Summary: When Drake receives an ambiguous letter telling him his grandmother has died, he decides to go to the town she lives in, Winter Park, and try to get some answers. When he arrives in Winter Park, however, he is wrapped up in a mystery so complex, that he may go insane before he can solve it.

A Winters Requiem – Chapter 4 – So It Begins

Ryan wasn't a very happy person as he stared at the twitching man in front of him. This was not what he wanted to be doing right now; it was seriously cutting into his daily TV time. But, alas, he had explicit orders to keep an eye on this man until he awoke. Failure of this task would almost positively mean not getting paid, and he couldn't afford that, no pun intended. He liked getting money, and if watching a deranged man toss and turn on a bed for an entire afternoon was what it took to get it, Oprah would just have to wait.

Ryan fingered the pistol in his lap absently; as he thought about all the places he'd rather be than here. He figured he'd bring it along, for... well protection and what not. It was fully loaded and unregistered, the perfect thing to have in situations like this. Well at least as far as he was concerned. If what George had told him about the guy's problems was any indication, this wasn't a person he wanted to be messing with alone.

According to George, the guy was one step away from the loony bin, and was staying with his grandmother for the winter because he had nowhere else to go. Among the list of ailments George mentioned, Ryan had heard schizophrenia and manic-depressive. No, this man was definitely more then Ryan, a mere gardener, could take on alone.

Every moment he was in this bizarre mansion, alone with this psycho, he became happier that he had brought some kind of protection with him.

"You just never know in places like this," he grumbled. "You just never know." He had been on edge ever since entering the mansion, there was something about the place that was… well he couldn't think of anything to describe it. Taboo? He thought that worked okay. Well, whatever it was, he didn't want to be around in it any longer then he had too.

This wasn't what he had been hired to do anyways, but then again, he couldn't actually do his job right now because it was the middle of winter! This was supposed to be his vacation time, and yet here he was, enticed to come out with the promise of being paid double of whatever he usually charged.

Maybe this was what he'd really been hired to do… watch their freak for a winter. If that was it, he'd be leaving before they could fire him, he was sure of that. Double pay wasn't worth this boredom.

The absurdity of his position was finally catching up with Ryan. He reviewed briefly in his mind everything that had happened in the past few hours. He'd been called up to come to the mansion yesterday, from his home almost thirty miles away. He was here supposedly to take care of some plants in the sunroom. However, when he arrived George told him that the plants had been removed, but that if Ryan still wanted to earn his pay, he could do one special task for him, and then leave and never come back.

Ryan had been suspicious by then, and hadn't liked the sound of George's "special task," but he disliked coming all the way out here just to leave with nothing even more, so he eventually agreed to do what George wanted. At the time he hadn't seen any harm in it, it wasn't like he was going to be burying bodies or anything right? Although, for the right sum, he probably would have risked that one too.

As soon as Ryan had agreed, George had rushed him through the mansion to the sunroom and sat him down in this awful wooden chair with only one order, watch the man on the bed till he wakes, and keep him in control till George got around to checking up on them. After that, he was supposed to be able to leave with a fistful of cash and no worries. Overall, it seemed like a pretty easy job, or at least it had when it started…the man had been peacefully sleeping then.

Come to think of it, the man hadn't started sleeping bad until that lady had touched him. Yea, that was right, his grandmother had come in briefly to check up on him, about thirty minutes into Ryan's watch. She'd whispered something in his ear and touched his face before turning and leaving the room almost as quickly as she'd come in. For someone so old looking, she was able to move remarkably fast. It had only been a few minutes later that the man had started convulsing, but it couldn't have been because of her, could it have?

Ryan decided that he wouldn't worry about it anymore. Questioning was bad anyways, especially in this type of situation. Past experiences had taught him that the more questions you asked, the less you got paid. And right now all he wanted to focus on was the payload at the end of all of this. It was like looking at something white at the end of a perpetually black tunnel, but it was still better then thinking about the eccentricities of this mansion, and the people within it.

Ryan leaned back in the chair to pop his back, sitting in this chair was really uncomfortable, and winced at the bright light piercing into his eyes. Even though this was called the sunroom, he still couldn't believe how bright it was when he looked up. Despite the fact that a huge snowstorm had come through last night, the light was still intense, and the snow that had piled up on the glass paned ceiling seemed to magnify the light more then block it out.

He blinked a few times and resolved not to look up anymore. He wondered vaguely how they kept the room so warm, with no visible insulation.

Ryan was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice when the man stopped twitching, stirred a little, and then rolled completely off the bed. It was only when he groaned from the pain of smacking into the hard floor that Ryan actually noticed that he'd awoken.

Suddenly scared, Ryan gripped his pistol tight to him and got up from his chair and walked slowly over to the man. He wasn't moving any yet, which was a good sign.

"Now you just stay there sir, and we'll have a nice chat until George comes to check up on you." He said in his most friendly voice.

At the sound of the caretakers name the man jumped up and spun around, all in one rapid motion, to come face to face with Ryan.

"Where is George?" the man shouted. And then as he took stock of his surroundings added, "Where am I?"

Ryan took a step backward, surprised at the force of the man's actions, but quickly regained composure as he realized he was still in control. This man really did look crazy though, with wild green eyes, tattered clothing, and a sense of frantic urgency that poured out of his body; Ryan would have to be really careful about what he said to him. The last thing he wanted to do was set this man off.

