Something Special

Author: Lil-Hellraiser

Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognize from the books, or the songs from Evanescence.

Author's Note: Hello all, this is my first Lord of the Rings fanfiction. It's the typical story, girl falls into Middle Earth, girl meets elf, girl and elf fall in love, but many many things get in the way of that particular order. Give it a try, won't you? NOT A MARY-SUE! At least, I'm pretty sure…

***

Jolie's P.O.V. (name pronounced like Angelina Jolie's name)

"Ouch!"

Spinning around, I almost laughed when I saw my best friend, Dana Clark, sprawled out over the slippery sidewalk, books lying on the almost dead grass next to her. It was October, and an early frost coated the area, making the ground crunchy and speckled with white. It also happened to make sidewalks potentially dangerous turf.

Smirking at her, I reached out my hand and pulled Dana up. She gave a smile of gratefulness and gathered up her books. We were on our ways home from school, which was close enough to walk to.

"God, this stupid weather!" She muttered angrily as she slipped once more and grabbed my shoulder for support. I chucked softly.

"Nah, I find it peaceful." I said. Of course, I really never fell as much as she did on the ice. That's only because Dana is the clumsiest person I have ever known. No lie. She's always tripping down and up the stairs at school, dropping stuff, and falling. I cannot count how many times I have saved her from a painful trip to the nurse almost every week.

"Peaceful my butt." She said, now walking slowly alongside me. "Its horrible. I'm always falling."

"You do that anyway." I pointed out. She stuck her tongue out at me.

"Must be a redhead thing." She murmured, but loud enough to know that I heard her. I did have red hair, but she had no right to apply one of those stupid little stereotypes to me! Okay temper, temper…now I knew what she meant.

The wind changed and blew ferociously against my back and my hair went all over the place. Dana, whose hair was currently tied up, snorted. I blushed and pulled my hair back into place, holding it at the back of my head with my hand. As the wind grew lighter, I released my hair and pulled out my Walkman. Pressing the 'play' button, the CD I had left inside began to play. Slipping my headphones over my head, the haunting, yet satisfying voice of the group Evanescence met my ears. They were one of my newest obsessions. I wasn't gothic or anything, but their music always seemed to reach my heart in way that not many types of music could.

Without realizing it, I had begun to sing along with the popular song 'Bring Me to Life'. Music has, and probably always will be my life. Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, it was all great to me. I could play piano and harp quite nicely, and liked singing in school plays. I didn't have the voice of an angel, no, but I wasn't completely terrible. I had written many songs on the piano, and could play complicating pieces, such as Canon by Pachabel. I could play the trap set in the school concerts, and I was trying to learn to play guitar. My friends all played musical instruments, not because I wanted friends who had musical talents, but because I made them. Not my fault though. They would always gripe about how much they've wanted to learn violin or piano, and I just gave them a little push. Dana herself was gifted when it came to the electric guitar, but always tripped over the little cord box, making it emit a loud sound, like static.

As we walked in front of my modest, one story house, Dana's face grew serious. I pulled my headphones off and gave her my full attention.

"Take care of them, okay?" She said, nodding towards the house. I didn't have to be asked twice. I knew what she meant.

I nodded, and pulled her into a hug. As we parted, she made a small sighing sound, and began the three-block walk down to her house.

I watched her leave for a long time, even after she had rounded a corner. Just gazed at the spot where she had been, and thanked God that she was my friend at the moment. Dana loved my parents like her own, and was accepted by them as a sort of surrogate daughter, even if she already had her own mother and father.

Entering my house, I slipped off my shoes and laid my backpack down beside the door.

