Author's note: This chapter is deliberately vague in some cases. More details will follow as flashbacks in later chapters. Right now, it's just an introduction to a new world.
Twisted Fates —A Hellsing Fanfiction
Prologue: When Past Was Present
England, 1975
The manor was quiet that night. Whether it was due to another mission or training exercise, most of the men were out in the field, leaving her home with the minimum amount of security possible. As she walked down the hallway, she could see the faint light coming from her husband's office. She could even hear the faint buzz of their voices as they discussed one more strategy after another. Taking care not to make a sound, she walked gingerly towards the curving staircase and began her descent.
They said they would protect her. When she called them that night long ago, they assured her of her safety. All she had to do was wait for their signal. They needed time, they said. Time to arrange a safe house. Time to arrange a decoy. Time to make all the proper arrangements for her escape.
She didn't know the details, of course. She never had time to ask. Their conversations had always been short. Hurried. Done in secrecy.
She hated it. All the deceit she had to utilize, all the false smiles and affection she had to give. Her eyes burned at the thought of all the years she had spent with him, would have spent with him had she not discovered his secret. Had she not discovered his lies. LIES, LIES, LIES! Her married life had been a lie. To think that she thought of him as her savior! The man who fought against the monsters of the dark.
She choked back a sob. She hated him and his lies. To think that he harbored that…that monster under the very same roof in which she slept. She shuddered as memories threatened to overwhelm her. Her hand gripped the balustrade as she tried to even her breathing.
Tonight was the night. She would escape this madhouse. They had a plan. And it had to work.
As she reached the bottom of the staircase, she looked up one last time at the place she had called home for the past two years. The home of the man she had loved for a little less than that. And without any second thoughts, she opened the door that would lead to her freedom.
The sound of explosion reached them before anything registered in their monitors.
"We're under attack!" screamed his brother, Richard, as he burst into his office.
Arthur looked up calmly from his desk and glanced at Walter to his side. "Take care of this," he stated. "I'll go see to my wife."
As always, Walter nodded respectfully and began to exit the room when Richard interrupted. "You don't understand," he said, his voice quiet. "Anjali was outside during the first salvo. She...she's dead, Arthur."
Rome, 1975
"Madame Hellsing," the priest called her.
She looked up at him, still in a daze.
"Madame Hellsing," he repeated.
"Don't call me that," she whispered. "I've forsaken that name."
He nodded. "Very well, madame," he replied. "Please follow me."
She followed him blindly through a maze of pillars and hallways, her mind replaying the events of the past few days. She shivered, unsure whether it was from the cold or the memories flooding her mind.
"Who was she?" she whispered.
"Pardon?" the old priest asked. "Who might you be referring to?"
"The woman," she clarified. "Back there. I saw her…die."
"I'm afraid I have no knowledge of the details of that particular operation," he replied. "You would have to ask Father Ronaldo when you see him."
"She looked like me," she stated. "She was even wearing the same clothes I'm wearing."
"Please, Madame, we must hurry you to the Convent," he urged, taking note of the glassiness of her eyes.
"Of course," she said. "Of course."
"Welcome to our humble organization, Anjali," said a voice behind her.
She turned, standing up from her kneeling position at the pew. In front of her was a man with the gentlest eyes.
"I am Father Ronaldo and I am here to help you," he stated. "I hope the accommodations have been to your liking."
She nodded. His voice. His voice was familiar to her.
"It was you," she said softly. "You who helped me escape. You who arranged it."
"Yes," he replied. "I am sorry I was unable to see you before now; it had been quite a busy week."
Again, she nodded.
"I was told by the Sisters that you needed to talk to me," he continued. "Was there something in particular you wished to discuss?"
She bit her lip.
She had to tell him. Them. They will find out soon enough.
"Father," she said softly, "I…I believe I am with child."
Rome, 1976
Anjali closed her eyes, feeling the sweat trickle down her forehead. She didn't have much long in this world, that much she knew. The birth robbed her of her remaining strength and her will to live had dwindled little by little ever since that day.
"Anjali," a soft voice called above her, "Anjali! Would you like to see your daughter? You have a healthy baby girl."
She opened her eyes enough to see the small bundled up infant held by one of the sisters. Her daughter. Arthur's daughter.
"Integra," her voiced rasped. "Her name is Integra."
"Father Anderson," called out Ronaldo as he entered the building. "Shhh…shhh…" he crooned as the child in his arms started to fuss. "All will be well."
He looked up to see the youthful priest approach him from the stairs.
"I have another charge for you," he said softly as he watched the child's eyes drift to sleep.
"It is unusual for ye to bring an orphan here yourself, Father Ronaldo," observed the young priest.
"This one is special," he claimed. Spotting a movement from the corner of his eye, he called out, "Come out of there, Enrico!"
The tow-headed seven year old boy came running out of his hiding place once called. "Who's that?" he asked curiously, tiptoeing to peek at the new addition.
"This is Integra," he told his nephew. "She's going to be your new sister and I am putting you and Father Anderson here in charge of her care."
"A girl?" he asked disgusted. "What use is a girl?"
"As I've told Father Anderson, this one is special."
The funeral for Sister Anjali was held on a private lot behind the Convent. The attendants were few, all sworn to secrecy as to the identity of the woman whose body was laid to rest in an unmarked grave. As far as the rest of the Organization was concerned, Sister Anjali had been a widow who turned to the Church when her husband was killed in the line of duty.
To Be Continued
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