins, the men were far more graceful, and combat ready, so when someone came to look, they fought and I made my way into International Electromatics' warehouse.
I was at first frightened when I saw Boyd in the warehouse alone, but that quickly turned to relief as I saw he was just about okay. His hand was burned and bleeding, a wound cutting straight through the centre of it. I bandaged it as best I could, while berating him (I know...) something chronic. He seemed so calm about almost losing his life...saying that no-one would have cared had he died. Had I known Tyler and Carlisle were behind me...I probably wouldn't have slapped his face so hard.
Truth be told...he had looked out for me from the very start of my career, and - even though I hated it - he had tried to protect me to the end. I know that I would never have become the person I was had I not known him, and had him there when I needed a hand. I wanted to kill him and hold him tight all at the same time. I had sat myself on the beach now, my wings curling around me as if a protective shield from the elements...and the inner wrench I was feeling. Tyler backed me up when I told him he was wrong...that there were people who cared about him, and would have been devestated to see him die...as there was one looking at him. I don't know why....but I will always feel pride in having told him that.
The Professor was nowhere to be seen when we left. We presumed he was okay...his screams had been brief and there was no new blood on the floor to say he was hurt. Besides, if I'm totally honest, the Professor wasn't my main priority. Boyd looked as if he were about to collapse, and...some would say sensibly, some might say stupidly...I decided that I couldn't trust him to be alone in the house his family died in. I told him in no uncertain terms that he was to stay with me until I felt he was no longer as volatile as he obviously was. Again...for some reason...I feel proud of myself for that.
I wrapped my arms around my knees and began to gently rock myself back and forth, as I continued to think. The next part still hurt. The next part was still raw.
As I sat at home, Boyd beneath a duvet on my sofa, I received a call from my contact. I told him to meet me at my home, and shortly after, the doorbell rang. A man, his face heavily concealed, was standing there, telling me he had something important to say. He asked to enter and I refused. For all I knew, he was Kray or one of Kray's associates, set on finishing the job they so nearly accomplished prior to us returning home. I refused to let him enter until I knew his name, and it took me a while to realise the name he was using was that of Vlad the Impaler, the inspiration for Dracula. He said he would wait for me to join him, and went to sit on a park bench outside. I asked Boyd to wait ten minutes, and if I didn't return, to call Headquarters to let them know something had gone horribly wrong.
He tried to convince me not to go. He tried to go in my place...to protect me once more. But he was injured. How could I let him go when, if anyone did try to injure him, it was quite sure to be the end of his line? I gently pushed him back on to the sofa, before running out. I toyed with the idea of locking the door, just in case...but I couldn't do it. If worse came to worse and I needed help...or just someone to console me in my last moments of life...I didn't want to be alone. And I wanted Boyd to be the one with me. I wanted him to be the last one my eyes saw before I entered oblivion. I wanted to have a friend beside me...until my bitter end.
I ran my hands over my face. I could feel that well of sadness in my chest I had come to know so well building up painfully. I gulped, and looked out at the stars.
The figure had told me much - and had hinted that there were far more of "them" than "we" knew of. For some reason, he was just as keen to get rid of Kray as Boyd was. But when he suggested there were more who would take Kray's place, I asked what we were meant to do...and as I suggested fighting against them day after day, year after year...he laughed, and told me that if I were to do that, I, and those who did the same, would likely die, as had "so many before". I asked him what the word "Kindred" meant, and he refused to tell me. I know almost too well what it means now.
Barely a week later, I said my goodbyes to my team. A friend of mine who worked in Canterbury had some cases she wanted me to take a look at. Seeing the reports of punctured necks and exsanguinated corpses...I knew I had to go. Saying goodbye to Carlisle was easy, I barely knew him. Saying goodbye to Tyler was more difficult...and I said my goodbye to Boyd separately. He was still recovering, and...I wanted to say or do something that would truly reflect my thanks. My bedroom became my hideaway as I planned a gift that (I hoped) he would appreciate.
On my very last evening at home, I presented him with my gift. I had made some wrapping paper myself (it was terrible and falling to pieces, but the thought was there, at least), and as he opened it, inside was a photo album. But aside from the team photos stuck in at the front and back (the front one was our very first team photo, and the back one was our most recent) there were no photos contained within it. Inside, instead, were newspaper cuttings of each crime we had solved, or played a part in solving. And I gave him a couple of extra presents...one of which I wasn't sure would be as well received. I had firstly got a contract for him to sign (if he wanted), passing the lease of my house in London on to him, and I had also re-framed one of the family photos that had been consigned to his drawer at work. I had got a frame especially made for it, with Ellen and Mary's names on it, the dates of their lives, and at the bottom a little inscription reading "Never Forgotten". He didn't say much, but I did get an almost bone-crushing embrace...so I guess that they did what I had hoped.
My aim was to return to London in the future, once I had helped solve the crimes in Canterbury, but I wanted Boyd to have somewhere...nightmare free to stay if things got too rough. Of course...I never did get to return to see him. Those goodbyes I said were the last words they all heard from me, aside from Boyd. We occasionally texted, just so I was kept aware of how the Kray situation was faring, and he could see how long I thought I would be before I returned. I just regret that I was never able to return to him and be there, a friend in his crusade for justice.
I felt a single tear roll down my cheek as I looked out across the sea towards where I roughly thought London was. I hadn't realised how much I longed to see him again. I didn't even know if he still lived in London...or even if he still lived at all.
A sharp rod of pain jolted through my stomach as I thought that. If Kray had got to him while I was gallivanting around the country...if he were...dead, truly...dead...
I couldn't bear to think like that. He couldn't be dead. I shook the thought out of my head. Would he still be in London? Would he be living in my old house or still coping with the pain of losing his family in their familial home?
I felt a wave of guilt as I thought of the news he must have received after my embrace. The body of Rachel in my living room...a knife covered in ash found in the kitchen...and...
...Me. Gone. No note, no explanation...no nothing. Would he think I could have killed Rachel? Would he think I could have killed those others too? I laughed, uncertainly, as the tears began to fall thick and fast. He couldn't...
Would he have thought I was in the same predicament as he had been those months ago? Would he have gone searching for me?
I wrapped my wings even more tightly around me. I would have to go see him. I had to return to London. But the fears came into play again. I couldn't talk to him - my voice would betray me if my hairstyle didn't. I couldn't just turn up either, and then leave him yet again...he'd already suffered enough as it was. And could I bring myself to stand and watch from afar? Something told me that that was near impossible.
I could always embrace...NO! That thought was cast out as quickly as it entered. I couldn't force another person into the half-life I live...let alone someone I care for. The fact I could have contemplated it made me repulsed with myself.
I was no longer a part of his world...but could I give him some kind of closure, finally? Could I bring him some form of peace?
I might have become a creature of the dark...but that's no reason to stop me from bringing some light into his life, if needed...
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