"Mama?" I called, unsure of where she might be. Dark red curls rounded the corner, and my mother was embracing me in a warm, yet strangely loose fashion. If you had taken a picture of my mother and I side by side, you could probably not tell who was who. We both had the same dark red hair, same cinnamon eyes (brown with reddish speckles), and same curvy figure. Our voices were similar, and the only things extremely different about us were our heights. Mama had always been very tall, almost as tall as my dad. She was about 5'9, and I was only 5'3, not too short for being thirteen, but I wish I were taller. Some people actually mistook us for twin sisters – some guys from my school had even asked her out! My mom was younger looking though, and though this fact surprised me, I could have seen it coming. Probably happens all the time, right?

Her eyes sparkled with joy as she pulled away from me. Mama always had a brilliant innocence in her eyes, however older she became. There were no wrinkles on her skin, no marks on her face, and I had always hoped to be just like her some day when I got older.

But not now. Her flawless face was bonier and paler than usual, and her cheeks were tinged with a red glow. Her body was skinnier, skinnier than I was, and she walked carefully, as if she were a delicate porcelain doll, as if one sudden move could break her.

Then the coughing came. Hard coughs which racked her body, hunching her over. I patted her back, eyes downcast, waiting for it to stop. The coughs had been here for nearly two months, and no matter what doctors did, it never ceased. She clutched her chest tightly and wheezed in and out for several minutes, while I patiently waited. I was used to these coughing fits by now, as they happened several times every day. Sometimes at night I could hear her coughing and gasping, and tried to shut it out of my mind.

Slowly but surely, the coughing stopped and Mama straightened up, clearing her throat, breathing in loud shallow breaths. Then she turned to me, smiling.

"Sorry about that, hon." She said, as if it were nothing more serious than the weather. I gave her a concerned look.

"Why don't you go lie down?" I suggested, hoping that she would so that I wouldn't have to worry about her state of health.

"No, no." She said quickly. "I'm fine. Besides, you shouldn't be telling me what to do. I'm the parent here, remember?"

I sighed. Like me, Mama was often stubborn as well.

"Yes, Mama. But you're obviously sick! Please, lie down for a just moment or two!"

"No!" Mama insisted. "I'm fine, dear, stop badgering me! Besides, it's not my special day tomorrow!"

I blushed, knowing what she meant by 'special day'. "Are you sure you don't want anything?" Mama asked. I shook my head.

"Yes Mama, I'm very sure. I have to take care of you and Dad. I would feel horrible getting gifts from you while you were still sick. You know how guilty I can become." I said theatrically, raising the back of my right hand to my forehead, closing my eyes and tilting my head up. Mama laughed, something I used to always be glad to hear, and there was an unfamiliar twinkle in her eye. Now it almost scared me – the way it sounded cracked, and dry. It didn't even sound like her anymore. Walking to the kitchen, I poured a glass of water and pushed it into my mother's waiting hands. Murmuring a thanks, she gulped it down to nourish her scratchy throat.

"Where's Dad?" I asked Mama when she had settled herself at the kitchen table. "The gameroom." Mama answered, glancing up at me. I sighed. The gameroom was just another name for our basement. It was filled with lots of things that we enjoy, like my piano, a pool table, a fooze ball table, and our big screen TV. It was my favorite place in the entire house.

I found my father in the basement, a hard working businessman, lounging on one of the recliners. He seemed to be asleep, but as I crept nearer to him, I could tell that he only had his eyes closed tightly and was probably trying to escape to the world of dreams. I tapped his shoulder lightly.

"Hello, Dad." I greeted as he slowly opened his eyes. Upon recognizing me he smiled and straightened up in his chair. "Welcome home, Jolie." He said in his thick, deep voice. My father was born in Italy and had a natural accent from growing up most of his life there. I kissed his cheek as he tilted his head towards me and helped him out of the comfy recliner. Dad swayed slightly and I was hit by a wave of fear. He couldn't be that sick…but yet here he was, only forty-four years old and already needing a cane to walk. I didn't understand it. My grandfather didn't need a cane yet, and God, he was almost seventy.

