Post by Shelling4869Ford on Sept 14, 2017 12:02:31 GMT
Hey!
I proudly present my first long fanfiction here, it`s about 50 chapters long and I´ll try to update at least once a month. It`s not an AU nor an OC. It´s just a worst-case scenario I am toying with- but don´t worry I´ll reveal the details soon enough!
Thanks' to my lovely betas Taliya and WinchestersOf221B ! <3
And of course to Leira who did this amazing cover!
Title: Lost in Time
Gerne: Romance / Drama
Characters: Ran / Shinichi, Heiji / Kazuha, and a few more
Preview: He has been hiding behind a mask for ten years now, protecting them by staying away; until a unavoidable case came up, pulling him back into Tokyo. The darkness of his past is a constant shadow, waiting to take its chance. But the question is: has she been waiting for him too?
Link: Shelling4869Ford
Here is a little snippet, you can read the whole thing on ff.net
Have fun reading and of course I would love to hear your opinion ^_^
~ Shelling
Prolog: Time
"Shinichi…"
She gave his hand one last squeeze, pressing her fingers close to his for the last time. He could see the hesitation in her eyes, above the thin, blood-red smile on her lips.
"T-Thank you, for everything."
He was numb from her words. He knew what they meant, knew what was happening—yet still he was numb to everything surround him. His mind was isolating him against it, his body was shivering, and he felt like he was suffocating while he wished for all of this to be nothing more than a terrible dream.
"No! NO! Come on… hang in there! You hear me…?" He tucked a strand of her hair away from her face, desperately trying to ignore the fact that her eyes had already lost their light.
"Why did you do it?"
His blood-smeared hands shivered; the metallic scent clouded his mind.
Blood. Everywhere.
Despair, anger, and grief made his voice quiver.
"Why did you do it?"
"WHY?!"
He gasped for air, bolting upright in his bed while his mind took its time figuring out that reality had reasserted itself. Cold fingers ran through his hair while he tried to will the unwelcome dream away. Nocturnal darkness surrounded him, the few rays of light that peeked through the shutters were not enough to brighten the room.
Slowly, he lowered his hand, closing his eyes to listen to his throbbing heart. 'Not again.´
He tried to calm his racing pulse with a silent curse while he glanced at the bright green LED-screen of his alarm clock in annoyance.
Only 05:43—yet sleep was already impossible.
His fingers nervously brushed over his face; cold sweat now covered his hand. He grimaced in disgust, turning down his blankets before walking to the bathroom with a silent shake of his head.
The cold water was a release. Wet and chilly, it brought him back to his senses. He hastily splashed his face with the cool liquid, washing his already clean fingers—which would never be clean again. His hands rested on the cold porcelain for a second while he bent over the sink, turning off the water just to watch the last drops hit the white sink. Finally he blinked before he looked away, brushing over his temple with cold fingers, but even the water could not wash the traces of his nightmare from his mind.
'It´s always the same…' He turned around without drying himself or looking in the mirror just once, only cursing this near daily ritual.
That was enough. He was sick of it.
Every time he lived through this scene anew, waking up in the middle of the night but unable to find sleep again. Just like a small child that stayed awake, too scared of the monsters beneath the bed or in the closet, which just waited to attack in the deep silence of the night. But even the brightest daylight couldn't scare his monster away.
They stayed.
Attached, like his shadow, following him with every step he took, and he was not able to shake it off. Why was it haunting him?
He had left just to prevent something like that from happen again. He had left, leaving everything behind… leaving her behind.
Yet time did not allow him forget; instead it forced him through the dark fog of his past again and again every night, only for him to see what he had done… and what he had not.
He left the bathroom with a sigh, slowly walking into the living room nearby. His teacup form yesterday was sitting, lonely, on the tiny table between the couch and armchair. The furniture dominated the room; the chair alone would have been enough for him, but he tried at least to keep it livable.
'It doesn't hurt to keep pretending.'
He frowned, moving to the big panorama window of his apartment, one of a few luxuries he had allowed himself. A few last drops of cold sweat ran down his spine, seeping in they grey dressing gown he had thrown on. The dark shadows beneath his eyes were testament to his bad night's sleep.
A short shiver went through his body; his fatigue dripped off him like cold rain. He would probably curse himself this afternoon when he tried to keep himself awake reading the latest case files, but it was not like he did not deserve it. He could not prevent it from happening back then, nor could he undo it… how much he would have loved to turn back time.
But time seemed to mess with him anyway. He knew that nothing could stop it. You could not touch it, could not hold it.
Time just kept moving.
It was either rushing forward or slowly pulling away. People could only watch it, all the while hoping that the powerful stream would not take them with it too soon.
