The Bianca Goin Stories: Book 1: Mystery of Alexei
Prologue:
"What do we do with the girl, sir? Throw her with the rest of them?" Said the figure who had a sharp chin and cat eyes to a very unsightly boss, both wore early 1910 uniforms. They looked in my direction. I didn't move. I couldn't. Unable to tip my head, I strained my eyes to look down at my chest. I had a sore feeling in my abdomin. Black charred remains of my top was covering my chest, arms and the corners of my belly. I had four large size bullet holes peeking from my skin, only two of the revolver bullets had successfully exited out my back. I lied on top of very shapely figures, no doubt more bodies. The room reeked of urine, blood and burning skin and cloth. All I can really make out was the stripes on the wallpaper above my limp head. I was as dead as the night.
"Do what you want, she has no purpose to me. All I care is about that bastard and his children." He paused to spit, it landed on one of the closer bodies; The rebound dropped and splashed coldly onto my face. " Do what you want to the girl's. But leave Aleksay and Alexandra to be brought outside - here hand me his arm." A couple of grunts were made and they drug the eldest man up the stairs. His face was round and had a small beard, the kind that looked although it was use to being trimmed a certain size, it was forced to go to greater lengths. One eye was lazily opened and his face was pale although sweaty. He had ruddy blood covered hair that matted atop his head, little greasy strands fell to his face. He wore dirty, worn out uniform that had mucus from "Ugly"'s earlier attempt, but not the same as the two men I had seen, this one had no medals and was light in a green color. They exited the room through doors and began to thump up stairs.
"Give it to me!" Two guards started a scuffle not too far from my left side.
"What's going on in here?!" Ugly was back, and mad as ever. They hid their arms from view. "I told you two imps to get Aleksay and bring him to the front room for an inspection. Get moving, or you can join them. Da?" More grunts. More shuffles. The men came into view. Suspended between the two men was a boy, his almost auburn hair was styled in a short side-swept bangs across the top of his forehead. He wore the same uniform as the older man but his black boots reached his knees. He looked like he was asleep, his rounded chin dipping into his neck, and a peaceful look on his dirty pale face. My heart ached.
"This one." A man called out to his co-workers. " I want her." The boy's body had disappeared around the corner. The man lifted me up, I got a view of the entire room, and it was a site. Women and men, flung on each other, their bodies being kicked to the side by soldiers. The younger girls, flung aroung each other, as if giving each other one last embrace. A small soldier broke them up and drug his girl to and empty corner, the other was carried out of my view. Everywhere, men were unclothing the mutilated bodies of the young maidens. Some of the men unbuttoned their pants and began to rape the lifeless figures, unable to fight them off. One of the men hollered at a discovery, the girl's had sewn jewels into their brassieres.
The show was over,I was tilted to the floor and the man, who's face was twisted slyly, lifted my skirt.
Chapter 1:
I woke with a start gasping and screaming. My mom came in with a metal baseball bat, it had scrapes and dents. I grabbed my chest and flung about, my covers a big pink and purple flurry.
"M-mom.Mom." I gasped wide eyed. My mom left the room only to returned with a red Kool-aid drink. She tilted my head up and force fed me the sugary drink, but the bloody drink only made me spazz even more. Choking roughly, I came to a stop, spread out on my bed, my breasts heaving in fear.
"Honey, w-was it an attack?" Being a diabetic I constantly had attacks, the doctors tell that I would eventually die because of it. Kind of like Nick Jonas. I shook my messy head of hair. "Ghosts? Little freaks. More persistent than a frickin' trucker." I shook my head. "Dream? Dream." She repeated when I nodded, still hyperventilating. "Phew, for once you're a normal kid."
"Water."
" 'Course Honey. You don't have to go to school, you know, since this was your first bad dream." She laughs at her poorly made joke and leaned the bat on my wall, against my poster of Clark Gable in "Manhatten Melodrama". I stood up and shook the stiffness from my legs, my Pajama bottoms swaying from effort. School time.
My name is Bianca Goin, I'm thirteen and a half years old, I have light brown hair and green eyes. I live in an appartment with my mother Julia, my father is away with the Navy. Ever since I was little could see ghosts, and no, not like the woman on the "Ghost Whisper" show. I see only ghosts from the old days. Meaning, I can only see ghosts from 2004 and back; 2005 to now, which is 2010, is a no go. It's not like I can't sense them, I see them, but only blurs. And yes, just like Jennifer Love Hewitt, I help them to the light, with out wearing a ton of dark eyeshadow. I just recently helped a Civil War soldier, he felt gulity for the families of those he murdered. I introduced him to the relatives of the two he killed.
Don't get me wrong, I'm a strong Baptist Christian, and it's really scary being me. My grandma is attacking me because ghost are demons sent from Satan, but in the good book, it says for me to help my enemies, be kind to them, right? So what's so bad with helping spirits? That's a problem I deal with later. Right now, I have a huge test in history I didn't study on, I would have to work it in to my early morning break. The test was on Russia, their war with Germany, the fall of the Tsars.... yadda yadda.
I made it to school at 7:03, forty-two minutes to study. My friend Timber kept being the "Chatty-Catty" she was notorious for. She stormed into to the crowds in search for someone else to bore when I told her to ''kindly shut her frickin' face''. I cranked open to chapter 28 in my germy history textbook, my bottom numb from the cement.
"The Tsar and his family lived in..." I groaned skimming my finger over and reproducing each sentence." Tsar Nicholas II, pictured aboved."I paused to glanced up at the black and white photo. I had to do a double take. IT WAS HIM! The man from my dream, his wife as well, even the four girls, and they were all beautiful when they weren't dead or pale. Even, my eyes strained, the son. He sat below them all, his arms hung around his left knee, that he had pull to his body. He looked younger then he had in my dream, this must have been an earlier picture. The caption said :" Left to right: Maria, Tatianna, Olga. Below Left to Right: Alexandra, Nicholas II, Anastasia. Left Bottom: Alexei." Alexei? The man pronounced it "Aleksay", I'll research it later, I thought.
Ugh. Enjoy! (Depending on feed back, I post more!:))