Maybe it's nerves. I thought hopefully. Stress, possibly. Or arthritis. When I stretched my memory, I remembered the first time my mother had collapsed of exhaustion onto our living room floor from only walking down the driveway to get the mail. I had blamed it on dehydration, or humidity then, but now I was quite certain that this was not the case. I could also recall the first time my father showed signs of an illness, when he tripped on a pair of shoes left in the hallway and broke both of his legs. He had been using a wheel chair for about six months, and then it was the cane ever since then. How could someone break their legs by tripping over shoes? I remembered wondering. I had witnessed his fall, and it hadn't been a very hard one. It was as if my parents were slowly growing older about as fast as a cat did. They were becoming so fragile and tired.

Hearing more strained coughs from upstairs, I steadied Dad and reached for his cane. He playfully swatted away my hand, and I sighed. Ever since his accident he had insisted on not being treated like someone who couldn't take care of himself. 'But you can't right now.' I remembered pointing out to him, and smiled.

"What're you so happy 'bout?" Dad asked, tapping the ground with the cane twice, and then moving towards the stairs. I ran up behind him in case he fell.

"Just something I saw on TV" I lied, not thinking it wise to say 'I was reminiscing on your accident last spring, Dad, and it was quite funny to think of'. I was a terrific liar. That's also why I was in lots of plays. I could really keep my face blank and believe that (for the time being) what I was saying was true. I went in to great detail when I usually lied to friends, like when they ask 'Want to sleep over next Friday?'. I would carefully respond with something to the effect of 'sorry, but mom and dad are making me baby-sit Harold Lewis that day – you know, that little eight-year-old with the bleach blonde hair? I hope he doesn't use his paintball gun on me again, the purple paint looked ridiculous with my hair color!' and that would be the end of it. I couldn't really tell many people about my parents being sicker than someone who was in their eighties. Dana was the only person who knew, but many of my other friends were catching on, like I knew they would eventually. One of them was my best guy friend, Chase. How I wished to tell him about my mother and father, because he was a sweet guy, and one of the closest friends I've ever had. But telling Dana was already one person too many to tell, and telling another would complicate the whole situation.

Dad just shrugged and continued to slowly ascend the stairs, accepting my answer. When he reached the ground floor and Mama was holding out a hand for him, I retreated back down the stairs of the house to my piano. Siting on the cushioned seat in front of it, I stretched out my fingers along the keys and did a silent warm up for about five minutes, and then proceeded to play the song 'Moonlight Sonata' by Beethoven. Not a hard piece, but it was something I had memorized, just like other songs I loved. It fit my mood as well, for today the sky was cloudy and quickly darkening, and my parents' conditions (I could tell) were worsening.

***

At dinner that night, my parents pulled out a small box, and handed it to me.

"For your special day tomorrow!" Mama squealed happily, and though I was shocked that they actually got me a gift, I was quite excited.

"I told you guys not to get me anything!" I pouted playfully.

"Well, you know, even IF we spent quite a lot on this gift of yours, we could always, take it back, or…" Dad trailed off with a grin on his face.

"No, no, I'll keep it…" I said quickly, curiosity getting the better of me. Carefully slipping the lid off the box, I sorted through the crate paper and gasped, eyes getting bigger, and my parents' smiles getting wider. Inside was a beautiful silver ring, with a band looking like a cris-crossed leafy pattern, and a large silver flower looking jewel encrusted at the top. In between everything were beautiful crystals and diamonds that sparkled and seemed to glow of it's own light. I looked up at my parents, too stunned to speak.

"…Are they real?" I asked, the reprimanded myself. Stupid, stupid question.

"As a matter of fact, yes." Dad said, staring from the ring to me and back. "It is very old, hundred's of years, really. It was said to have come from a beautiful queen who crossed the seas, and when she died, the ring was forgotten. Pure silver, and pure diamonds."

I gasped again, dropping the ring back into the box in surprise and clasping my hands to my mouth. "No way." I breathed, moving my head closer to examine it. "I mean…wow."