"Your in Valley Mansion sir, now George has informed me that you may not want to cooperate with me, but I think it would be in your best interest if you would just do-" he never got to finish what he was going to say, because the man cut him off with a stream of crazy shouts.

"Your in on this too aren't you? Aren't you??? What are you doing with that gun? Stop pointing that at me! The town, the town! Where's the town?? STOP POINTING THAT GUN AT ME!!!"

He charged at Ryan, knocking them both to the floor, and latched on to the pistol in Ryan's right hand. Ryan, almost completely caught off guard, kicked the man in the chest, sending him sprawling backwards off of him. The man was up in a second, rushing at him again as Ryan lifted up the gun and aimed for the man's leg. Before he could fire though, the man smacked the gun upward away from himself, and jumped on Ryan one last time.

As Ryan fell, his finger hit the trigger, releasing one echoing shot into the air. He watched in horror as the bullet, which flew almost vertically upwards, punctured straight through the glass paned ceiling above them, sending cracks shuttering through the huge pane instantly. It collapsed inward, propelled by gravity and the weight of the snow straight down towards them, effectively wiping any worries about getting paid from Ryan's mind.

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Drake heard the cracking and snapping above, and rolled off of the man he'd just tackled to see what was going on. When he saw the spider webbing of cracks in the section of the glass ceiling directly above him he realized where that stupid mans bullet had gone. Was he trying to get them both killed? As he saw the pane about to give in, his mind answered for him: Apparently so.

Drake would ask questions later, now wasn't a very good time. He looked for any form of shelter to hide from the falling shards of glass and he saw the bed he'd just rolled off of. He had about two seconds to move or he was as good as dead. He rolled as fast as he could to the right as the smaller shards crashed down around him, and made it under the bed just as the rest of the pane crunched into the ground.

Drake heard a scream and repositioned himself so that he could see where it had come from. On the ground, about six feet away, was the man that he had just wrestled with, with a huge glass shard pinning him down on his left shoulder. It looked like his left arm was severed most of the way off, with about an inch and a half of skin and muscles still together. Blood was pooling around the man, staining all the snow that had fallen on him a sickening crimson color.

Drake crawled out from underneath the bed, completely unscathed, and ran over to the man who had just tried to kill him. The man was in complete shock and was mumbling about Oprah, special tasks, and not wanting to go back to prison. He watched for a minute as the life quickly ebbed out of the man. He knew there was nothing that he could do.

Drake couldn't believe his eyes, he'd been awake for five minutes and already someone was dead, or really close to it anyways, and that certain someone had tried to kill him, which was pretty damn ironic. To top everything else off, he now seemed to be in the mansion; although how he'd gotten here he didn't know. So many things were happening right now that he didn't really care.

Drake had to find George, and tell him what he had seen, what he had dreamed, and what the hell he had just experienced. That was the only way any of this was going to get explained, if it even could be. Thoughts of all of this being a joke seemed distant and unreal now. His mind had come up with a bunch of new questions for him to answer, like what was he doing here, why was there a man with a gun, and WHERE THE HELL WAS GEORGE?

The now dead man had said something about George checking up on him soon, but Drake didn't like the idea of just sitting still in this room with a corpse, waiting to be checked up on like a toddler. No, he was going to find George on his own, and settle his damn mind with reasonable and logical answers that explained all of this. Not even he really thought that was possible, but he wasn't operating very well in the head anyways.

Drake started walking towards the door that would lead him to the rest of the mansion, when something occurred to him, making him turn around and walk over to the dead man. He reached down and grabbed the gun from his hands, very thankful that rigor mortis hadn't set in yet.

He figured, sure, what the hell? This guy definitely wouldn't be using it anymore, and who knew what might lie ahead of him. If everything that he'd been through could happen, he wasn't about to doubt that even more could too. Maybe even worse things to deal with. Something deep down told him that all of this had only just begun, and Drake thought back to when he'd said that in his dream.

He had been almost in a trance, as if someone else, maybe even something else, had taken over him and had been trying to warn him. Drake shivered at the thought and turned around towards the door, his new weapon in hand. Whatever was beyond those doors was probably crouched and ready to strike, simply waiting to make its move. All he hoped was that when the time came, he would be able to strike back.

As Drake walked up to the door and grabbed onto the doorknob, he paused for a second, letting the last of his doubts subside. He had pushed his fear away from his mind, for now anyways. He had to do this now or he might not ever get too.

He quickly swung the door open and ran out into the unknown with a speed created only by those who are feeling frantic and courageous at the same time. He gripped the .38 caliber pistol in his hands tighter and almost smiled. If and when he got a chance to strike back, he was going to be able to strike back pretty damn hard.

A/N: Well, I must say this is the longest chapter yet, and possibly the one with the most action (from Drake anyways) but I think that its pretty good. I'm actually kind of surprised that I was able to write it so fast, but what the hell, I like it. Please let me know if you think it's good or not by reviewing of course. I will be so very grateful for every review I get, and I still encourage you to point out things that could be improved upon, as well as the things that are good. Thanks once more, and I hope you really enjoy this chapter.

-DragonsDream