Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Lab Monkey ❯ Dread ( Chapter 34 )

Disclaimer: DBZ was created by Akira Toriyama. I don't own DBZ, nor will I ever.

A/N: I know this is deplorably short, but have no fear I am already working on the next chapter, and I can promise the wait won't be as long as the last one. My humblest apologies. For those of you that have noticed my defection to Supernatural fanfiction, all that I can say in my own defense is that Dean Winchester is just so damn---flesh and blood male!

 

Chapter Thirty-Four

Dread

 

Sound was the first thing to penetrate Bulma's consciousness. It dug down deep into the darkness, pulling her from sleep. She could hear the gardeners tending the lawn beneath her window, the birds protesting their intrusion with a flurry of twitters, and her mother moving around in the kitchen below.

The second sense to awaken was smell. The clean fresh scent of the fabric softener used on her sheets, last night's perfume on her skin, fresh brewed coffee from downstairs.

Sensation came next, lifting her to another level of wakefulness. The feel of Egyptian cotton sheets, her Chinese silk nightgown, the warm morning sun on her face.

All were heralds of consciousness. Guide stones out of the dark abyss of sleep and into awareness. Another day meant more brilliant breakthroughs, more mind-bending challenges. Afternoons filled with shopping and evenings dancing with friends.

Life was an adventure, broken only by the biological need to sleep. Bulma loved life, and all the excitement it brought. She sprang out of bed daily, ready for her next adventure before she was even fully dressed.

This morning was different though. As she rose through the levels of awareness, dread began to permeate every bone in her body, an overwhelming sense of despair. Instead of heralds, her senses became banshees, screeching at her to return to the depths of darkness and unawareness.

Banshees, the harbingers of death.

She awoke, her eyes still closed, her senses aware. A new sensation filtered in. Loss. Emptiness. The knowledge that something vital was missing from her life.

Slowly she opened her eyes, blinking at the bright sunlight. She pushed back the coverlet and pulled herself unsteadily from bed. A weight she never felt before pressed down on her, a certainty of what she would find outside her bedroom window. Sadness welled up inside of her, filling her heart until it felt like it was too bogged down to beat.

She staggered to her window, pulling back the half open, slotted blinds. Down on the vast lawn she could see a crew of gardeners mowing the grass, a profusion of colorful flowers sprawling in front of the house, and birds flitted through the stand of white birches at the far edge.

What she did not see was Isis, her spaceship, docked on the lawn since her and Vegeta's return a few weeks ago. The sensation of dread was from the unconscious knowledge that Vegeta had abandoned her. She must have heard the engines last night when she was sleeping, only to realize the truth when she awoke.

Vegeta was gone. Freed from his oath to protect Earth, he had escaped the first chance he got, stealing her ship. She didn't mind the theft; she would have gladly given it to him. The only thing she would have asked in return was a goodbye. But he had deemed her unworthy even of that.

All the emotion welling up inside her, all the dread, the fear, the loneliness, all of her heartbreak, burst through her chest. It stole the air from her lungs, the blood from her skin.

Now she knew of what death the banshees were shrieking---the death of her heart.

Tears flowed down her cheeks in rivers. Horrendous choking sounds crawled up her tight throat, worming their way out until she could no longer hold them back. Sobs tore their way free, so loud that they drowned out the roar of the mowers.

Bulma sunk to the floor before the window, forgetting to release the blinds from her white-knuckled grip and pulling them askew. She huddled her body against the cool plaster wall, her arms wrapped around her ribs to keep them from bursting apart from the force of her sobs.

Her bedroom door banged open, and through her tears, Bulma could see her mother dressed in her frilly, pink robe, a pancake-gooped, wooden spoon raised high in defense of her baby. Seeing that no one was attacking her child, she dropped the spoon and rushed to her daughter's side, wrapping her arms around her in consolation.

No questions were asked; only hushed, soothing sounds and small kisses rained down on Bulma's head.

“He left me, Mama.” The words were choked out around sobs. The only thing she could say before the ability to speak dissolved completely.

Bunny's arms tightened, and the motherly mantra continued. No comment was needed, no explanation required. There was only one “He”.

Lost in their bubble of sorrow the women didn't hear the shouts from below, but the crashing of the bedroom door made them both jump. Mrs. Briefs bolted upright, placing herself between her daughter and two clean-cut men in black suits. They both wielded handguns and showed no hesitation at pointing them at the women.

“What is the meaning of this?” Mrs. Briefs shrieked arms akimbo. Gone was the usually ditzy socialite and in her place was a ferocious mother.

“Bulma Briefs, you are under arrest,” one of the square-jawed men stated. They circled around Mrs. Briefs, easily fending off her flailing. One man pulled Bulma to her feet while the other cuffed her hands behind her back. Too shocked to protest, she numbly stumbled forward when they pushed her towards the door.

“Who are you, and what are you charging my daughter with?”

“That's classified, ma'am,” the second man retorted, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.

“This is absurd. Do you know who we are? We are the Briefs!” Mrs. Briefs pulled herself up to her full height, puffing out like a rooster in a hen yard.

“It's a matter of national security, ma'am. Now step aside.”

They shouldered her aside and hustled Bulma down the stairs and out the door. They pushed her into a black sedan, Mrs. Briefs behind them screaming that her daughter was being kidnapped.

The men ignored her and left her standing in her rumpled, frilly robe in the middle of the drive as their back tires pelted her with rocks. Bulma twisted around to see her mother chasing after them, fading into dust.

The dread in her gut intensified, but the fear was gone. The loss of Vegeta had numbed her soul. There was nothing these men could take from her that he hadn't already stolen.