A heavy sigh escaped his young throat.
He alone had betrayed it… or perhaps time had betrayed him.
With a tired shake of his head, he combed through his dark hair with his fingers—actually, it was he who had been tricked by it. After all, he looked into these very same eyes, which had already looked at him ten years ago.
Their bright blue had not lost their power.
Their surroundings were free from any winkles, the slightest valleys could not be found around the corners of his mouth, unless he smiled a smile that had not been a real one for quite some time now.
He had finally caught up to the first grader, but he had never lost him completely.
Nausea hit him.
He was tired.
So damn tired of it!
He was sick of the picture in the mirror, which constantly lied to his face and forced him to adapt this very lie to his life. He tried not to avoid his mirror image in the window to see what he was… who he was.
A bitter smile revealed itself in the upturned corner of his mouth.
Only ten years ago, he had wished for nothing more than to see this picture again, to look in those eyes, so that he could lay them on her again.
'No, don't even start that again.'
A slight shudder shook his body; the short thought alone had already been too much for him. It was quite easy: he could not afford to think of her, he could not keep running after dreams which would never be fulfilled.
He closed his eyes and enjoyed the moment of peace in the darkness before he opened them again. His reflection in the window was gone, the hazy dawn beyond dampening the image. The cloudy spring fog had swallowed the rising sun, creating a big, deep red spot on the cloudy surface.
He looked over the city. There was not much traffic at this time of day, but he knew that in just a few minutes, half the city would find themselves on the streets, cursing and ranting in the daily traffic jam.
He shook his head with a soft smile until he recognized movement at the park's edge. Two persons were hastily leaving the Central Park. He was too far away to see their faces, but the fact that they were holding hands while hurrying down the street allowed him to deduce that they were possibly a young couple who had spent the morning, maybe even the night, in the green heart of the city.
He swallowed, directing his gaze away from them to observe the lungs of the city, which slowly lived up to its name after its long winter's sleep. A slight green veil was stretching over the trees, announcing the season of love.
His hands vanished into the pockets of his morning suit; he rolled his eyes in annoyance, scuffling through the living room but instead heading for the bathroom again. He stopped in front of a small dresser which flanked a closed door in the hallway. The third drawer opened with ease, revealing a few letters, along with a pile of his old notebooks. He took one of the more worn out books, whose pages already held a yellow tint to them. But when he opened the elastic band holding it together, a little copper colored key fell into his hand, which he had hidden between the thin pages like he had done every day.
He carefully closed the book again to put it back into the drawer.
No one could know that between the old companions of his mind, this little subject was the key to a whole different secret than his thoughts about any case.
He closed the drawer again and moved himself in front of the closed door. The key fit. He opened the door, entering the room before the door fell shut behind him with a silent click.
XXX
One hour had passed before he was finally sitting in his kitchen, eying his first coffee while the suddenly aged eyes peeked over his glasses to study the first pages of today's newspaper.
He yawned again, pressing the warm coffee mug to his lips.
The hands, which held the warm cup of coffee, seemed to match his abrupt change. His eyes wandered over the letters and lines formed of printer ink, but the words did not reach his mind. A sigh escaped his lips as he put the paper into his bag to read further during his lunch break.
He did not know that just a few pages in was an article that would throw his life off the track again.
He was simply too tired to read much more this morning, after he spent half the night awake at his desk. After he finished the file of his last case with a satisfied smile, he had given himself to writing. His unwanted writer's existence had opened the door to his job. Figuri out a case, writing, work… all of that just to keep his mind busy, leading it away from his thoughts.
His works were quite famous now; there were many people who liked what he wrote in the paper. But it was not his readers that kept him going. The simple act of typing down a story, at least, allowed him to interference with the lives of the characters, to guide them into the directions he wanted them to.
Something that life had not allowed him.
However, his main focus was still his job as a professor for Criminalistics at the New York University. He liked his job. For once, it allowed him to do what he always did, working as a detective; for another, he could not deny that he liked teaching his students how real-life investigation worked.
Besides his obsession with his work and good black coffee, he did not have any other vices. At least, for someone else it looked like Professor William Bell lived a perfect life.
Just a few—very few—people knew the man behind the facade. Just a handful knew that the life he pretended to live was truly hell on earth—that his biggest wish yet was still unfulfilled. And most people would think that it would stay that way, since it was not just the distance that stood between them.
He could not be with her without breaking against natures laws… or even worse, his own.
He swallowed; the truth was that they lost the belief in him a long time ago—even when no one had the heart to tell him—he could still see it in their eyes. And there were times, when he did not believe it himself, that he would ever be able to find his true age again.
He was lost in time…
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