Mama and Dad chuckled at my stupor, and were very unprepared when I suddenly jumped up and squished them both together in a gigantic hug. "Thank you so much!" I said, and tears actually came to my eyes. Mama heard my sobs and wiped away the tears. "Don't cry, dear." She said, holding her hand to my cheek. "It was the least we could do, with us being so sick, and you being so helpful."

"We are very grateful to you, Jolie." Dad said, smiling. "We would give you anything if you asked for it, because you deserve it. You are the perfect child in every way, and we love you."

That was when I became hysterical and cried into Mama's shoulder. "I don't need it." I mumbled occasionally. "It's too perfect. I could never do it justice, wearing that around." Dad shushed me and rubbed my back, which he knew calmed me down. Sniffling, I reached over and took the ring from its box. Trembling, I slipped it onto my right ring finger, and at that moment, I promised myself that for my parent's sake, I would never take it off again.

***

Later that night was strangely silent. I was curled up in my bed, setting my clock for five-thirty a.m. so that I could have a fresh start for school the next day. Clutching the ring to my chest, I fell asleep listening to the autumn wind blowing against my window.

I awoke at one in the morning, not to Mama's coughing, but to silence. This was odd, since Mama usually coughed a lot during the night and I would wake up to hear Dad comforting her until they stopped. But this time I heard nothing, and I never awoke in the middle of the night for nothing. Frowning, I found this silence quite weird and quietly crawled out of bed. I walked down the hall and into the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water for my throat and found it oddly refreshing. It must have been because I had never woken up in the middle of the night before, and when you do, your throat is usually parched.

Setting the glass on the counter to be re-used by me when I woke up for school, I stealthily walked to my parent's bedroom and listened for any sign of movement. There was none, and I opened the door a crack. I saw my parent's sleeping forms, a slight smile on Mama's face and contentment in Dad's open eyes.

Wait.

Open eyes? Was he awake? If he was, he wasn't doing much. Opening the door wider, the hallway light I had turned on streamed into the room, giving it a ghastly glow. Tiptoeing over to my parent's bed, I peered down into Mama's face. She looked fine, and I felt her cheek. I recoiled sharply. She was freezing! Checking her blankets to see if they had any holes, I moved down to her stomach region and watched it a moment. My heart nearly stopped.

It wasn't rising or falling.

She wasn't breathing.

Thoroughly shaken up, I put my ear next her mouth and listened for a breath. There was none. Quickly, I lied my head onto her chest to listen to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. I heard nothing. Panicking, I turned to Dad, whose eyes were still wide open.

"Dad, there's something wrong with Mama." I whispered. There was no answer from him. "Dad?" I moved to the other side of the bed and checked him over in the same way I had with Mama. He wasn't breathing either. I noticed his hands were placed strangely; his right hand clutching the material of his nightclothes above his heart, his left hand doing the same directly under it. I took a deep breath. He must have had a heart attack.

I slumped to the floor, my hands covering my face. I willed myself to cry, I really did, but the tears didn't come. I guessed that I was still in shock. Both of my parents were dead.

My eyes watered up. This was a nightmare.

Dead. I would never talk to them again.

Unshed tears gathered up in pools in my eyes.

I would never hug them again.

I blinked, and a tear ran down my cheek.

I would never hear them say how much they loved me ever again.

Drawing in a long breath, I let the tears claim me, and I cried harder than I had ever cried in my entire life. My sobs were full of pain and sorrow, and I would sometimes draw out long screeches of misery. When there was nothing left in me to cry, I picked myself up off the floor and kissed both my parents faces.

"I love you." I said as a final parting, my face tear-stained and pale. Slowly, I ran my fingers over Dad's face, gently closing his eyes and then walked from the room to call the authorities.

It was my birthday.

***

There, now you know something about the main character! Please review and no flames please, just constructive criticism. Thanks for reading!